How could this be? What was going on? Someone else who knew Pennie Fenton? Would I ever be able to escape from her? I was aware my sister Kirsty irregularly bumped into Pennie back in Yorkshire and had been delighted to hear from her that Pennie and Langham had gone their separate ways; but Allan Hewitt, how on earth had he ever got entwined with the undependable Miss Fenton? Langham and Kirsty knew Pennie because we all hung out with the same people as teenagers, so this made sense, but Scunthorpe born Allan lived miles away from any of us and appeared to have no connection with my old stomping ground. Was this like the six degrees of separation type of thing where everyone knew everyone through someone else – and if so who was that ‘someone else’? Even odder, whenever I pressed Allan about Pennie, interested to find out information about how they’d met; the normally forthright Mr Hewitt became awfully vague as if he was hiding something. I have noticed pushing an idea too hard can result in people being less inclined to acquiesce. Mindful of this, I tried as hard as I could, to bide my time and skirt around the subject. If this was actually the same Pennie Fenton I was (doing my best not to be) thinking about, I could appreciate he might have met her during any number of shameful situations and so conceded this may be the reason for his reluctance to discuss the matter. I changed the subject for a while, but then consumed by curiosity, repeatedly introduced the idea that we should organise some sort of catch up between us all.
Allan remained non-committal.
10. Dancing at the Edge of the Precipice
The thought of a low key reunion tumbled around my head like a pair of trainers in a washing machine. Some days I was very excited about the possibility and on others, I sensed a danger associated with it, as I replayed all the problems Pennie had caused in the past. One part of me was saying, here is a bad moon rising; the other pointing out that here was a way to inject a little excitement into our settled domestic lives. Paralysed by my own inability to make a decision, I asked Annie for advice, but on this occasion found her to be frustratingly ambivalent; so then phoned my sister who thankfully had a much clearer preference. Kirsty loved the idea. As a matter of fact she was more enthusiastic about it than her unbridled support for same-sex marriage. Given that championing gay rights was her current raison d’etre; I concluded she was very much in favour of a possible get together. As we made plans I heard how Kirsty had occasionally come into contact with Pennie through her work around Leeds, the very same city where Langham now lived and the same place where the tight-lipped Allan had once attended polytechnic in the 1980s. Joining up the dots, I began to see how all this fitted together.
It was agreed Pennie would travel with Kirsty to attend our annual barbeque on Saturday 26 August 1995, planned to coincide with the long bank holiday weekend. It turned out to be a glorious weekend. The same sunny weekend UK music fans were busy aligning themselves to either Oasis or Blur, but never to both. I have to admit I was rather excited at the prospect of seeing Pennie again, especially because I knew it would be without the morose and controlling presence of Gav Langham. Although she and I had travelled in the same circles for a while in my youth; I would never have guessed we’d stay in touch, let alone that I’d be inviting her over to The Industrial Garden Town for a barbie. Sometimes we had shared a knowing smile in Ilfracombe or had briefly mentioned individuals from years gone by; but could never claim that we were especially close. After the couple of unforgettable encounters at school, I’d always considered her just a little too shrewd, too knowing for me to ever feel completely relaxed around.
Mid-afternoon, the hottest part of the day, she arrived.
Bloody hell… even though I thought I was prepared, I still needed to take stock and remind myself that here was Pennie Fenton; exotic friend of Lucy Drew and barmy Bronwen. Regaining a sense of sensibility, I deliberately held back from making a fool of myself by jumping straight in and instead kept my distance. I was the host and as such I’d mingle with others to demonstrate to Pennie just how popular I was these days.
Positioning myself at the bottom of the garden, I watched as Kirsty introduced Pennie to our friends. Working hard to remind myself to exercise caution, I mentally replayed all the distractions she'd ever caused. It was so bizarre having her visit my house, as a married man with two children, seeing her mix so freely with my friends. It didn’t take long to recognise that everyone was enjoying her company and as the afternoon progressed, I could see that more and more people were gravitating towards her. Pennie drifted elegantly around the group like a parliamentary candidate who was well ahead in the polls during a local election. I wondered how she managed to achieve this. How was she able to mix with people she’d never met before with such ease? What was it that allowed her to engage with others without self-conscious concern?
It was Pennie who finally broke the ice between us. Eight or nine years had passed since we’d last seen each other, and now away from her other nefarious influences, she appeared to be lighter and less demanding. Rather predictably, one of the first things on the agenda was the last time we met. We laughed about the condition of the Staff House, Ted Kingston and Gav Langham. Pennie reminded me about my fretting over the tarot card reading and then later, how shocked I was by its apparent accuracy. Imagine how excited the two of us became when I explained I was now working for a regional newspaper group. Could this have been what the clairvoyant was alluding to when she predicted my future ‘was in print’? The disclosure about my work seemed to be especially interesting to Pennie. Not because of the excellent career prospects or the regular income stream which my new job provided; but instead because it appeared to validate her strong belief that tarot cards could accurately foretell all of our futures. During the original reading I’d interpreted the ‘print’ reference quite differently, believing I was being told to look in the classified ads at the back of the paper for potential jobs. Now, with Pennie’s help and a couple more lagers inside me, I started to question whether the card reading had been more illuminating than I’d initially thought.
The barbeque itself was a triumph. Everyone stayed out in the sun far too long and teased each other about sunburnt faces. For once, the handful of small children present fell asleep long before any of the adults, who were all too busy drinking corked wine and tucking into the remains of a now cold-meat-festival. Pennie ended up being one of the last to go, leaving with my sister to a chorus of, “Really hope to see you again.”
Overall, I felt a tremendous sense of relief about the event when it was finally over. It was as if by inviting Pennie, I’d been expecting something truly awful would happen, something I’d live to regret. The reality was; it had all been rather pleasant. This new Pennie Fenton was different, she didn’t encourage any wild or abandoned behaviour, no one took their clothes off or ended up in a puddle of blood. Truth be told, she probably added value to the day by mixing so well with everyone. My only slight disappointment was with myself for not asking how I could keep in touch with her.
By the end of the summer, life returned to its usual routines and we happily balanced the responsibilities of home and work. Hattie and Toby were both increasingly inquisitive about the world around them and were learning new things every day. Annie and I enjoyed parenthood as much as we did marriage and worked well together building a family home. We constructed a porch, laid a new patio, updated the carpets and planted a beautiful tree at the bottom of the garden – which just happened to be the very same spot I’d been watching Pennie from as she arrived for the barbeque.
As a reward for completing one of our small domestic projects, the two of us went for a meal and then on to see illusionist Max Zelman, a popular psychic entertainer who we’d been unable to get tickets for when he once appeared at Nene College. The evening was billed as An Evening of Mind Reading and Paranormal Activity. Generally speaking, Annie and I approached these types of shows in the same way. We looked forward to being entertained, but always remained highly sceptical. I kept in mind articles from my old Unexplained magazines
, which had highlighted the number of charlatans and con-men who worked in this field.
The main aim of the night out was to spend some quality time with my wife, although at the back of my mind, I also suspected this was just the sort of event Pennie Fenton would enjoy hearing about. I’m not saying I went with the deliberate intention of reciting aspects of the evening to Pennie, but I was aware that she was fascinated by this kind of hokum. Annie and I would certainly have a great night out AND who knows … it may also provide a useful conversation piece at some point in the future.
On arrival at the theatre we were all warned that if we wanted to participate in the show we needed to avoid drinking alcohol. Annie being the least flamboyant or showy person I’ve ever met, immediately bought herself a large glass of red wine to make doubly sure she wouldn’t have to get involved. Showman Zelman looked the part as soon as he walked on stage. Smartly dressed in bow tie and tuxedo, he had an unnerving gaze combined with a hint of aloofness about him. Speaking in an Eastern European accent, he introduced himself and then launched into a number of illusions and psychic exercises which quickly impressed the packed theatre. Zelman accurately identified the forenames of relatives belonging to random members of the audience and pulled receipts out of people pockets’ which had previously been ripped up into tiny pieces. For one trick, the illusionist was rigorously blindfolded by two nonbelievers but still managed to correctly predict key details from driving licences and membership cards buried deeply inside their wallets. We were mesmerised - how did he do it?
After a short break, it was time for some audience participation. No need for Annie to worry about stage fright, as Zelman had no shortage of compliant volunteers eager to be hypnotised. I was quite surprised to discover I was responding to his suggestions and somehow ended up lurching forwards with sixteen other people, to appear on stage. Appreciating we were all now part of the performance and all our responses were visible to the on-looking audience, I seriously toyed with the idea of pretending to be hypnotised. This way, half way through the performance I could miraculously ‘wake up’ and prove it was all a sham. Unfortunately, this opportunity never materialised. Psychic entertainer Mr Zelman, sifted out a couple of people who were clearly up on stage for a laugh and then began a process of deep hypnosis with his remaining lab rats. First, we were made to relax and listen very carefully to what he had to tell us in his distinctively deep voice.
“There is a heavy white mist, rising around your feet, climbing up your legs, slowly... engulfing your body....”
“The mist is rising, getting higher and higher. The further it climbs, the more sleepy you feel…”
I tried to resist the symbolism and remain detached from the process; but by the time the imaginary mist had reached my shoulders I was gone and like everyone else, was ready to comply with his every suggestion. Next thing I knew, I was lifting two invisible oars at the side of my plastic chair, believing I was rowing out to some fantasy island which had been conveniently positioned in the centre of the theatre.
According to Annie, I emerged from the hypnotic trance at one point and looked around a bit bewildered, unsure as to what was going on. Zelman calmly strode over, snapped his hands together and, placing his index finger firmly on my forehead, commanded me to ‘sleep’. I dutifully obeyed and remained under his spell for the rest of the performance. Some of what followed I saw, other parts were later relayed to me. I recognised much of what happened was to do with autosuggestion and compliance, but it was highly entertaining and impossible to resist. One morally suspect, but very funny part of the show was where he took two strangers and convinced them to demonstrate their sudden infatuation for each other by kissing passionately. I am not sure what was more amusing, watching these two strangers sucking the faces off each other, or the sight of their respective partners trying just a little too hard to look relaxed about what was going on.
It was probably exactly the same set of tricks he'd presented to the audience at Nene; standard illusionist fare to be sure, yet somehow we were neither, able or willing to offer any sort of critique of what we were witnessing. Annie and I were equally impressed and I couldn’t help thinking that Pennie would have loved every minute. The lad sat on my right was hypnotised to believe a raw lemon was his favourite fruit and we all watched in disbelief as he devoured the whole thing including its bitter skin. Probably the most spectacular feat of all was where Zelman made a scrawny young woman believe her body was as stiff as a plank of wood. This final exercise was a real testimony to the notion of mind over matter. After hypnotising the woman, he asked audience members to lift her up and lay her between two inward-facing steel chairs which were positioned about four feet apart from each other. Only the back of her head and ends of her heels were elevating her from the floor, with nothing in between to support her backside. This was impressive enough. She really was as inflexible as an ironing board. I don’t think many people would have the strength in their spine to remain rigid in this position for very long. However, the real tour-de force came when he then asked a sizable bloke to go over and sit on top of her– slap bang in the centre of her tiny torso. It was amazing – once again she didn’t flinch and easily managed to support both of their weights across the backs of the chairs. I remain convinced to this day, that in a non-hypnotic state this stunt would be impossible.
At the end of the evening, one final laugh. Collectively, all of us on stage were made to believe we were petrified of rats and soon the theatre floor would be swarming with oversized rodents. When instructed we must run as if our lives depended on it, through the theatre stairwell, past the audience and up to the top the balcony area. Here we would all awake, remember everything that had taken place and feel refreshed and revived. More than a dozen hysterical adults screaming and yelling, pushing their way through an enchanted audience must really have been funny to watch and provided a great end to this unforgettable night.
After the performance was over, Annie and I rushed home to tell our friends about the evening. We were like two converts to the Kabala, gabbling to anyone who would listen, regardless of whether they were remotely interested or not. My own responses to the show were … unexpected. For example, I was really surprised by just how much I’d enjoyed ‘letting go’, allowing someone else to control my thoughts and actions. Instead of it being intrusive, I’d found ‘releasing the reins’ to be a strangely agreeable sensation. Secondly, I’d originally only volunteered to be hypnotised to validate my position that all of this nonsense was faked. I was determined to prove this form of bewitchment was a sham, made up of simple trickery and should never be taken seriously. However following my active participation I was slightly confused and at a loss to apply any sensible explanation to what had gone on. The only thing I could be sure about was that I’d acquired some cracking anecdotes to share with Pennie.
I was provided with a few opportunities to share my thoughts on the wonders of psychic showmanship toward the end of 1995 as Pennie turned up at our house a number of times, always without warning, but always welcome. Because of this unpredictability, I embraced her infrequent arrivals all the more - never knowing when we would be able to catch up again. The only thing I could ever anticipate about these visits was that she would usually come over with my sister. This meant the more we saw of Kirsty, the more we saw of Pennie. If Kirsty was unavailable, then it seemed so was Pennie. The only disruption to this familiar pattern happened just before Christmas. This was when Allan Hewitt made his annual pilgrimage from Scotland over to Scunthorpe to exchange gifts with his parents. Commencing this year and for many that followed, he would pick Pennie up on route and then stop over at our house. These late December gatherings were so much fun that I began to look forward to Allan and Pennie’s visits as much as Christmas itself.
Pennie continued to mix well with our friends, many of whom went on to invite her to their own social gatherings. Such affiliations developed organically in the close confines of our utility room, although it was
widely acknowledged that she remained closest to Kirsty and Allan. If we were lucky enough to be graced by her presence, she would begin most evenings in an unassuming manner and then incrementally build up social capital as she gravitated around the utility room listening to conversations and adding her (sometimes insightful) take on things. Every now and then I’d find myself unable to take my eyes off her as she floated from person to person. Flirtatious Pennie had a knack for making you think about her all the time. Conscious that I enjoyed being with her too much, I even attempted to limit the number of exchanges between us during those early visits, taking it in turns with Annie to stay in the main house and look after the kids. This rationing was probably an expression of my lack of confidence – a strategy introduced to ensure she didn’t become bored with my company. I would force myself to encourage her to mix with others, but then manoeuvre the discussions to ensure I’d catch up with her by the end of her stay. Falling slowly under her spell, clock watching was never such fun.
I loved the way Pennie boosted everyone’s willingness to laugh at themselves and not take things too seriously. It was precisely because she was from outside our group that she seemed so vital, so refreshing and welcome. I thought of her as playfully insinuating. On top form, she had the capacity to generate a social energy which you could almost touch. Through her electrifying tales our group was introduced to people we’d otherwise never have met; provided with different ways of looking at things and given permission to laugh at unfamiliar jokes.
Drowning in the Shallow End Page 13
