by Rob Stevens
‘Don’t lean on the machines, sunshine,’ he said threateningly.
‘Sorry, officer,’ I said.
‘I’ll be watching you,’ he said, pointing at his eye – presumably in case I didn’t know which organ he’d be using to watch me.
‘Sure.’ As I spoke, I recognised the guard’s chubby hamsterish face. ‘You’re Greg Watkins.’ What I didn’t say was, you used to bully me at school because I was younger and studious and you thought education was for losers.
‘Who are you?’ he said, narrowing his already tiny eyes.
Arnold and I exchanged the briefest of glances. ‘Cheeseman,’ I said quick as a flash. Greg looked dubious for a moment and I thought I’d been rumbled but then he nodded. ‘Ahh yes I remember you, Cheeseman. You were in Dunphy’s class, weren’t you?’
‘Mitchel’s’ I said, feeling a strange thrill at my deception.
‘That’s right.’
‘So you work here now?’
Greg hooked his thumbs into his belt and puffed out his belly. ‘Yup,’ he said proudly. ‘Assistant Security Officer and Crime Prevention Technician.’ As he spoke his throat seemed to inflate like a bullfrog’s.
‘Cool,’ I said looking around in awe like I was in the Sistine Chapel, or something. ‘Good for you. Who needs GCSEs, right?’
Greg smiled smugly. ‘If I work hard, in ten years I might make it to the top.’
‘Wow,’ I said.
‘The top of what?’ Arnold asked.
Greg tilted his head back slightly. ‘I’ll be Head of Security and Crime Prevention.’
‘What does that mean?’ Arnold probed.
Greg smirked and patted his left shoulder with his right hand. ‘It means I’ll get four gold stripes instead of two. And a cap.’
I could tell Arnold was going to ask what difference having a cap to wear would make so I said loudly, ‘That’s really brilliant.’
‘Anyway,’ Greg said sternly, ‘like I said, I’ll be watching you.’
Arnold and I watched him waddle away.
‘What’s the big deal about a new hat?’ Arnold wondered aloud.
For fifteen minutes we waited in silence, watching the old lady scooping coins out of a plastic cup and feeding them into the slot. When she got down to her last couple of coins, Arnold turned to me and whispered, ‘Get ready.’
I didn’t really know how I was supposed to ‘get ready’ for playing a fruit machine. It wasn’t the sort of thing that you needed to warm up for or anything. I decided to do some little jumps on the spot just to show how eager I was.
With her next coin the lady got two cherries and a plum. Lights flashed and a bell rang and coins started cascading out of the machine into the little scoop at the bottom. She turned and grinned at Arnold then punched the air, like a footballer celebrating a goal. I stopped jumping up and down.
For another ten minutes we watched the old lady feeding the fruit machine until, at long last, her plastic cup was empty and she shuffled away.
‘OK,’ said Arnold, sliding a coin into the slot. ‘Let’s see how we can do.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, looking over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see if Mr Jack and Mr Pot are coming out to play.’
‘Who?’ Arnold turned to face me.
‘Mr Jack and Mr Pot,’ I said, already wishing I hadn’t started. ‘You know – as in “jackpot”. I meant let’s see if we can win the jackpot. I realise I should have just said that in the first place. Sorry.’
Arnold accepted my apology with a short nod, turned back to the fruit machine and pulled on the lever. We watched the blur of fruit as the drums started spinning. As they clicked to a standstill in turn I held my breath. My eyes swept along the win line, expecting to see three jackpot symbols, which would mean we’d won. The jackpot. Obviously.
I checked the pictures again. Compared them to the pictures of winning combinations plastered all over the machine. Plum, cherry, jackpot symbol.
I exhaled with a sigh.
Nothing. Not even a free spin.
Arnold groaned and slid in another coin. He pulled the handle and the drums whirred round. Click, click, click they stopped. My eyes scanned the win line.
‘Lemon, lemon, fireman’s helmet,’ I said. ‘What do we win for that?’
‘It’s a bell, not a fireman’s helmet,’ Arnold replied. ‘And it’s worth nothing.’
‘I thought this machine was a sure-fire winner?’ I mumbled.
‘Trust me,’ Arnold said, cranking down the handle again. ‘You just have to be patient.’
By the time the machine had swallowed £4.80 of our fiver I had resigned myself to the fact that we weren’t destined to win the jackpot after all. Over the tops of the rows of fruit machines I could see the entrance and clear blue sky waiting beyond.
‘Bingo!’ Arnold exclaimed.
My eyes flashed back to the win line on his fruit machine.
Jackpot symbol, bell, jackpot symbol.
Excitedly I scanned the winning combinations displayed on the fruit machine, but I couldn’t see a match for what we’d got. As my excitement faded it occurred to me that if we did have a winning combination, the machine would already be flashing and dinging and spewing out coins. It wasn’t doing any of these things.
I looked at Arnold. ‘You haven’t won anything.’
‘Not yet,’ he said mysteriously. ‘I still have three nudges.’
‘Sure,’ I said, waiting for Arnold to start nudging. But instead of tapping the nudge button, he stood still and closed his eyes.
‘What are you doing?’ I whispered.
‘Working out whether to nudge up or down.’
‘How?’
‘I’m picturing the symbols on the middle reel,’ Arnold replied without opening his eyes. ‘I’ve memorised the sequence.’
‘Shut up,’ I laughed. ‘There must me about twenty symbols on each drum.’
‘Thirty-two actually.’
‘And you memorised them as they were spinning round?’
Arnold opened his eyes and looked at me. ‘Yup.’
I was dubious of Arnold’s claim. It was almost impossible to see the symbols as they spun round, never mind memorise them.
‘How did you know you’d need to remember the pictures on the middle reel?’ I said.
‘I didn’t.’ Arnold shrugged. ‘I memorised all three of them.’
Arnold interlaced his fingers and stretched out his arms, cracking his knuckles. Then he tapped the nudge button with one finger. The middle drum clicked upwards onto the next symbol.
‘Jackpot, pineapple, jackpot,’ I muttered.
‘Next should be Jackpot, plum, jackpot,’ Arnold said. He tapped the nudge and the middle reel clicked round again.
He was right. A plum symbol appeared in the middle window.
‘Get ready to celebrate,’ Arnold murmured.
He tapped the nudge button.
I held my breath.
The middle drum clicked round.
Jackpot, jackpot, jackpot.
An electronic fanfare sounded and all the lights on the fruit machine started flashing. From below the main display a waterfall of silver coins started pouring out of the machine.
‘You did it!’ I whooped. ‘That was amazing.’
Arnold dropped to his knees, catching the coins as they fell. I kneeled down next to him and helped. We both laughed as we scooped handfuls of coins into our pockets.
‘Congratulations, lads.’
I recognised the security guard’s voice, but there was something in his tone that made me uncomfortable. I stood up and turned to face him.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘You must have about fifty quid in winnings there,’ Greg said with a fixed smile. Arnold turned and stood next to me. Having filled his pockets he had resorted to using his sweatshirt as a sort of hammock into which he’d scooped the remainder of our winnings.
Arnold said, ‘Fifty-three pounds and forty pence.’
‘It’
s a shame really,’ said Greg, his cheeks wobbling as he shook his head.
‘What is?’ I asked.
‘You’re both too young to gamble. I’ll have to confiscate your winnings.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Arnold protested.
‘Yes I can, sonny.’ Greg took a step towards Arnold. ‘You’re lucky I don’t arrest you for illegal gambling.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said, placing a reassuring hand on Arnold’s arm. ‘Greg’s right. Good job, Greg. You’ve averted a major crime taking place here – I expect there’ll be some sort of reward for you. Maybe a promotion – an extra stripe on your shoulder? That’s probably why your boss is coming over – to congratulate you.’
I nodded towards an imaginary figure coming down the aisle behind the security guard. As Greg turned to greet his boss, I grabbed a fistful of Arnold’s sweatshirt. Catching Arnold’s eye I mouthed the word run and pulled him alongside me as I started for the exit.
‘Hey!’ Greg protested. Turning, I saw he was about ten yards back, his eyes wild and his fat cheeks flushed.
As we sped through the arcade, dodging people and darting this way and that to throw the guard off our tail, a constant trickle of coins fell from Arnold’s makeshift pouch.
At one point we doubled back on ourselves in the hope of outfoxing Greg. Unfortunately we were too clever for our own good and just ended up face-to-face with him. In his surprise Arnold let go of his sweatshirt and a whole pile of coins dropped to the floor where they scattered like a shattered vase. Greg seemed unsure whether his priority was to grab us or the coins and we took advantage of his moment’s indecision by turning and scarpering.
Eventually we burst out of the arcade into the freedom of broad daylight. Laughing aloud we sprinted along the pier with Arnold’s dodgy shoe slapping an offbeat rhythm on the wooden decking.
When we reached the end of the pier we turned to see if anyone had followed us. There was no sign of Greg’s ripe cheeks amongst the relaxed faces of people enjoying a stroll in the autumn sunshine.
My heart was still pounding like crazy. Partly because of the physical effort of running away and partly because I was terrified of getting caught.
‘Looks like the coast is clear,’ I said.
Arnold turned and surveyed the beach. ‘Clear of what?’
‘I mean it doesn’t look like Greg is chasing us any more.’
‘Oh right. No – I think we got away with it.’ Arnold patted his bulging pockets and they chinked.
‘Fancy an ice cream?’ I said, nodding at a kiosk on the pier.
Arnold nodded eagerly. ‘I could kill a Cornetto.’
‘You mean you could murder a Cornetto,’ I laughed.
‘Either way, it’s my treat.’
I chose a Mint Magnum and Arnold went for a strawberry Cornetto. The lady selling the ice creams looked at Arnold suspiciously when he emptied two handfuls of ten-pence coins onto the counter.
‘He’s just raided his piggy bank,’ I said sheepishly.
Tucking into our ice creams, we wandered to the very end of the pier. Arnold slid his legs under the bottom railing and hung his arms over it, sitting on the decking with his feet dangling over the edge. I copied him and we both gazed out to sea, eating in silence.
‘I still can’t believe we just did that,’ I said, licking the last trace of ice cream off my lolly stick.
‘It was your idea to run,’ said Arnold.
‘We won that money fair and square. I mean you did.’
‘Do you think we’ll be in trouble?’ Arnold asked.
I shook my head. ‘Nobody knows who we really are so they’ve got no proof how old we are.’
‘But it’s still illegal.’
‘Look,’ I said. ‘How about we do something good with the money? If we give it to charity then it’s not so bad, is it?’
‘We could buy some blankets for Mr Cheeseman,’ Arnold suggested. ‘He did say he’d be freezing sleeping outside tonight.’
‘Now that,’ I said, ‘is a brilliant idea.’
I checked my phone to see if Olivia had texted me about the message I’d left. Nothing. But there was a message from my mum checking I was OK. I typed out a short reply to say I’d been in the arcade and was having an ice cream on the pier. I pressed send and slid my phone back into my pocket.
‘So when are you going to tell your parents I’m staying?’ Arnold asked.
I turned to him, but he just kept staring at the horizon so he didn’t see the I don’t know what you’re on about expression on my face. Which was probably for the best because I wasn’t very good at acting and Arnold wasn’t very good at reading facial expressions.
Instead I tried to get my message across by saying, ‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’
Arnold popped the tip of his Cornetto cone into his mouth and crunched it up.
‘I know you were sneaking me into the house last night,’ he said. ‘Why else would you have asked me to go and wait by the front door? You didn’t really think I believed all that stuff about your family tradition? I might be a bit strange but I’m not stupid.’
I tried to do an innocent face.
‘You’re a terrible actor, Leon Copeman.’
‘Sorry,’ I said, allowing my eyebrows to sink to their normal level. ‘I would have told you the truth … eventually.’
‘Why did you say I could come and stay in the first place?’ Arnold asked, looking down at the sea slapping and frothing against the pier’s sturdy wooden supports.
‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
‘I was only joking about you staying. I didn’t know how to tell you I hadn’t been serious. I sort of felt sorry for you.’
‘So you let me come and stay out of pity?’
‘I wouldn’t say pity exactly,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I like helping people.’
‘Because of what happened to your brother?’ Arnold asked. ‘You feel guilty about how he died so you try and make up for it by helping waifs and strays?’
‘No,’ I snorted. ‘Sounds like you’ve been reading the Dummies’ Guide to Psychobabble.’
‘I don’t know that book.’
‘OK,’ I confessed. ‘Maybe I was trying to help you to make up for not helping Lenny.’
‘So you said it was OK for me to stay even though you knew your mum would say no?’
‘Uh-huh,’ I said, looking away instinctively.
I expected Arnold to be angry but he said, ‘That’s pretty cool.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah – you took a risk for me. How do you think your mum will react when she finds out I’m staying in your room?’
An image of a nuclear mushroom cloud came into my head. ‘I’m not sure,’ I said.
‘It’s still a big risk for someone you don’t even know.’
‘Just because you don’t know someone doesn’t mean you shouldn’t help them,’ I said. ‘Besides …’ I didn’t finish my thought because I wasn’t sure if I wanted to share it.
‘Besides …?’
I looked at Arnold, sizing him up. His features were blunt and simple somehow, like he’d been moulded from clay by a kid. Even the locks of his hair looked like thinly rolled sausages. But there was something honest about his muddy-brown eyes. I already knew he had a tendency to speak his mind and I admired that about him. (I mean, it had been a bit of a shock at first but I’d got used to it.) Something told me I could trust him – I could tell him stuff I might keep from anyone else.
‘Besides,’ I began with an embarrassed smile, ‘I thought it might give Lenny a kick.’
‘Why do you want to kick Lenny?’
‘It means he’d enjoy it,’ I said. ‘He was a bit of a tearaway – always breaking rules and giving me a hard time because I’m such a goody-goody. I like to think he’s up there now,’ I raised my eyes skywards. ‘If he is watching me, he’d love seeing me breaking the rules like this. His squeaky-clean brother sneaking a kid into the house! He�
��d be absolutely killing himself.’ Before Arnold could protest I said, ‘That means he’d be laughing. A lot. I bet he’s got tears rolling down his cheeks.’
‘Like you do now?’ Arnold said.
‘That’s just the wind making my eyes water,’ I said, wiping my cheeks with the heel of my hand.
Arnold kicked his feet against the pier. His shoe flapped like a duck quacking.
‘Why didn’t you tell me all this?’ he said. ‘Instead of pretending it was all sorted?’
‘No reason.’ I thought about my answer for a moment – felt guilty about its deceit. I turned and held Arnold’s gaze. ‘OK, I didn’t want you to think my parents were rejecting you. I thought that might make you feel worse, you know, about everything. About yourself.’
‘What, so because my mum can’t look after me I’m supposed to feel worthless?’
‘I didn’t know anything about your mum to start with,’ I said, sort of hoping to change the subject.
‘But now you do,’ Arnold persisted. ‘You think my self-esteem is so low that I might have felt rejected by your parents even though I’d never met them?’
I shrugged.
‘Now who’s been reading the Dummies’ Guide to Psychobubbles?’
‘Psychobabble,’ I laughed. ‘Sorry. It’s a load of rubbish, isn’t it?’
Arnold shook his head. ‘Actually no,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re right – my self-esteem can get really low. I mean I never feel great about myself. I know I’m a bit odd – I don’t get jokes and stuff and I can be too blunt for some people – so I’ve never really had many friends. But when my mum couldn’t handle me, it felt like the ultimate rejection. I mean, I know she’s ill but it still hurts. Why can’t she just be happy with me? It feels like I’m not enough for her. Sometimes I think I might be able to fix her – to cheer her up if I was a better person.’
I often have imaginary conversations. Sometimes I’m sort of rehearsing what I’d like to say one day – like asking my dad if we can try doing some of the stuff we used to do. Or telling Mum I understand that she blames me for Lenny’s death. Other times I wonder what I’d say in weird situations. Like, the other day, I had this whole conversation in my head where Olivia’s best friend was constantly telling her that her designs were rubbish. I gave her this whole chat about what an amazingly talented girl she is and how she deserved better. I did a pretty good job too. By the end of my pep talk Olivia was going to start her own fashion label.
