Paranormal Investigations: No Situation Too Strange

by EH Walter

  "Trevor!" I called, "Trevor the troll - are you there?"

  "Who's asking?" came another deep, raspy voice.

  "Leo Fey."

  "What you sellin’?"

  "Nothing, I'm hiring."

  I waited. Curiosity got the better of him and he crept out from under the bridge. The troll was olive green and stood all of two foot high. His features were very similar to Graham's, but in miniature and green in place of violet.

  "Hey," I said, "I thought all you trolls were meant to be big, bad assed dudes?"

  A deep, throaty rasp erupted from him as he pummelled a child sized cricket bat into his palm with a thud. "You wanna piece of me?" His choice of words and accent made me think he'd watched far too many gangster movies, although I doubted any cable company served under-the-bridge residences. I could be wrong.

  "Graham sent me. He said you might do a job for me."

  "Huh," he said with distaste, screwing up his face, "why would I do anything that schmuck says?"

  I noticed a certain animosity and decided to play on it. "Well, he said you probably weren't interested. I think his actual words were 'Trevor's not up to the job'."

  "He said that, eh?"

  "Well, he said a real troll should do the job but they were all busy."

  "I'm a real troll - I'll show you I'm a real troll - you wan' someone bashing? I can bash 'em. Tell me who, tell me who." he swung his cricket bat through the air as if hitting an imaginary foe. An imaginary foe who happened to be about two foot tall, either that or he was aiming for the knees.

  "My client needs protection from the fairies."

  "Those hoodlums, eh? I'd like ta bash a few fairy heads in, I would." he tilted his head and looked up at me, "You got a bridge I can stay under?"

  I nodded. "I also have some nice food for you - if you take the job. Here, call this a sweetener."

  I took a mango out of the plastic bag and tossed it at him. He caught it mid-air and looked at it strangely.

  "What's this?"

  "Food."

  He took a bite, through the skin. His teeth were long and yellow. Mango juice ran down his chin and suddenly he mellowed. His bulbous eyes almost glowed with delight. "What is this nectar?"

  "Mango. I've got plenty of mangoes for the troll who helps my client."

  "Where's this bridge?"

  I pointed down the stream. "Head that way until you go under the road. Wait for me in the stream by the gun shop."

  He paddled off down the stream, splashing like a child wearing wellington boots, chomping on his mango as he went. Success - I had found my troll!

  *

  Trevor was waiting for me where the stream went under the road, leaning on his cricket bat as he stood in the middle of the watercourse.

  "Where's this bridge then? I hope you're not classing this - this is an underpass. A troll does not live in an underpass, it's not traditional."

  "Other end," I said and gestured to where the Pymmes Brook travelled from under my flat building.

  He grunted, "That's a culvert."

  "Will it do?"

  He shrugged and sucked his breath over his teeth like a dodgy builder inspecting a job. "For a bit, as long as there are more of those mangoes comin’."

  "Plenty of mangoes - and strawberries too. All you would need to do is patrol for a bit and make sure no fairies get in to the building."

  "Straw berries, eh?"

  He tossed the cricket bat from one hand to the other. "Okay - you're on - shake." He climbed like a monkey up from the stream and leapt over the railings. Then, all two foot of him stood in front of me, one over-long arm stretched out. He really meant to shake my hand. I could not help but see the coarse black hair and warty pustules. He also looked as if he needed a good bath. Scrap that - he smelt like he needed a good bath.

  Grimacing rather than smiling I reached down to take his hand. It was like shaking hands with a rubber plant covered in slime and not the fun you've-been-slimed-on-TV slime. Proper slime that came from decades of build up around sewers and water. I didn't think I would ever use my right hand again, I certainly wouldn't be eating with it again for a while.

  I told Trevor all about Bob and his predicament and gave him the number of my flat as well as a detailed description of how to press the door buzzer and enter, should he need to. I then felt free to abandon Bob for a while - I had a Hollywood star to hang out with.

  *

  Before I changed to head into town I briefed Bob on the house rules - the main one being "you do not sleep on my bed, you do not enter my bedroom". Until I found somewhere safe for him to stay he would have to make do with the sofa. As far as I was concerned, the sooner he was on his way the better, fairies or no fairies.

  Bob was delighted to hear there was now a troll patrolling the perimeter, I didn't tell him the troll was two foot tall and now possibly had a mango addiction. I let Bob know where the troll was staying - should he need him.

  "You're leaving?" Bob asked, his voice quivering.

  "I'm going out."

  "But you can't leave me!" His eyes grew wide with fear and he somewhat resembled Bambi.

  "Look... Bob, I have a life and a very busy social schedule and professional commitments. At the moment my work for you is pro bono, I'll do what I can to find you somewhere else to stay and then you and the troll can go off and leave me with what remains of my sanity."

  "I thought you were going to help me!"

  "I am helping you Bob, but I'm an investigator - I'm not running a protection racket here."

  "You don't want me here."

  "Of course I don't, this is my home and as you can see it is a very small."

  His bottom lip drooped and quivered. I tossed the carrier bag full of salts at him and left to get changed, I really didn't want to get involved in this madness.

  *

  Even if Jez didn't love me he had been a good friend and I told myself it would be good to see him again. So what if he didn't love me?

  From my part of London there are many ways to get into the centre, but since I was heading for the National Theatre on the south bank I decided to get the Northern line down to Waterloo. I should have gone a quicker way - forty minutes on a tube train gives you way too much time to think. By the time I got to Waterloo I was a shivering lump of jelly, my legs wobbled as I walked along the Thames to try and calm down before meeting Jez.

  It was a warm day, although there was a fog making the river look even murkier than usual. The London Eye and the Palace of Westminster rose magnificently out of the murk as if trying to rise above London pollution.

  Buying salt and recruiting a troll had taken a surprising amount of time and it was already four in the afternoon by the time I got to the National. I was tired and also starving from having not eaten.

  Emotional, slightly frazzled from general weirdness and ridiculously hungry was not the ideal condition in which to meet the ex-boyfriend love of your life. Maybe there was no ideal way in which to meet the ex-boyfriend-love-of-your-life?

  I didn't get as far as the National stage door, I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I walked straight past Jez who was walking away from the theatre with an attractive woman. I got about five metres past him and stopped. My brain was only then processing the information sent by my eyes. I turned around and stared at Jez like a stupid, besotted fan. He had seen me and looked amused by the fact I had waltzed straight past him. He smiled at me (I melted) and then he gave the woman a kiss on the cheek. I watched carefully to try and gauge the level of intimacy offered. It was somewhere between ‘work colleague’ and ‘acquaintance’.

  "See you later," he said to her and then walked towards me. He was in a long, dark coat and had a black flat cap on his head. His normally smooth face was covered by a short beard. He surprised me by putting his arms around me. As he went to kiss my cheek I somehow moved and our lips met.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Paranormal Investigations

  Jez had lovely soft, plump
lips and it was a shame to part from them. My whole body was screaming at me to not let him go. Certain parts of my body very much wanted him to continue, but unfortunately the kiss was as brief as it was accidental.

  "Hello you," he said, as if it hadn't been over two and a half long years since we had last seen each other.

  "Do I get to ask you for your autograph?" I responded wittily.

  He laughed, "If you ever asked me for an autograph I'd be worried. Shall we eat? I've just finished rehearsing a scene full of food and I couldn't eat any - I'm bloody starving!"

  "I just so happen to be rather famished myself."

  I had forgotten just how at ease Jez put me when I was in his company. Our walk to the stretch of south bank eateries was not over filled with conversation, but it was not filled with awkward silence either. I'd also forgotten how self-depreciating he could be and how funny.

  "Trying to prove yourself?" I asked, gesturing to the National Theatre.

  "Oh yeah," he said, "it's amazing how much more seriously people take you when you do a bit of theatre. Do you remember a couple of years ago when all the film companies were going bust because of the credit crunch and the West End was full of American film stars? They got so much kudos for doing that."

  "You after kudos then?" I asked as he held the door open to one of the bankside eateries to allow me to enter first.

  "You know me Leo - always after a bit of kudos. Even if the critics hate me I'll have kudos - and all for Equity minimum."

  Two and a half years ago both of us would've killed to work at Equity minimum rates, hell - I still would. Two and a half years ago our lives had been running along the same routes, now he was Mr Hollywood and I was Miss Weirdjob.

  We had only moved in with each other because it had been cheaper, or at least that's what I told myself. We had been poor together, compared notes about rude directors and over friendly casting directors with each other and consoled ourselves with thoughts of better days. Now he was wearing clothes worth more than my annual pittance of a wage.

  Although it was officially an autumn day and it was mild enough to sit outside so we did so. Jez kept the collar of his coat up and the peak of his hat down which I thought, at the time, was because he was cold - later I realised it was to avoid being noticed. It was hard for me to remember that someone I knew had a face so recognisable he needed to actively avoid notice. I suppose I still saw that Jez - the one on the side of buses - as a separate person from the one I had cuddled up with under the duvet to keep warm in winter in a cramped Camden bedsit.

  As we ate, our conversation consisted mainly of old friends and shared memories of times gone by. It was surprisingly easy for me not to be a gibbering wreck and I must have given a passable performance as a sane human being. My outward behaviour may have appeared quite normal, but my eyes and mind were taking in every gorgeous detail: the way his eyes had that sexy crinkle at the corners, the way his hands gripped his tea cup... Although it was chilly, my cheeks were red with the memories of what those hands could do to a girl. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

  After we had exhausted conversation about the past we had to turn to the present.

  "You've done really well, Jez."

  He shrugged. "It's mainly luck, being in the right place at the right time. You know how I only got that first job in Los Angeles because someone dropped out at the last minute."

  I certainly did. Jez had done a small part in a film made at Elstree (also in north London and not far from Barnet). The director had been an old friend of his and the budget minimal - favours were called in left right and centre to get it off the ground in the first place. When it was released it did surprisingly well for a low budget British film and gained something of a cult following. As a result, all of the actors (whether they deserved it or not) became hot property. As Jez said - luck. If he hadn't done that favour for a friend he might still be keeping my bed warm in Camden.

  The night he came home to tell me about the job offer in the States is one of those etched in finite detail on my memory - one of those moments of deep despair that you revisit when stricken with fever or lying awake in the middle of the night.

  He couldn't sit down and couldn't speak. I could see there was something on his mind as he paced around our bedsit in Camden. It was like part of him was unbelievably excited about something and another part was immensely sad. I let him pace around and busy himself first with the washing up and then the hoovering. I had not imagined for one second how enormous his revelation was going to be.

  Finally he sat down, turned off the TV and told me he had been offered the biggest opportunity of his life and he had to leave the next day if he was going to take it. He had to phone them by 6pm - this was twenty minutes away at the time. I don't remember the words he used - he didn't elaborate in great detail for the matter was quite a simple one - go or stay.

  I said: "Do you need me to drop you at the airport?" and that was the matter somehow decided. It's amazing how practical you can be when your heart has just been pulled out of your chest and someone is using it as a tennis ball in a very vigorous and fast paced match.

  In speaking those words I had ended our relationship, I had made it okay for him to leave with a clear conscience. As he packed it was like he was already gone, we barely spoke and we didn't say good bye. I went to bed early and left him arranging what to take and what to get his brother to come and collect for him later. When he did come to bed I lay there like a statue, pretending to be asleep. And in the morning I had dropped him at the airport and walked out of his life. I can't stand protracted and dramatic farewells so I just walked away.

  Now, two and a half years later, Jez laid a hand on mine. "And you Leo, how are you?"

  He said it as if he might have some vague idea of the six months of hell I went through without him - the six months that reduced me to such a shadow of a human being my friends no longer recognised me. The only job I got in that time was background work in a Holocaust TV programme. Then Great Aunt Mildred had set me on a new path.

  Underneath his, my hand began to sweat in that way that women never want men to know is possible and as much as I loved the feel of his skin and the fact he was touching me, part of me wanted to wrench it out and stop the complexities of feeling that were overwhelming me.

  "You know what Jez, I'm really good. My Great Aunt Mildred finally suckered me into working for her and now I'm managing partner. I get to set my own hours and do my own thing."

  "That's good."

  "Not the path I had imagined - true, but perhaps I was just too... intense to make it as an actor. I used to get too much into character. It's a relief to be myself for a change."

  Dear God, I think the man bought it. I hated Paranormal Investigations, I hated my life, I was sick with jealousy towards every single actress out there. I told you I was good.

  "I'm relieved," he said, "I worried when I couldn't get hold of you."

  I had ignored all his messages from Los Angeles. "You were busy, you didn't have time to worry about me!"

  "And then you wouldn't return my calls."

  "I was busy." Busy watching Jeremy Kyle and feeling sorry for myself.

  "Well, anyway - I'm back now and it looks like the third part of the trilogy will be filmed in Europe so I can base myself here for the most part."

  I was unsure what to say to this - did he mean he was back and we could hang out as friends or did he want to resume where we had left, but without the freezing-cold-because-we-can't-afford-heating bit?

  I managed to reclaim my hand under the pretence of organising the rubbish into one easy to dispose pile. All other conversation between us was suspended by the arrival of two teenage girls, the bolder of the two was nudging her friend with an elbow.

  "Told you it was 'im," she said in a rough London accent.

  A magical change almost came over Jez - a fan had spotted him and now he needed to go into business mode. He smiled at the girls and this gave them enough c
onfidence to approach. Their entire body of energy was directed straight at him. Me they ignored.

  "It is you, innit?" the bolder one said, "Jeremy whassisname?"

  Jez smiled patiently. "Busted."

  "Can I 'ave an autograff?" She supplied a paper napkin, luckily Jez had his own pen. I'm not sure she was the type of girl to own one.

  "What's your name?" he asked her.

  She said something like 'Shannicka' so Jez asked her to spell it.

  "S H thingy A N I Q U A."

  The 'thingy', when she drew it to explain, turned out to be an apostrophe.

  Patiently Jez signed her napkin and then, when a camera phone was thrust at me without a word, he posed for a photo with the two of them (I later saw it in HEAT magazine, but funnily enough I didn't get a credit as photographer). When Sh'aniqua asked for a kiss, I decided it was time to intervene.

  "Sorry girls," I said trying to sound business like, "Mr Flynt has a strict no under-eighteens kissing rule."

  The pair gave me what my teenage self would have described as dirty looks and scampered off giggling. Sh'aniqua was on her phone straight away loudly asking her mum to guess who she'd just met. Her mum, from what I overheard of the loud one sided conversation, didn't guess correctly.

  "So I guess you're pretty busy." Jez said, trying to ignore the loud teenager.

  "You couldn't imagine!" I said as I tucked a wrapper into a cup.

  "I hope you're not too busy to come to my first night, I'd like you there - as my guest."

  My tummy did a flip, honestly - it did. A genuine smile lit up my face until a man passed my eye line as he entered the eatery. Then I frowned.

  "You can make it Leo?"

  "Wouldn't miss it!"

  "Good, they can be quite posh affairs, all the angels come and the critics. I'd appreciate a friendly face out there."

  For those of you not wholly consumed by the business that is show, angels are financial backers. They put their money into producing theatre and got a set of tickets to first night out of it. Very rarely they got some money back too.