Love's Seal
Nick Green

 

Electronic whoops and bells, arpeggios of space-bleeps, the clatter of change in steel trays; it might be a racket to you, but to me it’s the dawn chorus. A warm wind from the hamburger stand wafts through the vents, and in the giant mirror my eyes twinkle with the prospect of the day ahead. Or it could just be the strobe lights.

For a people-watcher like me, my office hits the jackpot. Windows floor to ceiling, wall to wall, polished weekly. Ever since Ted got head-hunted I’ve had the best seat in the house. Without stirring a whisker I can see right out of the shady entrance into the sun-drenched (or often, just drenched) plaza, the pirate ship pitching drunkenly against the clouds, the roller-coaster rattling behind.

Nice view though it is, it’s the wildlife passing through that makes each day special. They never speak to us, of course - but I’ve got so good at sussing them out that I can tell you five things about a person before they’ve passed the Virtua Fighter machine.

Take that young man and woman, over by the Hulk Strength Challenge. She’s egging him on to have a go, he’s glancing around for something to distract her. Can’t say I blame him; I’ve seen burlier sticks of rock. Aha, he catches my eye. Or seems to. Look, sweetheart. Want to win one of those?

She notices. And is smitten. Oh, I’m good, I am. The moment I saw her bouncy blonde locks and that too-cute summer dress, I had her classified like a butterfly. A Little Miss Twee. Seeing us here behind the glass, she’s thinking - wait, she’s saying:

‘Ahh, look! They’re all trapped in there. With no-one to take them home. Nobody loves them. Awwww!’

‘Aww.’ The young man chuckles nervously. A tad embarrassed, are you? You should try being on this side.

‘Actually, these things are a rip-off,’ he says. ‘Most of the prizes are disproportionately heavy in relation to the gripping force of the claw.’

The nerve of the guy. I’ll sue. And disproportionately heavy? He ought to be chained to a desk somewhere, not strolling round the Pleasure Beach with this innocent young thing. I bet he’s a Tim.

‘I’m trying it,’ says the girl. She drops in a coin and there’s that satisfying beep. I focus, all professional-like now. Stare out with dark win-me eyes.

‘That lion’s in quite an exposed position,’ muses her bloke.

Maybe she listens, maybe she doesn’t. Either way, her spasmodic stabs at the arrow buttons send the claw jerking hopelessly wide of Leo and, swinging like a stunned spider, it drops and grasps feebly at foam beads.

‘Oh. Pigs!’ She slaps the glass and giggles.

‘Told you. These devices are traps for the unwary.’

‘Wait. I’ve got another go.’

She hunches, concentrating this time. But he wraps an arm across her shoulders and draws her close. She grins up at him, her eyes fluttering between us furry animals and his adoring, ahm, spectacles. Well, that’ll improve her technique. Her fingers fumble for the button and - wait a second. Oh, steady on… Watch it, there are young toys present! Hello? How are you supposed to win anything if you don’t even watch what you’re doing? Ah. Finally they breathe. Lipstick all round his mouth. And the claw’s empty once more. Quelle surprise.

The girl digs more shrapnel out of her purse.

‘You’re not falling for it again, are you?’ her boyfriend says. ‘Remember, we planned to visit the Tower before lunch.’

‘One more,’ she says. ‘I want that white seal.’

Bingo! My charisma wins through. Not that she stands a chip’s chance in a butty. Aside from the fact that I am disproportionately heavy, I am also unstrategically located and I have an elliptical head.

Our man sighs.

‘Okay, but last time, all right Lisa?’

She thins her lips. ‘Stop sounding like my dad, Tim.’

I find myself wondering, as Mr. Claw skids around on the ceiling, how on earth these two wound up together. It’s plain that he’s only here out of chivalry. He was happy wandering along the seafront towards the Tower, drinking the air and chucking bits of Cornetto to the gulls. But Lisa heard the thunder and squeals of the Pleasure Beach rides and couldn’t resist. He didn’t much mind being dragged across the road, because she’s the girl he loves, and there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to keep her happy.

And yet, already, I detect the first inklings of impatience. It’s his tone, and the way he slouches against that pillar. Well, get used to it, mate, because it’s not going to improve. Today she’s herded you towards the slot machines when you’d rather be admiring the Wurlitzer in the Tower ballroom. Next year you’ll probably blink and find yourself in a Las Vegas wedding parlour. And there’ll be nothing you can do about it.

‘Stinkbugs! It’s so hard!’

I drag myself back to the present. The tip of the claw has brushed my left flipper; her best effort so far.

‘If you want one so badly, why don’t you just buy one?’ says Tim, indicating the Enemy - the stall across the plaza stuffed with toys of every description. The Slave Ship, we call it.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Lisa pops open her purse and change rains onto the floor. Breathing hard through his teeth, Tim picks it all up for her.

No, I can’t see it. I can’t see what this pair have going for them. Oh, she’s slim and pretty in a dull sort of way, and he looks like he might have a reasonably sized bank account. But I’ll tell you my story of how they met, shall I? A party, it usually is. More his sort of people than hers, most likely. She only knows one person there, and is nodding and smiling a lot but not really enjoying herself. She spies Tim in the corner, all adrift now that his friend is off refilling at the punch bowl. They introduce themselves, they chat. They save each other from a stiflingly bland evening. As they leave, email addresses are exchanged. And soon they slide into a relationship. Because that’s what you do. No thunderbolt, no divine destiny. It’s about as elegant as a bump on the dodgem cars.

The Tunnel of Love has a blindfolded Cupid outside. As metaphors go, it’s not bad, but I can give you a better one. Lisa is fiddling again with the controls on this machine. The claw lurches wildly above us lovely prizes. A pathetically weak grabbing device, it’s also well nigh uncontrollable. You can nudge it in the right directions and sort of express a preference as to the target, but, in the end, it lunges like drunken crab and makes a hopeless grope, usually at empty air. On the rare occasions you do actually pick something up, you’ll probably land the corduroy sausage dog or the crocodile with the scruffy felt teeth. Watch my machine a few times and you’ll see what I mean. As a sketch of your love lives it beats the hell out of Blind Cupid.

Tim is tapping his foot.

‘Once more. I almost had it!’ she pleads, as if he has spoken.

‘Not so loud.’ He glances around. ‘Let’s go and… get you a lolly or something.’

A pause.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

He pretends bafflement.

She drops her gaze, sucking her lower lip. Pointedly she piles coins on her palm, and begins feeding them, one by one, into the machine. Beep. Beep. Beep-beep. Hey, boys. It’s Christmas.

‘Lisa!’ Tim tries to cover the slot, but she blocks him. ‘You daft thing, there’s pounds there. That mangy seal can’t cost more than a tenner.’

She doesn’t listen. In drop the coins. Bleepity-beep.

‘You’re being really-‘ He stops and fidgets.

‘Childish? Say what you mean, why not.’

‘Well, it is. A bit.’

‘At least I know how to have fun.’

She starts thumping the buttons. Mr. Claw goes crazy up above.

I should be on the radio, I really should. One of those counsellor-psychiatrist chappies. I had this couple’s number the minute they walked in. Six months, I give them. A year at the most. They go together like salt and sherbet. Nothing in common. A tiny tiff like this and the warning bells are ringing left and right.

Tim heaves a deep sigh.

‘Hold it,’ he grumbles. ‘You’re doing it all wrong.’

He hustles her aside. Lisa folds her arms and looks the other way. She watches a hunk with action-movie muscles saunter across the arcade. Grimly unaware, Tim stares through his specs at us. Unbelievable. Not content with spoiling your girlfriend’s fun, you’re now trying to show her up? Six months is stretching it.

With the cold skill of someone who doesn’t care, Tim touches a button and the claw slides along its runner. He waits for it to stop swinging. So we have a technician! They’re always the biggest laugh because they seem to think it’ll help.

‘I only wanted us to have a good time today,’ Lisa sniffs, sorrowfully.

‘Sssh. Let me concentrate.’

‘If you think I’m so imma-’ she catches her breath, ‘immature, then maybe you shouldn’t bother going out with me.’

Tim’s not even listening anymore. He presses the second button. His eyes widen suddenly. Is that foolish hope I spy?

I’m so caught up in watching him, it’s a few seconds before I notice that I’m watching him from a completely new angle. I’m moving. I’m going up! Leo, Crock and Bovril the marmot are dropping away below me. The limp-wristed claw has sneaked in under my flippers and - fluke of flukes! - has snagged on the label that says Hand wash only. Made in Singapore. A dizzying spin and I’m over the exit chute. I suddenly realise, with a strange little pang, that this is the moment.

Bye-bye, lads. So long, Stripes, Flop-ears, Trunky! Take care, cute chicks! White Seal’s on his waa-a-aay…!

And then I’m out. And she’s gathering me up in her arms and kissing me. And Tim’s laughing and patting my head, and stroking Lisa’s head, and she’s jumping up and down in disbelief. And I’m pretty gobsmacked myself.

Because I’m sure this wasn’t supposed to happen. All that time I sat behind the glass, I assumed I wasn’t designed to get picked up. A flashy bait, a decoy, that’s all I was. Too broad, too heavy, too different - the claw could never choose me, no matter how carefully you positioned it. And yet, and yet… here I am.

Tim and Lisa smooch, a long and leisurely one. I’m, mmpff, caught in the middle.

‘Sorry,’ she murmurs.

He shakes his head. ‘No. I’m sorry. I just need defrosting sometimes, don’t I?’

She hugs both of us close again.

‘I haven’t bored you too much?’ she asks. ‘We’ll head off to the Tower now if you like.’

Tim smiles.

‘We’ve got all afternoon to do that,’ he says. ‘What about a ride on the dodgems?’

‘The Grand National,’ Lisa grins, pointing towards a mighty roller-coaster. ‘That’s my favourite.’

‘You’re on! And then the Avalanche.’

Off we trot, the three of us. Me under her left arm, Tim wrapped in her right.

I’ll come clean: I don’t quite understand what just happened here. I rate myself a good judge of people, always have done. And if you’d told me that two such different creatures, with all their own sharp corners and jagged edges, might fit happily together… why, I’d have said you were mad. (Not that talking to a stuffed toy is the first sign of sanity in any case.)

Yet it seems there is something, some mysterious, undetectable force, which can bind those two souls together, in spite of their sharp corners and their jagged edges. Until the whole is no longer sharp and jagged, but round and smooth and fluffy. Like a furry toy seal.

Ugh. What a cutesy image.

But then, who am I to talk?

 

 

Copyright © 2003 Nick Green
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"