The morning that Gavin Mercer told his wife about his daily reckoning, Sally-Ann hid her face in her pillow. The Star Wars obsession had been fun at first and hadn’t she been in costume when they met? She had borrowed it from the friend who had begged her to go along to the convention where Gavin’s enthusiasm and professed belief in fate had relieved the boredom. It had amused her to play along with his fantasy and she had found it cute to witness his passion for a film she knew little about. He had fussed around her like a puppy and didn’t puppies grow on you? But how should she react to his latest admission? This time is was of his early morning account of pros and cons and the interrogation of his mental database for an as yet unrecognised problem or unidentified worry. He was either anxious or anxious about not being anxious and this made her head spin. Calculating that Gavin, who liked to call himself her Luke Skywalker, was not her only hope, Sally-Ann took off in search of a different hero. Gavin recorded her departure in his daily tally and opened up a new worry, which could have been a new hope if he had been that way inclined, that having lost someone from his life he would find someone new or someone else would find him. It was the latter possibility that kept him awake at night.

Colin Kane first cast his shadow over Gavin on April Fools’ Day in 1978. As a present for his upcoming birthday, Gavin’s father had surprised him with the instruction to choose three friends to accompany him to the film which was on everybody’s lips. From the moment those two words had appeared in huge letters above the entrance to the ABC on Drinkwater Parade, Gavin had been hinting that he would never ask for anything, ever again, if his dad would take him to see Star Wars. News of the trip to the pictures spread around the class before Gavin had selected the lucky trio, and for a few days he bestrode the playground like a Colossus, receiving gifts and tributes from the boys in his year.

Three days later he shot out of Screen One with his mouth full of bubble gum and his head lost in a galaxy far, far away. He sprinted towards the bottom of the grand staircase, zigzagging and banking like an X-Wing fighter in a dogfight with the Imperial forces. But instead of escaping the clutches of the evil empire, he managed to take out a lanky boy with sticky-out teeth who lost his Maltesers in the collision. Unfortunately for the birthday boy, the injured party was Colin Kane, a ten year old bruiser who Gavin knew by reputation, which was enough for Gavin to know to steer clear. Gavin had heard the stories of how Colin had assumed the title of ‘cock of the school’ a full year younger than the average age of those who attempted or were forced to scale that peculiar mountain; he had been given a wide berth by the other playground enforcers, mostly because he was willing, some would have said determined, to prove his strength at the drop of a hat. Or, for that matter, a box of Maltesers. But on April Fools’ Day 1978, when Mr. Mercer was on hand to pick both boys from the floor, the best Colin Kane could do was to give the younger boy a look promising consequences which, far from being unimaginable, managed to dissolve young Skywalker’s courage before he had brushed the dust from the knees of his corduroys. This was the instant when Gavin Mercer experienced bowel-loosening fear for the first time and the remainder of his birthday weekend passed in a state of terrified anticipation.

After two bloody lips, countless grazed knees and a broken wrist, Gavin learned to form alliances with other forces opposed to and threatened by the dark side. A desire for coalition followed him into adulthood, where from the moment that such thoughts might occur to a person, Gavin made plans to call his first born son Luke. When he formed an alliance with Sally-Ann Evans, he decided not to share this plan, at least to begin with. Besides, they had met at a convention where he had been dressed as his hero and she as Princess Leia: she must have got the picture. Sally-Ann had refused to wear the costume at their wedding, opting instead – insisting, to be fair – for traditional bridal dress. Gavin accepted with grace, having floated and scuppered the idea of a guard of honour bearing lightsabers. Perhaps he should have seen it coming, but when she walked out he was grateful that she cited only irreconcilable differences and unreasonable behaviour, granting Gavin the dignity of keeping his one undeniable passion from the official paperwork. Faced with the loss of his wife, he sought distraction in his favourite film, where the villains were cellulose and would always be vanquished.

*

Gavin watched as the young man flattened the posters onto the counter and frowned. His lips moved as his gaze switched from poster to Gavin and back again. This is the moment, thought Gavin, when he decides whether or not to question his customer’s choice of wording. There were no spelling mistakes, of that he was sure, so what was this fellow’s problem? He rubbed his forearms and checked his wristwatch.

‘Shouldn’t you have added A New Hope, to make it clear?’

‘To make what clear, Brady?’ asked Gavin, reading the name badge pinned to the red polo shirt.

‘What costumes they can wear,’ said Brady.

‘They all know. It’s a club.’

‘A club?’

‘Yes. An Appreciation Society.’

‘But what if someone else, who isn’t a member...they won’t know which film you mean.’

Was Brady was taking the piss?       

‘When the film came out, Brady, it was advertised as Star Wars. It didn’t say Star Wars Episode IV or even Star Wars Episode IV, colon, A New Hope on the posters.’

As Gavin leaned towards him to press his point, Brady took two steps back from the counter. He picked up a long cardboard tube in both hands and swished it in front of him. Gavin flinched as one end whistled past his ear, accompanied by Brady’s impression of the sound emitted by the Jedi’s weapon of choice.

‘You know best,’ said Brady, bringing the tube to rest on the counter. He rolled the posters and slipped them into the cardboard.

Gavin paid his bill in silence and rushed back to the car, already fifteen minutes late back from lunch. Mr. Jones, had he not been on long term sick leave, would have been appalled by his timekeeping. During his tenure as Acting Manager at Robinson’s on Ladysmith Row, Gavin had tried to set an example and maintain the exacting standards upon which his ailing boss insisted. He knew the shop and customers well, having seen plenty come and go on either side of the reinforced glass. He had watched the clientele get younger, older, and younger again. He was on first name terms with most of the regulars, some of whom chose to reciprocate once in a while. Preferring to keep things informal with his staff, he displayed the appropriate gravitas and deference in his dealings with the Area Manager who had extended Gavin’s temporary position twice. After six months, the Acting Manager was ready to press his case for a permanent position, but this intention was kiboshed when Colin Kane staggered back into his life.

It was a Wednesday night. A full programme from three divisions of the Football League had kept the shop busy. It emptied out ten minutes after the final results, and Gavin was left alone with Frankie Marquez, the new girl. He sent Frankie into the office to cash up two of the tills and let himself onto the shop floor to straighten the chairs and empty the bins. Robinson’s official policy would have him wait until his colleague was behind the counter, but Gavin was keen to get home to prepare his submission for Head Office. At this time of night punters were either at home licking their wounds, in the pub doing the same or sharing stories of success with drinkers on the lookout for a refill. Frankie’s father often turned up when she was working late and as a rule he offered her boss a lift home. Gavin had his back to the door when he heard it chime, and assumed Emilio had come to collect his daughter.

‘Evening Mr. Marquez,’ he said, bending down to retrieve a pen from the carpet.

‘What?’ 

The voice was unfamiliar, yet there was something in the cocksure tone that sent Gavin tumbling down a wormhole all the way back to school. For a second he felt as though a six inch needle was being withdrawn from his coccyx.

‘Apologies,’ he said, ‘I thought you were someone...’

‘What the fuck you talking about, you fat bastard?’

Startled by the slurred challenge, Gavin turned towards the voice and froze, transfixed by the teeth shooting from the lips at a near impossible angle. Would you forget the bully who vandalised your childhood? The face that snarled and mocked as you were relieved of your dinner money, your sweets, your homework and your shoes? Can you ever snuff out the memory of the voice that taunted you with crude and unoriginal insults, calling into question your status, health, parentage and even your right to exist? It had been decades, but Colin Kane had used the very phrase that had ricocheted around the playground – primary and secondary – for years. And even if Gavin had managed to dig a hole deep enough to bury the memories, those unforgettable teeth were a grisly reminder of past horrors. Gavin opened his mouth, but found it barren.

‘I said what the fuck are you talking about?’ Colin Kane mumbled. He leaned towards Gavin, launching a finger in his direction. He stumbled, but corrected himself as though no one would have noticed. His second assumption hit the mark: the man in front of him was terrified.

‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’ Gavin had returned the playground, once again deserted by friends to sink or swim in the face of the bully everyone called Kane.

‘Still open then?’ said Kane, who had decided to take his foot off the gas, or the neck, until he had sobered up a little. ‘Where’s your pisser?’

‘Over there,’ said Gavin, pointing to a door.

So he had come in from some pub or other, in search of a toilet. Perhaps he would leave as soon as he had emptied his bladder. There hadn’t been the tiniest flicker of recognition in those malevolent eyes. Gavin reversed the sign on the door. He was rushing to the safety of the counter when Kane emerged from the toilet, fiddling with his belt.

‘Hold on,’ he barked. ‘I know you.’ But as Kane looked down to his buckle, Gavin swerved into the sanctuary behind the glass.

‘We’re closing now, sir,’ said Gavin.

Kane gripped the counter. Gavin pressed a finger to the reinforced glass.

‘I said I know you,’ said Kane.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ replied Gavin, fingering the alarm button under the counter.

‘It’ll come to me.’

‘I’ve got to lock up.’

‘Customer,’ said Kane, slamming a fist on the counter, ‘is always right. Let me get a look at you. Lift your face up. Lift it up!’

Gavin could only look at his shoes. He knew the form: as soon as you caught his eye, he struck. Keep your eyes on your shoes to postpone the pain. The glass might crack.

‘Show me your fucking face,’ said Kane.

Later that night, staring at his bedroom ceiling, Gavin was able to convince himself that he had had every intention of lifting his face towards the bully when Frankie had appeared from behind the office door.

‘We have to shut the shop now, sir. No more bets, I’m afraid. My brothers’ll be waiting outside,’ she said.

Colin Kane’s instinct told him there was a fifty-fifty chance that the brothers weren’t waiting because they didn’t exist. But he’d had one or two too many drinks and he had seen the camera pointed at him from the back wall. Whatever this was – and he wasn’t sure if it was anything – it would keep. As he opened the door to leave, he turned around and pointed one finger into the air, tapping the side of his head with another.

‘It’ll come to me,’ he repeated, waggling the finger at Gavin.

*

Kane returned the following week. This time Frankie was behind the counter, while Gavin, who had been retreating to the office when on the late shift, worked on some urgent paperwork. Kane lurched in, bringing with him the smell of whichever public house was his latest favourite. A punter who was playing the roulette machine took his eyes off the screen for a second, but only to fish a note from his pocket. Kane took in the room as he negotiated the furniture blocking his way to the toilet. The door swung open two minutes later. Frankie watched him stumble to the counter.

‘Where’s your boss?’

‘Just me tonight,’ Frankie said, locking a smile into place.

‘Get your boss out here,’ said Kane, rolling on his heels. He leered at the camera. ‘Out the back is he?’

‘No. Just me, like I said.’

‘Skywanker,’ he shouted. ‘Get out here.’

‘What’s the problem?’ said Frankie.

‘No problem. I just want a word with Mercer.’

‘Mr. Mercer isn’t here.’

‘He’s here,’ said Kane. ‘I saw him doing the window.’

The roulette player appeared at Kane’s side, impatient for change. He leaned in front of him to shove a note under the glass. Kane lifted his arms and moved aside. He watched the man return to the machine and ran his tongue across his teeth.

‘Back next week,’ he promised.

She waited until the door closed behind him before letting out a breath. Thirty seconds later, Gavin inched his head around the office door.

‘Everything okay Frankie?’ His face was grey.

‘Absolutely fine Gavin. You carry on. I can manage,’ she said, wondering who was on the rota to work late next Wednesday.

*

Kane did not make good on his promise. He failed to appear the following week and the one after that. Gavin, whose daily tally was tainted by a new fear and old feelings, returned to the message boards and re-opened the fan site which had lain dormant since his nemesis had reappeared. Members of Jedi Nation (UK), who had been pleading with Gavin via private messaging services, were relieved to discover that the long promised speed dating event would go ahead. This event was Gavin’s brainchild and represented his decision – taken in headier days when Kane was nothing but a stain on his childhood – to open himself up to the possibility of romance for the first time since his divorce. He had no success persuading colleagues to cover his shift on the night of the event, but under no circumstances could he move the date. When Frankie Marquez came to the rescue and agreed to cover the shift alone, he swallowed his reservations about ignoring company policy. He drove his car to work that day, having filled the boot with posters and costumes. The upstairs room in the Crow’s Nest was booked for seven-thirty, with permission to go in half an hour early to arrange the furniture. As he walked towards his car he whistled a tune, unaware that he was striding in step with The Imperial March. He opened the boot to check he had packed everything he needed, and shook the contents from a cardboard tube. Unfurling the posters like a town crier on the cusp of a significant announcement, he leaned back to admire his design. As he did so, a fist jabbed his shoulder blade. He fell forward and his head connected with the lid of the boot. He felt the sting of blood seeping from a cut above his right eye.

‘Oops,’ said Kane.

Gavin turned around and leaned against the car. He ducked as his tormentor put his hand to the gash and feigned concern.

‘You’ve cut yourself mate. Come here.’ Kane produced a grubby tissue and tried to dab at the wound.

‘I’ll be fine,’ said Gavin, blenching as Kane moved closer.

‘I’m sorry mate. Just a friendly punch.’

Gavin shook his head. They were playing the mates game now: the one in which Kane pretended he was messing around and in reality you were bosom buddies. They had been there before and it had never ended well.

‘What you looking at, anyway?’ Kane tugged the posters out of Gavin’s hand. ‘May the Fourth be With You? Jedi Nation (UK)? Speed dating? I might come along.’

‘Tickets only. Sold out.’

‘I bet you’ve got a spare for an old mate.’

Gavin shook his head again.

‘Unless you can help me out with something else,’ Kane continued.

Gavin reached for his wallet.

*

In school Kane’s had taken dinner money or whatever coins were in your pockets. Twenty pounds would have paid for a lot of dinners, but on May the fourth it bought Gavin free passage to the Crow’s Nest where he had just enough time to set up the tables and change into costume. A queue formed in the corridor at the bottom of the stairs, causing consternation amongst local drinkers who were forced to squeeze past a man who thought he could carry off Hans Solo, two Chewbaccas, nine Jedi knights, a C-3PO and numerous stormtroopers of indeterminate gender. On any other occasion, Gavin would have been disappointed to see no Darth Vaders, but for once he embraced his relief. He was miffed when an Ewok arrived, as he thought he had made it clear that it was OFO. But when the Ewok spoke, Cupid’s arrow pierced Gavin’s force field and he fumbled for a chair.

‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ she said, grabbing a furry ear and removing the head.

‘Not a problem,’ said Gavin, ‘although strictly speaking...’

‘I know: Original Film Only,’ she said, with a chuckle. ‘I ran out of time to get anything else. And you’ve got to admit, Ewoks are cute.’

‘Well this one is,’ said Gavin, wincing.

‘Beth,’ she said.

‘Gavin,’ he replied, emboldened, if not bold.

‘I know,’ she said. ‘What have you done to your eye? Have you had a run in with the Empire?’

Before Gavin could answer, Hans Solo interrupted with a request that all stormtroopers remove their helmets before the start of the session. Gavin cleared his throat, clapped his hands three times and announced that the speed dating would begin in ten minutes. He confirmed that all male guests should sit at a table as the ladies visited each one in five minute bursts. He had not expected to participate, but because of a no-show he was forced to choose a table and write his name on the card in front of him. He set a timer on his phone for five minutes, blew a whistle and announced – regretting it as soon as he said it – ‘Let battle commence.’

Gavin had no lines to fluff, but he fluffed them with a stormtrooper and two late-arriving Leias. He kept an eye out for the Ewok, but she did not get as far as his table. Blowing the whistle mid-session, he took to his feet to remind a demonstrative Chewbacca to stay in his seat. At the interval, the Ewok delivered a bottle of Becks to Gavin’s table.

‘How’s it going?’ asked Beth.

‘Not well,’ admitted Gavin, staring at the teddy bear’s head balanced under her arm.

‘I know what you mean,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think this costume would be so hot.’

‘Oh but it is,’ he replied.

‘I let you have that one earlier,’ she said, dumping the head on the table, ‘but I can’t let you get away corny patter like that.’

Gavin rubbed his hands together and stared at his palms. He closed his eyes and grabbed his chin. Beth pushed at his shoulder.

‘Hey mister,’ she said, ‘I was only joking. You’re doing fine.’

‘I think that’s the best I’ve got.’ He looked at his watch and sighed. ‘Better get things moving again.’

‘I might sit this half out. I think I’ll get changed,’ she said.

‘Hey ho,’ said Gavin.

‘You can buy me a drink afterwards. And I’ll give you more than five minutes, if you can stand my company.’

Two stormtroopers who had refused to remove their headgear were the last to leave, arms linked and waving their blasters in farewell. Gavin changed out of his costume, stacked the tables and filled a bin with rubbish. He had watched Beth leave after the interval and had not seen her since. Four couples had thanked him for his efforts and one of the Leias told him that she had three new numbers stored in her phone and he needn’t bother asking to be her fourth. He removed the posters from the walls, fed them into the tube and switched off the lights. He paused on the threshold of the car park and turned into the lounge bar: one for the road. Beth was reading Le Morte D’Arthur at a corner table.

‘I thought you weren’t coming,’ she said as he walked over.

‘I thought you’d gone,’ he said.

He bought drinks and sat beside her. She put the book in her bag. They talked for an hour, swapping life stories and not pausing for breath until the bell rang for last orders.

‘End of round one,’ said Gavin. They sat back and laughed. He picked up their glasses. ‘One more?’

He rushed to the bar, wondering if he shouldn’t give Return of the Jedi another chance, to see if he hadn’t been a little harsh on the Ewoks. He leaned over the bar top, looking for the landlord. On the other side, leaning against a jukebox, Colin Kane waved an pint glass. He was through the door before Gavin could get back to the table. Kane took the seat next to Beth and sneered.

‘Lager,’ he shouted.

‘Colin, we’re having a private conversation,’ said Beth.

‘You know...him?’ Gavin asked, pointing his empty glass at Kane.

‘Old friends,’ said Kane, ‘like me and you. Well, not exactly.’

‘Once,’ said Beth. ‘and it was a mistake.’

If Gavin had asked, Beth would have told him how three years earlier and for a short period she had worked in the same office as Colin Kane. She would have explained that no one had warned her about him because – she had discovered months later from an ex-colleague – everybody else was glad that he had someone new to fixate upon. The men in the office were relieved that his over familiarity, underscored with a smouldering violence that might detonate at any moment, would be put on hold for an unspecified time. Their female counterparts felt much the same, the difference being that none of the men were ever sent flowers, cards, text messages or emails. These would start out as innocent as Kane could achieve, but ended up with threats against the person; and on more than one occasion with him sitting outside their homes, at night and at weekends. As the new girl and a temp, Beth had not been made aware that complaints had been submitted to management; but nothing had been proven; and nothing was said. She was grateful that someone was kind enough to show an interest in helping her make a good impression. At first, all he had done was make coffee and share his biscuits. He told her that he had heard a whisper that her role might be made permanent and when he suggested a drink after work in order to give her some tips, she couldn’t see what harm it would do. If Gavin had been able to stomach the story thus far, and had been prepared to listen on, he would also have learned that as soon as Kane had touched her knee, she had emptied her sparkling water over his head and walked out of the bar. She had never returned to the office, citing personal reasons when requesting a new position from the agency. Kane had moved on to his next obsession within days, and again, and again, until he turned his gaze on a new HR Manager. She kept detailed records and compiled a dossier, the contents of which led to Kane being dismissed from his position. He had never again managed to hold down a permanent job, retreating into drink and letting the bully within lie dormant until he had walked into Robinson’s looking for somewhere to empty his bladder.

Gavin picked up his posters and the bag containing his costume. He ran through heavy rain to his car, threw the posters and costume into the back and fastened his seat belt. He locked the doors and started the engine, but dropped his hands to his thighs. He stared out of the windscreen and counted the bricks on the wall in front of him. He knew why Kane had singled him out all those years ago. He hadn’t been his only victim, but he had paid over and over and over for humiliating him in the cinema foyer. One stupid accident; one little boy running in to one bigger boy, had led to years of torment. All of that, when he thought about it, was understandable. Not forgivable, but he could see how it had happened. It was what happened every day and everywhere: one boy making a victim of another. It was something that had to be endured until it ended. Because these things did end – that’s what parents tell their children – when the bullies got bored and moved on to someone else. But you carried it with you for years, if not forever, and the bastard was a regular in your dreams. Even so, you would never predict that your chief antagonist would resurface decades later, ready to pick up where he had left off.

A fist rapped on the passenger window.

‘Open the door!’ Beth shouted. ‘Let me in before he comes out.’

Gavin flicked a button. She jumped in to the car, cradling a black bag dripping with rain. Gavin flicked the button again.

‘Get moving,’ she said.

‘Where is he?’ Gavin checked his rear view mirror.

‘He’ll be out as soon as he’s mopped his trousers.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Are we going or not?’

‘Where?’

‘Anywhere,’ she said. ‘Just get me out of here. I can’t believe you left me in there with him. What happened to chivalry?’

Gavin put the car into gear and let his foot off the clutch. The car shot backwards and the engine stalled. He turned the ignition, reversed five metres and moved off. Kane steamed out of the Crow’s Nest and sprinted towards them, but as he turned out of the car park his ankle gave way. He dropped to the pavement and the back of his head hit the tarmac with a thwack. His arms betrayed him as he tried to lift himself up and he collapsed a second time. Thirty seconds passed before Gavin stopped the car. He walked up the street towards the inert body, in no rush to deal with whatever was going to happen next. He knelt down to the side of Kane’s head and leaned in to check his breathing. Was this how it ended?

‘Get off!’ Kane shouted, pushing Gavin aside.

‘You’re alive,’ said Gavin.

‘Of course I’m fucking alive. What are you talking about? Help me up.’

Gavin scrambled backwards, pointing at Kane’s groin. ‘You’ve wet yourself.’

‘That bitch is mad,’ said Kane, sitting up and rubbing his head. ‘She threw her fucking drink at me. Help me up.’

‘No she isn’t,’ said Gavin.

Ignoring the outstretched hand, Gavin got to his feet and looked up the street as Beth disappeared around a corner. She had left the car door open to the elements. He abandoned Kane to the rain and ran after her, kicking the door as he passed. At the end of the street, he watched a bus pull away. She took a seat by the window, but didn’t look back. He returned to his car. Kane was sitting on the bonnet.

‘Give me a lift,’ he said.

‘Not now,’ said Gavin, feeling for his keys.

‘What?’

‘I said, not now. Not this time. Not ever.’ He stood on his toes, bringing his face close to Kane.

‘You’re giving me a lift,’ said Kane, grimacing with pain.

‘No.’ Gavin pressed the button on his key fob to lock the doors. He saw a Post-it stuck to the steering wheel. A number was written on the note.

‘Are we going to do this now?’ Kane took a deep breath.

‘If we must,’ said Gavin, inching backwards. ‘But even if we do, that’s it. You’re not getting in the car.’

Kane took a step forward. Gavin stood his ground, balling his fists.

‘I liked her. I like her,’ said Gavin.

‘Who?’

‘Beth. The woman who has just disappeared. Another one.’

‘For fuck’s sake. Open the car.’

‘No. I’ve told you. That’s it. We’re done.’

Kane gripped Gavin’s shoulder. Their noses touched as Gavin strained to keep his eyes from blinking. He drew his head back and stared into the sky behind Kane, as if to say do you worst, do your worst.