by Heide Goody
The expulsion of the SCUM group from the Consecr8 church hall had stirred up some discontent among the mums, and so they were gathering for a picnic to stand up for mums’ rights to breastfeed in public. Although the protest picnic sounded dull, he was all in favour of public breastfeeding. No, he corrected himself, it should be positively encouraged, if not mandatory. There was nothing like some al fresco chesticles on display to lift a man’s spirit, and it was positively selfish of women to hide them away.
Clovenhoof went to clean himself up. The only thing he’d been able to find to make a bum print was a jar of raspberry jam in Ben’s things. He was sure that, if he scraped carefully, he’d be able to get it all back in the jar before Ben noticed any was missing.
Nerys had lost her patience so many times that she decided it had left for good, in search of a better owner. She put on a brave face when Michael visited.
“Thank God! Someone who could pass for an adult,” she said. “You have no idea how much I need a conversation that doesn’t consist of mumbling or farting. How’s the decorating going?”
“The what?”
“The decorating. You were having your bedroom done.”
“That’s right. Yes, it looks lovely now.”
“So, it’s finished?” said Nerys hopefully.
Michael caught the look in her eye.
“Er, yes, but we’re now having a new en suite shower installed.”
“In the bedroom?”
“In an ensuite, yes.”
“After you’ve just painted?”
“I know. We should think before we do these things. And, obviously, that’s going to take a long while, because we’re not even sure of how to get the plumbing connected to that part of the house.” He looked at her. “Sorry. I’m sure it’s not that bad here.”
Nerys scoffed.
“These two Neanderthals are driving me to distraction.”
Michael smiled.
“Well, I can understand that being cooped up is frustrating. I brought you something that might cheer you up.”
Nerys grinned.
“Ooh, presents! You are indeed looking at people whose worldly goods are in short supply. If you’ve brought me some underwear or make up, I might just die with gratitude. Oh.”
Nerys’s face fell as Michael pulled out a Bible and offered it to her.
“You’re out of work, Nerys. You need the comfort that scripture can offer.”
Nerys wilted. The look on Michael’s face was so earnest, so – bloody – loving, and here he was giving her what felt like homework.
“The Bible? Really?”
“You can’t tell me you don’t have time to read it.”
“But it’s so long and so …”
“Important?” said Michael.
The word ‘boring’ died in Nerys’s throat.
“Fine,” she huffed, and accepted the book.
It was heavy. It even felt boring.
“Just start at the beginning. It’s powerful stuff.”
“Sure. Well, as it happens, I’ve been very busy today,” said Nerys, putting the Bible aside. “Not only have I taken the first steps in my new online venture, but I have also been working on my next job. I have, ahem, retained the login details for the Helping Hand software that matches a person’s personality and skills to their ideal job. Apparently, I was in completely the wrong job! I should be a legal adviser.”
“Goodness me,” said Michael. “Well, it’s nice to see you motivated, Nerys.”
“Oh, I bounce back quickly.”
“Don’t you need a degree for that sort of job?” said Michael.
“Yeah,” said Clovenhoof, rising dracula-style from a nearby coffin. “Do you have a university education, Nerys?” he asked with unconvincing innocence.
“I have had plenty of university-based education,” she said carefully.
“And we don’t mean learning how to score free drinks in the student union bar.”
“Listen, the degree question is a grey area,” said Nerys. “That part of the questionnaire was focused more around what level you’re aiming for.”
“I don’t think it’s a grey area,” said Michael. “You either have a degree or you don’t. It’s not as if you’re studying for one.”
“Well, I could. I’m plenty smart enough. The key thing is that my skills and personality are a great match.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “I’m an expert at making decisions that affect other people, giving advice, and organising others.”
“Do they tell all bossy people that they should be legal advisors?” asked Clovenhoof. “It seems unlikely, given that they mostly seem to work in your old office.”
“Take a look for yourself,” said Nerys, turning the laptop screen to Clovenhoof. “Computers never lie.”
Clovenhoof picked up the laptop and moved away with it.
“I have to put up with this sort of thing all day, Michael,” said Nerys. “That’s why I’m motivated to get a new job.”
Michael moved over to the wall to look at the map that Ben had been working on.
“Well now, this is interesting,” he said. “The famous Beast of Boldmere. Are you trying to track it down?”
“God, no,” shuddered Nerys. “It’s Ben’s. I don’t want to see that thing ever again. Jeremy’s developed a bit of a fixation on the thing.”
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” said Michael, glaring at Clovenhoof.
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing. And this is Ben’s obsession too, eh?”
“I think he wants to stuff it. I, for one, can’t see why anyone would want to seek it out, for God’s sake.”
“For God’s sake indeed,” said Michael, examining his fingernails. “Someone who wants to do good in this world for reward in the next might want to find it in order to protect others,”
“Seriously?” Nerys spat. “If you wanted to do good for others, you could’ve at least brought some alcohol with you.”
“He’s way ahead of you there,” said Ben, entering with a tray of drinks. “Michael’s brought us a couple of bottles of vino destructo.”
“If it was good enough for our Lord …” smiled Michael.
Upon second inspection, what Ben was actually carrying was a tiny promotional coffin lid with a set of urns on it.
“Are those for ashes?” Nerys asked, picking one up. She hesitated, but then downed the drink. “Whatever.”
“I was just admiring your map, Ben,” said Michael. “I have an interest in finding the beast as well.”
“He wants to score brownie points with the Jesus freaks,” explained Nerys.
“The sightings are all clustered within a similar distance from this area of Sutton Park,” said Ben, pointing. “I’m convinced it’s hiding out in the trees there.”
“You may be right,” said Michael, measuring the distances with his hand. “Are you planning to look for it?”
“Well, this is just a hypothetical investigation at the moment. This specimen, if it truly exists, is a dangerous predator.”
“But I remember you sharing a wealth of knowledge with the cub scouts about traps and tracking last year.”
“Well,” admitted Ben, “I do have some ideas for some traps and snares, to capture it with minimal damage.”
“Aren’t there any options that cause maximum damage?” asked Nerys, knocking back a second urn of wine. “Those are the ones we want.”
“Tomorrow,” said Ben. “I’m going to the park tomorrow.”
“I may join you,” said Michael.
Clovenhoof was fascinated by the job search software. He was even more fascinated by the answers that Nerys had given to certain key questions.
Handling people tactfully and listening skills were apparently areas where Nerys had much skill and interest, whereas using your hands in a skilful way was apparently not something she was particularly good at.
“I think Animal Ed might disagree with that,” murmured Clovenhoof, stabbing th
e keys on his phone. “And Twitter, apparently.”
It seemed, as he flicked through her answers, that she had made a careful assessment of each question and answered it according to whether it might lead to a manual job – the sort of thing where she might chip a nail – or the sort of career that Nerys would like to imagine for herself.
Clovenhoof settled the laptop on his knee and went back through the questions, answering them in what seemed to be a more truthful manner. Explaining ideas and information to people got removed on the basis that Nerys had the patience of an ADHD child on Christmas morning. He also removed solving problems, as she rarely sorted out the ones that he created. He declared that she’d be happy to work weekends, evenings, and even night shifts in case she decided she wanted more than one job. Perfect. He ran the search, once he’d fine-tuned some other choices, and read the top matches.
He dismissed Warehouse Operative as being too dull. Bar staff sounded useful. Would you be allowed to give your friends free drinks? He bookmarked that one. Next was the grand title of Entertainment Agency Worker. Now this looked promising. He gave a cursory glance through the description. He knew he’d found the ideal job for Nerys. The emphasis was on being well presented, being in good physical shape, and being pleasant and charming to clients at all times. Clovenhoof mused on this for a moment. It read like code, he decided. One of those strange examples of human subtlety that he occasionally ran up against.
“So what it really means is dress slutty, move like a stripper, and chat men up. Oh, I see, it’s a lap-dancing job.”
Clovenhoof congratulated himself on seeing through the coy wording. He opened up an internet search engine and looked for local lap-dancing opportunities. Nearby, in Erdington, an establishment called Discreet Liaisons had an advert that looked like just the thing. Clovenhoof filled in the web form on Nerys’s behalf and sat back, feeling smug after tweeting the details of his good deed to the followers he’d picked up with #shagmebigboy.
Nerys was last to bed. She wasn’t very keen on the coffin-style beds, but she’d drained the last of the alcohol, and she really was very tired. She’d positioned herself as far as possible from Ben and Clovenhoof to avoid the inevitable disturbances that they would cause, but her coffin really didn’t look inviting. She’d rinsed her underwear in the sink so that she could wear it again the next day, aware that her clothes were likely to be trapped for the foreseeable future. She was currently dressed in an oddly shapeless garment that Jeremy had found for her. She had a suspicion that it was some sort of shroud, but was beyond the point of caring. She slipped into the sleeping bag that was nestled inside the coffin, and had to admit that it was a cosy bed. Shaped to her body, there was an instant feeling of being isolated and protected that was almost womb-like. Her mind wandered to certain men she’d known who would have found this dangerous and stimulating, and she drifted off to sleep with the thought that she’d ask Jeremy about getting a discount coffin for her bedroom sometime in the future when she actually had a bedroom.
Next morning, Ben came into the room looking for Clovenhoof, a jar of jam in his hand.
“Jeremy, have you had some of my jam?” he asked.
“Yes, raspberry isn’t it?”
Ben scowled.
“I don’t mind sharing my things with you, but did you use a knife that you’d used on something else? I can see some smears in it.”
“Yes and no …” said Clovenhoof. “It was a spoon, actually, and, depending on your viewpoint, I suppose it did go … elsewhere, yes.”
“I knew it!” shouted Ben. “You’ve been double dipping!”
“What?”
“Licking the spoon and putting it back into the jam. You do know that’s the worst thing you can do to a person’s food, don’t you?”
“No. I’m pretty sure that’s not the worst thing.”
“Yes! Yes it is!” yelled Ben.
“But, you know, we won’t sweat the small stuff, will we? We’re all just muddling along together, like the honest cheeky cockneys did in the Blitz, yeah?” said Clovenhoof.
“Well, we’re not honest bloody cockneys, Jeremy, and this isn’t the Blitz. Why do I have to put up with your bad habits just because you can’t bring yourself to stick to the few rules of decency that make life possible?”
“There are people who enjoy the way I live my life. Hashtag skidmark got me loads of retweets. It’s only you who has no sense of humour about that sort of thing. So, how bad is it, exactly, this double dipping?” said Clovenhoof. “Is it worse than using someone’s towel, say?”
“Tell me you haven’t been using my towel as well?”
“Well, I don’t know where mine is. Yours was there,” said Clovenhoof.
Ben put a hand to his brow and took a deep breath.
“Right, of course you did. Anyway, in answer to your question, I’d say that double dipping is worse than using a person’s towel, on the basis that at least a towel is used after washing, so in theory – and I’m clinging to this theory – there are no bodily fluids involved.”
“Oh,” said Clovenhoof. “Bodily fluids. You might not like what I’ve been using your towel for then.”
“What?”
“Hashtag skidmark. I heard you and Nerys fighting about the toilet roll thing. I was way too scared to even touch it after that ...”
Nerys positioned herself in front of the screen and hit record.
“Hello again, viewers! Welcome to the latest instalment of Nerys’s dating advice. By now, you’ll realise that there are many tools at your disposal in your hunt for the perfect date, so I’d like to talk about one of my favourites, horoscopes. You might think it’s a lot of nonsense, but I’ve recorded my experiences over the years, and I see a consistent eighteen percent uplift in the conversion rate when I use horoscopes. I’m talking, of course, about the conversion rate from first contact to full intimacy. Eighteen per cent! So, what do you need to know?”
Nerys ticked off on her fingers.
“You find out his birthday first of all. Social media can help you with this or, if not, you need to drop a subtle question into conversation. Once you know which star sign you’re dealing with, you can start to form a plan. Now, a Leo will want you to look good at all times, so don’t let him see you in your lounging slacks. Libra is similar. They both like well turned out women. You’ll be wanting a nice perfume to waft his way too. Who next? Scorpio. It’s well known that Scorpios are all sex maniacs, so just turn up in high heels and a trench coat belted over your best underwear, and you’ll be fine.”
Nerys frowned and stopped the recording as the sound of shouting came from the other side of the room. Ben was red in the face, waving what looked like a jar of jam and looking extremely angry with Clovenhoof.
“… A new towel immediately! Burn the old one. Burn it! I don’t ever want to see it again. You’re worse than an idiot, you’re a complete menace. I feel sick just thinking about that towel.”
“Hey! Busy over here, keep it down, will you? I need to get this filmed this morning. I’ve got an interview for a job this afternoon.”
They didn’t seem to hear her. Ben looked as though his head might explode with anger, while Clovenhoof was prattling on about the towel just needing a good ninety degree wash.
“Oh, really, Nerys?” she said in a loud voice. “What interview is that? Oh, it’s a position with a legal company in Erdington called Discreet something or other. Something about client confidentiality. Really, Nerys? Well done for getting an interview so quickly, and being so productive in the meantime. We’ll just stop this nonsense and pay you the correct amount of attention, shall we?”
She huffed as she realised that they were still ignoring her. She’d been waiting for a chance to try out her latest idea for dealing with Clovenhoof. Back when she’d had a flat and a job, she’d taken the water Reverend Zack had blessed and decanted it into a tiny perfume atomiser. She wasn’t thrilled that it was one of the few things to escape the destruction, as it w
as of no practical use, but maybe now it could prove its worth. She fished it out of her handbag and approached Clovenhoof while he continued to argue with Ben.
Which part of him to squirt, though? While she really wanted him to shut up and stop doing whatever had got Ben so riled, she wasn’t ready to see him melt into a puddle or go up in smoke. She gave him a quick squirt on the tip of one of his horns. The nozzle stuck briefly and much more came out than she’d intended, going all over his hair. Quick as a flash, Nerys dived onto Clovenhoof, and tried to mop up the excess with her hands.
“What are you doing?” he yelled. “I know I’m hard to resist, but you need to control yourself, woman!”
“I’m trying to stop your brain melting, you stupid tit!” said Nerys, using the corner of her sleeping shroud to dab at Clovenhoof’s hair.
He tried to swat her away with a hand.
“Jeremy’s an unthinking, selfish twat,” said Ben, staring at them both in puzzlement, “but I can’t see how spraying perfume will address that in any way. He’ll just be a slightly more fragrant twat.”
“Need to stop it getting on his face!” grunted Nerys as she worked frantically. “I don’t want to see his skull grinning at me through rotted flesh every time I talk to him.”
“She’s gone mad,” said Ben.
“I would like you to get off me. Now,” said Clovenhoof.
Nerys stopped and addressed Clovenhoof directly.
“Are you sure it’s not hurting? Not at all?”
“Let me try and tell you how it feels,” said Clovenhoof.
Nerys scooted backwards and studied him.
“Yes?”
“It feels like having a demented woman launch herself at you with perfume, being unable to fight her off. Tell you what it reminds me of – going through the ground floor of a department store.”
“No pain?”
“No.”
“No itching or swelling?”
“No. So what was it all in aid of? What did you spray me with?”
“Er, Lynx Africa.”
