Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

I used to come to the library a lot when I was younger to get books on watches, though they didn’t have many. However, I would still come week after week to see if they had anything new on the topic. They seemed to cater to older ladies more than anyone else, from all the books bearing men with their shirts open and women in their arms.

I went straight to the index cards listing the numbers of the Dewey Decimal System. An old librarian had taught me how to use them, and it wasn’t long before I located the number I needed and off I went to look in that section of the library.

There weren’t many books available, only a small handful. They looked brand new, as though only a couple of people had borrowed them. I took two I liked the covers of and went to the desk to check them out.

I placed them on the counter along with my library card and rang the brass bell for the assistant’s attention. I kept my eyes firmly on the desk as she appeared. I expected her to ask me questions about the books I’d selected, but she barely noticed the titles as she stamped in the return date.

‘Thank you,’ I said as she slid the books back over to me and grunted.

I paused as I exited and scanned the street left and right just to be certain The Suit was nowhere to be seen. A half-eaten apple was the only evidence he’d been sat there. Happy I’d managed to get the books without incident and he had vanished once again, I almost skipped to my favourite bench to get in place, ready to look for The One.

As I hurried along, the familiar ring of Tab Hunter’s pushbike bell ding-dinged behind me. Tab Hunter wasn’t the man’s real name. I didn’t think anyone knew his true name. I’d never see anyone talk to him at all, actually. I just knew that’s what everyone called him due to his peculiar habit of picking up cigarette ends. And that wasn’t the only peculiar thing about Tab Hunter. As his brown trousers rose with each pedal, the whole world could see that he wore ladies’ stockings underneath his trousers.

When I found my usual place, I traced my hands over the rough surface of the bench and noticed a new carving on one of the slats which said, “Craig woz ’ere.” I had no idea who Craig was. Most of the people’s names written here had blank faces to me, though it was possible I could have followed half of them.

I sat watching and waiting but nothing was biting, so eventually, I took myself for a slow walk to Woolworths. I passed the outside market (it wasn’t on today) and weaved in and out of the empty stalls.

Next door to Woolworths stood a shoe shop; it was old-fashioned and family-run, and they looked to be having a sale on. I looked in the window; they sold slip-on shoes, black-leather moccasins, and sandals. In the next town, which was much bigger than ours, they had a Ribenashoe shop, which was a chain. There, they had Union Jack Doc Martins, studded punk-rock boots, bowling shoes, and Pods.

For my twenty-first birthday, I’d asked for some blue Pods. I’d seen them in a window when I visited with Tina. When I opened my gift, Mum had got me blue Tracksinstead. They were cheaper than Pods and didn’t look that dissimilar. Anyway, they were comfortable enough, so I couldn’t complain. But I would buy some Pods at some point, I would make sure of it.

I went into Woolworths and selected two small mirrors; I didn’t take as much care as I normally would when I picked them out. I had better things to do today. I carried them to the counter with my books placed on top to balance everything.

‘Alright, John-Michael?’ said Mavis. I’d got to know most of the women who worked here. Mavis was one of the older members of staff. If I had to guess, I would say she was about fifty. I never asked, though. Grandad told me it was extremely rude to ask a lady her age.

‘Morning, Mavis,’ I said using the mirrors to look up at her smiling face.

She frowned down at them.

‘Ooh, John-Michael, these aren’t our best mirrors, are you sure you don’t want to have another look?’ she asked.

‘I’m busy today. Thank you, no, it’s okay. Haven’t got much time to browse,’ I told her reflection.

‘Okay, if you’re sure. I know how much you love your mirrors. And what else have you got here?’ she said, looking at the books now.

‘My sister is having a baby, so I borrowed these from the library,’ I said as I retrieved them and tucked them under my armpit.

‘Aww, isn’t that grand, a new baby. How lovely. Well, let me ring these up for you.’

As she gave me my receipt, she said, ‘You ain’t gonna be able to carry these and them mirrors. Give us them books; I’ll put them in a carrier bag for you.’

‘Oh, umm… Thank you.’ I handed them over, and she passed them back to me in the bag, so I was able to hold the two mirrors under one arm and carry the bag with my free hand to sit back at my favourite bench.

*

Time ebbed away rapidly, and it was looking more than likely I would have to choose someone to follow at random, or just go home. At one o’clock, my watch beeped. I scanned around to look for a man, any man.

My eyes were drawn to the reflection of a young man swaggering by; he had a skinhead, wore a polo shirt but no jacket despite the mild weather, braces, jeans, and oxblood Doc Martins with yellow laces. His jeans were rolled up over his boots, and you could see the tops of his white socks.