Blighters by Tim Major

Author:Tim Major
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science Fiction
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

8

SOME NEW GUY, Carl, is behind the counter at Down to Earth Records. He keeps shooting me looks while I’m pottering about. Every so often I pull out a record sleeve and hold it up to the light, making out like I’m a real buff. It seems to keep him happy.

Still, I’ve been in here for like nearly an hour, killing time. Much longer and I might actually have to get that copy of ‘Master of Reality’ that’s begging to be bought, although it’s probably scratched to buggery and it’d sound shite even if not, coming out of Dad’s gramophone cabinet. It’d sound even worse, maybe, than this techno Carl’s playing, which is making the time drag more that it needs to.

“Anything you need?” Carl says. I guess it maybe is getting weird, just me and him in the poky little shop.

I pull out a record at random. I must have some kind of gift, because it’s a beaut. Only a Focus ‘best of,’ sure, but ‘Hocus Pocus’ is the first track and there’s no beating that. Me and Dad used to mime-yodel along to it for laughs.

I hold it out to Carl. “Stick this on, would you?”

He looks down at the sleeve and makes a face like I’ve just handed him a plate of smeared turd.

“I am considering purchasing it,” I say.

Carl scowls but takes it. The techno stops, thank Christ, and then there’s the gritty scratch from the vinyl. I get back to prowling along the shelves, but now my head’s bobbing. You know what? This song actually does fucking rule. Soon enough I’m air-drumming along, then when it gets to the widdly bits I have to do a bit of the guitar, too. It’s pretty hard work, all in all.

Trouble is, I still can’t clear my mind out, not totally. I’m here for a reason.

My laps around the shop keep taking me over to the door. It’s raining outside.

And there she is, bang on time.

Auntie Alice’s work backs onto the same alleyway as Down to Earth, and that’s where her boss makes the smokers go. Looks like she’s the only one who hasn’t already switched to vaping, because she’s out there on her lonesome. She’s sheltering from the rain in the overhang of the entrance to a closed-down pub. The see-through hood of her pac-a-mac makes her red hair blue. The display in the record shop window is partly blocking my view of her, and she looks like that old microfiche photo.

The door slams behind me, cutting off ‘Hocus Pocus’ at the leprechaun bit.

Auntie Alice sees me coming. After a few seconds her smile goes all wonky, like she thinks maybe I’ll knife her.

“You’re ready to talk?” she says. “Finally?”

“Shut up,” I say. “Don’t say nothing.”

So she doesn’t, except with her eyes. They’re exactly the same as Mum’s eyes. All concerned, but I-know-best.

I can’t help thinking this might be partly about Gail. She remembered all about Mum and Dad, but not about how Auntie Alice was mixed up in the whole thing.

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