What am I? A fucking climbing frame?
Fine. Might as well give them the best story time they’ve ever had.
Gordon learns to share. Gordon makes friends. Gordon realises winning isn’t everything.
Load of pish, if you ask me.
Of course, winning is everything.
I’m almost through Gordon’s redemption arc when I realise I’m doing voices. Not just reading – actually performing this shite. The goat gets a gruff Glaswegian accent, the bunny sounds like my Scottish gran after too many gin and tonics, and I’ve somehow given the fox an Edinburgh drawl. Makes the kids howl with laughter.
What the hell am I doing? This is getting dangerously close to effort. But I can’t stop now, so I keep going.
‘And then Gordon said…’ I drop my voice to a dramatic rumble, ‘…“I’m sorry for being such a grumpy goalie. Next time I’ll remember that friendship matters more than winning.”’
The children clutching my legs gasp like I’ve revealed the secrets of the universe. One boy’s mouth hangs open, a string of drool connecting his lip to my jeans.
A mum in the back fans herself with a library brochure.
I half-turn and look at Charlie, expecting her trademark smirk. But she’s not smirking. She’s watching me, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her phone’s up, capturing the whole disaster, but her eyes aren’t mocking.
For a split second, I catch something else there. Something that digs in low in a way that has nothing to do with fifteen stone of children using me as furniture.
She’s working hard. For me. Like she actually means it.
Is she overcompensating? Is it guilt for how things went down with that bastard Callum? Maybe she’s just determined to fix the mess she helped make. Maybe it’s something else. Whatever. Doesn’t matter.
I close the book with a decisive clap. ‘The end.’
There’s a small silence. The kind that makes you wonder if you’ve messed it up completely.
Then a tiny voice pipes up from somewhere near my armpit. ‘You should read to us again.’
That catches me off guard. A wee lad with missing teeth stares up at me, and something pulls tight behind my ribs.
The mums lean forward, a chorus of hopeful faces.Say yes, say yes, their expressions beg. Christ, you’d think I was offering them a raunchy night out instead of butchering a children’s book.
‘Please, Mr Fly,’ Rainbow Clips tugs on my sleeve. ‘You do good voices.’
‘Aye, well.’ I shrug, like it doesn’t matter either way. ‘I suppose I could come back one day.’
The room erupts in cheers. The kids bounce on my legs like I’ve promised them Disney World. The mums exchange knowing glances.
I gently extract myself from the pile of children and hand the book back to the librarian. The swear jar sits on her desk, a single pound coin alone on the bottom. I dig into my wallet, fish out a fifty, and drop it in. The librarian’s eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling.
Charlie eyes the bill. ‘Fifty? You only swore twice.’
I shrug. ‘Paying it forward.’
We say goodbye to the kids, the mums, and the staff. As we walk towards the exit, Charlie sidles up beside me. ‘That wasn’t so bad now, was it?’
‘It absolutely was. And charity’s not meant to be a damn PR stunt.’
‘It is if you want to keep doing it and not end up needing one.’ She taps her phone screen. ‘This material is gold, Brodie. You, reading to kids. You, smiling. You, not breaking someone’s nose. This is what we needed.’
‘I doubt that.’ I stop next to our cars parked side by side.
She tucks her phone away. ‘Think about it. We’ll push this out on socials. Your accounts and the Rebels’. People love a redemption arc. And a man with thunder thighs covered in happy children.’
