PSYCHIATRISTS, BUT DOWN ON THE SKIDS, ‘INNA DA HOOD’, AN UNWILLING GRADUATE OF THE SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS.
‘HANG ON A SECOND…!’ WILLIAM BLINKED – ‘THE GUARD!’ HE TRIED TO REFOCUS, STRUGGLING TO PULL HIMSELF OUT OF HIS SUDDEN REVERIE. ‘I CAN’T PLAY INTO HIS HANDS,’ HE THOUGHT, TURNING TO FACE THE WALL, ‘HE WANTS TO MAKE ME LOSE MY COOL. HE WANTS TO GET THE OPPORTUNITY TO CANCEL MY PAROLE SO THAT I END UP ROTTING TO DEATH IN THIS MISERABLE SHIT-HOLE.’
HE THOUGHT BACK ON THE TREATMENT HE HAD RECEIVED AT THEIR BEHEST OVER THE SEVEN YEARS HE HAD BEEN INCARCERATED. THEY HAD TRIED TO DESTROY HIM WITH THEIR RACIST JIBES (‘YOU STUPID, WHITE MAGGOT!’ ‘WHITE DONKEY!’ ‘YOU DAMN UGLY WHITE ASS!’) AND HUMILIATING RITUALS: THE MOULD-ENCRUSTED DAILY PORTION OF ‘RICE AN’ BEANS’, THE DEGRADATION OF THE SLOP BUCKET.
HOW THE HELL HAD HE SURVIVED IT? MORE TO THE POINT – HOW ON GOD’S EARTH HAD HE EVER ENDED UP IN THIS STINKING SEWER IN THE FIRST PLACE?!
OH YES…’ WILLIAM SMILED, CLOSING HIS EYES FOR A MOMENT, ‘POLLY!’
HE BRIEFLY REMEMBERED THE SWEET, BLACK-HAIRED GIRL HE HAD LOVED SO DEARLY AS A BOY. HER BROTHER WAS RUPERT, A ‘SCHOOL FRIEND’ (A NOTORIOUS REPROBATE AND SEXUAL PREDATOR WHO GAVE NEW MEANING TO THE PHRASE ‘KEEP YOUR FRIENDS CLOSE AND YOUR ENEMIES CLOSER’). HE HAD INVITED WILLIAM TO SPEND A FEW WEEKS RECOVERING FROM HIS A’LEVELS AT ‘DADDY’S PAD IN JAMAICA’.
WILLIAM HAD INITIALLY TURNED HIM DOWN FLAT [I’M GOING TO GIVE REASONS FOR THIS HERE, POSSIBLY CONNECTED TO THE BREAK UP OF HIS PARENTS’ MARRIAGE] BUT CHANGED HIS MIND AND AGREED TO GO, AFTER ALL, IN THE EXPECTATION THAT POLLY MIGHT ALSO BE THERE.
POLLY… NOW FULLY GROWN, HER DARK HAIR CASCADING DOWN TO HER TRIM WAIST, THE ODD, STRAY STRAND OF IT SLITHERING INTO THE MUSKY CREVICE BETWEEN HER FULL, BROWN BREASTS WHICH WERE SPRINKLED IN PERSPIRATION, DUSTED WITH SUMMER FRECKLES… SHE WORE A YELLOW BIKINI [MORE DETAILS ABOUT HER BIKINI ETC TO FOLLOW], BUT SHE’D ONLY EVER REALLY HAD EYES FOR A LOCAL, BLOND DRUG DEALER CALLED TRISTAN – AN OXFORD GRADUATE – WITH HIS TAN, HIS MIRROR SHADES AND HIS READY ACCESS TO ‘PUFF AN’ WEED’.
HOW FOOLISH THEY HAD ALL BEEN!
CRUSHED BY LONELINESS AND DISAPPOINTMENT, WILLIAM HAD ALLOWED RUPERT TO LEAD HIM, BLINDLY, UNWITTINGLY, SOMETIMES STAGGERING AS HE LOST HIS FOOTING, DOWN DARK, TROPICAL PATHS HE HAD NO NATURAL INCLINATION TO TRAVEL, AND THEN…
WHAT?! WHO?! HOW THE…?!
HE HAD ENDED UP HERE. IN THIS GOMORRAH. ON TRUMPED-UP CHARGES. SOME THOUGHT HE HAD BEEN FRAMED (RUPERT WAS THE TRUE VILLAIN OF THE PIECE, SURELY?) BUT HE DARED NOT THINK ABOUT THAT – WHAT GOOD COULD IT POSSIBLY DO HIM NOW?
SWEET POLLY HAD BEEN TO VISIT HIM BEFORE SHE FLED THE ISLAND, HER CHEEKS STAINED WITH TEARS. ‘THIS IS MY BROTHER’S FAULT…’ SHE’D WHISPERED, ‘IF ONLY YOU’D HAD ACCESS TO A PROPER LAWYER… IF ONLY I’D SAID SOME – THING. IF ONLY I’D BEEN BRAVE ENOUGH TO STAND UP IN COURT… OH WILLIAM, WE COULD HAVE BEEN SO GOOD TOGETHER!’
AND THEN, SEEING THE IMMEDIATE, AGONIZED RESPONSE IN HIS BLOODSHOT, GREEN EYES, ‘PLEASE! NO! OH GOD! FORGIVE ME!’
‘IF ONLY…’ WILLIAM THOUGHT, SMILING, AS THEY DRAGGED HER, SOBBING, FROM HIS CELL, ‘IF ONLY… IF ONLY…
(end)
The Winter Barn
(off Old Woman’s Lane)
Burley Cross
Wharfedale
21/12/06
Ivo,
I just sent you a text – in fact I just sent you an email (I sent you a text about the email) – because I’d just tried to phone you to make sure you downloaded it – and printed it – tonight (all of it, mind? There’s about ten pages. I want them printed and then put into the Threadbare file, pronto – please, please, pretty-please).
When you didn’t answer your phone I left a voice-mail (just ignore it – it was a gratuitous outpouring of hysterical waffle – although, knowing you, you’ll ignore it anyway. You never seem to get around to listening to my messages. Why is that, exactly?).
Oh, God, God, I’m in such a crazy rush! I just want to be sure to catch the six o’clock post (does the post even go at six?). If I don’t manage to catch it then the samples – there’s only two of them, they’re minuscule – won’t reach you until the day after tomorrow and that would be a serious, serious pain in the arse (why am I telling you this? What good will it do? Balls! I’ll definitely miss it at this rate! In fact… Great. I have missed it. I’m screwed. You’re screwed. Carol-Ann’s going to throw the most monumental strop. Brace yourself).
Hang on a minute… It’s just this second dawned on me that it’s Bengt’s Birthday Bash tonight and you’ll probably get pissed as a fart and throw a sickie tomorrow, anyway. I only…
No. No. NO! I don’t believe this! I don’t… My bottom’s soaked! It’s… aaargh! Remember how I told you about that tiny little hole in my bike seat which sucks up water into the foam padding when it rains so that the next time you sit on it…
NOOOO!! I just… I can’t believe I’ve gone and done it again! Tilly, the woman in Threadbare Cottage, told me – she warned me on Friday – to put a plastic bag over it (the seat, Ivo, not my head – although I’m seriously starting to wish I had).
Damn! My beautiful chair’s all wet! It’s that wonderful, padded, red-fabric office chair I got in the Conran Shop sale last year! You told me it was all wrong for The Winter Barn! You told me! You said, ‘Jo-Jo, that thing’s completely at odds with your country aesthetic.’ But would I bloody listen? Would I hell! Well, you were right (again, you smug Teutonic swine)! It’s looked stupid here from the very outset (I was too proud to admit it). And now there’s this huge… Damn, damn, damn!
Okay. Okay. I need to calm down. I’m having a little panic attack. It’s just all been so unbearably … urgh … stressful! I’m on HOLIDAY for Christ’s sake! I just don’t seem able to… that small switch in my head you’re constantly referring to… I just don’t…
DEUTERONOMY!
NEHEMIAH!
ZEPHANIAH!
LAMENTATIONS!
EZEKIEL!!!
YES! YES! YES!
It’s come to me, in a flash, like a divine revelation! The name of the new collection! Scratch the stuff I said in the email (it was all just a pile of crap)! This is perfect! This is fabulous!!!
‘LAMENTATIONS: a modern exercise in old-fashioned restraint,’ The lifestyle collection in colour, textile and print by designer Jo-Jo JOnes with a little help from Ivo-wots-his-name
(Ha
