Troy and Me by Drew Gummerson / Fiction / Untitled Books

“So you’ve worked as elves before, have you?”

Troy and Me by Drew Gummerson

I was thinking this was the sort of situation in films where you end up in concrete shoes and get thrown into a river and I was also thinking it was just my luck to be dressed as an elf when this happened.

It was round about Christmas when Troy knocked on my door and told me that he was going to lose his arm.
"The doctors told me they can't do nothing," he said.
Troy had his arm up in a sling and it did look pretty painful. I had broken my arm once and it hurt like hell. I didn't lose it though.
"Would you like to come in?" I asked.
Troy shook his head. "It's ok. I just wanted to let you know my news. That was all."
I watched as he made his way down the path. Troy rented a little caravan in the back garden. Our landlady let him have it for three-quarters of what I paid for my bedsit because it didn't have any central heating. It didn't have a toilet either but the landlady never mentioned that. She was kind of old and didn't like to talk about such things, although where that left Troy I wasn't sure. Up until this day Troy and I had never really had a proper conversation.
I gave Troy a little wave as he stepped inside the caravan. Then I felt guilty about this. I didn't want Troy to think I was showing off, having such a flexible arm and all.

The next day I made two cups of tea and took them both down the path to the caravan. After about five minutes of knocking the door finally opened. Troy was in his pyjama bottoms and his hair was all sticking up on end. He was rubbing his eyes with his one good arm.
"Did I wake you?" I said.
"Is that for me?" asked Troy, nodding towards one of the cups of tea.
We went and sat down on either side of the little table and I pulled that morning's paper out from under my arm. I opened it up to the right page and pointed to the box I had already circled.
"I think I've found us both jobs," I said.
"Are you forgetting about this?" Troy was tapping the side of his head with the end of a pencil but I knew that he meant his arm.
"I've read the advert," I said. "It doesn't mention anywhere about having two arms. Besides, these days there are all sorts of laws to protect the disabled."
"I'm not disabled," said Troy.
"Then you should be perfect for this job."
I knew this would win the argument. If Troy didn't go for the job then it would be as good as admitting that he was disabled. I guessed he wasn't ready to go down that path yet.

The manager had this way of looking both of us up and down as if we had just walked in off the street. I sensed right off that Troy didn't take to him so I thought I had better do most of the talking. I got the impression that Troy didn't talk much anyway, like people had let him down badly in the past and now he kept his emotions close to his chest, like cards.
I said that we had seen the advert in the paper and that we were the men for the job.
"So you've worked as elves before, have you?" asked the manager. "And what about his arm?"
"This one's alright," said Troy, rotating his left arm. "Look."
A woman with long legs and hair in a bob ran up to the manager. "They've caught some kids in haberdashery stealing needlepoint kits. They need you there right away."
"Yes, yes," said the manager impatiently. He ran a hand over the top of his head and turned to us. "You'll find Santa on the forth floor. Just follow the signs. He'll gen you up."
"So we've got the job?" I said.
"It's only until Christmas Eve, you understand? There's no call for elves after Christmas. They're seasonal."
"Got it," I said.

From what you read, you normally expect these department store Santas to be alcoholics or kid-haters or something, but right off I could see this wasn't the case. We found Santa sitting in his grotto with a smile on his face and a bible in his right hand. He had an 'I love Jesus' badge pinned to his red suit just below his beard.
Santa told us where to get changed and then it was straight down to work. There was a cash desk at the front of the grotto where parents paid for their kids to go in, there was a tunnel behind this, and then there was Santa.
Troy and I had to stand in the tunnel and entertain the kids before they got to Santa. Entertaining the kids involved saying 'Merry Christmas' a lot and generally smiling.
"Couldn't we just throw sweets at them?" said Troy after an hour or so of this.
"Sweets aren't good for their teeth," said Santa.
"It'd be a whole lot easier," said Troy.
Santa fixed Troy with a stare when he said this and I hustled Troy back into our tunnel.
"Look," I said, "when's this operation of yours?"
"What?" he asked.
"To remove the arm."
"Boxing Day," said Troy. "Although boxing is the last thing I'll be doing."
"Look," I said. "We'll keep our heads down here for a couple of weeks, save up some cash and then why don't we go away somewhere. Once your arm is all sorted out."
Troy didn't say anything to this, but when the next kid came down the tunnel he let out a big 'Merry Christmas' and did this funny dance that I hadn't seen before. It even made me laugh.

After the lunch rush the manager came down to see how we were doing.
"They've got this whole dance thing going on," said Santa, putting down his bible.
The manager wanted to see it and I couldn't see how we could get out of it although it felt weird doing it in front of him seeing as he wasn't a kid or anything.
"I like it," he said, as we finished. "I don't know that it's traditionally elfish but keep it up and there's an extra fifteen pence an hour for you."
"Traditionally elfish," said Troy under his breath as the manager walked away and I could tell he was annoyed.
"Think of the holiday," I said and already it sounded like something Troy and I were definitely going to do. The day before we had hardly said a word and now we were best mates or something.
There was a rush between about three and four as some kids finished school and there was a bit of trouble when one little girl accidentally poked Santa in the eye with the prow of a model sailing ship she had been given. Apart from all that, it was easy.

It was almost six o'clock and I was thinking about going home when this big bloke appeared in the tunnel. I guessed straight away he was up to no good. He had this aura about him like in those old fifties black and white films.
"Oy," I said, "you can't come down here. This is kids only."
"Shut it," hissed the guy and it was then I noticed he was holding a gun. "One false move from either of you two elves and you can kiss my arse goodbye."
He shepherded us down the corridor to where Santa was sitting on his throne. Santa initially reached into his bag to give the guy a present and then seeing the gun he went white and kissed his 'I love Jesus' badge. We were way past Jesus's help I thought, as the guy pulled a rope out from around his waist and tied us all together.
"If you keep schtum," he said, "we won't have any trouble."
The guy had a weird accent, I couldn't put my finger on it, Polish or something, and with his big round face he certainly looked foreign
He settled himself down on the chair that the kids normally sit on and then we all stayed there looking like a pretty poor Christmas show.
I was thinking this was the sort of situation in films where you end up in concrete shoes and get thrown into a river and I was also thinking it was just my luck to be dressed as an elf when this happened. I could already imagine the sarcastic newspaper headlines. After about ten minutes though, the guy started to rummage in the pocket of his jacket and came out not with some concrete ready-mix but a packet of cigarettes. From the design on the box these looked Polish too.
"Have any of you got a light?" he said, leaning forward.
Santa shrugged, I did too so the guy turned towards Troy. As he did he kind of sat back a little, as if something had shocked him.
"Troy man, is that you?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm going straight, Vic," said Troy.
"You're dressed as an elf," said the man I now knew as Vic. "Hey man, I heard about you. Weren't you shot or something down at the harbour? That was a raw deal."
"They say I'm going to lose an arm," said Troy.
"Which one?" asked Vic.
From outside the grotto came an announcement over the tannoy that the shop would be closing in five minutes, and if anyone had goods to purchase could they do so right away.
Vic sucked some air through his teeth. "That's the baby. Tell you what, Troy; I could use a decent getaway driver. I hear you're the best in the business."
"Like I say," said Troy, "I'm going straight."
We listened to the sounds of the shop closing and then one by one the lights in the grotto went out. I was pretty surprised to hear about Troy's criminal past. As far as I knew he was just this guy who rented a caravan in the garden where I lived. On one level being a getaway driver was pretty cool but on another I also figured it was wrong. I admired Troy for sticking to his guns with Vic. It's pretty difficult to decide to change yourself and stick to it.
After another half hour or so, Vic stood up and ran a hand over his greasy hair. He took out a knife and cut the rope that was holding us all together.
"You know where the manager's office is?" he said to Santa.
Santa nodded but he didn't say anything. He was looking kind of queasy, totally different to how he was with the kids; with them he was all jolly and Christmas-like.
"That's where we're going," said Vic. "Don't forget, I've got a gun."
It was the weirdest thing being in the department store after it was all shut up. It was the kind of place you expected always to be full of shoppers weighing up the price of stuff, especially at Christmas.
I thought about grabbing one of the toys and maybe hitting Vic over the head with it, but the closest things to hand were all these cute looking teddies and I wasn't stupid.
Santa led us off the shop floor and up this staircase with whitewashed walls. The sound of our footsteps echoed around us. I noticed Troy was grimacing.
"I've missed my medication slot," he whispered to me. "The arm is killing me."
When we got to the manager's office Vic flicked on a light and directed us over to some chairs in a corner with the gun. He was acting like the real big shot but what I was thinking about was Troy and his medication.
Vic went straight over to this portrait that was hanging on the wall behind the desk and lifted it carefully down to the floor. There in the wall was the front of a safe. Vic kissed his lips together.
Troy groaned a little. I could see that he had beads of sweat running down from his hairline and down both of his cheeks. With his good arm he was cradling the arm that was going to be removed.
"Look," I whispered. "Hang in there and think about that holiday. I don't know how these things work but we can probably put in these hours as overtime. We might get time and a half."
Vic had an ear pressed to the safe and with one hand he was turning the dial of the lock. How he knew beforehand the whole thing wasn't opened with a key I don't know but that was probably what made him a master criminal and me just an elf.
There came a clunk, clunk, clunk from the safe and I saw the door swing open. Inside was bundle after bundle of money. Vic let out a yelp and rubbed his hands together.
"Happy Christmas you devil," muttered Santa quietly.
Vic took from his pocket one of those plastic bags they sometimes give you in supermarkets if you are lucky and began shoving the money inside it.
Troy gave another groan. In the past I had seen plenty of TV shows and I was worried Troy might collapse, but instead he wiped the sweat from his forehead and piped up.
"Vic," he said, "you still want that getaway driver?"
Vic tied a knot in the top of the carrier bag and slung the bag over his shoulder. He laughed grimly.
"Thought the sight of all this might change your mind. This is the start. There's loads of money about at Christmas. Like I said, I need a good driver."
"I'm your baby," said Troy.
I didn't know what I was more upset about; this whole robbery, my holiday plans probably falling through, or being let down by Troy. I had kind of gotten used to the idea of having a friend who lived in the caravan behind my bedsit. I had imagined us popping over to each other's for cups of tea and maybe sharing a beer on the stoop in the summer. Oh well.
Troy stood up, giving me and Santa what I guessed was a disparaging look and walked over to where Vic was next to the safe. Vic laughed again and made like he was going to put an arm around Troy but as he did, Troy, to the surprise of us all, lunged to the left and snatched the gun right from Vic's hand. He held it up and pointed it at Vic.
"I'm going straight," said Troy. "How would it look if you got away with all that money? I'm bound to be fingered and I'm tired of getting fingered. It's happened once too often. Losing my arm has put things into perspective."
This was the most I had ever heard Troy talk and I was pretty impressed.
"Catch," said Vic.
Vic took the bag off his shoulder and threw it right at Troy. I guess if Troy hadn't been in so much pain he would have been quicker. The bag hit him square in the chest and the gun went flying.
Vic and Troy both lunged for the gun together and it disappeared under their bodies. At the same time me and Santa leapt up out of our chairs, both us of thinking that if we got the gun we could resolve the whole situation. Or maybe Santa was just thinking he could flatten Vic with his weight. Santa was quite a big guy.
Vic and Troy were both on their knees on the floor now. Troy had his good hand on the gun but sweat was pouring off his forehead and he was obviously in pain. Vic let out a shout, reached over Troy's body and punched him hard on his poorly arm. Troy screamed and I heard the gun go off and then felt this pain in my leg like nothing on earth.
I heard the gun go off again and saw blood spurting out of the back of Troy. It hit the wall making a pattern all the way up to the ceiling. It was like one of those Rorschach testing things but I couldn't say what it represented. Perhaps it was nothing. Perhaps it was something. I don't know. It was at that point that I must have passed out.

Two weeks later I was clearing out Troy's caravan. Outside the window all I could see was thick snow. It had started the day after the incident in the department store and had continued ever since. They were saying that it was the worst winter for twenty-five years.
I had spent one week in hospital. The doctors said I was lucky not to lose a leg.
"You might walk with a limp," a young doctor had told me, "but not so much of a limp as if you'd have had a prosthetic."
The landlady had lent me a case to pack Troy's stuff up in. I had said I would do it. He didn't have much; a few pairs of pants, a spare pair of jeans and a shirt that was obviously for best. What surprised me most was his collection of books. I hadn't had Troy down as a reader. When you don't know someone, it can still be surprising what you don't know about them.
It had turned out that Troy was a hero. The bullet that had gone through him had also hit Vic. Vic hadn't got away with a penny.
I closed the lid of the case and took a final look around the caravan. I headed out into the snow, it was tumbling out of the sky like popcorn. Luckily I had a cab waiting.
It was Christmas Eve and the streets were full of last minute shoppers. A Santa was standing on a corner ringing a bell. Two kids were throwing snowballs at a smaller one and then a big dog appeared and chased them all away.
The taxi stopped and I got out. I wished the driver a happy Christmas and stepped into the hospital concourse. Snow swirled around here too, rushing in through the doors and through a hole in the roof where the hospital was being redeveloped.
I made my way up the stairs and let myself into the room where Troy was staying. There was a machine next to him making beeping noises and he had a drip in his arm. His left arm. They had removed the bad one. I held my hand to his forehead. He still had a temperature but it didn't seem any worse. That was a good thing surely.
"I've packed your stuff, for our holiday," I said. "The case is here, all ready for when you wake up." I took a deep breath and sat down on the chair next to the bed. "The nurse tells me it's good if I speak to you. Maybe somewhere in there you can hear me. Can you?" Then, not knowing what else to do, I took one of the books out of the case and opened it up to the first page.
"War and Peace," I read, "by Leonard Tolstoy." I coughed gently into my hand. "It was cold, cold day in Siberia..."

**
Drew Gummerson's latest novel, Me and Mickie James, was published in July.**

Thursday, 2 October, 2008

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Issue 40 / January 2012

“So you’ve worked as elves before, have you?”