At the Edge of the Game by Gareth Power Read Free Book Online Page B

really see it that way myself. How have I managed to come
through so much life, such a vast span of time, still with all targets ahead of
me? So much life already lived. Statistically speaking, nearly halfway through
my lot of time, and I feel as though I’m only starting out.
    Candy McThomas
is a good-looking, tall, slim girl in a fairly garish pink body-hugging
mini-dress and dark tights. Her face registers womanly satisfaction at the
widening of my pupils. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ I say in a businesslike tone.
    She leads me to
the lift with minimal conversation. A routine part of her job, bringing new
try-outs into the mailroom. To her I am a number, not someone to be thought of
as attractive, or even unattractive. She’s maybe five years younger than me,
curiously demure in her movements, considering what she’s wearing. Hard to
figure out, she is.
    ‘Here it is,’
she says, pushing open one of a pair of double swing-doors, gesturing me
through ahead of her. Step forward, see the mailroom for the first time. Two
men stand at a bank of pigeon holes, shoving envelopes into this one and that.
They show no interest until Candy calls them over to meet me. ‘Lads, this is –
um…’ She looks at me.
    ‘George.’
    ‘Sorry. George,
these are Len and Al.’
    Len is a small,
weedy-looking man, whereas Al is medium-sized, burly.
    ‘Alright,’ says
Al in his city accent. ‘We’re just about to do our runs, Candy.’ To him I’m an
annoying disruption.
    ‘You go on your
run then, Al. Len, will you stay here for a minute and get George started?’
    Al pushes a cart
of sorted envelopes out the door and off towards the lift.
    Len is
diffident. He leads me to the bank of pigeon-holes. His voice is raspy, his
breathing short. Just listening to him makes me feel short of breath myself. I
wonder is he missing part of a lung.
    ‘Get some post
like this’, he says, picking up a pile out of a large plastic container beside
him. ‘Just check the name and throw it into the right hole’
    He dispatches
the pile to their respective holes in just a few seconds. It’s like his hands
are performing the task autonomously.
    I look at the
names taped to the pigeon holes. Lanigan, Norris, Kearney, Adams, Thomas,
Sugrue, and so on. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of these holes. ‘How are
they organised?’
    He shrugs.
    ‘So how do you
know where to put what?’
    ‘You learn.’
    ‘Just memory?’
    He shrugs again.
‘You want to get started? Just pick up a pile of post and get going. You can
hang your coat over there.’
    He leaves on his
mail run, pushing a laden cart out the door.
    I look at my
first envelope, feeling utterly stupid. A big inter-office envelope, A4 size.
Name on it is Sean Killeen. Killeen. I start on the left of the bank of holes,
scan them semi-methodically, side-step slowly along, eyes searching up and
down, zig-zagging. I notice suddenly that Candy’s desk is in a partition at the
far end of the room, which offers a clear-glass view of the mail-sorting area.
She’s sitting there, looking at me. I find a pigeon hole labelled Killeen right
back where I was originally standing. Next envelope is for a Mr Black. Begin
the scan again, thinking of the way Len went through that stack like a machine.
Is it possible that I can end up doing that?
    After about ten
minutes, Candy comes over to me. ‘How are you finding it?’
    ‘I’m a bit slow.’
    ‘You look like
you’re making a good start.’
    Really?
    ‘The lads will
tell you about the rest of it when they come back. The mail runs are the major
other thing. Just keep up what you’re at for now.’
    She goes back to
her desk, and starts working on something involving a computer. Doesn’t seem to
be watching me any more. A few names recur over the next while, and I retain a
few locations, slot away a few envelopes almost like a pro.
    The next thing,
the two boys come clattering back with their carts almost empty.
    ‘Alright, Candy,’
shouts Al in his