Your Own Private Island

  It’s when Hamish Smith comes to my till in the Co-op to buy his can of chicken soup for his dinner that I begin to suspect I’m a non-player character in my own life. My responses to him sound scripted.

  It certainly is a beautiful day.

  Would you like a bag?

  Cash or card?

  It’s like my favourite game, Animal Crossing. I imagine speech bubbles appearing in front of me, with a certain number of responses to choose from. 

  I check my theory when Susan Geddes comes in for her lottery ticket. My supervisor Ann serves her. Sure enough, she follows a script too: “You’ll have to share your winnings with me.” How many times have I heard her say this?

  “You always joke with the customers,” I say once Susan has left.

  “The personal touch is important.” Ann rearranges the muffins in the display case so they’re all in line. “That’s why people shop here instead of going to the Tesco in town.” She turns to me. “You should try joking with the customers, Fraser. Lighten up a little.”

  I’m no good at humour scripts. But I know Ann means well. She went to school with my Mum and I suppose she feels sorry for us. Especially now that it’s just the two of us, even though Dad leaving was the best thing that ever happened. She knows Mum struggles to get by on her carer’s wages, so when I got out of New Craigs and moved back to the village, she gave me a chance in the shop.

  It’s the same when Brian Shaw comes in. His script involves asking for a packet of Rothmans without looking me in the eye. It doesn’t include talking about the weather or making jokes. He pays and leaves as if he’s in a hurry. It was different before I went to university. We used to each sit in our bedrooms playing Call of Duty, chatting over our headsets as we slaughtered our enemies.

  Maybe it’s good to have a script, I think as I finish my shift. It was the lack of one that got me into trouble at university. I didn’t know what to do when I got up in the morning, what to eat, when to wash my clothes. And I certainly didn’t know what to say to people. That’s the problem with university. Your old scripts don’t work any more, but they don’t give you new ones. Nobody wanted to talk about video games, but I didn’t know anything about the books and music they were into. 

  That’s why I like being back in the village. I can handle the scripts here.

  “How was your day?” Mum asks when I get home. She says that every day, and I realise she’s also working from her script. She always asks the same questions:

  What do you want for your tea?

  Did you remember to take your pills?

  Have you thought any more about your future?

  But it’s like she’s programmed to avoid certain topics. She never talks about when I was at university or asks how I’m feeling, and she never refers to the two months I spent in New Craigs. She never even says its name. If she has to mention it, she calls it “that place with the nice doctors”.

  Mum and I have our routines, just like the villagers in Animal Crossing. We share a frozen pizza from the Co-op, which I bought with my staff discount, then she goes through to the front room to watch her soap operas and I go upstairs to my bedroom. It’s exactly how it was before I went to university, with my old gaming PC on the desk and my Call of Duty and Counter-Strike posters on the wall. But I don’t play those games anymore. They’re too violent.

  When I killed people, I used to imagine I was taking out my father. Paying him back for his scripts, which involved telling Mum she was stupid and me that I would never amount to anything. I would shoot a terrorist in the chest with my AK-47 and watch him crumple to the ground. 

  Everything changed that morning in the hall of residence. I was supposed to be revising for my psychology exam, but instead I sat there staring out the window. It was raining and two seagulls were fighting over the body of a dead rat on a patch of grass. The rat’s head was missing and all this scarlet goo was oozing out of its body. Watching the seagulls, I realised that no matter what you do, you end up dead, being eaten by vermin. One of the birds looked at me and I swear it could tell what I was thinking. You will die too, son, said a voice in my head. It sounded like Captain Price in Call of Duty. 

  I was still sitting there when one of the guys on the corridor knocked on my door to ask if I was coming for dinner. I don’t know what I said to him, but it can’t have conformed to the script because he went and got the warden. That’s how I ended up in New Craigs.

  After that I couldn’t bear to see anything dead, not even on a screen. That’s why I only play Animal Crossing now. You have your own private island where the villagers cooperate and engage in friendly transactions. 

  I sit on my bed and turn on my Nintendo Switch, which I bought with my wages from the Co-op. I go into the village store to speak to Timmy and Tommy. 

  “How are you today?” Timmy asks in a speech bubble as his nonsense language burbles out of the speaker.

  I choose Fine, thanks from the menu.

  “Are you sure?” Tommy asks.

  The menu offers a single response: Actually, I’m not fine. I wonder why there’s only one option. Maybe I really am an NPC. They don’t get to choose what happens. I select the response.

  “I didn’t think so,” appears in Timmy’s speech bubble. “I don’t think you’re happy here.” New letters keep appearing, spelling out more words. “With your brain you should do more than work in a shop! Have you thought about returning to university? And maybe you should go and see those nice doctors again!”

  I don’t like the way the conversation’s going. I turn off the Nintendo Switch and go to bed.

  In the morning, Doug the retired fisherman comes into the Co-op for a lottery ticket. I feel like trying a new script. I think about what the villagers in Animal Crossing would say.

  “Today might be your lucky day,” I say as I hand over the ticket. “If you win, you could buy your own private island!”

  Doug gives me a funny look and goes out.

  Brian Shaw comes in for his Rothmans.

  “Smoking is bad for your health,” I say, holding the packet out of his reach. “Nobody smokes in Animal Crossing!”

  Ann comes over, takes the cigarettes out of my hand and gives them to Brian. He shakes his head as he pays.

  “Are you OK, Fraser?” Ann asks once Brian has left. “You don’t look well.”

  “I’m great,” I say. “I’m just trying out some new scripts.”

  I’m eating my sandwich in the back room when Ann comes in. “Your Ma’s here to get you, Fraser.” 

  That’s definitely not in the script. My shift doesn’t finish until 5. “But I’m working.”

  “That’s OK,” she says gently. “I’m giving you the rest of the day off.”

  Then Isabelle the dog enters. The bell on her hair jingles as she comes over. I don’t know what an Animal Crossing character is doing in the Co-op, but she’s very friendly, just like in the game. “Come on, Fraser,” she says. “Let’s get you home.” Her voice is soft. It reminds me of how Mum spoke to me when I was little and had chickenpox. 

  Isabelle and I walk out of the shop holding hands. A pair of seagulls are standing in the middle of the road next to a discarded container of chips. But for once they’re ignoring the food. Instead, they’re watching me.