‘Cheers.’
‘Over there,’ Miri says, pointing to a glass-fronted store. Throws and furniture arranged artfully in the window. He spots another white, shabby-chic chest in the corner.
They go inside to see a man at the counter working the cash register with a big notepad open next to it.
‘Closed,’ he says, glancing up. ‘Open in the morning.’
‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Ben says politely. The man stares at him. ‘We’re looking for a girl. She might have bought a chest here, the same kind you have in the window.’
‘British girl. Dark hair. Sure.’
‘Yes, that’s her. Er, how long ago did she buy it?’
‘Why? She not get home?’
‘Not yet,’ Ben says, showing a worried look.
‘Saw her down at McDonald’s talking to a kid who works there. Black kid. Derek, I think. Nice kid. Joining the Marines.’
‘McDonald’s?’ Ben asks.
‘Sure,’ the man says. ‘Hope you find her.’
‘Thanks.’
Back out and down to see the kids laughing and throwing fries at each other, while the Indian woman tries not to notice as she mops. She looks exhausted. Bags under her eyes. Sadness in her features.
‘Hi,’ Ben says, drawing her attention. ‘Does Derek work here?’
The woman looks at him, then at Miri. She doesn’t smile or show any expression. Fries land next to Miri’s feet. The Indian woman looks down at them.
‘We’re looking for a girl, my sister,’ Ben says. ‘British girl, black hair, curvy . . .’
More fries land. Cackles of laughter. Slurps of beverages that spill from cups on to the floor the woman just mopped.
‘Help you?’ a man asks, walking out from behind the counter.
‘Yes, hi,’ Ben says. ‘We’re looking for Derek.’
‘Who are you?’ the man asks, his face flushed from cleaning down the surfaces. His tie tucked in between the buttons on his McDonald’s shirt. ‘Cops?’
‘Family,’ Ben says. ‘Looking for my sister. British girl, dark hair, curvy.’
The man shrugs. ‘Can’t help you.’
More fries land. More drinks spilled. The Indian woman mops the floor.
‘Sorry, mate,’ Ben says, smiling at the manager. ‘My sister isn’t from here. Someone saw her talking to Derek. Is he here?’
‘Don’t give out company information,’ the man says, scowling at the Indian woman, then over at the kids.
‘I’m not asking for company information. I’m asking if you saw her, and if Derek is here so I can ask him.’
‘Derek left three hours ago,’ the man says quietly. ‘Gunjeep, clear that fucking mess up,’ he barks at the woman, pointing at the mess.
‘Maybe you should tell those kids to stop throwing it on the floor,’ Ben says.
‘Maybe you should leave before I call the cops,’ the man retorts. ‘Gunjeep! Clear that fucking mess up. Bitch is deaf . . .’
‘Ben!’
‘Listen to me, you fucking twat,’ Ben says, bending the manager backwards over the counter. ‘That was rude, very rude . . . I fucking hate rude people . . .’
‘She is deaf! Gunjeep is deaf, man! She can’t hear anything.’
‘What?’
‘She’s deaf! She’s deaf. She can’t hear. She got the job through a programme. Learning difficulties, man . . .’
‘Oh,’ Ben says, still holding the man over the counter. ‘Right, well . . . still shouldn’t call her a bitch,’ he adds stiffly, slowly releasing the manager.
‘Long day, man,’ the manager says weakly, clearly terrified. ‘Other manager sick . . . I been here since seven this morning.’
‘I see,’ Ben says, nodding. ‘Er, so . . . Derek finished work, did he?’
The manager nods. ‘About three hours ago. He’s a good kid. Joining the Marines. Probably in the bar having a beer.’
‘Bar,’ Ben says politely. ‘Right, and where is that?’
‘By the parking lot, man. You didn’t need to grab me up, dude.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Thank you, and sorry for, er . . . you know . . .’
‘Whatever, man,’ the manager says.
Ben smiles at him, then smiles at Gunjeep staring dully. ‘Thanks.’
‘She’s deaf, man. I just said that.’
‘She might lip-read.’
‘She doesn’t lip-read, man. She’s Indian.’
‘Right, well, we’re going now. And you kids, just stop throwing chips about. Messy shits. Mall closes at ten-thirty.’
‘Smooth, Mr Ryder.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You go now. Close now. You go.’
‘Yes, alright!’ Ben says to the worried security guard. ‘What about those kids? You kicking them out?’
‘Ben,’ Miri says quietly.
The security guard stares back.
‘In McDonald’s, throwing chips about.’
‘Fries,’ Miri says.
‘Throwing fries about,’ Ben says.
‘Owner’s kids,’ the security guard says. ‘You go. Close now.’
‘Right,’ Ben says. ‘Thanks,’ he adds brightly.
‘Smooth, Mr Ryder.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Think before you speak. Look before you speak. Process the world around you. Your communication skills are exceptional, so try engaging your brain at the same time.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t let Safa rub off on you. You are not Safa.’
‘Okay, sorry, Miri.’
‘Safa would have made him answer, but that’s because she is Safa. You are not her. You have other skills.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. Learn. Be better.’
‘Yes, Miri.’
‘Aggression is a tactic to be used when necessary.’
‘Yes, Miri.’
‘Intelligence is the tool we use all the time.’
‘Okay, sorry, Miri.’
‘When you and Safa have sex, do not let it impact on the dynamics. Safa will be fine, but make sure it does not affect your abilities.’
Ben stops and stares at her as they head to the car park. ‘Sex?’
‘Yes, sex.’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘Sure. In the meantime, try masturbation. Release the tension.’
‘Miri!’
‘You get anything?’ Safa calls out as they near the van.
‘Kid works in McDonald’s,’ Miri says. ‘Derek. Might be in a bar here.’
‘Bar there,’ Emily says, pointing across the car park to bright lights over a door marked Bar.
The five set off towards it. Ben mutters and shoots glances at Miri. Miri ignores him.
‘Everything okay?’ Emily asks.
‘Fine,’ Ben says.
‘I suggested Mr Ryder try ma . . .’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Ben cuts in.
‘Try what?’ Safa asks.
‘Nothing,’ Ben says.
‘No, what?’ Safa asks.
‘Tell you later,’ Ben says, buying time.
‘No, now,’ Safa says, not wishing to sell time right now.
‘Looks like a nice place,’ Ben says, looking ahead to the bar.
‘What should Ben try?’ Safa asks, looking at Miri.
‘Can we just drop it?’
‘Masturbation.’
‘Miri!’ Ben says.
‘What, wanking?’ Safa asks.
‘Oh my god,’ Ben groans.
‘Yes,’ Miri says.
‘Oh,’ Safa says. ‘Why does Ben need a wank?’
‘Can we please fucking drop it?’
‘Tension,’ Miri says.
‘You tense then?’ Safa asks him.
‘I fucking am now,’ Ben mutters.
‘Have a wank then,’ Safa says.
‘Jesus,’ Ben says.
‘You should,’ Emily says, nodding at him seriously.
‘What!? No!’
‘Helps,’ Emily says.
‘I’m not tense,’ Ben says.
‘You sound tense,’ Emily says.
‘Have a wank,’ Safa says.
‘Ask Safa to walk past you a bit more in underwear.’