Grand Theft Planetary & Other Stories

I save my work and close down my computer. It’s finally four o’clock, the furthest point from Monday morning. I review my calendar; date with Sindi, followed by a quick session at the gym, then a date with Anna. I’m looking forward to it and am certain me and Anna will end up having sex. If it doesn’t, then I always have my date with Sarah on Sunday to look forward to- and that will definitely involve some fucking.

I glance at my vibrating phone - text message from Matt. Meet you in the bar at seven? I text back Hell yeah fella! Will text you after I finish visiting my daughter. Friday night is always daddy daughter day, when I go to see my little Chloe. I put my suit jacket on and wink at Rebecca on the way out.

“Take care, sexy,” I say. She glares at me, probably still put-out by our one-night stand a few weeks ago. I might have another crack at her if my dating life starts to dry up, but she was definitely not one of the first-team. Great set of tits though, and I’m a sucker for brunettes. I jump into to my new BMW and high-tail it down the motorway, criss-crossing around the slower moving cars and trucks. I won’t allow anything to make me late to see my little girl. My present to her is sliding around on the passenger seat wrapped up in pink paper. It’s the same present as I give her every week; talcum powder, nappies, new towels and a cheque for the weekly nursery fees. More of a present for the nurses than for Chloe, I have no idea what Chloe likes. Maybe I should ask.

I park up in the deserted nursery car park and enter the sterile reception area. Apart from the bored receptionist who looks sleepily at me, it’s completely empty. Everyone’s still working or out getting pissed up, which suits me. These care centres were usually filled with the kind of bleeding hearts that I absolutely abhor, believing in anything TV or the papers tell them. Sheeple and proles. Last time some consumer whore tried asking me who I thought would win the election; I couldn’t walk away fast enough. What a bore.

I pop the present on the counter and announce myself. The receptionist is cute, about twenty years old I reckon, with long blonde hair and a sprinkle of freckles over her pointed face. Lovely. “If you’re not doing anything later,” I say as she processes my details, “would you like to meet me for a drink?” I know I’ve got plans to go drinking with Matt but I would gladly bump my friends off for a date with a girl, no questions. If I was truthful, my friends were simply out of convenience rather than any real bond of friendship. They were expendable as the situation dictated.

The receptionist looks me up and down, then blows a bubble with the gum she’s chewing. “Yeah, OK then. I finish at nine.” She scribbles her number on a post-it and hands it to me without another word. Casual, meaningless, unemotional sex. Excellent. I leave the present of supplies on the counter and walk to the visiting room. The corridor is spotless and the clack of my footsteps echo forever until I come to room 0309. Inside, there is a single chair facing a glass wall. On the other side, playing with a collection of small coloured blocks, is my darling Chloe. She stops when I enter and presses her face up against the glass, a look of simple joy at my presence. I can’t help but smile - she has her mother’s dark looks and round face, but she has my sharpness of eye and my inquisitiveness. My killer instinct, as I call it.

She watches me as I sit in the chair. I wave slowly and she does the same. Funny thing. She says something but the glass is practically soundproof; kids can be unnecessarily noisy, which can be distracting and uncomfortable. I get my phone out and text Matt that something’s come up and I won’t be out. It’s not a lie but I don’t want him to think I’m trivialising our friendship. People get funny about being bumped for a date and I don’t need the hassle right now. Chloe starts to bang on the glass; she is crying. It’s heart-breaking to watch, so I leap up, rip the door open and shout for a nurse. A portly tired woman strolls down the corridor, enters Chloe’s room and comforts my daughter with some soothing movements. I sit back down and watch, satisfied that she’s now OK. Chloe stops crying but she is still looking at me with a look of distress and mistrust. What’s wrong with her today?

There is a tap on the door and the Director of the nursery enters. She is a severe woman, all business and career, but I wouldn’t mind a night with Miss Ramekin. “Mr James? May I have a word about your daughter?”

I nod and sit in the chair, leaving her to stand. I am the paying customer; bollocks to chivalry. No-one ever got rich or successful from chivalry. “What can I do for you, Miss Ramekin?” I say.

She peers at a PDA device in her hand as she speaks. “My staff have highlighted that your daughter is becoming increasingly restless and ill-behaved, especially after your visits. They believe that it might be in the best interests for your child if she receives more parental interaction from yourself and the mother.”

I smile; me and Jackie only talk through our lawyers now. I have no idea whether she visits Chloe or not, and I don’t really care. My daughter is simply a by-product of that crap relationship, nothing more, and certainly not a reason to bond with either mother or child. “I’m afraid the mother is no longer a part of my life, and I cannot dedicate any more time to Chloe.”

Miss Ramekin purses her lips. She’s probably judging me against her antiquated values of family - an unmarried irresponsible man who got some poor innocent girl up the stick then ran off as soon as she started getting delicate nipples. In a way, she was right. “Obviously, the welfare of every child under our care is our priority,” she says, but her eyes add only because we’d get sued, “so I make this suggestion against our business ethics. Our senior nurse has suggested that Chloe move in with a parent, permanently.”

“Absolutely not!” I reply immediately. “I have a full social life and a demanding career. I cannot bring up a child as well!” Fuck that - I know people who are bringing up kids, and their lives are hell. No time, no money, no peace. What kind of life is it when you’re cleaning up shit and teaching a kid how to count? Not for me, thanks. If I thought that I’d have to bring up a kid, I’d have started using condoms from day one.

Miss Ramekin smiles. “From a business point of view, I am glad. I will tell our nurses that Chloe will be staying with us indefinitely,” She nods and leaves. I am relieved; a child would completely cripple my life, and that would not do at all. Behind the glass, Chloe is looking at me with those hurt puppy dog eyes. I decide to go. Chloe is extremely boring today and I’m in need of a drink, so I wave goodbye. Chloe starts to cry again, but I can’t be bothered to call for the nurse button again. Anyway, I have a date.