nothing came out. Nothing. And he stayed like that, speechless, as the motor was dropped into the big machine that squashed his vehicle and girlfriend into a one-metre cube of metal, plastic and sludge.
âClaire! Oh my God, Claire!â he shouted, finally finding his voice. The guy in the hard hat ran from the crane; he didnât know what the fuck was going on, but he soon worked it out. Him and Marty ran over to the bleeding block of steel.
âClaire,â said Marty quietly. He didnât know what to do. What was he to do now?
He turned to the guy in the hard hat, slowly.
And smiled.
The hard-hat guy started getting worried. Very worried.
But it was all right!
Because what the crane guy didnât know was there was this programme called
Jinxed
. It was a hidden-camera show, a bit like
Candid Camera
or
Beadleâs About
or
Punkâd
. Theyâd do a big practical joke, then the film crew would appear at the end, along with the presenter whoâd say, âYouâve been jinxed!â
Claire and Marty had watched it the other night. It was another one that Marty didnât quite get. He just wasnât sure about one or two things. Pretty fundamental things, as it turned out. He was going to ask Claire at the time, but he didnât want her to take the piss again. Anyway, he reckoned he got the gist of it and how it all worked.
The guy in the hard hat ran away to phone an ambulance. And the police. Marty glanced around for the film crew. They were nowhere to be seen.
âYouâve been jinxed!â shouted Marty.
But still no film crew appeared. And where was Claire? He hoped this didnât take too long. They were supposed to be going for a meal.
Daft Marty.
The amount of shite that went over his head.
It was hysterical.
STEVIE
Iâm in a shop. An electrical shop. The kind that sells tellies and cameras and things for your computer, that kind of place. And Iâm at the counter being served. I wonât bother telling you what Iâm buying, you wouldnât be interested. Iâm not even interested. You buy stuff, hoping itâll make you happier, but it never really does. Well, it does a wee bit, but not as much as you were hoping for.
Anyway, I get served by the guy. Looks about twenty-eight. And his wee name badge tells me his name is Stevie.
âAll right? Let me take that for you, mate,â says Stevie, and gives me a smile and a wink.
That did something, that. What he did there, that smile and a wink. I donât know what it was exactly, but that did something. It wasnât a big, giant smile. It wasnât a big fake Disneyland smile where weâre all pretending weâve worked everything out and nobody dies any more. It was just a wee smile, that kind of smile where you keep your mouth shut and tense up your cheeks. Friendly, but considerate. Considerate of my feelings. He thought Iâd maybe want a smile, but he was considerate enough to not ram his joy down my throat with a cheesy Cheshire-Cat grin.
Then there was the wink. In case the smile seemed too reserved, the wink made up for it. But it wasnât too bold. It wasnât the kind of wink that puts you on the spot. Sometimes a wink can do that, it can make your brain freeze, you donât know what to do. But it was just a quick wink. Then he looked down to the counter, thatâs the important thing. Immediately after winking he looked down to the counter, right away. He didnât stay looking at me waiting for a reply wink or to see what I thought. He just gave me it. He gave me that wink with no expectation of anything in return, like a gift. Then he looked down.
And he called me âmateâ. He could have called me âsirâ. Some people like being called âsirâ or âmadamâ, it makes them feel like theyâre being treated with respect, like theyâre a member of the royal family coming to look at a factory or launch a ship.
âClaire! Oh my God, Claire!â he shouted, finally finding his voice. The guy in the hard hat ran from the crane; he didnât know what the fuck was going on, but he soon worked it out. Him and Marty ran over to the bleeding block of steel.
âClaire,â said Marty quietly. He didnât know what to do. What was he to do now?
He turned to the guy in the hard hat, slowly.
And smiled.
The hard-hat guy started getting worried. Very worried.
But it was all right!
Because what the crane guy didnât know was there was this programme called
Jinxed
. It was a hidden-camera show, a bit like
Candid Camera
or
Beadleâs About
or
Punkâd
. Theyâd do a big practical joke, then the film crew would appear at the end, along with the presenter whoâd say, âYouâve been jinxed!â
Claire and Marty had watched it the other night. It was another one that Marty didnât quite get. He just wasnât sure about one or two things. Pretty fundamental things, as it turned out. He was going to ask Claire at the time, but he didnât want her to take the piss again. Anyway, he reckoned he got the gist of it and how it all worked.
The guy in the hard hat ran away to phone an ambulance. And the police. Marty glanced around for the film crew. They were nowhere to be seen.
âYouâve been jinxed!â shouted Marty.
But still no film crew appeared. And where was Claire? He hoped this didnât take too long. They were supposed to be going for a meal.
Daft Marty.
The amount of shite that went over his head.
It was hysterical.
STEVIE
Iâm in a shop. An electrical shop. The kind that sells tellies and cameras and things for your computer, that kind of place. And Iâm at the counter being served. I wonât bother telling you what Iâm buying, you wouldnât be interested. Iâm not even interested. You buy stuff, hoping itâll make you happier, but it never really does. Well, it does a wee bit, but not as much as you were hoping for.
Anyway, I get served by the guy. Looks about twenty-eight. And his wee name badge tells me his name is Stevie.
âAll right? Let me take that for you, mate,â says Stevie, and gives me a smile and a wink.
That did something, that. What he did there, that smile and a wink. I donât know what it was exactly, but that did something. It wasnât a big, giant smile. It wasnât a big fake Disneyland smile where weâre all pretending weâve worked everything out and nobody dies any more. It was just a wee smile, that kind of smile where you keep your mouth shut and tense up your cheeks. Friendly, but considerate. Considerate of my feelings. He thought Iâd maybe want a smile, but he was considerate enough to not ram his joy down my throat with a cheesy Cheshire-Cat grin.
Then there was the wink. In case the smile seemed too reserved, the wink made up for it. But it wasnât too bold. It wasnât the kind of wink that puts you on the spot. Sometimes a wink can do that, it can make your brain freeze, you donât know what to do. But it was just a quick wink. Then he looked down to the counter, thatâs the important thing. Immediately after winking he looked down to the counter, right away. He didnât stay looking at me waiting for a reply wink or to see what I thought. He just gave me it. He gave me that wink with no expectation of anything in return, like a gift. Then he looked down.
And he called me âmateâ. He could have called me âsirâ. Some people like being called âsirâ or âmadamâ, it makes them feel like theyâre being treated with respect, like theyâre a member of the royal family coming to look at a factory or launch a ship.
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