Bill and the UFO9

Bill made it to the safety of Dalmuir Café, which was the nerve centre of the park. Rab was already inside ordering a roll in sausage for him and Wendy. That meant he could ask for the key to use the Café toilet. Wendy had no such luck. She’d been turned down because she hadn’t bought anything. ‘But my brother bought me a roll in sausage.’ She was hopping about in front of the counter, her knickers riding up and clutching at her bum, like a pair of pliers.

‘Silvia, just give her the key,’ came a tired voice from behind the white tiled wall, where the smell of greasy food reached out like a handprint and slapped the kids, buzzing at each table on the kisser, and encouraging them to invest in good old fashioned stodge.

Silvia could see that Wendy was desperate. ‘How do I know he’s your brother?’ She leaned over the counter to get a good look at Rab.

Wendy shrugged, ‘because he is.’

Silvia shrugged again. She was good at shrugging and leaning on the counter and looking bored, as if life had passed her by and left nothing but a dead end job in some nowhere café. She figured it all out. It was like that new fangled jogging craze, only better, because she was standing getting paid for it. It was a good way of getting exercise. If smiling used up 33 muscles in your face, shrugging used about 220. ‘How do I know that your, so called brother, never ate the two rolls in sausage himself?’ She examined her pink nails. Red was tacky. Maybe good for wearing on a Friday night. Pink was sophisticated.

‘Because he bought two cups of tea.’ Wendy tried to stop her body from doing a little dance in front of the counter.

‘Ditto.’ Sylvia examined her ring finger. There was a definite split in that nail. She smiled briefly at Wendy for allowing her to use that word. It thrilled her, made her sound sophisticated as if she could speak Latin, or American, or Latin American.

‘Can I get a roll in sausage?’ Phil had been standing in front of the counter for about five minutes. Each minute a lesson in getting ignored. The first minute Slvia had looked at him. The second minute she’d looked away from him to somewhere in deep space. The third minute he’d become as part of the fixture and fitting of The Café as every second record on the jukebox which was, so obviously, ‘The House of the Rising Sun,’ that it only played half the record and jumped to the next number, 'A Lighter Shade of Pale; the click of the pool balls; and the beep-beep-‘Bastard’ of The Space Invaders Machine in the corner. The fourth minute he felt like he didn’t exist, only the jingle of coins in his pocket reminded him that he did.

‘Do you want onions with that?’ Sylvia raised an eyebrow.

‘No. I don’t like onions.’ Phil put the money on the counter.

‘He doesn’t like onions.’ Silvia turned to shout behind her.

‘I know. I can hear him,’ came the muffled reply and the sizzle of a spatula turning.

Wendy spoke out of the side of her mouth, tried to whisper. ‘Ask her for the toilet key.’

Silvia stopped buffing her nails, a collection of Parmesan cheese-like- cuticles were piled on the counter. She practised standing up straight and taking an interest in her customers, but it was too late for that. She slouched and bent, propping herself upright with an elbow on the counter.

Phil grinned. ‘Nah, I’ve already been. I’d a pee in the bushes.’

Wendy took a swipe at him, but it was only half hearted, she didn’t want to move too much and upset her stomach.

‘Why don’t you go do it in the bushes. It won’t do you any harm.’ Phil laughed and danced away from her.

‘A can of Coke and a packet of Wotsits.’ Phil said to Silvia, counting out his change.

‘I would.’ Wendy went back to whispering, and squirmed as she admitted in confidence, ‘but I need a number 2.’

Phil giggled, making ugh, ugh, noises with his cupped fingers up at his mouth and throat, and kidded on he was gagging. ‘You’ll need to use Dock leaves then.’

‘Give her the key,’ said the weary voice of the spatula.

Silvia smiled, using her full 33 muscles, as she handed the roll in sausage, can of Coke and Wotsits to Phil. ‘You want sauce.’ She nudged the grimy plastic brown and red bottles towards him like chess pawns.

Phil reached for the brown sauce.

‘That’s 2p.’ Silvia didn’t bother using her full 33 muscles.

‘That’s ok.’ Phil pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned.

‘Can I get a roll in sausage please?’ Wendy’s voice sounded dejected.

‘Roll in sausage please.’ Silvia chirruped.

‘I heard her,’ said spatula man.

‘Can I get the toilet key please?’

‘Would you like onions with that?’

‘No onions. The toilet key!’

‘No onions,’ said spatula man, before Silvia could place the order.

‘Would you like a beverage with that?’ Silvia beamed at Wendy, ‘tea, coffee, Coke, Irn Bru, Lemonade, Ginger Beer, Cheese and Onion crisps.’

‘Coke,’ said Wendy. ‘The toilet key? I’m goin’ to shit myself.’

Silvia turned back towards the till and picked up a key, in a plastic mug, with a large wooden float attached with toilet etched into it. She turned back towards Wendy and held it out.

Wendy snatched at the key, but Silvia pulled it back, laughing not caring how many muscles, or calories she was using. ‘That will be 43p. You need to pay for it first. I mean you might order a roll in sausage and not come back for it. Then what are we meant to do? You can’t reheat it-although sometimes you can.’

Wendy flung coins on the counter and, not even waiting for her change, made a run for the toilet. Todger jumped in front of her half way to the door, thinking it was a great new game.

‘No dogs allowed,’ shouted Silvia.

‘It’s alright, she’s just left.’ Bill hiccup laugh, brought Todger back to his side.

‘No dogs!’ Silvia was losing her knack.

‘He’s a guide dog. Can I get him something to eat?’

‘Roll in sausage?’ said Silvia.

‘Roll in sausage, coming up,’ said spatula man.

‘Make that two,’ Bill felt he had to stock up if he was going up into the mountains to find UFOs.