Spin cycle

Smith took a job in the launderette so he could be closer to her. She went in twice a week, so at least he’d be able to see her more often now. She was a nurse at the hospital. She worked in accident and emergency and sometimes she brought her bloody aprons to be washed there.

Davis came to see Smith every lunch time. ‘Why you wanna work in a place like this I’ve no idea,’ he said. ‘You ain’t doing yourself no favours.’ But he came in and sat with Smith and they ate lunch together. Then they would go out to the carpark at the back, for a smoke.

Smith knew better than to listen to Davis about his new job. He knew it was worth it, being here in the launderette every day, so he could see the nurse more often. But he couldn’t tell Davis as he wouldn’t have understood, as he was not the sort of man to understand what some men had to do. He was more of a sports kind of a man.

Later, when the last of the clients had left, Smith locked up and joined Davis in the bar. He ordered an orange juice. He was trying to drink less and eat a more healthy diet. The last time he’d looked in the mirror he’d been disgusted by what he saw. He was only thirty but he looked twice that. He didn’t hold out much hope that his nurse would be interested in him. But at least he was giving it a chance, by putting himself in her way. By making an effort with his appearance and general health.

Davis wanted to talk about his warts. He showed them to Smith. They were in clusters on the fingers of his right hand. One of them was the size of a pea, and had been picked at. ‘You see, they’re beginning to spread now, and I think that I should go and see someone, you know, a doctor like, but what do you think? Any advice?’
Smith looked at the warts. ‘I think you should go and see a doctor.’

Two girls came into the bar and sat down at the next table to the men. Davis turned his chair to face them. They weren’t as pretty as the nurse. One of them had a top on which was too short for her. Her stomach poked out over the top of her skirt. Smith went back to the bar.

‘How’s the job then,’ the barman asked. Smith had been coming to the bar for a year now, but he still didn’t know the barman’s name. He had meant to ask, but then it got embarrassing, so he gave up. He kept hoping he would overhear someone say the barman’s name, but he never did. There weren’t many regulars at this bar. Mainly hospital visitors and a few doctors, finishing their shifts.
‘Going well,’ Smith said.
‘Stolen any panties yet?’
‘Not yet, no.’
‘Let me know when you do. I’ll give you a free pint for them.’

Smith took the drinks back to the table. The girls had moved to the other side of the bar. The two men talked about the football, about who was playing who and which manager had said what.

The next day at four, the nurse came into the launderette. She walked past Smith and began to unload her washing from a stripy bag. When she had finished she sat at one of the picnic tables by the door and lit a cigarette. She took out a magazine and smoked her cigarette and occasionally looked across to see how her washing was doing.

Smith began sweeping the floor. He moved across to the nurse, sweeping all the while. He swept under the other picnic table then moved near the door. The nurse carried on reading her magazine, looking at the pictures of models and movie stars. She chewed her fingernails between drags on her cigarette. She smoked the same brand as Smith.

Smith wanted to talk to her. He wanted to sit down opposite her and ask her how her day had been, whether it had been hard, whether she enjoyed what she did, whether she was lonely or not. She had such lovely hair, long and wavy, which she always tied back with a scrunchy. She wore glasses to read. They were tortoiseshell, the sort librarians would wear. Or at least the sorts of librarians Smith thought about when he was alone. Smith wanted the nurse to look at him with those glasses on.

After he had finished sweeping he went to the back of the launderette and filled up the soap powder dispenser. He sneezed a few times when the powder got up his nose. The nurse did not look round. An elderly lady did, who had come in to wash her dog’s bed. The dog sat at her feet, looking bored. ‘Bless you,’ the old lady said.

The nurse’s washing was nearly finished. It was spinning now. Smith knew that, by the time it finished, he had to talk to the nurse, say something, anything. After all, he’d taken this job so he could be closer to her. And if he didn’t do anything, there would have been no point in it all.

The spin cycle finished. The nurse stood and waited by the machine for it to unlock. Then she unloaded her clothes and put them back into the stripy bag. Smith knew he’d lost his chance. He knew it, because the nurse never used a drier. They were a waste of money if you had somewhere at home you could dry your things.