Rodan

1

‘Are you ready yet, Mike? We need to leave!’

Silence.

‘Are you ready yet, Mike?’

Silence.

‘Mike?’

‘I’m just watching the news!’

‘You can listen to that in the car!’ she insists, entering the lounge. Her husband shudders between cotton sheets and leather upholstery. ‘You’ve barely moved all day! You haven’t even showered! We need to be leaving!’

‘They’re always late anyway,’ he verbally shrugs. ‘I’m watching the news.’

‘You’re not even looking at the screen!’

‘I’m listening to it.’

‘You could listen to it in the car!’

No reply.

‘Come on, Mike! We need to leave! Come on, go and shower! I’ll phone Alice and tell her we might be a little late.’

‘They’re always late, Sarah, and they never bother to call us. Our late is their early. I’m watching the news.’

‘Well it’s difficult for them, with Roland...’ she begins.

‘Did you hear about Rodan?’

‘The shop?’

‘Yeah, they’re going into administration. It was on the news.’

‘Oh, so they’re closing down?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘That’s a shame,’ Sarah reflects. ‘I used to buy movies there sometimes. There’s a woman I talk to... I suppose she’ll lose her job now.’

‘Her and thirty-thousand others. Just before Christmas as well!’

‘Well I always say people should buy their presents early. So does this mean Rodan will be selling everything cheap?’

‘I don’t know. Probably.’

‘I’ll go there on Monday. That’d be handy.’

‘Those poor kids, getting second-hand toys for Christmas.’

‘I hear Rodan are selling stuff cheap,’ she laughs. ‘Oh don’t look like that, I’m only joking. Nothing wrong with second-hand toys anyway.’

‘Yeah, how come we never buy them?’

‘Well unless you have a particular desire to play with toys...’

‘You know what I mean. Second-hand stuff. It’s so terrible. Why don’t the politicians do something? We fund these people and they do nothing. It’s okay for people like us - we always manage - but people at the bottom really suffer.’

‘We don’t suffer because we work so hard. You’re always in the office and I... Look, there’s nothing we can do about it. You better get ready. I’ll phone Alice and tell her we’ll be a little bit late.’

‘Okay, okay!’ He leaps from the sofa with such force that Sarah raises her arms in self-defence. ‘You phone Alice and tell her we’ll be late! Maybe they can solve Third World famine while they’re waiting for us!’

‘Why don’t you solve it?’ she mutters once he is beyond earshot. Unpocketing her phone, she selects Alice Kemp from the directory.

‘The number you are trying to call is currently unavailable. Please leave a message after the beep,’ pronounces a disembodied voice.

‘Hi Alice, just calling to let you know we’ll be a little late, really sorry, unavoidable, see you there, bye.’



2

‘Ro-dan.’

‘Yes, dear, we’re going there now,’ understood his mother.

‘Ro-dan.’

‘That’s right. It looks very busy though. C’mon, would you like some sweets?’

‘Yes!’ he confirmed, clapping hands excitedly.

‘What do you say, dear?’

‘Yes please!’

‘That’s good. What sweets would you like?’

There was such a wide selection of luminous snacks on offer. Mike wasn’t too fussy about taste: he simply wanted the boldest and brightest. Rodan intuitively colour-coded their confectionery, creating an eye-catching rainbow which helped lure many an unsuspecting parent to the till.

‘Starkles!’ he decided, pointing to a pouch of Strawberry Sparkles.

‘Okay, dear, shall we go to the till then?

‘Yes!’

Traversing the aisles, Mike surveyed everything Rodan provided. Chocolate in bars, bags and boxes. Toys for both genders, depending on whether your child would become a manager or a secretary. Kitchenware for students and single mothers. Analysts always marvelled that Rodan’s ragbag business model continued to prosper, seemingly reliant on the random purchases of those without much money to spare.

‘Hi Sue! Ooh Strawberry Sparkles! Who’s a lucky boy then?’



3

‘Wasn’t Rodan that guy who drew the water lilies? Did they name the shop after him?,’ asks Boris.

‘That was Monet,’ Alice tells her husband.

‘Yeah, that’s it. Rodan Monet. Or Monet Rodan. Not sure which way it was.’

‘Monet was called Claude.’

‘Claude Rodan? So Monet wasn’t his real name?’

‘Like Madonna,’ slurs Sarah, knocking her half-empty wine glass upon the previously unsoiled tablecloth.

‘No, I mean Monet was called Claude Monet,’ explains Alice, mopping up the spillage with a napkin.

‘What about Rodan then?’

‘I don’t think there was a painter called Rodan,’ mutters Mike, his first contribution for several sullen minutes.

‘There was a painter called Rodin, but it was spelt with an ‘I’. French.’

‘Oh. I see. Why did they change the letter if they named it after him?’

‘I don’t think they did name it after him,’ suggests Alice patiently.

‘Are you sure about all this, Alice?,’ queries Boris.

‘Quite sure. My mother was a big art fan.’

‘My mother worked at Rodan.’

‘I remember your old mother, Mike. Such a nice woman.’

‘So was Rodan named after the painter or not?,’ inquires Boris.

‘Rodan was the painter,’ states Sarah knowingly.

‘We don’t think the shop was named after him, no. In any case, it won’t be named after anyone for much longer.’

‘I don’t get why you’re so upset by it, Mike. Sure, nobody wants to see a big dole queue, but do you really think any of those people would care if you were unemployed?’

‘Probably not,’ he sighs, eyeing Sarah pour out Bordeaux. ‘Maybe you should make that your last glass, dear.’

‘Maybe you should shut up about fucking Rodan, dear,’ she giggles.

‘I never liked them much anyway,’ offers Boris, trying to spare awkwardness. ‘All cheap cutlery and fudge.’

‘We used to buy stationery for Roland there,’ Alice reminds him.

‘Oh yeah, that’s true. Where will we buy stationery now?,’ Boris ponders faux-gloomily.

‘You needn’t be like that about it. Those are still people’s jobs,’ chides Alice.

‘I’m only joking! Anyway, ya never know, they might still get a buyer.’

‘Possibly,’ admits Mike. ‘Possibly.’



4

‘But remember, wait until Teddy comes to you. Here you go, Billy.’

‘Errm my dad is a miner.’ Several of his classmates sniggered.

‘Don’t laugh class, miners are very important. Without Billy’s dad, all our homes would be dark and cold. You wouldn’t like that much, would you?’

‘No, Miss,’ a few sang in chorus.

‘And what type of job is mining, Billy?’

‘Errm...secondary?’

‘Afraid not, Billy. Does anybody else know? Roseanne?’

‘Mining is a primary job, Miss.’

‘Well done, Roseanne. Mining is a primary job, because it uses natural resources. Pass Teddy along now, Billy. Your turn, Amy. What do your parents do?’

‘They don’t work, Miss.’ This time there were guffaws.

‘Oh I’m sorry Amy, I’d forgotten about your mum. Do you mind if I tell the class about her, Amy?’ The girl shook her head, glad to be excused from this task. ‘Amy’s mum can’t work so she has to stay at home, where Amy’s dad looks after them both. It means they can all spend lots of time together. Would you like to pass Teddy along now, Amy? Your turn, Mike.’

‘My mum works at Rodan,’ he stammered. Most of the class now descended into cackles, especially those who had already been humiliated themselves. This exercise was proving far better entertainment than anybody had anticipated.

‘Class, stop making fun of people! I’m sure Mike’s mum buys him lots of toys at Rodan. What type of job is that, Mike?’

‘Turtley?’

‘That’s right, tertiary. Pass Teddy along please. Now Rachel, I know where your dad works. He’s a teacher like me.’

‘No Miss,’ interrupted Rachel, her bottom lip quivering morosely. He’s been sacked.’ Nobody laughed this time: Rachel was very popular.

‘Oh I’m sorry, would you like some time out?’ The girl said she would and trudged to the Toy Corner. ‘Pass me Teddy, Mike. Let’s play a different game now.’



5

‘A lot of shops are closing recently. Just shows, it only takes a downturn in the market and everybody starts struggling. Even we’ve started buying cheaper food.’

‘That’s true,’ affirms Boris, shaking his head sadly. ‘It’s not the same.’

‘I might check Sarah’s okay,’ Mike announces, leaving the table.

‘She has been in there a while.’

‘Probably throwing up everywhere. God, this is embarrassing,’ bemoans Alice, weighing a heavily depleted wine bottle in her palm.

‘Mike’s to blame.’

‘I think it's a bit of both...’

‘He always does this, ranting on about some moral issue. It’s all very well worrying about tramps and orphans, but he ought to prioritise his family and friends.’

‘I agree, but maybe we are a little bit...selfish,’ she says cautiously. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘No I don't! We earn our money and then spend it on ourselves. We don’t owe anything to anyone else. It’s survival of the fittest. Social Darwinism.’

‘So says Mister Hitler.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Alice. If Mike wishes to fret about the state of the world, that’s up to him, but some of us just want to mind our own business.’

‘I find him quite inspirational. He’s always so passionate about changing society. When I was younger I used to really believe we could make a difference, and then I stopped caring.’

‘You moved on. Started thinking about your own life. It’s all very well when you’re young and have no responsibilities, but later you start getting things into proportion.’

‘Clearly Mike hasn’t given up on it,’ remarks Alice.

‘And look at the state his wife is in! Vomiting in a restaurant loo!’

‘She does seem quite unhappy. I think she always wanted a baby, and it doesn’t seem likely now.’ They silently clasp each other’s hands.

‘Ready to face the bill?’