The next morning at work, Pip, who was wearing very high heels, tottered over to Joe-Nathan as he folded T-shirts using the magic shirt folder.
‘Hugo says I can start my checkout training in a couple of weeks. We’re doing it at the same time. We could have started sooner, but Hugo says you’ve got too many things in your life to adjust to at the moment, so he’s delayed it a bit.’
‘Hugo told me.’ Chloe had told Joe to watch Pip when she talked, told him to notice how pink her face went whenever she talked about Hugo and to notice how she mentioned Hugo as often as she could.
‘Aren’t you excited for it, though?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘I like the buttons and things on the till. Does that make me weird?’
‘I like the buttons too.’
‘Well, if we’re both weird, then between us it’s normal, right?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Anyway, I don’t care.’ Pip waved her hand as if she was wasting her time with this conversation and had more important things to think about. From behind her back, she pulled a piece of paper. ‘Now, in the pub we talked about our specialist subjects, for quiz night? You’re good on Friends and woodwork, Chloe knows about stuff from the eighties, and literature, and I’m okay with pop music, TV and fashion. So, I’ve drawn up a revision list, because I think there’s gaps in our general knowledge.’
‘I have never heard a woodwork question on a quiz show,’ said Joe, in agreement.
‘Exactly, but still, if there’s a woodwork question in this quiz, you might be the only one who knows the answer. So, it could be an advantage. Anyway, I have a plan. I know a man on the inside.’ Pip winked hard.
‘A man on the inside of what?’ Joe asked. Pip went very pink indeed.
‘Never mind,’ she said.
She turned the paper so that Joe could see it. ‘I’ve listed some things that might help us. I thought if we all revise the same sheet, then at least one of us will remember something. I’ve got capital cities, kings and queens of England in the right order, first lines of famous books, and things like how far the moon is from Earth.’
‘384,400 kilometres,’ said Joe.
‘Oh, yes, that’s right!’ said Pip, checking out what she had typed on the page. ‘You didn’t mention that on Friday!’
‘The distance between the moon and Earth isn’t a specialist subject. It is just a fact,’ said Joe.
‘But knowing facts is very useful,’ Pip said, with a serious expression. ‘I’ve also listed the planets in order…’
‘I know them too,’ said Joe.
‘And flags,’ said Pip. ‘Any good with flags?’
‘No.’
‘Me neither. I don’t have a colour printer, so I’ve drawn them – here, look – and coloured them in by hand and labelled them by country.’
Joe nodded.
‘I’m going to slot this into the side of your locker, okay? Don’t forget to take it home to study!’ Pip wagged her finger and adopted something like a stern teacher’s voice and expression. Joe watched her trot away in an impractical flurry of skirt and shoes. ‘See ya later, Joe-Joe,’ she called out down the aisle. A mother passed by with her child strapped into the front of a trolley and the toddler banged the handle with a plastic giraffe and shouted, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe.
Joe returned to folding T-shirts and lost himself in the perfect pile he was creating. He folded them in order according to colour and the result was a beautiful rainbow of gradually darker greens that turned into blues, then purples and pinks, then oranges, then yellows. He stacked them neatly on the T-shirt table and stood beside them. A woman with a young son stood beside him and smiled; he assumed that they too were admiring the satisfying colour order and neat edges in front of them. The boy reached out and pulled a pink T-shirt from the middle of the stack, dragging the other T-shirts along with it and some fell onto the floor.
‘Oh, don’t do that,’ said the lady kindly to her son, and she smiled at Joe as if something nice had just happened, when in fact something horrible had. She stooped to pick up what had fallen and folded a pink T-shirt haphazardly, placing it on top of the others; she patted it, then walked casually away, holding the boy’s hand.
‘Not your tidiest work,’ said Chloe, coming up beside him and looking at the disarray.
‘I did not do this,’ said Joe.
‘I know, I saw the whole thing.’
‘The customer is always right,’ said Joe sadly.
‘Yes, but the customer is not always right in the head, and they’re not always fucking respectful.’ Chloe gathered up the T-shirts in her arms. ‘Come on, I’ll help you fold these again, but once they’re on the table, walk away fast before you see anyone mess it up.’
Chloe handed the shirts to Joe one at a time and he placed them in the magic folder and flipped the sides until he had another beautiful pile. They worked in silence until Chloe said, ‘Anything on your mind?’
‘Have you seen Charlie today? Is he off sick again?’ Joe reached out for the next T-shirt, but Chloe paused and crossed her arms, still clutching the garment.
‘You’re very concerned with Charlie’s health lately. Don’t worry about it. He’s probably taking a couple of sickies and – well – doing whatever it is he does when he’s not here. I don’t really understand why you’re so hung up about him. He’s mean, he’s not your friend and he wouldn’t put you out if he found you on fire.’
‘But what if you are wrong?’
‘About what?’ Chloe handed Joe the T-shirt.
‘About Charlie. What if he is not as bad as you think? What if he has got reasons to be mean? What if he is not happy?’
‘Happy? Who’s fucking happy? Being unhappy is not a reason for being mean to other people, it’s no excuse.’
‘What if he needs help?’
‘Help with what? I mean, yeah, the guy could use some work on his social skills. But whatever is going on with Charlie, it’s got nothing to do with you; it’s not your job. Let someone else help him. Let him help his fucking self. You, my friend, are not the man to help him.’
‘But what if you are wrong?’
‘You think you can help him?’ Chloe scoffed.
‘He said I could not.’ Joe shrugged.
‘You asked him?’ Her face creased.
‘And you are also saying that I cannot help him.’
‘Look, whatever help that idiot needs, it’s not the kind of help you can give him.’
‘But what if you are wrong?’ Joe asked yet again.
‘Listen, no offence, but between the two of us – in interpreting someone like Charlie? – you are always more likely to be wrong than me, always more likely to be wrong than right.’
‘Why?’
But Chloe didn’t answer his question. She looked angry and started to walk away. But before she was out of earshot, she shouted, ‘Cut your nails and get in touch with your hairdresser. You need a haircut.’
And Joe thought to himself how impossible that was, because his mum had always cut his hair for him.