LITMIR.BIZ

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it was the night itself calling out to him. The crane was saying its goodbye, its thank you, its–

      And then he realised that the call hadn’t come from an impossible bird vanishing from his garden and life and out of the whole world for all he knew. The keen had been set free from his own body, cried out from icy blue lips, torn from a chest that suddenly seemed to hold his irreparably broken yet still beating heart.

      ‘But this says Patty.’

      ‘Yes, that’s what it says here on the order form, too.’

      ‘Do I look like a Patty to you?’

      ‘I suppose they could have thought it was for your wife.’

      ‘My wife is called Colleen.’

      ‘Well, then, Patty would have clearly been wrong for her–’

      ‘I saw the man type it in myself. Pea, ay, double dee, why. Paddy. And yet, follow along with my finger here as I underline the letters, this very, very unambiguously says Patty.’

      ‘Which is what it says here on the order form.’

      ‘But which is not what I saw the man type.’

      ‘I’m guessing maybe they looked at the vest and thought that since it was so pink–’

      ‘They? Who are they?’

      ‘The printers.’

      ‘This isn’t a printers?’

      ‘Not that kind of printers. We’re more of a flyer, poster-design kind of–’

      ‘So you’re a printing shop that doesn’t do its own printing.’

      ‘Not at all, as I say, we’re more of a flyer–’

      ‘Regardless, for printing onto running vests–’

      ‘And t-shirts.’

      ‘What’s that?’

      ‘It’s not just running vests we send out. T-shirts, too. Hen nights, stag dos, that kind of–’

      ‘You send them out.’

      ‘We send them out.’

      ‘With specific orders that someone in this shop types into a form on your screen there.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘So when I saw the man, quite a bit older than you, which is to say a grown-up, he typed in, before my very own eyes, Pea, ah, double dee, why–’

      ‘That would have been the specific orders to the outside printing company, yes.’

      ‘Which they didn’t follow.’

      ‘According to you, anyway, but it clearly says Patty on the order form–’

      ‘DO I LOOK LIKE A PATTY TO YOU?’

      ‘There’s no need for the shouting. We’re just trying to solve a problem, two reasonable men–’

      ‘Neither of whom are called Patty.’

      ‘I’m from Turkey. We don’t have Paddy versus Patty, okay? So how am I to know? Like I said, they probably saw the colour of the vest–’

      ‘That’s the colour of the charity. Pink is the colour of the charity. Breast Cancer. Pink. Because it affects women. Mostly women do the fundraising, but some men do, too. We run, we raise money. It’s the colour of the charity. It has nothing to do with the gender of the vest.’

      ‘Well, now, see, that’s interesting. Would you say vests had genders?’

      ‘Yes, I would say that. Men’s extra large. It’s right there on the tag. Men’s. Extra. Large. Really, am I being filmed? Is that what this is? Ah, here’s the guy–’

      ‘What’s going on, Mehmet?’

      ‘Customer here not happy with his order, Mr Duncan.’

      ‘Do I look like a Patty to you?’

      ‘I couldn’t really say without knowing you better, but I’m guessing no.’

      ‘Then why does this say–’

      ‘Obviously an error. I very clearly remember typing in Paddy with two dees.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘We’ll get that fixed for you overnight.’

      ‘The race is on Sunday.’

      ‘And overnight will be Friday. It’ll be fine.’

      ‘I’m just saying there’s no room for error. Any more error.’

      ‘Don’t you worry. You’ve got my personal guarantee.’

      ‘You hear that? George Duncan’s personal guarantee.’

      ‘Which means exactly what?’

      ‘It’ll be here tomorrow, Paddy, I promise you. If I have to drive to St Ives–’

      ‘Your printer’s in St Ives?’

      ‘If I have to drive to St Ives and pick it up myself.’

      ‘That’s a twelve-hour round trip.’

      ‘You’ve done it? I’ve found the A30 not too bad if you–’

      ‘Just . . . By tomorrow, please. Spelled properly.’

      ‘You have my word.’

      ‘. . .’

      ‘. . .’

      ‘. . . Well, he was a grouchy one.’

      ‘Stop winding up the customers, Mehmet. There’s a recession on.’

      ‘Ah, see, another good point. With the recession on, Patty, does the misspelling of one’s name really amount to so very, very much–’

      ‘What do I keep saying? Customer service. It’s not something I’ve just made up to punish you.’

      ‘They only do that stuff in America, George. Can I Help You, Sir. You Look Fabulous In That, Sir. Can I Get You Some More Iced Tea, Sir.’

      ‘. . . so you’ve never been to America then.’

      ‘Television. Exactly the same thing.’

      ‘Please, just call St Ives, tell them we have an urgent correction. And while you’re at it, ask them where the Brookman Stag Do t-shirts are. The boys are leaving for Riga tonight and they should have been here by–’

      ‘Brookman?’

      ‘. . . Oh, what’s that look, Mehmet? I don’t like that look. Please tell me–’

      ‘The Brookman ones have already gone out. He came by when you were at lunch.’

      ‘Oh, no. No, no, no. I checked the order myself and all that had come in were–’

      ‘The light blue ones with the kittens on the front.’

      ‘Those were the O’Riley Hen Night! Why on earth would light blue kittens be for a stag do? They even said Hen Night–’

      ‘We don’t have hen nights in Turkey! How am I supposed to know the difference?’

      ‘You moved here when you were three!’

      ‘What’s the big deal? They’ll all be so drunk, who’s going to notice?’

      ‘I suspect ten soldiers from Her Majesty’s Coldstream Guards might notice that a light blue cartoon kitten with a hand over its genitals isn’t quite–’

      ‘Paw.’

      ‘What?’

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