13

 

GOOD INTENTIONS

 

IT WAS MY ORIGINAL INTENTION, WHEN FIRST I SAT DOWN IN MY room at Hotel Jericho to pen this autobiography (thirty lines to the page, twenty pages to the exercise book), that I might chronicle the lives of my forebears.

I wished to write of my great grandfather, a sprout fanner and man of the cloth, who always wore weighted boots while in the pulpit, to avoid embarrassing levitations brought on during moments of extreme rapture.

And flatulence.

Of my grandfather (lay preacher, large sideburns, taste for sprouts), who spoke only in rhyming couplets to appease the spirit of his dead wife, and who owned a black pig named Belshazzar, that dined exclusively upon the aforementioned vegetables and did strange things on the back parlour wall.

And of my father (an elder in The Hermetic Order of the Golden Sprout), briefly mentioned, who practised body-modification in an attempt to win a bet with his brother Jack (a monk, not mentioned at all), that he could shin up the inside of a drainpipe.

But alas, time and space do not allow. And when I speak of time and space, I speak as one who knows.

Brought up, as I was, within the sacred confines of The Brentford Triangle to such worthy stock and raised upon a diet of sprouts and salvation, I was surely destined to become a God-botherer, not an iconoclast.

And such had been my intention.

When I discovered my gift and that I was the Chosen One, my only thought was to aid mankind. And to pull a few birds, but that’s only fair.

Things didn’t work out on either account.

So far I had pulled just the one bird and if she was typical of her sex, it was clear to me that relationships with women were a tricky old business and not to be entered into lightly.

Litany had stormed off back to the hotel, leaving me alone at the pier feeling guilty. There was no doubt in my mind that I had caused the beggar-man to thump the fellow with the briefcase. I do not believe in the concept of synchronicity, meaningful coincidence. Things happen because things happen. Each person’s life consists of a chain of events interlinked with that of each other person across the globe. Imagine it as a vast Chinese puzzle which metaphysically— ‘Excuse me,’ said a small girl, tugging at my trouser leg.

‘Yes, my dear?’ I leaned down to hear what she had to say.

The small girl knotted her fist and punched me in the mouth. ‘What did you do that for?’ I asked, clutching at my face.

‘A lady with blond hair and a bikini top asked me to do it. She said you’d probably be getting pretentious again. What does pretentious mean, by the way?’

‘It’s none of your business.’ I cuffed the small girl lightly about the head and she burst into tears.

A large ugly looking fellow with cropped hair, wearing nothing but tattoos, long shorts and flip-flop sandals, detached himself from the milling crowd, strode over and biffed me in the stomach. I folded double, gagging for breath.

I would have fought back, but I remembered my father’s words, ‘Never get into fights with ugly people, they have nothing to lose.’

‘Consider yourself lucky I don’t have me boots on,’ and the large ugly looking fellow, escorting his now-giggling daughter away.

I lay awhile groaning in the hope of a good Samaritan. But none happened by, so presently I upped and took my leave.

I returned to the hotel to find Litany doing likewise.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked her.

‘I’m doing likewise.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘That’s what it looks like.’

‘Does this mean that we won’t be getting engaged?’

Litany made the face that said something very rude indeed.

‘Oh come on,’ I told her. ‘There’s no need for this, let’s go back to your room and make up.’ I saw the fist coming and stepped aside.

‘I’m going,’ she said. ‘This was a bad idea. I should never have got involved with you.

‘Please stay.’ I was down on my knees again, a most undignified display. ‘I will make amends for the chap on the pier. In fact, I already have.’

‘What did you say?’

‘I’ve already made amends. Well, I have if it’s worked. On the way back here, I made a wish and cleared my mind. I picked my nose and stuck the bogey on the end of a lollipop stick, I think it’s done the trick.’

Litany’s eyes had grown rather wide. ‘What have you done?’ she asked. ‘What have you wished for?’

‘I made a wish that all the poor and homeless in the area would become rich. But that it wouldn’t involve anyone getting mugged. I imagined all the money that’s ever got lost or has vanished away and nobody knows where it ever went to. I pictured all this money coming back from these momentary black holes’ — I was very pleased with this bit of. thinking, one in the eye for the bugger in the dreadlocks and bare feet, I thought — ‘and all this money going to the needy. Pretty good, eh?’

‘Pretty good.’ Litany said it in almost a whisper. Then she said, ‘But you didn’t ask me about this. You should have cleared it with me first.’

‘With you? I don’t understand.’

‘I’m supposed to …’ She paused. ‘Look, never mind, I’m sure, well, I hope, you’ve done the right thing.’

‘I did it to please you. I thought it would make you happy.’

‘Yes it does, it does. All right, look, I won’t leave. Let’s go up to my room.

‘And have more sex?’ ‘Yes, if you want to.’ ‘Don’t you want to?’ ‘Yes, of course I do.’

But of course she didn’t.

As we went up in the lift together I watched her from the corner of my eye. She was edgy, she chewed upon her hair and shifted from one foot to the other.

‘Do you need the toilet?’ I asked.

‘No I do not!’

I recall shrugging and I also recall thinking, I wish she wasn’t so damned difficult all the time. And then I became aware of the size and shape of the lift and had to compensate by opening my mouth very wide.

And then as the lift doors opened at her floor, Litany suddenly smiled and said, ‘Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult and everything. Let’s call down for some ice-cubes and a bottle of Tabasco sauce and I’ll show you something rather special.’

And she did. Oh yes indeed.

Well, no, actually she didn’t.

I mean it’s all rubbish that stuff, isn’t it? I mean what would you do with some ice-cubes and a bottle of Tabasco sauce? Damned if I know.

I could make something up, of course. Or do it by implication to make you think that I know all manner of secret sexual techniques. Or I could just stick another short story in to pad it out to the end of the chapter.

But I won’t.

We went to Litany’s room. She called down for the ice-cubes and the Tabasco sauce. We put the ice-cubes into our drinks and the Tabasco sauce onto our roast beef sandwiches, then she showed me something rather special. It was a mint condition copy of the very first issue of SFX magazine, with the free gift and everything.

I was very impressed.

Then we called down for half a dozen bulldog clips, an ironing-board and a stirrup pump.

And— No, I’m lying again.

After a game of chess, which I lost, because she ‘huffed’ my bishops, which I’m sure was cheating, we were interrupted by a lot of loud knocking at the door.

It was the waiter from the Casablanca dining-suite.

‘One thousand pardons, monsieur,’ he said, ‘but I regret to say that you and the beautiful young lady must vacate the room at once.

‘Bugger off,’ I told him.

‘No, monsieur, please. We have, how do you say, the big trouble downstairs in the foyer. Many ragamuffins demanding rooms for the night. All with much money saying they are the eccentric millionaires. We have called for the gendarmes to come and hit them with sticks, but we must evacuate the hotel.’

‘If they’ve got much money, why don’t you just give them rooms for the night?’

‘Ah, monsieur has seen through my cunning ploy. We are giving them rooms for the night, at inflated prices.’

‘Well, that’s fine then.’

‘Fine for them, monsieur, but not for you. We’re giving them your rooms, so would you and the beautiful young lady kindly pack your bags and bugger off?’

‘No!’

‘Then regrettably I must call the gendarmes and inform them that you have been having under-age sex with the beautiful young woman.

‘She’s not that young.

‘No, monsieur, but you are.

‘That’s ridiculous, it’s not illegal for me to—’

Litany pushed me aside. ‘Let me handle this,’ she said.

I felt reasonably sure I could predict what might be coming and so I took an extra step aside.

Litany punched the waiter in the nose.

The waiter went down onto his bum, with a hand to a gory nostril. ‘Oh thanks a lot,’ he said. ‘That’s really sweet, that is. I’m only trying to do my job. Do you think it’s any fun having to pretend you’re a bloody French waiter? I’m a musician, me. I once auditioned to be the bass guitarist with Sonic Energy Authority, but I didn’t get the lucky break. And now I get a punch in the nose. Thank you very much.’

I looked to Litany in the hope she might apologise. But she didn’t. She just stormed off to the en-suite bathroom and slammed the door behind her. I helped the waiter to his feet.

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I’m sorry. I know what it’s like being in a crap job. If you really want to be a musician, I think I might be able to help you out.’

‘Oh yeah, and how?’

‘What if I could give you your lucky break? Get you the bass guitarist’s job with Sonic Energy Authority?’

‘But that’s impossible. Panay Cloudrunner’s the bass guitarist. He’s never going to quit the band now they’re so big.’

‘Just trust me. Leave us in peace and I’ll make it up to you for the bloody nose. Expect a phone call.’

‘Expect a phone call? You’re kidding right?’

‘I’m not, I’m certain I can do it, trust me, all right?’

He shrugged. ‘All right. But if you can get me into S.E.A., then you’re some kind of miracle man.

‘Expect a phone call.’

‘OK.’

He stumbled off down the corridor holding his nose. I concentrated very hard and thought, I wish that young waiter could get Panay Cloudrunner’s job in Sonic Energy Authority. And then I recited a poem in my head called ‘Pleased as Punch’ which I felt was appropriate, and subconsciously untucked my T-shirt and placed a five-pence piece in my navel.

Then I went and bashed upon the bathroom door.

 

We didn’t dine that night in the Casablanca dining-suite. I didn’t know when, or really even if the waiter would get his telephone call, but anyway the restaurant was packed.

It looked like a new-age travellers’ convention. I had never seen quite so many dreadlocks or small dogs on strings in one place before. Everyone looked very jolly though, and they were really tucking into the grub.

Litany didn’t look best pleased, so I thought it prudent not to mention the promise I’d made to the waiter.

I suggested we take a drink at a tavern on the promenade, but it wasn’t such a good idea. Conversation buzzed all around us about the strange doings of the day, how all the local homeless had suddenly struck it rich.

Some folk said that The Big Issue had seen fit to award its sales force massive cash bonuses. Others spoke of wealthy American tourists heaping traveller’s cheques on folk slumped in shop doorways. There was even wild talk about a mysterious scruffy chap with bare feet vomiting pound coins. We drank up and returned to the hotel.

Litany said that she wasn’t feeling too well and would I mind sleeping in my own room. I agreed without a fuss. Well, I did go down on my knees and beg a bit, but she closed her door upon me and that was that.

I took the lift and then the stairs to my room. It was very small and right up in the eaves. It put me in mind of my own loft bedroom at home and my thoughts turned once more towards my evil brother. I would have my revenge upon him and my Uncle Brian, but for now I was quite exhausted. It had been a long and eventful day and although it wasn’t ending in the way I might have hoped, I still felt rather warm inside.

I’d helped those homeless people, I knew that I had and I felt very good about that. I settled down upon the straw-filled mattress and went straight off to sleep.

And I slept very soundly. I remember that.

But then I would. Because, after all, from that night on, and for the next thirty years, I would never sleep again.