Ten Pins

The rain was just beginning to spatter as Jane burst through the staff entrance and arrived, panting, in the staff changing room.   “Shit!” she muttered to herself, seeing the room was completely empty.  Hastily, she pulled on her staff uniform and tidied her hair in the cracked mirror, then hurried out into the corridor and up the stairs, pinning her name badge above her left breast as she climbed.  “Jane Beechwood” it said, with no title, as befitting her lowly station in the organisation.  She paused at the top of the stairs to catch her breath before emerging into the public areas, knowing how the Duty Manager hated his staff to appear flustered.  Outwardly serene, she pushed open the door and stepped through the short lobby into the reception area.  As usual, the levels of noise hit her, momentarily deafening her until her brain adjusted and compensated.  Almost before she had got her bearings, the Duty Manager spotted her and waved her over impatiently.  She started to mumble her apology for lateness but he motioned her to silence.

“Never mind, these things happen,” he said, clearly indicating he had more on his mind than worrying about punctuality.  “Look, Benny has phoned in sick – can you go take over on shoes for the evening?”  Before she had a chance to protest, he waved her in the direction of the shoe counter and turned back to the Assistant Manager and, no doubt, more pressing business.   With a sigh, she walked over to the shoe counter and let herself in through the hatch.  She didn’t recognise the young man on duty, but then, with staff turnover and shift patterns the way they were, this was hardly surprising.  His badge proclaimed him to be Terry Bates and he looked to be about eighteen.  She didn’t have much chance to peruse him further before he grinned gratefully, handed the logbook to her and fled, wishing her luck.  Her nose wrinkled as she passed the large array of wooden cubbyholes, each containing either a pair of bowling shoes, each marked with a cubbyhole number and their size, or, an amazing variety of trainers, boots, high-heels, sneakers, and shiny shoes, all emitting various aromas.  Fortunately at least nobody seemed to have handed over any footwear bearing fresh dog-turd, as had happened the previous evening.  She had scarcely settled herself onto the tatty, rotating stool before somebody approached the counter, handing over a pair of Hush-Puppies that had clearly seen better days and demanding a pair of size nine and a half.  Her face clicked into the bright and totally insincere, to her mind anyway, smile demanded by company training, took the proffered shoes, and replaced them with the requested size of bowling shoe.

Taking advantage of a momentary lull, Jane looked at the logbook.  A few party bookings, including a raucous children’s party in full swing on lanes 29 and 30.  She glanced down the list:  eight lanes for a local division of Purnell Avionics, a large aerospace company which was one of the biggest employers in the area – such regular customers that, looking over, she recognised quite a few faces; four lanes for the local amateur dramatic and operatic society, four lanes for Wood Lane Sports and Social Club, an assortment of private bookings and a couple of lanes booked for the local team, no doubt in preparation for the regional heats the following day.  She tossed the book down on the counter as she caught the eye of one of the burger-bar staff and asked him to get her a cheeseburger and a large coke.  Eating on duty was officially forbidden, but nobody actually took any notice unless you got ketchup on the equipment.   There seemed to be a gap of about half an hour before any of the party bookings were due in, so she settled herself back in the chair and waited, eyelids half-closed, loosely watching for customers.

As usual, the rumble of the balls in the lanes, the ringing sound of the pins being knocked over and the ever-present background of popular chart music lulled her into a melancholy semi-daydream.  “Here I am,” she thought, “One time Assistant Marketing Manager with TCH Finance, reduced to handing out blue and red shoes to assorted would-be bowlers.”  She wondered what life would have been like had she not met up with Alan, wondering how her career might have turned out without the jealousy, suspicion and eventually, physical abuse.  She was indulging in a pleasant fantasy about presenting a revolutionary marketing strategy to the corporate board when a slight cough interrupted her thoughts.  She was surprised to see a bearded man the other side of the counter, maybe a few years older than herself, but even more surprised to see a large Alsatian dog by his side.  Her mouth slipped into automatic mode, as it often did when surprised from her daydreams.  “Sorry sir, no dogs allowed in here, except for guide-dogs.”  Even as she spoke, she found herself wondering, as she had during training, at the concept of a blind bowler.  She realised the man was looking at her blankly.

“I beg your pardon?” He said, looking slightly confused, but at the same time, glancing downwards to his side.  Jane recovered herself, blinked and looked again.  There was no dog by his side, just an assorted bunch of people grinning in amusement, some of whom were teasing a rather plain woman standing behind him.  She managed an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, I was miles away.  What size did you want?” She asked.  He handed her some Hi-Tech Silver Shadows.

“Size eight please.”  He seemed to be watching her with a slightly curious expression.  Behind him, his companions were making off-colour jokes to the plain woman about no dogs being allowed.  Jane found herself blushing as she took the trainers and handed over the bowling shoes.  It was almost as though he was trying to read her mind.  He managed a slightly distorted grin before being dragged off by his friends.

“Come on Martin,” they were saying, “Quit trying to chat up the staff… she’s probably not your type anyway…” They faded off towards the bowling lanes.  Jane managed to maintain the smile as she served the rest of his companions, ignoring the assorted “woof-woof” jibes.  She settled back in her chair, trying to resist the old, familiar resentment creeping over her.

“Not your type indeed,” she thought to herself.  What did they know?  She knew what they were thinking, how they had categorised her without knowing anything.   Sad person with 2 O-Levels and no imagination, bored housewife needing to supplement the family income.  “Steady Jane,” she told herself, “It’s not their fault.”  She had to admit that she looked the part.  The three years with Alan had been largely responsible for her somewhat haggard look and deferent manner.  Even now, after three years of therapy and drugs, she had still not recovered the self-confidence and bouncy nature she had possessed when she graduated with a 2:1 in Business Studies.  A nature that had taken her from graduate trainee through to Assistant Manager in just two years.  She had to admit that Alan had been part of that success, forever pushing her.  It was only after her second promotion that things had started to go wrong.  With the promotion had come increased responsibility and the need to be away from home on business trips.   The more frequent the trips, the more Alan’s jealousy had grown, the more bizarre the accusations had become.

The arrival of further customers interrupted her thoughts.  She sighed and got up from the chair to deal with further parties arriving, smiling the smile, saying the polite words that had been ground into her during the training sessions.  Some were polite, most were indifferent, a few almost seemed to take a genuine interest, or at least, feigned it well.  She was used to this, but wondered why she seemed more affected by it tonight.  She had taken her normal dose of drugs in the morning, and wasn’t due to take any more before the end of the shift.  Maybe it was just the weather.  She sat down again and watched the various games going on.  Over in the lanes reserved for Purnell, she observed the interactions going on.  “Salesmen,” she thought, wondering why; something about the posturing and the cut of their suits maybe.  She watched further, letting her intuition guide her.  There were two groups she decided, the salesmen and some others, slightly less comfortable in their suits, less loud.  She figured them for being technical support types.  There were plenty of women in the group and she watched, trying to work out the obvious relationships and who was screwing whom illicitly.  She derived a certain satisfaction as body language, or more obvious displays of affection confirmed her suspicions.  Then, as ever, the depression kicked in.  She remembered Alan’s so-called displays of affection, grasping and twisting her hair, demanding a minute by minute account of her trips away, determined to find even the smallest shred of evidence that she might have had anything other than business relationships with her colleagues.  She remembered the tortured mornings, his pathetic explanations and excuses of how it was only because he loved her, of how he as afraid for her wellbeing while she was away.   She even remembered the times she had almost been tempted, after all, she was attractive, and some colleagues had hinted at wanting to take things beyond the professional, but she has always resisted.  “Geez Jane, what’s gotten into you this evening?” she asked herself, wondering if she should maybe take half of her evening dosage early.  She glanced at the bottle of pills with a certain distaste.  She had come to an acceptance that they were a permanent part of her life now, and could even be slightly pleased that she was now on half the dosage compared to when she had finally admitted she had a problem and consulted her doctor.  She shook her head and put the bottle away in her handbag.

“Come on Jane, wakey wakey!”  Jane looked up at the girl who was addressing her.  It was Tessa, a homely but pleasant looking girl who was some ten years her junior. In some ways, Jane envied her.  Despite her youth, she had two children and happily supplemented the family income from her husband’s young, but expanding landscape gardening business by working as many shifts as she could manage.  “Go get yourself a coffee, you look like you could use it.”  Jane relinquished the chair with a smile.  That was what she liked about Tessa; she always seemed happy and content in a way that rubbed off on you, no matter what your mood.  As she wandered past the lanes towards the staff areas, she glanced at the man with the dog – Martin, she remembered the others calling him – and saw he was watching her. He smiled when he realised she was looking at him and almost imperceptibly beckoned her over.  Before she could change step though, another girl, who was also going on break, took her arm and started asking if she could swap shifts, while steering her towards the staff-room.

Twenty minutes later, Jane returned, refreshed, from her break in the staff rest room.  There had been the usual discussion of the previous night’s television and a couple of the younger girls had confided in her about their boyfriend troubles.  Somehow this was something she found curiously comforting.  For all her own troubles, she had found that she seemed to have a knack of seeing what the real problem was, and advising the girls accordingly.  She did allow herself a rueful grin as she wandered back to her post. “Blimey, thirty years old, and already I’m the local agony aunt,” she thought.  She returned to her post, relieving Tessa with a much happier smile.  She sat down again, feeling more at peace with the world, and managing the smile the smile with more feeling.  She even managed to be cheerful enough to laugh with the assorted jokes that she got as the operatic society reclaimed their belongings.  She had watched them for a while earlier, trying to guess which ones were going to be the luvvies, and was gratified when her guesses turned out to be correct.

For a while, she watched the party with the man, Martin, observing how he interacted with the others.   ‘There’s somebody I can relate to.’ she thought, watching him. She could see echoes of herself there.  For all the relaxed, sociable atmosphere, she was pretty sure that he still felt out of place. “Somebody who wants to fit in, but somehow can’t quite manage it,” she thought.  He seemed especially shy when the female members of his team hugged him at moments of excitement or triumph during their game. She could not quite read the score-screens from where she sat, but she could see that he was a better than average player, who could probably be at least local league material if he practised.  From the occasional cry of ‘Walkies!’ she could overhear, she guessed the invisible dog had become the joke of the evening.  For a moment, she could almost see him, striding through a hilly woodland, the dog padding along in front of him, much more at ease in the countryside…

“Excuse me, can we have our shoes back?”  Jane looked up at the matronly figure looming over the desk, handing her a pair of size six shoes with the number 617 written on the sole.  She got up and retrieved, with very little surprise, a pair of very sensible, flat-soled shoes in pale brown.  Behind her, an assortment of ten to twelve year olds were gathered, clutching their shoes, balloons and party gift packs.  Jane blinked and steeled herself for the onslaught of kids reclaiming their footwear.  She was slightly surprised to find the marketing part of her noting the trends in styles of footwear, noting the slight bias towards brand names endorsed by the latest teen-band sensations.  “Maybe I should have worn different sneakers.”  She thought to herself, remembering how she had always resisted the latest fashion trends for herself.  For a Marketing Assistant, she had always been remarkably immune to the blandishments of the advertising business.  “So how the hell did I get on so well?” She wondered.  This line of thought kept her pleasantly occupied for the remainder of the evening.  She even endured the expected flirting from the Purnell sales force, smiling and promising to remember the phone numbers they were telling her, with only a slight grimace.

She looked up to see that the hospital party were ready to claim their shoes.  Somewhere in the middle was the bearded man.  She grinned apologetically at him as she retrieved his shoes.  “Sorry about earlier,” she said, “I must have been daydreaming.  I could have sworn you had an Alsatian dog with you.”  He raised a curious eyebrow at her, seemed to think for a moment and then appeared to reach a slightly surprised decision.

“She’s a Grey Wolf actually.  I’m surprised you noticed her.”  She looked at him, expecting to see that he was joking.  He appeared not to be.  She cleared her throat nervously.

“Grey Wolf?  I suppose it could have been.  But how did you…”  She broke off as she became aware of the ribald comments being directed at him.

“Come on Martin, just give her your phone number and get on with it,” one of them yelled.  Others, who had already retrieved their shoes, were starting to drag him away from the counter.  The general consensus appeared to be that they could get a couple of pints in at the Fox and Hounds if they hurried.  He flashed her an apologetic smile before being lost in the crowd and for a brief moment, she was sure she saw whiskers.

The next day, Jane awoke late, feeling slightly out of place.  The last image that was fading as she came to consciousness was of a large grey wolf standing on a rock.   She shook herself as she recalled the previous evening.  “OK Jane, admit it; you’re cracking up again.”  She grinned at herself in the bathroom mirror.  She showered, dried her hair and got herself dressed for the day.  She was due to meet a friend for lunch at twelve, so she allowed herself a leisurely second cup of coffee and a good read of the morning paper.  Despite this, she could not rid herself of the memories of the night before.  “Oh well, there’s only one way to find out,” she said to herself.  He had been on lane 24, so he must have been with the Wood Lane party.  She hunted under the coffee table for the local telephone directory and looked under the W’s.  The only entry that looked as though it might have a social club was the Wood Lane Hospital.  Now she understood why they had reminded her of medical students the night before.  She recalled the place as a large, Victorian monstrosity set in some nice parkland.   “Well at least I didn’t end up in there.”  She said to herself, remembering that it was the local mental hospital.  “Yet,” she added.  Still, she had to find out.  She picked up the phone and dialled.  ‘Hello, is that Wood Lane?’ She asked.  A somewhat gruff voice answered in the affirmative.  “This is Jane Beechwood from the Plaza Bowl.  I understand you had a party here last night.”  This just received a grunt, which could have been agreement.  “Only there was a guy, about five foot nine, light brown hair and beard, I think his name was Martin.  He left something behind.  I wonder if you could get him to call me.”  She listened to the voice at the other end.  At least there did appear to be somebody meeting the description she had given.  She listened again and then, without really knowing why, gave her home phone number.  Well, he might call when she was off shift.  She downed the last of her coffee as she looked up at the kitchen clock.  Plenty of time to do some shopping before lunch.  She retrieved her coat from the hook behind the door and left, pausing momentarily to stare at the phone for a few minutes.  “I wonder…” she thought, as she pulled the door closed behind her and strolled down the path towards her car.

© 1998 Ian Walden