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Arnold Rimmer stirred a third spoonful of sugar into his morning coffee. He couldn’t remember when he’d started taking sugar at all. He was vaguely aware that the amount had risen alarmingly over the last unidentified length of time — unidentified because the passage of lonely days meant very little to him.
Upon further consideration, he added a fourth heaping spoonful. Pathetic. A pathetic sad loser, that was what he was. No, no, the sappy romantic voice in his head tried to explain; you’re a wee bit lonely. You need sweetness in your life, so you’re trying to compensate. Shh, it’s okay, Arnold -
Ugh, shut up, you twonk. Make me vomit all over my suit, why don’t you.
Sometimes he wondered what it was all for — the crisp white shirts, the neatly pressed jackets, the sombre-hued ties that he meticulously tied and re-tied until they were just right. Did the customers, who by definition had poor vision, actually care what he looked like as long as he got them through their eye exams?
I won’t tolerate any son of mine looking slobby, Arnold. Dear old Mum. So preoccupied with her boys’ appearances, if not with their physical, mental, emotional, or…really any kind of well-being.
You’ve brought nothing but disappointment to this family, Arnold. Gahh! How had Dad got in there? Moustache quivering in disapproval, waving his walking stick threateningly, all because he wasn’t a high-flyer like his three older brothers. It didn’t matter to the intolerant old man that his youngest son, who as a child had been crap at school, had turned himself round and now made a decent living, cosy little flat above his practice included. Why did he ever bother -
Stop! Stop thinking about him! No wonder you’re such a mess, he scolded himself, draining his coffee in one go. It should have tasted like treacle, but he didn’t so much as grimace; clearly he’d killed his taste buds with all that sugar. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic…the chant followed him all the way down the stairs.
Only one pair of crooked glasses on display. Arnold smiled indulgently as he straightened them. One pair was nothing compared to what he’d have found three months ago, not long after he had hired…
“Morning!”
“Dave!” his voice boomed out before he could modulate his enthusiasm. Good job, smeghead. Very suave. “I mean, er, good morning.”
Dave Lister hadn’t been a typical candidate for the assistant’s position. Both of his predecessors had been timid young women who went about saying “Yes, Arnold” and “Of course, Arnold” and lived under the thumbs of cantankerous parents.
Dave had confessed in his lilting Scouse accent that he had no family or money to speak of in London, where he’d moved on a whim, and a job was a job. He’d asked Arnold with his earnest brown eyes as well as with his words to give him a chance. He was good with people, they had said.
Although it was unusual for a sedate optician’s practice to have a black-clad, dreadlocked young man as a representative, they made it work. Dave was so cheerful, so charming, that even the fussy old customers who were prone to being scandalised trusted him with their appointments and hats and whatnot.
The sunny, sweet smile was all very nice, good for business. However, there was a problem: From the first moment that Dave had turned it on him, Arnold had been besotted.
For a man in his early thirties who — according to various customers, at any rate — was reasonably good-looking and kind, Arnold had an extremely small amount of romantic experience. He tended to go numb around people he fancied, partly because he felt shy and partly because of the nagging Voice of Neurosis (he always capitalised the phrase in his mind) that occupied most of his waking moments. Cat got your tongue? it would ask. Look at you, you’re rubbish at talking. No wonder the number of people you’ve kissed can be counted on one hand. It was quite chummy with his parents’ voices as well, more was the pity. You might at least consider marrying into a good family, if you can by some miracle find a woman who’ll have you. She’d probably have to be concussed first. Or had it been one of his brothers who’d said that?
Dave was definitely not a woman, and more importantly, he wasn’t from “a good family” or “an acceptable background” or any of the other smeg that he’d been told to seek. He was a bit of a rebel. A beautiful, beautiful rebel…sometimes Arnold secretly watched Dave’s lips as he chatted away with that easy youthful confidence, wondering exactly how it would feel to kiss them. How those eyes would look if they were to look up at him, filled with admiration, as they stood close enough to kiss. PLEASE. As if he’d ever find anything to admire about you.
Arnold aimed the tonometer at his first customer of the day. “Now try not to blink.” People tended to dislike this portion of the eye exam, and the man sitting before him was rather grumpy; he wanted to get this part out of the way quickly. But…
He heard the door behind him creak open. Dave. He turned around in his seat, forgetting all about Mr Grumpy Git.
“Yes?”
“Sorry, just need to get some more lens cleaner. Oh, and I found these outside.” Arnold barely noticed the pair of glasses that Dave set on the counter. He was entranced by the way Dave moved and the warm glow of his skin in the light. Oh, how he’d like to squeeze the hand that was currently scrabbling through a drawer…he absently squeezed the trigger. “OW!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Still without thinking, Arnold put down the offending machine and picked up the glasses. Plain black frames, understated…mmm. Dave had moved closer, allowing Arnold to breathe in the scent of tobacco that had somehow become endearing. He was trying to quit, he’d confided one quiet morning, but it was a real battle to keep his hands and mouth occupied with something other than fags. Arnold had merely nodded; it would not have done to express the thoughts that were running through his mind at that moment, which went something like I can think of a few ways to keep them occupied. By the way, I’m desperately in love with you. Would you like to come upstairs later for a cup of tea and a plate of snogs?
Oh, how he’d like to caress that face.
Just ask him out, the Voice of Romance whispered sweetly. What have you got to lose?
Only everything, idiot, snarled the Voice of Neurosis/his parents/his brothers.
A third, more reasonable voice piped up: If you only knew what his answer would be before you asked him.
The customer cleared his throat. Instead of giving him full attention, however, Arnold looked again at the glasses. Would they make him look more distinguished? He put them on - no! His second (also sickeningly sugary) cup of coffee, which had been on the counter next to him, was falling to the floor. He lunged forward to grab it, hoping to save the carpet (Nice one, you goit, have fun with the scalded hand), but his hand grasped futilely at thin air.
What?
He hurriedly took the glasses off. What the smeg? There was no cup on the floor, no coffee splattered everywhere. And now Mr Grumpy Git was looking at him like he was insane, which he quite possibly was. Right. He had to get back to the task at hand. He slid forward with what he hoped was a winning smile, and his hand knocked the coffee cup clean off the counter.
What??
“Oh smeg! Here…” Dave hurried over with a box of tissues. “I think we could still save the carpet if I mop up the worst. I know how much you like it.”
Actually, you know what I like even more? That unbelievable optimism of y -
Shut up, you massive loser, shut up.
Before Arnold’s brain could compute what was going on, Dave had left the room. There was nothing for it but to stop angsting and do his job. He picked the tonometer back up. “Other eye?”
“Forget it.”
It had been a long day. Arnold lumbered out, gripping the unlucky coffee cup in one hand and the weird glasses in the other, and avoiding Dave’s gaze. I don’t know what to say to him. “I know that you know that I’m a clumsy, emotionally stunted idiot. Would you still like to go out with me? Pretty please?” “Arnold?”
He jumped a mile. Smegging hell!
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but er…you look beat.”
Unable to think of a response, Arnold made a noise in his throat that could have meant either “That’s probably true” or “Leave me alone.”
“You drink too much coffee, man. You could try chamomile tea or something, cut down on the caffeine?”
Aww, see, he cares about you. Go on, then, turn around and give him a smile…What Arnold managed was nearer to a rictus grin. For smeg’s sake, you can’t even SMILE normally.
“Anyway, I should get going.” Dave walked around his desk and waved a friendly hand. “’Night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Nnn.” If only I didn’t have to wait until then.
Arnold watched, the previously intended smile now warming his face, as Dave stepped out and lit a cigarette. Maybe he could propose a pact — he’d reduce his coffee intake if Dave smoked less. Propose? No, what he wanted to propose was something else entirely. As if.
He was still holding the glasses. He put them on again, pretending that they could give him a better view - oh, no! Dave had set himself on fire, the careless, adorable, ash-flicking goit. He threw the glasses on his desk and ran outside, only to see Dave puffing away nonchalantly, then -
“Smeg! I’m on fire!” Dave shouted, swatting at his leg.
Arnold was now totally confused. He had just seen this happen, yet here it was, happening again.
“Eh, my fault. Should’ve been more careful,” Dave told him with a rueful (kissable) look.
Say something. SAY something.
“Anyway…”
SAY SOMETHING. “Are - are you okay?”
“Oh, yeah, don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Good night!”
Arnold watched Dave’s back(side) until it faded out of view. Speaking of views…he walked back inside dazedly. How had he seen Dave set himself on fire before he’d set himself on fire? What the hell was going on?
The glasses.
He put them on again and looked for - aha, the clock. 17:35:50, the big red numbers said. Seeing the future? What a stupid…he lowered the glasses. 17:35:39, :40, :41…
No. Surely not.
He raised the glasses. 17:35:52, :53, :54…he lowered them. 17:35:45, :46, :47…
He could see the future.
It wasn’t worth wondering whether he was going mad; his mind was a mess at the best of times. He could see the future. Ten seconds — what could he do with ten seconds? It wasn’t exactly an ideal time frame for fortune-telling, for example.
The answer that emerged was as gloriously bright as Dave’s smile.
The next morning, Arnold stood ramrod straight in the middle of the floor, glasses at the ready. He nodded appreciatively at the sight of Dave sauntering in, whistling and apparently completely recovered from the previous night. “Morning!”
Say. Something. Arnold opened his mouth; unfortunately, his vocal cords seemed to have frozen. Not even a simple hello escaped. Why was he like this? John, or Frank, or whoever it was had been right — he would die alone.
Never mind your brothers. Focus. Focus. He turned to face Dave, who had taken his place behind the desk and was looking down at some papers. How did this go? Right — he would think very hard about asking Dave out, and he might get his answer. Which will be a big fat no, because now he knows that you’re crazy as well as romantically inept.
Focus. Would you like to go and see a film tonight? Quickly, he put the glasses on.
Dave looked surprised, but pleased as well. Very pleased, if he dared to imagine. “I, er…sure!”
He said yes! Well, he said “sure,” which meant yes! Arnold grinned madly; he felt like dancing a jig right there.
“Arnold? You okay?”
What? Glasses off. Dave was frowning at him in obvious concern. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Nonetheless, his destiny awaited him —
“Would you like to go and see a film tonight?”
Arnold hadn’t looked closely at what they were going to watch. It didn’t matter to him in the slightest because (1) he was going on a date with Dave (Yes!) and (2) he was going on a date with…oh, dear. He had reckoned without his tendency to go numb.
As it turned out, they were watching the billionth sequel to a slasher movie that had been popular ten years previously. Arnold chanced a peek through the glasses — wonderful, even more badly produced gore. Everyone around him, including Dave, cringing at the gore and/or the special effects. Could he change the future? Maybe he could casually drape his arm on the back of Dave’s seat, or just initiate something, anything, more interesting than what was on the screen. A kiss, for example. A kiss would be lovely. Just a little one to test the waters -
“Ugh,” several people groaned in unison.
Typical. He’d wasted the ten seconds waffling, and Dave looked disgusted, no doubt by the man who was forcing him to sit through this dreck.
Arnold couldn’t very well ask Dave whether he’d come back to his flat. If nothing else, the flat was above Dave’s place of work. Not exactly romantic. This was of course putting aside the fact that there would be no romance between them, not now he’d screwed everything up so monumentally.
Why do I bother?
He’d never been to Dave’s flat before, obviously. They stopped their silent walk in front of the building — silent, because although Dave was a good conversationalist, even he couldn’t work with this much awkwardness.
“Here we are.” Dave turned to him with his usual friendly smile. Just friendly, nothing more. “Thanks for walking me home. I can take care of myself, though, you know,” he added teasingly. “I’m from Liverpool.”
Arnold grimaced on the inside. I’m a moron. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he grimaced on the outside too. Dave started patting his pockets, evidently looking for keys or cigarettes.
This is your only chance. If you don’t do it now, it’ll never happen.
Kiss him. Just kiss him. One little kiss, since you’re totally incapable of telling him how you feel.
Arnold put the glasses on and was startled by a face dangerously near his, moving in closer and closer, toward - could it be?
Yes, yes, yes! At last, something was going to go well. If they never kissed again after this, he’d die happy. I love you. I love you. He removed the glasses and leaned in, heart pounding, aiming for those sweet, full -
Dave gasped, then tried to cover it up with a cough. “Arnold, I…look, I don’t know if this is - was - a good idea, with you being…”
With you being a loser, one of the voices in Arnold’s mind concluded helpfully.
But what was going on? The glasses had clearly shown a kiss about to happen, with Dave participating if not enthusiastic. Were they malfunctioning?? They must be. Ugh. He’d been stupid to trust them. Stupid, stupid, stupid…he turned to hide his humiliation and stepped forward, willing his legs to move. There was his work and non-existent personal life ruined in one fell swoop.
He neither saw nor heard the car speeding towards him. Thump.
Why do I bother.
“Call an ambulance!” Dave shouted to a passerby. Oh, no. Ohnoohnoohno…he ran over and knelt on the ground by Arnold, who had gone very still. “Arnold? Can you hear me? Arnold?”
No answer. Oh smeg, he’s dead! People die with their eyes open, don’t they? And it’s all my fault!
He gave himself a few good mental kicks. If he’d been going to get last-minute cold feet about boss-employee relationships and potential weirdness and so on, why the smeg had he said yes to this date in the first place? Arnold was a sweet man. Neurotic, but sweet. Not to mention handsome. More than once, Dave had wondered what he would be like in a romantic context, whether being held against that broad chest would be as nice as he imagined. Well, now it was too late. The poor sod. The poor, poor…choking back a sob, Dave bent down and softly brought their lips together, although he couldn’t see what use it would be now.
“Dave?” a voice croaked from beneath him. The previously rigid body stirred and let out a little sigh.
“You’re alive!” he cried stupidly.
Arnold stared up at him. “Yes.” His eyes, which had looked blank before, were now full of tenderness. Beautiful. “Thanks for…anyway, thanks, Dave.”
“I nearly killed you!”
“Still.” Their hands had found their way to a meeting place. “Look, I’m…I’m a bit crap at talking.”
“You don’t say,” Dave couldn’t help saying cheekily.
“I just want to say…I’m really sorry I don’t communicate with you.”
“It’s all right, man. I didn’t mean to take the piss.”
“No, it’s not…” The hazel eyes looked at him, into him. “I find it particularly hard to talk to you.”
Dave’s heart leapt. “Why’s that?” he whispered, squeezing the hand in his own.
“I really like you.”
For once, Dave was the silent one. However, he felt his face break into a big, bright grin, and that seemed to communicate more than he could say — Arnold was smiling back. He raised his free hand to stroke the curls he’d wanted to touch from the moment he’d laid eyes on them. Then he lowered his head carefully to listen to the heart that was pounding just as loudly as his own. For a few wonderful moments, they held each other that way, both giddy at the prospect of more to come.
One of the paramedics spotted a pair of glasses on the ground. Plain black frames, understated, but there was something about them…