The next day at the school was an abosloute breeze. I had P.E. all day and spent my time supervising kids into groups and then sitting bored on the sidelines as they played football. I’ve heard all kinds of creative defenses over the years. But say what you like P.E. teachers, your subjects a bludge!
I’ve said that I resent having other people in my space in a share house and I think its even worse when they break their routines. Ben didn’t normally get in until about seven at night so it was a bit of a pain in the arse that, now that he was injured, he was home at the same time I was. He was on the laptop too when I got in which meant that I had to wait before I cold use it. He’s got a fucking computer in his room, I always thought when he used the laptop, why doesn’t he fucking use that?
“Been doing a bit of writing lately?” Ben said quietly as I slouched on the couch.
I froze. Oh my god! What had he read? My mind raced. I hadn’t written anything since that first thing that I sent to Delaney publishing and I was sure that I’d deleated all that.”
“Uh..Yeh.. uh not really, why?”
“Oh no reason.” He said.
There was a pause. I looked at him, anxiously trying to gauge what was going on. Did he look offended? He would surely be if he had read the start of my book. He was looking intently at something on the screen which I couldn’t see from over at the couch.
I stood and walked into the kitchen where I might be able to get a vantage point, pooring myself a glass of water as a pretext.
Did he click off something just as I came within view?
“No really, why do you ask?
“Oh Emma mentioned you were writing about your travels. I spent a fair bit of time around Vietnam and Thaialnd a few years back. I’d love to read some of it sometime.”
“Thanks” I said. “Sure, I havn’t really done much though really.” I continued nervously repeating my adverbs.
His voice though didn’t sound interested. The screen was clicked back to the home page and he was shutting it down.
“Had any joy with the insurance companies?” I asked.
“Don’t ask. ” He said, immediately contradicting his lack of interest in providing an explenation by communicating, in heated monologue, that the company were bastards, that the insurance people were the same, that they all thought that he was crazy, that he wasn’t in fact crazy, that he would receive full compensation but that he was required to visit a therapist as a condition of his continued employment. Most unjust of all was that it had been determined that therapist he was required to visit was in Herne Hill. He, an injured motorcycle rider, with a damaged motorcycle, was expected to travel across London to receive councelling about his issues related to his employment. Which was riding a motorcycle around London.
“Bloody N.H.S.” I said.
