Two Scoops

An evening shift at work was the last thing he wanted to do after the day he’d had, but Ryan had promised to cover for Evie and he didn’t want to attract the wrath of Jean, his manager, by bailing. So, he found himself sitting on the 17:26 bus service to St George’s Arcade, still dripping with rain, trying to ignore the pain from his swelling black eye.

He was almost certain that the hastily and inexpertly applied concealer he’d stolen from his mum’s make-up bag had dissolved in the downpour, if it would have even stood up to scrutiny to begin with. Jean would certainly notice and have something to say about it. This shift was the last thing Ryan wanted to do, and to make matters worse, the bus had been late by ten minutes. Jean would have something to say about that, too.

Mum had fussed terribly when he’d arrived home sporting a prominent shiner, and he’d managed to convince her that he’d fallen over running for the bus home from school. Dad had arched a sceptical eyebrow, but left his doubts unspoken.

He stared out of the rain-flecked window as the bus trundled along the high street, the winter gloom matching the dark feeling festering in the pit of his stomach. He would tell them his secret eventually; he just wanted it to be for a nicer reason than a gang of boys beating him up for being gay.

Tears sprang into his eyes as Ryan recalled the events of that afternoon. He’d been corralled against the wall of the alleyway leading to the bus stop by three bigger lads, two of them holding an arm each in place and the third punching him in the chest, over and over, to “beat the gay” out of him. Each punch was accompanied by a different insult or slur. The steady stream of school children leaving for the day did nothing to help him – some through fear, but others because they found his treatment funny, laughing, and shouting words of encouragement.

After a little while, Ryan almost managed to forget what was happening to him by trying to distance his mind from his body; he was trying to imagine what it might be like in about six months’ time, when he had finished school and wouldn’t have to run the constant gauntlet of physical and verbal assault his school days had become. Chris, the primary antagonist, seemed to register that Ryan had mentally distanced himself from what was happening, and made sure to bring him back to the present by punching him right in the eye.

The bus rounded the last corner on the approach to the Arcade, and Ryan rose to disembark with the majority of other passengers. It had been late so he would be arriving to work a few minutes after his shift was due to start – he hoped Jean wouldn’t be cross with him, but from his three-month working relationship with the woman, she was gruff on her best day. Ryan ran through the rain and into the Arcade towards the small ice cream shop he worked at. There was a queue of customers and Jean made her displeasure known as he ducked under the counter.

“Good evening, Ryan,” she drawled. He could feel her gaze linger on his black eye but made no further comment, busy as she was serving customers. As Ryan hurried to wash his hands and don his hat and apron, he contemplated her words – he knew she was being sarcastic about his lateness, but technically it was just after six o’clock and would be considered by many to be evening already. He decided not to comment on this and instead muttered an apology.

“I’m sorry for being late,” he said, and she gave him a look that could have melted the ice cream cone she was handing to a patron. He greeted the next customer in line and tried to ignore the sense of impending doom he felt.

After about twenty minutes, the queue had receded to nothing, and Jean rounded on him. “Why were you late?” she demanded.

Ryan gulped back the swell of anxiety in his stomach. “I’m sorry, the bus was late.”

“You should get an earlier bus then,” she growled. “You should know the weather causes delays.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“And why are you turning up to work with a shiner like that? Puts off the customers. What happened to you?”

His mind danced back to the alleyway and being pinned against the wall. He tried to blink back the tears. “I tried to use some of mum’s concealer to cover it, but I’m not very good at using it. Then I think the rain washed it off anyway.”

“It makes us look dirty,” she said. Ryan’s heart sank a little further in his chest. “What happened?” She asked again, but just then a group of customers approached the counter.

Ryan looked up at the most attractive person he’d ever seen.

He was flanked by his friends, three girls. Ryan didn’t recognise any of them from school, but they were around his age. They were looking at him expectantly.

“Are your ears bruised, as well as your eye?” asked one of the girls, prompting snickers from her friends. Ryan blinked.

“I’m sorry?”

The boy cleared his throat. “I said, could I have two scoops of chocolate fudge brownie please?”

“Oh…yes, of course,” said Ryan, hoping that his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Between Jean’s withering looks and his embarrassment, it was a miracle that the ice cream was staying solid.

Jean took the next order, and Ryan leaned into the cabinet to scoop out the requested flavour. Furiously trying not to look up, he could hear whispers flitting back and forth between the girls on the other side of the counter, and more snickering.

“What happened to your eye?” one of the girls asked, as Ryan handed the cone to the boy without making eye contact with any of them.

“I fell over,” he muttered.

“Do you fancy our mate?” asked another of the girls mischievously, and Ryan was so taken aback that his usual, well-practiced and automatic denial of any challenge to his sexuality failed to kick in. He stood, agape, as his cheeks turned even redder, and the girls giggled maniacally. Suddenly, he was stood back in the alleyway, fists raining down blows as people watched and laughed and did nothing to help him.

A great wave of terror descended on him, and without any apparent conscious control, he turned away from the counter and ran into the back room of the shop, tears running down his face and taking deep, ragged breaths as he took refuge amongst the boxes of napkins and polystyrene cups.

After what felt like an eternity, Jean erupted into the room, her face like thunder. But as she took in the sight of the broken boy, the sharp comment caught in her throat and her expression softened. 

“You’ve had a very bad day, haven’t you?” she asked. Ryan nodded. “Was it them who gave you the shiner?”

“No,” he replied, his breathing steadier but still tearful. “It was some lads after school.”

“Oh, good. Because I served them after you ran in here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I wouldn’t have served them if they were the ones who did that,” she replied, gesturing towards his eye. She stood awkwardly for a moment. “I can manage out there for a bit. You get yourself together and head back out when you’re ready.”

She walked back through the door, leaving a puzzled but grateful Ryan in the stock room. After a few more minutes of taking deep breaths, the tears stopped; he straightened his shoulders and walked back out onto the shop floor. The group of girls and the attractive boy were nowhere to be seen, much to Ryan’s relief. He hadn’t wanted to face them again after what he was sure was quite an embarrassing display.

Jean was serving a customer, but she held something out to him as he passed her.

“Here you go.”

“What’s this?” asked Ryan, taking the offered item, a slip of paper, from her.

“That lot left it for you,” she said, and if he didn’t know any better, Ryan could have sworn there was a momentary twinkle in her eye before she returned to serving.

He unfolded the note and tears once again sprang into his eyes, but this time for a very different reason. Scribbled on the back of a receipt for two scoops of chocolate fudge brownie ice cream was a phone number, a smiley face, and the name “Josh.” Ryan clutched the receipt to his chest; a worthless scrap of paper in someone else’s hands, but unexpected treasure in his. A warm and long-unfamiliar feeling blossoming inside him as a huge grin spread across his face.

Maybe this work shift wouldn’t be so bad, after all.