Pecking Order (12 page)

'That's awful.'

'Yup.’ She thought for a moment and then said, 'There's probably a few students who are really genuine. But you don't hear them spouting off all the time. Amongst the lecturers there's Patricia Du Rey. I've got a lot of respect for her. And at least what she's teaching is relevant and interesting.'

'What about that Professor from the supermarket?' asked Zoe.

Clare sat down next to her, 'Maudsley? I think his heart is in the right place. I mean, he lives by what he teaches. Cycles into university to save the planet, only accepts essays on recycled paper, doesn't waste a single paper clip.'

'Then again, he could just be tight.'

'True. And his courses are grim as anything. Care of the elderly. Looking after the dying and all that.' 'Oh don't, it's too depressing.'

'Mmmm. Anyway, most of the department ...' Enthusiasm suddenly flooded her voice. 'Take this little dick-head called Julian. I mean, Julian. Who'd call their kid that if they weren't absolutely loaded?'

Zoe's shoulders started to shake and Clare, seeing her friend trying to suppress a laugh, said, 'What?'

'I love it when you get on one,' answered Zoe. 'Remember that time? We must have been eight or nine? You lobbed that cooking apple into the pond where those old men were fishing? We were laughing so much we couldn't even get back on our bikes to cycle away!'

Zoe began to giggle as she recounted the story. Clare kept quiet, even though she had heard it countless times.

'That guy came charging across the grass in his wellies, grabbed us by the scruff of our necks and then marched us back to the pond to make us apologise to all the other fishermen.'

'Oh don't,' said Clare, cheeks now red and head lowered.

'And you suddenly burst into tears, then turned on him and let rip about fishing being cruel and how nasty they all were to be sitting there trying to catch the poor little fish with their nasty hooks.' Zoe was laughing openly now.

Clare held a hand over her eyes, as if to screen the memories from her sight, 'Yeah, well it is cruel. I don't care what they say about fish not feeling pain.'

Zoe struggled on. 'I'll...I’ll never forget the look on his face. He was so shocked by your rant he just let go of us and crawled back into his little green tent.'

Clare sighed deeply. 'Anyway, if I could carry on now?'

Zoe sat back, grinning as she twisted the top of the roll-up closed.

Clare smiled back. 'So, this Julian: he is especially vigilant about correct comments being adhered to. But what really gets me about him is this - he does it all as a sad way of trying to chat up girls on the course. Only, because he's a lecturer, he doesn't dare actually ask anyone out. So he just "nices" his way around them, doing his, "I'm such a sweet, considerate guy, please fancy me," act.' Her voice adopted a pained earnestness as she imitated him, 'I really empathise with women's issues, you know that don't you, Zoe?' She placed her hand on her friend's knee and gave her a sickly smile.

Giggling, Zoe shook her leg free, lit the joint, inhaled deeply. 'He “nices” around them, you said. Does that mean he doesn't “nice” around you?'

Clare thought for a moment. 'Not so far anyway. And there's only a few more days to go.'

'Do I detect a little disappointment?' Zoe replied, beginning to laugh. 'That Julian isn't all "nice" with you? That Julian doesn't try to...'

Clare cut her short. 'Oh please, I'd rather shag ... I'd rather shag Maudsley.'

'Eeeurrrr - the living corpse from the supermarket?'

'Yeah, any day.'

They chuckled for a while, then Clare tapped impatiently on the sofa.

'What?' said Zoe, looking at the flutter of her friend's fingers.

Clare quickly checked the plastic cap on her head and said resignedly, 'I'm just as bad - in my own way.'

'What do you mean?'

'The chat lines I work on for a start. In the department I tell them that I'm doing adult literacy courses for Iraqi refugees. In reality, I fleece poor, sad people out of their hard-earned cash. And this crap demo I'm organising. It's all a load of horse-shit. I mean, a £5 per month rent increase? Big fucking deal. It's still peanuts compared to what any private flat would cost me. I'm only organising it so I appear the model student to get this bloody research position.'

'You do what you have to do, Clare,' Zoe replied, her voice much firmer. 'I've told you that before. Believe me, if you can get a nice cushy position in a big university, grab it. At least you're safe once you're in.'

'Yeah, you say that. But look at Maudsley. They're making budget cuts and it looks like they're going to push him out end of next year.'

‘But he's old, isn't he? He's due to retire soon anyway. You get your foot in the door and then you can apply at other universities, colleges, sixth form places, all that. It'll beat the shit out of any position in the private sector, I can tell you.'

She held the joint out to Clare, but she waved it away. Zoe shrugged and took another drag. 'You know what the bastards did to me. A piss-poor salary and then, eleven months into the job, they bin me - because they know if I reached a year with them, I'd actually have some rights. As it was I got a “thank you, Miss Webster, here's a week's pay and your P45. Now fuck off.” Left me feeling really appreciated, it did.’ Her voice was now quivering slightly. 'I tell you - they'll shit all over you.' Biting her lower lip, she stared angrily at a fly buzzing against the glass of the living room window. 'That bloody thing has been pissing me off all evening.' She reached for the recruitment section of the local paper on the table in front of her and began to roll it up.

'Don't kill it,' said Clare, jumping to her feet and opening the window a few inches.

The insect continued battling against the impenetrable surface, unaware its way to freedom was inches away.

'Go on, shoo. Get out!' said Clare, nose wrinkling with disgust, pushing delicately at it with the back of one forefinger. Suddenly it flew to the side and disappeared through the gap. Shuddering, Clare closed the window and returned to her seat. 'Anyway, Zoe, you've got a year's experience now, haven't you? Your foot's in the door.'

'Ha! And there's also the next wave of eager young Graphic Design graduates just entering the job market, too. All of them sussed on the latest editions of Quark, Photoshop and Illustrator, all of them desperate to work for what I started on – or less. You know what really gets me? When I landed that job, I probably bumped out someone just like me. Used is what I feel like.'

Clare picked up the recruitment section of the local paper and smoothed it back out. It was folded over at the media part, various jobs circled. 'So how's the job hunt going?'

'Not too bad,' answered Zoe with a sigh. 'I've got a few to call back on Monday. Hopefully to arrange an interview.'

'That's excellent,' said Clare. 'They won't be able to resist you, you'll see.'

Zoe smiled, eyes averted, 'Yeah well - fingers crossed.' She reached for the telly guide, dropping ash on the floor.

Clare put the recruitment section back on the table, picked up their plates and carried them through to the kitchen. She turned on the taps and, as she stood waiting for the sink to fill, she heard the TV go on. The sounds of a chanting crowd filled the tiny flat for a second before the channel switched.

'Excellent!
Blade Runner
- have you seen it?' Her friend called through from the other room.

'Yeah - about five times,' she called back, wiping a cloth over the plates.

‘It's a class film,' Zoe informed her anyway. 'Ridley Scott at his best. And the music ... who did it? Someone quite famous ...'

A rumbling sound outside suddenly increased in volume, higher metallic notes now mixing with the train engine's deeper roar. As it sped past, every window began a minute rattling in the warped wooden frames and Clare actually felt the air shift against her face. And then it was gone and instantly forgotten.

' ... do you know what I mean?' concluded Zoe from the other room.

'You what? I missed all that,' replied Clare, leaving the kitchen. Zoe was excitedly jabbing the last third of the joint towards the screen. The marijuana had heightened her convictions, creating a certainty that her insight was genuine. 'It illustrates my point perfectly. I mean who are the only sorted people in the film? Apart from the ones at the very top of the big corporations, it's the few lucky enough to be working for the state, of course. The cops and that. The old police boss, Bryant, even says it to Harrison Ford. "If you're not cop, you're little people." Everyone else is just scratching out an existence down on the miserable, litter-strewn, rainsodden streets.'

'Yeah, but Zoe, half the Social Studies Department is probably closing soon. That Professor Maudsley will probably be on the scrap heap in another year.'

'Maybe,' said Zoe, struggling to make this information fit her theory. 'But with a nice index-linked pension and a fat pay-out too, no doubt. Name me a private company who is expanding their pension schemes.'

'I don't know.'

'I'll tell you then. None. They're all closing them to new employees as fast as possible. Too much of a drag on their profits. And that shit-heap place I wasted a year at didn't even have one. I'm telling you there's a lot of people in this country heading towards a poverty-stricken old age. No one I know is saving for their pension, and they say the state one will be non-existent by the time we retire. Get yourself into that Patricia's department and hang on like grim death.'

'OK, OK, I hear you. In fact, I'm covering my arse and applying for any positions in Maudsley's department too. Just in case.'

'Good on you, go for it. Either department will do.'

'Cheers. Anyway, I'm going to wash this stuff out of my hair and go to bed. Can you turn the sound down a bit?'

'Sure. I should crash soon too,' she stood up, stubbed the end of the joint out in the ashtray and went over to the sleeping bag folded up in the corner of the room. As she unfurled it on the sofa she said, 'On second thoughts, I might have a little number while the film finishes.'

'Fine,' said Clare from inside the bathroom. 'Just don't light it up once you're lying down. You'll burn both of us to death one of these nights.'

'Don't worry, I won't.'

When her friend re-emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later with a towel wrapped round her head like a giant turban, Zoe said, 'Clare?'

'Yeah?'

'Cheers for letting me crash here. I'll sort myself out soon, you know that?'

Clare reached over the back of the sofa and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. 'No rush, sweetie. I'll see you in the morning.'

Chapter 18

The slug re-extended its tentacles, the flesh seeming to grow from its head like the tentative shoots of a plant. Eric blew on it and the twin points instantly retracted again. He was wondering how long this game would last when he heard the familiar rasping sound. His gaze shifted from the gelatinous creature on his windowsill to the wooden shed at the bottom of his garden. An instant later the front half of his neighbour's cat appeared over the edge of the shed roof. Out of sight, the claws on its rear legs continued to scrabble on the far side of the wooden structure as the animal struggled to transfer the majority of its weight on to the flat roof. And then it was up, proudly surveying its domain: Eric's garden.

Happy with what it saw, it sat down and began licking at a front paw. Then, bending its head slightly to the side, it began rubbing the end of its foot over and around one ear. It repeated the process with the other paw, then languidly got to its feet and moved across the roof. Carefully it leaned over the edge, extended its claws and walked its front feet in a series of little steps down the front of the shed. Firmly anchored by its hind legs, the animal stretched its torso as far as it would go, then dropped gracefully to the grass. Without pausing, it padded along the narrow path it had worn across his lawn, stopping at the base of the bird table for a brief sniff. Then it turned around, lifted its tail, backed its haunches up against the varnished surface and sprayed the pole with urine.

Satisfied, it carried on across the remainder of his lawn to the back patio. Normally it then cut diagonally across the concrete slabs to the corner of Eric's house before heading down the side alley and continuing its patrol somewhere else. But today it stopped as an unfamiliar scent passed across its nostrils. Cautiously it moved towards the house, disappearing from Eric's sight below his windowsill.

With infinite care, Eric leaned slowly forward in his seat so he could see the animal directly below. Its attention was totally absorbed by the tin of sardines he'd placed at the base of the wall earlier that morning. Warily, the cat lowered its head towards the object in a series of inquisitive nods. The end of its tail began to twitch with excitement as it reached one paw outwards. But Eric had been careful to only partly uncurl the lid - the gap wasn't quite big enough for it to extract a fish. Slightly puzzled, the cat sank to its stomach and extended its nose towards the maddening smell.

In the bedroom above it, Eric slowly lifted the broken paving slab off his lap and held it out of the window. Once he'd lined it up with the back end of the animal below, he released his grip. Even before the loud crack and agonised yowl, he was on his feet and running to the top of his stairs. He grabbed the blanket he'd folded over the top of the banister earlier and raced downwards, through the ground floor of his home and out of the French windows.

The paving slab had broken into three pieces, a chalky mark on the patio where it had struck. Next to it the tin of sardines lay on its side in a slowly expanding pool of brine, and about five feet beyond that was the cat. Desperately it was trying to use its front legs to claw itself away, its smashed rear legs dragging uselessly along behind. Eric's long limbs closed the gap in two strides and, lips pursed tight with revulsion, he threw the blanket over the stricken animal. Then he gathered it up and, holding it at arm's length, ran back into the house. Quickly he walked through the kitchen, using his elbow to open the door into his garage. Once inside, he knelt down and placed the weakly struggling bundle between his knees.