16

 

BARRY

 

IT WAS 1996, THE SUN WAS SHINING AND I WAS MARCHING UP A high street. Marching and swearing.

‘Barry, you stupid bastard!’ I swore. ‘That was some radical plan! Thirty years frozen at two hundred and forty degrees below zero and feeling every minute of it. You call that a plan? You stupid bastard!’

‘Yeah, well I’m sorry, chief. It wasn’t the way I would have written it. It was just bad luck, the shoe-box getting lost behind the radiator and everything.’

‘I’ve lost thirty years, you ble—’

‘Look on the bright side, chief. Thirty years ago when you were fifteen, you looked forty-five. Thirty years later and guess what, you still look forty-five. That can’t be bad, can it?’

‘Can’t be bad? I have missed out on thirty years of life I could have had with Litany. That’s thirty years of SEX.’

‘Yeah, but, chief, Litany was a stinker, she was working for the M.o.S. She only pretended to like you.’

‘You’re right. And she is going to pay first!’

‘Pay first? What about what you did back there at the Hidden Tower. That wasn’t very nice, was it?’

‘They deserved what they got.’

‘But Sir John did speak the magic words and reanimate you, it wasn’t very grateful, kicking him in the nuts like that.’

‘He was going to use me, like the others did. I heard him, “Think of what he might give us by way of a reward,” he said.’

‘Maybe, chief, but headbutting poor Dr Harney like that.’

‘He was for leaving me dead!’

‘He might have had a point.’

‘What did you say, Barry?’

‘Nothing, chief. But what you did to Danbury Collins, that was really gross.’

‘I don’t want to talk about that.’

‘I’ve never seen someone’s head rammed up their own bottom before.’

‘I said I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Sorry, chief. Where. are we going now?’

‘To find Litany.’

‘You won’t find her, chief. This is 1996, she could be anywhere.’ ‘I know exactly where she’ll be,’ I said, and I did.

 

There were mammoth crowds at Wembley. Sonic Energy Authority were playing their thirtieth-anniversary concert. I pushed my way into the crowd.

‘You don’t have a ticket, chief.’

I headbutted a short frail-looking young man and availed myself of his wallet. ‘I do now.’

‘This is not a nice way to behave, chief.’

‘Just shut up.’

 

The ex-waiter playing bass hadn’t aged too well, he was going bald and had a serious paunch. The rest of the band didn’t look so bad. Cardinal Cox, the lead singer, still had it. When he launched into ‘Johnny B. Goode’ the crowd went wild.

I stood to the side of the stage eyeing the crowd. And then I saw her, right near the front, blond hair, bikini top, up on some young fellow’s shoulder. It was a right squeeze getting to her, but I managed it. I punched the young fellow right in the nose and caught Litany on the way down.

‘Come with me,’ I shouted.

‘No I won’t. Leave me alone.’

‘Come with me or I’ll wring your neck right here.’

‘Well, if you put it that way.’

 

In one of the big corridors I held Litany against a wall.

‘Litany,’ I said, ‘remember me?’

‘I don’t remember you and my name’s not Litany.’

‘Oh yes it is.’

‘Oh no it isn’t.’

‘Is!’

‘Is not, my name is Stephanie.’

‘What?’

‘Litany was my mother.’

‘Your mother. So that’s how it works, you lot always looking the same at all the concerts. Where is your mother? I have to talk to her.’

‘She’s dead.’

‘Dead!’ I stepped back in more than some surprise and not a little shock. ‘Dead? When did she die?’

‘Thirty years ago, as it happens.’

‘Thirty years? But you don’t look—’

‘I’m just thirty.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Why, what’s it to you?’

‘I knew your mother, she was… Just tell me what happened.’ ‘Her boyfriend was killed. My father. Nine months after he died she gave birth to me. When she left the hospital she put me into care, then she went out and bought all of Philip Glass’s records. The entire collection, she went home and played them one after the other and was—’

‘Bored to death, what a terrible way to go.

‘She was quite rigid when they found her.’

‘Bored stiff!’

‘And completely desiccated. No bodily fluids left.’

‘Bored shitless!’

‘So now you know, let me go, will you?’

I released my grip’ but I didn’t let her go. ‘You say her boyfriend died nine months before you were born?’

‘Died in a road accident, yes.’

‘Road accident.’ I looked at Stephanie. Deep into her eyes. And then I knew. This was my daughter. Litany had died for love of me. I took the girl in my arms.

‘Get your frigging hands off me!’ she screamed.

‘No, you don’t understand. About your father. He didn’t die. He just went away.

‘He died,’ she said.

‘No he didn’t. He just went away.

‘He died!’

‘He didn’t. Listen, I know who your father is.’

‘Was.’

‘Is.’

‘Was, he’s dead.’

‘He’s not dead. Your father’s name is—’ And I named myself.

‘Crap,’ said Stephanie. ‘My father’s name was Panay Cloudrunner.

 

I marched out of Wembley Stadium and along another high street. Wembley High Street. I pushed through the Saturday shoppers. ‘That does it, Barry,’ I shouted. ‘That really does it!’

‘Now don’t do anything hasty, chief.’

‘Oh I won’t be hasty. I’ve thought about all this. For thirty years I’ve thought about all this. I am going to change this rotten world from the ground up. I am going to build a brave new world, without liars and cheats and exploiters. A real world. A decent world. A world of love and, and, little fluffy animals.’

‘Sounds pretty gross, chief’

‘Oh you’ll love it, Barry. You and the Big Figure.’

‘God, chief?’

‘Chief God! He’s going to love it too. And although having spent thirty years at -240, the idea of +240 up your arse in the cooking pot does have a certain appeal, I’m actually going to let you share the glory.’

‘That’s very nice of you, chief’

‘Yes, isn’t it? God will probably make you chief breeding sprout. Do sprouts have sex, by the way?’

‘SPROUTS DO IT IN THEIR BEDS. I read that once on the back of a tractor. I never exactly knew what it meant, though.’

‘Well never mind. I’ve had a dream. A thirty-year dream, squeezed in amongst the nightmare. And I will make it come true, because, after all, I am the Chosen One. Didn’t I rise from the dead?’

‘Well, you did, chief, but it took you thirty years. It only took the other bloke three days. And you know who I’m talking about.’

‘He had help.’

‘Chief, I really don’t think it’s right.’

‘But you suggested it, Barry. You said that if you’d been able to pull it off, you would have earned big kudos with God and got to stay off his dinner plate.’

‘Yeah, chief, but I’m just worried about—’

‘What?’ I tore the head from a doll clutched in the arms of a passing child and bit its eye out.

‘Your attitude problem, chief.’

‘I don’t have an attitude problem! It’s this lot!’ I gestured at the passing folk, who were regarding me with cold-fish eyes, as folk will when confronted by someone ranting to himself. ‘It’s this lot that have the attitude problem. People. All crooks and cheats and swindlers, the lot of them.’

‘Now hang about, young man,’ said a lady with a straw hat.

‘Hear that, chief, young man, you still carry your age well.’

‘Shut up, Barry!’

‘Don’t tell me to shut up, young man. And my name’s not Barry. And I’m not a crook and a cheat.’

‘Yeah, well, I didn’t mean you specifically.’

‘All right, so I may be a swindler, but swindling’s different. That’s not a real crime. Not, say, like rape.’

‘There’s no such crime as rape,’ said an old bloke who had been shuffling by. ‘Confucius he say, rape impossible, woman with skirt up run faster than man with trousers down.

‘Rape is a serious issue,’ said a stumpy woman with short hair and badges on her anorak, as a crowd began to gather. ‘Rape is a heinous crime.’

‘Rape’s not that heinous,’ said a young-fellow-me-lad, slinging in his two-ha’penny worth. ‘Murder’s more heinous than rape.’

‘Not as heinous as rape and murder,’ said another young-fellow-me-lad, the first young fellow’s chum. ‘Or murder, then rape. That would be really serious.’

‘You’re being facetious,’ said stumpy of the anorak. ‘You’re taking the piss, like this old bloke.’

‘Don’t call me old,’ said the old bloke. ‘I’m only forty-five.’

‘Hear that, chief? Makes you look good.’

‘Shut up, Barry.’

‘Don’t call me Barry,’ said the old bloke, shaking his fist. ‘I suppose that’s some acronym, is it? Like Bloody Auld Rotten Reprobate Yobbo. You can’t bandy words with me, I once won University Challenge.’

‘You never did,’ said the lady with the straw hat. ‘There was only one bloke who ever won University Challenge and he was a taxi driver called Fred. Everyone remembers him.’

‘Fred Trueman,’ said a cricket fan who was on his way to the sports shop.

‘Freddie Mercury,’ said the stumpy woman.

‘Freddy Kruger,’ said one of the fellow-me-lads.

‘Fred Flintstone,’ said another.

‘Yeah, well I was on it,’ said the old bloke. ‘And I did win. And my name’s Fred. And I’m not having this bastard calling me a BARRY.’

‘I wasn’t calling you a Barry,’ I told him, as the crowd began jostling and pushing. ‘I was talking to another Barry.’

‘Well, don’t look at me,’ said the first young-fellow-me-lad. ‘I ain’t no stinking Barry.’

‘Nor me,’ agreed his mates in unison. There were three of them.

‘So what’s a BARRY, then?’ asked stumpy the anorak wearer. ‘Is a BARRY a challenge to your manhood, or something?’

‘Nothing challenges my manhood, darling,’ said the first young fellow.

‘Well I do, darling!’ said stumpy.

‘I’m not the darling, darling, I’m straight.’

‘Implying that I’m not, I suppose?’

‘Maybe. So what are you anyway?’

‘I happen to be a radical feminist.’

‘You mean lesbian.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘Of course you do, all feminists are closet lesbians.’

‘And all heterosexual men are closet bum-bandits.’

‘Are you asking for a smack in the mouth?’

‘Hit a lady, would you?’

‘No, but I’d hit you.

‘Hey. Cool it, cool it,’ said the young fellow’s fellow young fellow, young fellow number two. ‘Let’s all be friends. Respect each other’s sexual preferences.’

‘Yeah, well …’ said the radical feminist.

‘Everybody has a right to be what they want to be,’ continued young fellow number two. ‘Now let’s all smile and make up. Listen, I’ll tell you a joke. Why did the lesbian cross the road? Answer. To suck my coc— The radical feminist lesbian swung her shoulder-bag. It evidently contained an Aga.

And she caught me right in the face with it.

I went down as the fists began to fly and I mouthed words to the effect of ‘why do bloody women always hit me?’ It was the lady in the straw hat who helped me up again. I put up my hands. ‘Stop fighting,’ I shouted, ‘or someone’s bound to get hurt. Behave yourselves, all of you.’

Now why did I say that?

‘You bloody started this, moosh,’ said the old bloke, who had a young fellow by the throat. ‘Calling perfect strangers BARRYS. What you need is a dose of the army with a sergeant major up your back passage.’

‘Up my what?’

‘Did I say, back passage? I meant, rear guard action, no, that sounds as bad, doesn’t it?’

‘There you go,’ said the radical feminist lesbian. ‘All closet bum-boys. What did I tell you?’

‘Well, you didn’t tell me anything,’ said the lady in the straw hat. ‘And I’m your mother. And here you are “outing” yourself in the High Street with everyone looking on. What will the neighbours say?’

‘They’ll say,’ said the radical feminist lesbian daughter, ‘what they always say, “don’t be late on Thursday, it’s wife-swapping night.”‘

‘They never do, do they?’ asked the fellow-me-lad whose throat was being held.

‘They bloody do,’ said the old bloke, releasing his grip. ‘I’m always round there on Thursdays with my missus. Swapped her for a lawn mower once.

‘You hetero-fascist,’ shouted you-know-who, bringing her shoulder-bag once more into play and hitting me once more in the face. And then the fight got well and truly started.

‘Just break it up!’ I shouted, staggering about in the mayhem. ‘Break it up, everyone, please!’

‘Calm down, chief, it’s not your business.’

‘SHUT UP, BARRY!’

It must either have been twenty-past-something, or twenty-to-something, because as I shouted that out there was this one brief moment of absolute silence.

And then, in total unison, the entire crowd shouted, ‘DON’T CALL ME A—’ and fell upon me.

I couldn’t pick out what the last word was, they kicked me to unconsciousness. I think it might have been BARRY.