Noises

I sat in the same chair that had accompanied my bottom for the past year or two, the phone to my ear. Currently, my body was sat, collecting dust in my book shop, which wasn’t mine, no. It was my fathers. The chair that I was sat on, was tucked under a creaky, old, wooden desk, that, too, was just sat collecting dust, and books, that had no home on any of the shelves, because it was too lame, most probably, to fit into a certain category. In general, the shop was old. But, it was a pretty kind of old, and I liked it, although I dreaded to sit behind the desk all day, every morning, except weekends. I felt it was pointless, but it was a job, right?

“I don’t know, Nick, you’re the accountant.” I sighed, my free hand flexing it’s fingers along the surface of the desk, my head tilted. Someone had turned from one section of books he had been looking at, and had began talking, although I had took the time to ignore him. “Yeah, I know.” I grumbled, again, into the phone, my hand then moving to push my hair out of my eyes. The man continued to talk. “Maybe, I’m not sure.” I stressed, and with the man who had been trying to get my attention, and apparently oblivious to the fact I was on the phone, now standing in front of me and my desk, I reached over, holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I wrote, ‘ON PHONE’ to a sticky note. I found it quite rude of the plump man to try and interrupt me, so, I then stuck the sticky note to my forehead, and spent a few more minutes on the phone.

However, after I had finished my conversation on the phone, I pealed the sticky note off of my forehead and let it fall somewhere on my desk, before looking up at the bald, plump man. “Now. What?”

“Those books,” the man began, pointing to the shelves on my left. “How much? The leather bound ones.”

My head turned, and I blinked, looking back up at him. “Yes, Dickens. The collected works of Charles Dickens.” I informed him, my head tilting.

“Are they real leather?”

“They’re real Dickens.” was my smart-ass reply. I really should’ve taken this job more seriously, but I had been working there for around two years. I was bored of it.

The man smiled at my sarcasm, and he stared down at me. “I have to know if they’re real leather, because they have to go with my sofa.” he told me. “Everything else in my house is real. I’ll pay 200 for them.”

I rubbed my eyes, thanking God in Heaven that I hadn’t worn any make-up for work. “200, what?”

“200 pounds.”

“Are they leather bound pounds?” I asked, sarcastically. The mans confused expression lead me to believe they were not, and his answer confirmed my belief, quickly.

“No.”

“Sorry, I need leather bound pounds to go with my bag.” I smirked, my palm slamming down on the bell that, really, I had no idea why it was there. Sometimes, though, I just liked to hit it. It was amusing. “Next.”

And I couldn’t have been more relieved when the man walked off, and the door opened, with my dearest friend, Megan, walking in, in all her tattooed and pierced glory. She took off her bag as she walked behind the desk and dropped it on the floor, her arms enveloping me in a gigantic hug.

“Good afternoon, Hollie!” Megan sang, batting her eyelashes, which I had recently noticed were pretty thick, and unusually long. I know, recently. Makes me sound kind of shitty, eh? After a small, tired smile off me, she let me go, and I stood up, shifting out of the way so she could sit. After I had re-touched my makeup, I pulled my bag up onto my shoulder, blew her a little kiss, and wandered off, but she stopped me, yelling ‘Oi!’

“What, Megan?” I asked, turning around, my lips pursing slightly. My brain was threatening to just, give up, if I didn’t go home and relax.

My friend, however, just grinned. “We might as well close the shop, this Saturday.”

This, however, made me frown. “Why?”

“Because, you know my cousin, Eloise?” she grinned, lifting her feet up onto the desk, crossing them at the ankles. There, she pulled out her packet of cigarettes and her lighter, and lit one of the cancer sticks, holding it in between her lips as she took a small drag, exhaling the disease into the air. “Well, they’re inducing the baby this Saturday, and she’s asked me to be her birth partner.”

It was ridiculous, how little I seemed to not care. I pulled a face, though, and shook my head. “Ew. That’s going to be very intense, Meg. A lot of blood and a lot of shouting, and, stuff.” However, going off-topic, it made sense. Saturday was Megan’s working day, and I was off, and there was no way I’d be taking her shift if she wasn’t coming in.

It took Megan a few seconds to react, before she blinked, and grinned, quite casually answering with: “Oh, no, I’ll just get drunk.”

My head tilted to the side, my eyebrows furrowing. This woman was unreal. “What?”

“In fact,” she began, taking another drag of her cigarette and exhaling, slowly, as if just realising. “She’ll be on drugs, I’ll be drunk… it’ll be just like the old days.”

My expression was just one of absolute hysterics, the second she had finished her sentence. I nodded, waving at her. “Good luck with that, whore.” I called, though before I left the shop, I immediately stopped laughing and pointed at her. “Put that cigarette out. On the desk, I don’t care, just get rid of it, it’s revolting.” I grunted, and then I left the shop.



Since I’d gotten home, I hadn’t been up to much at all, besides sitting on my bed with my laptop. The apartment I lived in was shared by Megan, so it was usually clean and tidy, much like when I’d gotten home. However, after hours and hours of endless scrolling, the door opened to my bedroom, and I almost threw my laptop in fright.

“Hollie, calm down!” Megan screeched, ducking, in fear that I had actually began to throw it at her. I lowered my laptop and exhaled, quietly, sinking back into my pillows.

“What’re you doing in here and why are you so late?” I whined, quietly, glancing up at her, then down at my laptop.

Megan, being herself, sat on my legs, and grinned, kicking off her shoes. “It was during my shift, and I was reading, right? And this boy comes in,” she took a pause, and sighed, quite dreamily, standing up. She must’ve seen my cheeks going red, because my shins felt as though they would break under her weight. I was delicate. She peeped out of my window, then turned to face me, her hands clasped together. “And he goes and looks around, and I’m glancing up at him, and when he finally comes over, he asks if he could buy this book on photography, and, Hollie, I almost collapse.”

Here, I took it as my moment to interject, and I laughed, shaking my head, scrolling further down the page I was on. I didn’t even know what website I was on, but it was interesting.

“So,” Megan continued, grinning. “We get talking, and it turns out he’s called Tom, right? Tom, Spikes, or something. No, Tom… Tom Sykes!” she squealed, clapping her hands, which resulted in me glancing at her as if she was insane. Tom Sykes? What kind of a name was that? “Anyway, he asked for my number, and he’s invited me to the fair this Saturday.”

I raised my hand, shaking my head. “Aren’t you meant to be Eloise’s, uh… ‘birth partner’?” I asked, laughing when my friend shrugged.

“She’ll be alright.” Megan muttered, leaning down to kiss my cheek. “I’m not missing this opportunity, Hollie. He was to die for, seriously.” she giggled, waving as she walked towards my door. “My cousin can handle the inducement of the baby without me.”

And then, she left. I blinked, chuckled, then stretched. Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to my world.