might have an argument with someone, scared that he would frighten people with his appearance. He was never going to fit in and she had accepted that. She was also afraid that cruel people might want to harm him or force him into situations he could not control, because she knew the great forces hidden beneath his closed exterior. She had only seen it happen once. She had seen Emil go berserk in an insane and almost frenzied rage. It was a nightmare she managed to suppress most of the time, but it made itself known anyway, some
times, in her dreams. Then she
would wake up, drenched in sweat, terrified at the memory, at her self and her son. She was obsessed by the thought of what might happen if he were to become frightened again. Or if someone attacked him. At times her fear manifested itself as nagging.
‘Do you have to go around wearing that stupid old cap?’ she would say. ‘Surely you could get yourself a new one? It would look so much better. I know you think your three-wheeler is the bee’s knees, but you do realise that people stop and stare at you, don’t you? Most people make do with twowheeled motorbikes. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with your balance, either.’
She put on a martyred expression that was lost on her son. Afterwards she sank down in shame 65
because she had tormented him like this, but she just could not help herself.
Emil parked the three-wheeler outside The Joker and went in. For a while he padded around the shelves on his wide splayed feet. He wore thick boots whether it was summer or winter. They were so worn that he could stick his feet into them without untying the laces. He carried the red shopping basket on one arm; he never did enough shopping to get a trolley. Today he was buying coffee, milk and cream, a granary loaf and some soft cheese. When he got to the checkout he added three newspapers. The checkout assistant noticed the papers. Emil had the local paper delivered and did not normally buy the national ones. However, he had started doing so in the last few days. But then again, so had most people, she thought. Ida Joner’s disappearance affected everyone who came there to do their shopping. Everyone had their own views about what had happened, and the shop provided an opportunity to air them. She was keying in the prices when Emil remembered something impor tant. He shuffled back towards the shelves and returned with a bag of monkey nuts. The checkout assistant frowned at the sight of them, she could not imagine why anyone would want to buy peanuts which had not been shelled, roasted and salted. Emil always bought monkey nuts. He was particularly sullen today, she thought. He never spoke to her, but he normally allowed himself plenty of time, as though the business of shopping was an important 66
one, a ritual he enjoyed. This time he paid as fast as he could, his fingers trembling a little as he searched for change in his wallet. He stuffed his shopping into the old rucksack. Then he left without touching his cap as a goodbye. The door slammed behind him. She could see him through the window as he mounted his three-wheeler. How offhand he seemed today, she thought, and immediately wondered how she could think that, given that he had never exchanged a single word with her.
Emil started the engine. Once more he kept a steady pace and headed for the racecourse. As he approached Laila’s Kiosk he spotted a police car and a couple of officers. Emil tightened like a coil. Clenched the handlebars and stared deliberately right ahead of him. One of the officers looked up and noticed the strange vehicle. Emil had never had any contact with the police, but he had a profound respect for anyone who wore a uniform. Besides, the condition of his vehicle was such that he really ought to have it serviced, but his only income was his incapacity benefit and he could not afford it. He often thought that sooner or later someone would turn up with a pair of pliers and remove the
times, in her dreams. Then she
would wake up, drenched in sweat, terrified at the memory, at her self and her son. She was obsessed by the thought of what might happen if he were to become frightened again. Or if someone attacked him. At times her fear manifested itself as nagging.
‘Do you have to go around wearing that stupid old cap?’ she would say. ‘Surely you could get yourself a new one? It would look so much better. I know you think your three-wheeler is the bee’s knees, but you do realise that people stop and stare at you, don’t you? Most people make do with twowheeled motorbikes. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with your balance, either.’
She put on a martyred expression that was lost on her son. Afterwards she sank down in shame 65
because she had tormented him like this, but she just could not help herself.
Emil parked the three-wheeler outside The Joker and went in. For a while he padded around the shelves on his wide splayed feet. He wore thick boots whether it was summer or winter. They were so worn that he could stick his feet into them without untying the laces. He carried the red shopping basket on one arm; he never did enough shopping to get a trolley. Today he was buying coffee, milk and cream, a granary loaf and some soft cheese. When he got to the checkout he added three newspapers. The checkout assistant noticed the papers. Emil had the local paper delivered and did not normally buy the national ones. However, he had started doing so in the last few days. But then again, so had most people, she thought. Ida Joner’s disappearance affected everyone who came there to do their shopping. Everyone had their own views about what had happened, and the shop provided an opportunity to air them. She was keying in the prices when Emil remembered something impor tant. He shuffled back towards the shelves and returned with a bag of monkey nuts. The checkout assistant frowned at the sight of them, she could not imagine why anyone would want to buy peanuts which had not been shelled, roasted and salted. Emil always bought monkey nuts. He was particularly sullen today, she thought. He never spoke to her, but he normally allowed himself plenty of time, as though the business of shopping was an important 66
one, a ritual he enjoyed. This time he paid as fast as he could, his fingers trembling a little as he searched for change in his wallet. He stuffed his shopping into the old rucksack. Then he left without touching his cap as a goodbye. The door slammed behind him. She could see him through the window as he mounted his three-wheeler. How offhand he seemed today, she thought, and immediately wondered how she could think that, given that he had never exchanged a single word with her.
Emil started the engine. Once more he kept a steady pace and headed for the racecourse. As he approached Laila’s Kiosk he spotted a police car and a couple of officers. Emil tightened like a coil. Clenched the handlebars and stared deliberately right ahead of him. One of the officers looked up and noticed the strange vehicle. Emil had never had any contact with the police, but he had a profound respect for anyone who wore a uniform. Besides, the condition of his vehicle was such that he really ought to have it serviced, but his only income was his incapacity benefit and he could not afford it. He often thought that sooner or later someone would turn up with a pair of pliers and remove the
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