THE SMART E’S.

‘It’s a long hard climb to the top.’ They had told Jack that a long time ago. ‘If you really want to end up like Mr Big,’ they had said.

Jack wasn’t stupid, just a little naïve one might say. But, in this day and age you have to be ‘clued up’ and at least one step ahead of the really stupid managers, those men and women in suits, automatons of the new millennia. Those new ‘Women’, all dressed up and ready to kill, big farts in a jacket, all mouth, no sense, plenty of trouser and pure power dressing. Look the part, do the business, consume the big hand outs top brass are falling over themselves to give you and run. 

And that was Farqhart all over, slick, swarthy, too good looking by far, and sly. He could pass for a terrorist any day especially when he put on his back pack and headed off  every weekend to ‘Allah knows where’ But when he was giving a power point presentation  you just had to be listening or he would pick you off like a sniper. Farqhart was sliding fast up the greasy pole, only 29, but heading straight for the top; wheeling and deFarqhartng the stock market like a pro and all set to manufacture his first million before his next decade.

‘Pay attention, lads and lasses.’ He would modulate his voice with careful orchestration and a very self satisfied smirk set firm on foxy features as if he’d been born sneering. He had taken Jack aside last week straight after a meeting; smooth as an egg inside his suit, hair well gelled with that oily, oozing persona. 

‘You could go far,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose like a young Fagin while feigning a ghetto accent. ‘But, hey, boy, you need to play the game a little, dabble a bit, take chances and then… you could just end up smart, good looking just like me…oh, and …rich.’

Jack felt himself sweating uncomfortably, Farqhart was too close for comfort and there was a strong scent of something stale on his breath. 

‘You’d like to be a bit like me wouldn’t you Jack my boy, but you’ll never be me ‘cos you sure ain’t good looking and you sure ain’t rich. And rich is the new cool. Rich can get you anything…know what I mean? Anything.’

Jack felt his own youth right down to his shoes, as an angry spot tingled on his forehead and Farqhart stared straight at it. ‘And what about your poor mum?’ he continued now, mimicking a fake West Indian accent. ‘I bet she could do with a bob or two now your dad’s legged it.’

Jack’s spot felt as if it was on fire from too much attention and the fire started to suffuse his face, escaping into an over tight collar.

‘Now, we could do a …swop. I could give you a substantial amount of you know what and you could give me…well...’ And he went back to tapping at his over large nose.

He knew about the coins alright. Farqhart knew everyone’s business, inside the office and out. Jack had made the silly mistake of bringing them into work one day and showing them off to Gina, who he fancied like mad, and she had been very interested in the strangeness of them and Jack had spilled the beans, so to speak. It was all that his father had left to his mother, that and a few sad memories. 

Farqhart was lurking behind a filing cabinet, fascinated, hardly daring to draw breath; he knew how to hone in on the vulnerable and he could smell out money for miles. Jack thought the coins worthless at first, procured from a random dig on the Somerset Levels one drink sodden day, but Gina had drawn his attention to their intricate designs, she told him to hold on to them and she sensed their value to be worth more than just pure sentiment. 

‘And be careful of that Farqhart, he’s not your friend whatever you may think,’ she said. ‘Whatever you do, don’t let him see them.’ She held fast to Jack’s hand sending shivers to the very end of every possible extremity. 

‘Promise me,’ she said earnestly. And at that time Jack would have promised her his very soul. 

Two days later Farqhart sidled up to him at the urinal. He casually mentioned the coins as he stared straight at the porcelain. ‘Your mum needn’t know,’ he said.

But the old cow would know and Jack was more than a little bit afraid of her.

The next day Farqhart detoured on his way up to see the Boss and quick as a flash produced a strip of five tiny tabs from his inside pocket. 

 ‘I’ll swop you these if you like, for a quick look at your booty.’

Jack feigned disinterest. ‘Pity,’ continued Farqhart in a high sing song voice. ‘For you could go straight to the top with these.’ He pushed the tabs slowly, tantFarqhartsingly, towards Jack. ‘These are pretty smart E’s… Fink about it.’ Jack had no idea what Farqhart was talking about, he thought Smart E’s were chocolate beans, having lived a very sheltered life.

 But later on he found them in his own pocket, slipped in by a cunning hand and he was fascinated. He examined the strip and the over bright colours as he tore along the perforated edge, placing a purple one just on the edge of his tongue. And the effect was instantaneous. One minute he was down on the ground and the next he was swinging around in the sky looking down on his house, marvelling at its smallness. He could see for miles and miles and miles, just like that song but he couldn’t remember who had sung it. The cows were in the meadow, the sheep in the corn. And the sky was as blue as blue could be. Then he squeezed his eyes tight shut with fear and just as suddenly found himself in bed with his mother standing over him.

‘And where the hell were you last night?’ she appeared to be shouting in time to the rhythm vibrating inside Jack’s head and then he rolled over and was copiously sick. 

‘And where have all those coins gone? The only thing left by your father. Where the hell are they?’ His mother had kept them on a dusty high shelf in a place which he thought she had long forgotten. It was then she caught sight of the tabs and snatching them up threw them straight out of the window. Once she’d gone to work and the coast was clear Jack was on his hands and knees in the garden groping for his treats, because nothing could now stop him from that experience which he now so desperately wanted to recreate. He tried a red one this time, a touch to the tongue and an instant to dissolve and he was once again high up in the blue, blue sky, but this time something entwined itself around his waist. 

In his ecstasy he half imagined it to be Gina, caressing him like the lover he so wanted her to be, but even before his fantasy was partway through there was another intrusion. A gigantic foot of Pythonesque proportions protruding from a space directly above his face. And then just as suddenly it vanished but Jack felt bold, he felt empowered, in control and more than ready to take on the bigger things in life. After all what did his mother know? Her and her ridiculous coins, it was no small surprise his father did a runner. 

 And this was truly living! He popped another Smart E under his tongue, a yellow one this time, and by now he was truly flying. He was on a high alright. He raised an arm and parted the clouds, yes parted them, and gazed with wonder at what he saw next. A whole kingdom lay before him and a gravel path beckoned for his footfall to which he gladly responded.  Then he found himself thinking about Farqhart. He wanted Farqhart’s job desperately, he wanted to be in charge. He wanted everything that Farqhart was. He wanted to be Farqhart. And he wanted the goose who laid the golden egg. Now he felt clear headed, determined; he felt as if he could walk among giants.

He spied a pub on the horizon, The Castle, the bold font scrawled across its walls. OK, thought Jack, I’m certainly up for a pint or three. But as he drew nearer he began to take in the sheer size of the place, it was huge, bigger than anything he’d ever seen in his life and as the door was open a crack in he popped. A woman’s voice cut through the air like a chainsaw.

‘Quick. You, if you value your life get over here.’ she yelled in Jack’s direction. ‘He’s back for his tea and there’s nothing he likes better than…’ And with that she promptly snatched at Jack and stuffed him deep into her gargantuan bosom. It made him feel as if he was nestling in a mountain of warm unbaked bread and the effect was practically soporific.

‘Fee. Fi. Fo. Fum…’ A booming voice of volcanic proportions began to rent the air as the ground began to shake and shift as four identically massive children came bouncing out of nowhere. And as Jack peeked tentatively from between the fleshy peaks he caught sight of the largest being that he had ever spied in his entire life. A huge arm swept low and gathered four  enormous children gently up and into its lap. Later that night when the woman had forgotten all about Jack and she lay snoring he climbed down and carefully made his escape. He tip- toed past the colossal creatures and made his way quickly to the end of the road where a spike of a lonely tendril stood. Grabbing at it he fell down, down, down followed by a loud thud and blackness.  And Jack woke up in hospital several days later.

‘The police would like a word with you,’ began the grave looking doctor. ‘Something about a Farqhart…’