Sheep at his feet

Michael was already on his second bowl of Rice Krispies, leafing through the morning paper by the time that Linda came down for breakfast, dressed in her new red suit, a strong smell of perfume trailing in her wake as she headed towards the cupboard. He didn’t much like the way the perfume suddenly dominated the air. He pushed away the half-finished bowl of cereal and picked up his mug of tea, took a slurp.

‘Sleep well.’ asked Linda, shaking cornflakes in a bowl.

‘Not particularly,’ he replied, his mind groping around trying to remember that horrifying nightmare that had slid back into the abyss.

‘Another horrible dream?’

Michael nodded. Linda tutted, moving over to the fridge for milk.

‘You should go and see the doctor, he’ll probably be able to give you something for that.’ She sat down at the end of the table and poured the milk over the cornflakes. Michael shrugged.

‘Do you want me to book you an appointment?’

‘If you want?’

Linda stared at him, mouth half open to receive the cornflakes, the spoon falling back to the bowl still loaded.

‘Michael, stop saying if you want. I ask you something and you invariably reply, if you want. It’s not me having the nightmares is it. You’re taking too much lying down Michael, it’s pathetic.’

Linda shook her head wearily and dug into her cornflakes. Michael watched drops of milk escaping from the corner of her mouth. She was right, He was pathetic. But he couldn’t help it, something inside him was dead and he knew it. He drank the rest of his tea quickly and then excused himself from the table. He showered, dressed, shuffled a few papers around in his briefcase and then went back downstairs. Linda was making coffee, asked if he’d like one. He said that he would, sat back down at the table.

‘By the way, I’ve invited Sheila and Derek over for a few drinks tonight, is that ok?’

Michael shrugged, he didn’t care either way. Sheila and Derek were nice people although he didn’t much feel like socialising.

‘I’m going to do a lamb curry, do you think you could pick some meat up? I’ll sort out the drinks.’

‘Yes.’

‘And what game would you like to play. I don’t want to play Scrabble, not after last time. I was thinking maybe trivial pursuits or monopoly?’

‘I don’t like monopoly. By the end of the game I just want to stab everybody.’

‘Well, we wont be playing that then,’ she said sarcastically.

Michael felt confused, was he missing something, a birthday or an anniversary? What were they celebrating? What was there to celebrate? Michael picked up the paper. He’d upset Linda now, he could tell by the way she was throwing things into the sink. He put the paper back down and sighed.

‘Shall I pick up a pudding, a Pavlova or something?’

‘If you want.’

He watched her at the sink. She looked nice in her dress, why didn’t he just go over there now and put his arms around her and give her a kiss? She’d like that. But he didn’t. He just sat  there staring at her.

‘What you up to today Michael?’ By the tone of her voice, Michael knew she wasn’t particularly interested. He picked up the paper and began to turn the pages.

”Meetings with supermarkets. Samples of new products.’

‘You didn’t say you had new product.’

‘I forgot to mention it,’ replied Michael rather vacantly as he studied the obituaries.

‘What are they.?

‘Oh the usual crap.’

Linda shook her head, pushing away her blonde fringe out of her eyes.

‘Any luck with the new car?’

‘What new car?’

‘The one Tony Bannister promised you.’

‘Tony Bannister is a prick. I’m not asking that self depreciating tosspot for anything.’

What’s wrong with a little self depreciation.?’

Michael Folded the paper and slapped it down on the table.

‘Nothing if it’s genuine. But Tony Bannister just uses it to hide his horribly monstrous ego.’

Linda set the coffee down on the table and lit a menthol cigarette.

‘Well if that’s what you think of  Tony Bannister, not much point you working there, it hardly bears well for promotion.

Michael pulled a face, sour and twisted. ‘That’s the thing you see love, there is no promotion, I’m at the absolute top, as far as I can go.

‘What happened to middle management?’

Michael groaned.

‘Look Linda, at Bannister’s Biscuits, you’ve got to be one of two things, attractive or play golf. And that seems to be all that matters to Tony. Can I fuck them and can I beat them at golf. That’s it.’

‘Well have you ever tried golf?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

He looked at her slyly and wondered. Wondered if she knew how hard he had tried to play golf, the 400 pound set of clubs in the boot of his car, the long winter nights on the driving range, driven by an urgency to be accepted as one of them, to be considered ‘a player’ a gentleman of the club, an  invitation only to one of Tony Bannister’s golfing weekends in Spain, to be part of all those saucy tales that reverberated through the office and maybe even get promoted. But could he play? Could he fuckers like. Tiger Woods? More like fucking tiger rug.

‘I don’t really think it’s me to be honest Linda.’

‘Well, have you given much thought to another job?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘Well maybe you should.’

‘I’m past caring at the moment.’

Linda cast her eyes down to the ashtray and ground her fag into it.

‘Sometimes Michael, you’re impossible to talk to. I get really bored of suggesting things to you only for you to dismiss them out of hand………i don’t know anymore, you’re just wearing me down.’

She got up and went over to the fridge, poured herself some juice and drained the glass. Michael watched her, twenty four years he’d been married, twenty of them spent at Bannister’s biscuits, how excited she used to be when he’d brought home boxes of free biscuits, chocolate dipped crumbles and neon wafers, dunked in tea by the open fire, now it was all black forest gateau and raspberry Pavlova, the open fire had been replaced by a sterile fake and boxes of biscuits sat at the top of the cellar head going soft. This wasn’t how he imagined things would turn out.

He pushed himself up from his chair and went upstairs and stood in the long mirror in the bedroom, fiddled with his tie at the neck as he tried to fathom what to do about the sour dispirited look in his eyes. What did he know about anything but biscuits? He’d often joked that he was institutionalised, that he couldn’t do anything else but work in biscuits. There was nothing else for it but to have a long hard think about something new. He just couldn’t go on. He went back downstairs.

At the kitchen worktop he began to prepare his packed lunch when he felt Linda’s arms fold around his waist, her lips nuzzling his neck.

‘I’m sorry for going on at you Michael, I just want you to be happy, you know that don’t you?’ He nodded staring down at the two slices of buttered bread.

‘I only go on at you because I know you’re not happy and I’m trying to help, you know that don’t you?’ Michael stared down at the two slices of buttered bread.

‘And you know what ever you decide to do then I’ll always be here for you.’ He stared at the buttered bread. She squeezed him and kissed him on the back of the head. Asked him if he wanted  her to finish doing his pack up. He said that it was okay. He would finish it.

Ten minutes later he was at the door kissing Linda goodbye. It was a peck, high on the cheek. Moments later he was in the traffic, barely moving and sucking on his first depressing fag of the day, Wogan on the radio blathering on about the joys of spring. He puffed mournfully on the cigarette and wondered was it really spring, how could you tell amongst all this concrete and metal,   and the odd long suffering tree wizened by the fumes. This wasn’t spring. This was just another day that had started like the one before it, depressed and full of dread. Days shouldn’t start like that, they should start with ideas, new ideas that unfurl and form in the sun, give hope and progression to the next day and so on. Not like now. Seen that. Done that. Don’t believe that. He’s a cunt. She’s a bitch. A brain like setting concrete and just problems, problems, problems.

With his boot full of Chocky Drops biscuits and Raspberry Rollers, Michael decided that he wasn’t going to go to work again today. It would be his second day off and it was only Wednesday. You could say that he had tried to get himself in the right frame of mind but it hadn’t worked, it was fucked and he would no doubt get the sack as soon as Bannister found out that he’d not had the meeting with the supermarket buyers. He could picture Tony when he found out that Michael had fucked up, furiously dunking his cookies into his golf shaped mug, soggy crumbs spluttering from his lips. Oh well.

Within a few minutes he had turned his car around and was heading in the direction of the countryside, out into the peaks and already he felt much better, within twenty minutes he had pulled the car up on a grass verge and cut the engine. There was no one around, just sheep and early morning mist. He got out of the car and stood there blinking in the sunshine. It was glorious. He moved towards the stile and was halfway over when he remembered that he should get his overcoat from the boot. He went back to the car and opened the boot, pulled his coat out and for a moment stood staring at the biscuits, he picked up a couple of boxes and then headed off over the stile and up the hill. It was a bit of a climb but it felt exhilarating to be out of breath, it made him realise that he rarely seemed to be out of breath these days. Sweat collected on his top lip as he strode on and upwards, a certain joy filling his heart as he walked. Upon reaching the top of the hill, he put down the biscuits and flung down his overcoat, stood there admiring the view, Mam Tor in the distance, trees, sheep, nothing much moving yet very much alive. Easing himself down on his jacket, he flipped a fag into his mouth and after one drag, drove it into the grass, it wasn’t right. Instead he opened his mouth and took in huge gulps of air, allowed it to percolate around his lungs before exhaling. He closed his eyes.

He must have fallen into some kind of trance because when he opened his eyes the sun was quite a bit higher in the sky and the mist had dissipated, and he was surrounded by sheep, intently staring at him as if he’d just dropped in from outer space. He looked at them, suddenly filled with an urge to be able to talk to them. He’d ask them how they found it up here, all day just nibbling grass. He was sure that for all the temptations and curiosities of human life, he was surely more unsatisfied than they. Gleefully, he pulled up a box of Raspberry rollers and ripped it open, started flinging them about the sheep. They looked at them, sniffing cautiously before starting to nibble. Michael ripped open the Choky Drops and did the same with those, they really seemed to like them, wolfing them down, one after the other. He watched them and thought of the taste testing he was supposed to be doing with the supermarket people, the way they would take a polite nibble off the corner of the biscuit before placing it back down on the small white china plate, teeth invisible. The inevitable discussion that would follow about what, exactly, was new about this particular product, haven’t we seen this kind of thing before? Haven’t Mcvities got this kind of thing covered, what’s the angle, the dangle, the wangle?

Michael pushed his hands flat behind him and eased back on his haunches. Looked up at the sun being chased by the only cloud in the sky. Sheep at his feet. He smiled and suddenly remembered  that stick of lipstick that he’d nicked out of Linda’s make up bag. He’d taken it in a moment of fury, intending to write DICK across the windshield of Tony Bannister’s Ferrari. He uncapped the silver  stick and began wiping it around his lips until it was quite blunt. He suddenly felt quite Messianic.