‘Jay, these are horrible. I feel sick to my stomach.’
‘I know.’ He looked serious now.
I passed his phone back, I didn’t want to see those pictures anymore. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this except for on TV. What do they want? Why are they doing this?’
‘They’re protesting the government because they have allowed BBest to have this monopoly.’
‘That’s weird, why would you protest against something that is so cool?’
Jay thrust his phone into the pocket of his shorts. He stood up and put his plate into the dishwasher (these helpful gestures are always appreciated in a housemate). ‘I don’t know, Freya, I don’t think they like the whole idea of reducing everyone to an algorithm. We’re all a number with BBest, you know.’
‘I honestly don’t think there is anything in the world that I would protest for. I feel sorry for them,’ I said into my magazine. I looked sadly at the remains of my Snickers bar. How had it just disappeared so quickly?
‘Don’t. They feel sorry for us.’ He propped himself up on a stool and started to leaf through the ten-euro magazine.
How was it possible the protesters felt sorry for us? They were the ones sitting on a pavement cross-legged, opposing the guards and getting UTIs. It didn’t make sense. I shook off the conversation.
‘This, this is you.’ He opened up the centrefold where a hideous pavlova-style dress was featured.
‘What is it with my friends trying to turn me into a dessert?’
‘Forget it, it’ll cost you ten grand.’ He flicked rapidly on.
‘Yikes, that magazine cost ten euro, I thought that was pushing the budget out.’ I sipped my tea. ‘Oh no, I completely forgot, I’m supposed to keep tabs on all my spending for Mason.’
‘So he can keep tabs on you,’ Jay mumbled into his chest.
‘I heard that, Jay, and it’s not like that. This is to invest in our future.’ I opened up Freya’s Expenditure on my phone. Well, there was no way I was going to admit to spending €44 on bridal magazines. I put in €4.40, which sounded a lot better.
I clicked out, feeling positively committed to the wedding and my future as Mrs Williams.
16
I signed. I signed for my shop. I held in my hands the keys to my own very grown-up business – with a very immature keyring: a picture of a devastatingly handsome man in a suit and when you turned it upside down his suit disappeared and he was stripped down to his jocks. It was tops.
I was so pleased with myself. I could hardly believe how quickly this had happened. It felt like only yesterday I was waiting tables and wondering what I should do with my life. I wouldn’t admit this to anyone for fear of sounding smug, but I was really proud of myself. From the outside looking in, I seemed like I really had it together: I was engaged to an attractive, employed man, who was also Australian, which gave him an air of mystery and intrigue. I had just secured a fantastic contract at BBest and I was opening my own shop. Oh, hello life, yes, that’s me, winning! I’d say it wasn’t entirely impossible to believe that people like Suzy from school might talk about me behind my back, enviously.
I made my first delivery to BBest. I introduced myself to the receptionists, the security guards, the people I was likely to meet and greet regularly. Everyone was friendly and happy to be there. I wouldn’t expect anything less. I’d created three displays of chrysanthemums, peonies and violets. Anna found me and congratulated me when she saw them. She popped out from behind a door like a jack-in-the-box, scaring the hell out of me. I wasn’t sure if she was putting on an act of friendliness or if she just really loved flowers, but she was very enthusiastic about my creations. I’d even go so far as to say that she showed shades of children’s TV presenter, all toothy grins and boundless encouragement. It was a little weird. I was only a florist, I wasn’t a superstar programmer or anything that was going to revolutionise the tech world. Call me a realist, but I was pretty confident the BBest wheels would keep turning without my sun-kissed daisies.
That afternoon, to celebrate my momentous day, I decided to treat myself to a new blouse. I thought I’d get one from Mardi’s site, and BBest agreed with me. I actually wanted to buy the exact same one that she was wearing the other day, but in a powder blue. I had already tagged it, I just needed to follow through. I was lying on my bed with my laptop on my knees, eating an orange. My fingers were sticky.
When I went online, Mardi’s site was down. I hit the refresh button but nothing happened. I checked around to see if there were problems with other sites but no, everything else was functioning as normal. I didn’t understand it. I called Mardi’s number and to my surprise, Colin answered.
‘Congratulations, Freya, I heard you got the keys.’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Mam?’
‘She moves fast, that woman. It’s great news.’
‘I’m thrilled, and to celebrate I was going to buy a blouse from Mardi’s site but it’s down. Does she know? What’s happening?’
‘Don’t mention the war.’ His voice dropped to a whisper and he sounded like he was on the move. I heard a door clicking. ‘Do you remember BBest were recommending expansion before the next season launched?’
‘Yeah, of course, we’ve been trying to talk her round–’
‘Well, it was up to Mardi,’ he interrupted me. ‘Ultimately it’s her business and her decision, but BBest has kept coming back to her with altered business plans. She’s not interested so she keeps turning them down. Now BBest has decreased growth projections to work with her but it’s like going up against a brick wall – she does not want to do it. The problem is the product is so good the business is expanding whether she likes it or not. BBest are simply trying to build parameters for her to work within.’ He sighed heavily.
‘Is she under pressure?’
‘Big time. She had to shut the site down yesterday – she got in too many orders. She couldn’t meet demand and the bad reviews started piling up, one after the other. I mean, it happened in the space of two hours. A few hundred people read the reviews.’
‘This is terrible, Colin.’ A few bad reviews could effectively end her career.
‘She shut down the site, she’s gone offline.’
I was shocked. ‘What is she thinking? At least put up an out-of-stock message, or something?’
‘She’s panicking. She’s trying to figure out what to do.’
‘I assume she’s consulting BBest for help?’
‘Yes, but you know how difficult it gets when you haven’t taken its initial suggestions. BBest can really backfire on you. I’m not sure she’s going to be able to pull this off.’
Thankfully I had never been on that side of the BBest coin but I had heard stories. At a certain point it could treat you like an errant child, it would pull out the tough love – it had given you every opportunity and you didn’t listen.
‘With any luck it won’t come to that, hopefully she’s still on their good side. BBest is probably the only one that can help her fix this problem.’
‘I know, bloody hell though.’ Colin sounded exhausted.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I could hear a piano being banged on in the background. ‘What is that noise?’
‘Oh wow, yes.’ Colin sounded less than enthused. ‘Apparently Harry has a musical ear and it needs to be nurtured. BBest has sent us a piano teacher for a trial lesson.’ He laughed quietly. ‘No one will be more surprised than me if he turns out to be the next Beethoven. He’s awful.’
I laughed, relieved that Colin was still able to make a joke, knowing how worried he must be about Mardi. I wished him luck and hung up, marvelling at what a tough situation they were in.
Why hadn’t Mardi listened to BBest? It seemed a bit naïve in this day and age not to follow its advice. It was hard to believe that she could make such a silly mistake, because BBest’s advice would always have her best interests at heart. I caught myself, suddenly confused. What if I didn’t want to do what BBest want
ed me to do? What would happen if I wanted to do something different with my flowers? Nobody ever said no.
17
Before I even turned the corner into the street I knew something was wrong. It was the air, it felt heavy. It felt dangerous. There was a shift in the people on the pavement, their faces were closed, their bodies tense, they walked faster than normal, hurrying indoors. Their houses looked tight, sealed off from the rest of the street. Curtains were pulled, doors shut. I felt my heart start to pound so hard I could hear it. My breathing had quickened, adrenaline pumping around my body, and my eyes darted furiously, taking in every little piece of the scene unfolding in front of me. A black cat with white paws was scooped up off a window ledge and ushered inside. The shutters in O’Brien’s pub were down. The normally welcoming cottages looked like an army barracks. I drove slowly, carefully.
I knew. I knew before I turned the corner that it would be Granddad.
A Garda car was outside the house. The front door swung open. I could see the bookshelves lining the walls, and, oddly, a childhood memory of climbing to the top of the shelf and swinging like a monkey off it popped into my head. I moved fast, jumping out of my van and racing to the front door. I hoped he was not alone, I hoped there were customers in the shop, friends, supporters, people who understood him. But no. There were four guards standing like salt pillars at each corner of Granddad’s desk. They were menacing shadows dressed in black with half helmets covering their eyes. It was impossible to see them as people when you couldn’t see their eyes. They were soldiers, players, parts of a game; they were not people. They looked so out of place here among these old books, the musty smells.
One, who, as I got closer, I saw was a woman, was speaking, her voice had an accent – it was clipped. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, I was focused on Granddad. He was sitting as he always did, feet out towards the fire, Birkenstocks and socks on, cigarette in one hand, pen in the other. He was idly scrolling through the numbers in his ledger. He was almost casual. He seemed so unfazed by the situation that I thought everything must be okay.
‘Granddad,’ I said into the middle of the room.
His eyes flashed up at me quickly before dropping to half-mast again, but I saw enough. I knew everything was not okay. He was on edge and alert.
‘What’s going on here?’ I directed my question to the woman.
‘Who’s this?’
‘I’m Maurice’s granddaughter,’ I said proudly.
‘Some granddaughter you are to me,’ Granddad sneered. ‘I don’t see her from one year to the next. And you turn up today? Now? Hoping I’ll have a heart attack, are you, so you can swoop in and claim my money?’
Why was he saying this?
Then he quickly met my eyes and I knew to stay quiet. He was telling me he had this situation under control.
The female guard looked at me again and swiped through the tablet she was holding. ‘Freya Flannigan, twenty-eight, florist.’ Her tablet made a few beeps, she looked to the other three. ‘She checks out.’ She turned her back to me.
‘What is going on?’ I was scared but really more angry than scared. My fists were clenched with rage, and I felt my feet tense up. I could kick, I could fight. I could run.
The woman nodded to a guard at the far corner of Granddad’s desk.
‘Can you get the hardware from the back and conduct a preliminary search?’ She calmly directed them, then turned to me. ‘We are arresting Maurice Murphy.’
I felt myself stumble backwards. ‘What?’ I shook my head. ‘That’s impossible.’
Granddad looked up at me and laughed. ‘Apparently old men like me are a threat to society. Have you ever heard the likes of it before?’ He inhaled deeply on his cigarette and released a long plume of smoke. He closed his eyes, relishing the moment. ‘Bullshit. That’s what this is. And you, you, you and you –’ he pointed his cigarette at each guard individually, ‘–are the real menace to society.’
I stepped forward, talking fast, loudly. ‘There has to be a mistake. He’s a granddad. He doesn’t do anything, he reads books. This is a mistake.’
She ignored me. The other guards moved around the room, and I watched one pick up and put down some books. Granddad pointed his cigarette at him.
‘You might like that, the Stephen King, it’s science fiction, it’s an underrated classic.’
I stifled a laugh. Even in the most extraordinary of circumstances, Granddad was a book pusher first and foremost.
‘I’ve read it,’ the guard said, ‘there’s that wonderful scene at the end where he gets the girl but loses his father.’
Granddad nodded solemnly. ‘It was his choice, he chose the future and said goodbye to the past.’
‘Fantastic book. Do you have anything else by him?’
‘I do, I have his full catalogue, and if you liked him, have you ever read anything by Phillip K Dick?’ I could see Granddad brightening up.
‘No, I haven’t.’
‘Marvellous. Take note, and when this–’ Granddad twirled his hand in the air, symbolising his arrest, I assumed, ‘–is all over, get out of that outfit and come back and see me for a reading list.’
‘I will yeah.’ The guard sounded enthusiastic.
Granddad stubbed out his cigarette. ‘You see, Freya, people are people, even people in fancy dress.’
The guard shuffled a little uncomfortably.
‘What is he being arrested for? Where are you taking him?’ I shot questions at the female guard, who ignored me.
A second guard appeared carrying the laptop Granddad used for occasional emails and to book flights. Hardly incriminating evidence. Granddad rose to his feet calmly, and I watched his chest swell and his jaw jut out.
‘Well, have you had enough time to gather my belongings? Shall we be off?’ he said.
The female guard gestured towards the door. ‘Let’s go.’
‘How can you arrest him? He hasn’t done anything,’ I pleaded, hopping up and down in frustration. ‘This is ridiculous! What are you doing? He’s an old man.’ I was wild, almost to the point of hysteria. They had the wrong man. But my shouts fell on deaf ears. I was as good as invisible.
‘This way, please.’
‘You think I don’t know where the door is in my own house? I am not senile yet, you know,’ Granddad said. He straightened his jumper and smoothed down the front of his pants. He raised an index finger to the room and cleared his throat. ‘The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. I have both.’
I recognised the quote, it was Tolstoy. I was sure that I was the only other person in the room who knew he was quoting Tolstoy, and I knew he had done it for me. But why?
I watched as he left his home, crossing the room as he had done a million times before. He didn’t stop to look around. There was no pause for sentimentality. I knew him, I knew Granddad’s battle face and he was wearing it with pride and stubborn determination.
I followed them outside. The street was deserted. The guard moved him into the back seat of the car.
I hopped from foot to foot like the pavement was on fire, shouting at him through the closed window,
‘I’ll ring Mam. We’ll get this sorted. Stay strong. This will be okay.’
He didn’t look back at me, just stared out the front of the car. His war had started.
18
‘I can’t believe this has happened again.’ Mam combed her fingers through her hair. ‘I thought he’d finished with all this.’
Colin and I met at Mam’s house. We were all three so full of tea that we had switched to brandy, which had taken the cold shiver of shock out of my bones. I didn’t know what to think. I had never encountered a situation like this before.
‘Again?’ Colin and I shouted in unison.
‘It’s just . . . there’s . . . he’s . . .’
‘Spit it out, Mam.’ Colin was on his feet.
‘Your granddad, well, he has a bit of a past.’ She took a large gulp of brandy and
stretched her mouth into a forced smile. ‘Nothing too bad, but you know, this isn’t his first time in prison.’
‘What?’ I was on my feet now. ‘Well, what is it, his second time?’
She took a deep breath and started tapping on her fingertips. ‘Em, I’m going to say seventh, eighth actually, including this time. He’s been in jail eight times.’ She nodded emphatically.
‘You’ve got to be joking me! Granddad?’ Colin sat down with a wheeze.
Mam spread her fingers out and stretched them slightly, clearly trying to calm us down. ‘Now, most were minor offences, streaking, protesting, I think there was a drunk and disorderly but that was a bit of a misunderstanding, but there were one or two longer incidences when I was growing up. That may, hmm, well, let’s just say he was known to the guards. Always has been.’
‘Streaking?’
‘Protesting?’
‘How long?’
We started firing questions at Mam at the same time.
She blew air out of her lips. ‘I honestly thought he was done with all his troublemaking. He always liked to fight the system.’
‘He’s practically a career criminal.’ I shook my head, dumbfounded.
‘Ah, Jesus, no, no. He’s not a criminal, you know . . . he’s more of an activist type, passionate about causes. He’ll always champion the underdog, he doesn’t just speak up for the little man, he shouts for him. Dad has always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and if he sees wrong, he can’t help himself.’
‘What did he protest for?’ Colin asked.
‘You name it, he’d march for anything back in the day: water charges, gay rights, anyone who didn’t have a voice in the system, who couldn’t be heard. It’s good in theory and all very noble but he’s really been in awful trouble over the years. And like an eejit, I really thought he was finished with all this.’ Mam looked mildly exasperated.
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