Spellbound - Stories of Women's Magic Over Men

by Joel Willans

  I flick through my albums. Keen to listen to something raw and loud, I choose my latest purchase. Bat Out Of Hell by Meat Loaf. Just as the needle touches the vinyl, Snoopy strolls in holding a Rubik’s Cube in one hand, his sailor Action Man in the other. I don’t like to see him wandering around with dolls even if it’s a plastic bloke with a scar, but he takes it everywhere. Even to the bog. His hair has grown longer since I’ve been away. Now at nine years old he manages to look like a cross between a hippy and a pageboy.

  ‘Snoopy, get me a beer will you?’

  ‘Dad, my name’s not Snoopy.’

  I laugh, because when he says this he looks more like Snoopy than ever. ‘I know that. Just get me a beer.’

  He opens his mouth, but instead of speaking, scampers into the kitchen. The music kicks in then. I let it ride over me as I pull open the top of my denim shirt and admire my tan. Snoopy comes running back in with a can of Carling, spilling froth on the new carpet.

  ‘Watch what you’re doing, mate!’ I shout.

  He flinches and walks more slowly. ‘Mum says that instead of drinking beer, you should get the barbecue ready.’

  I close my eyes and take a big swig. It tastes better than anything you can get hold of in Saudi. Even so, now Pammy’s nagging, I’m already wishing I was back there, even if it means trying to teach a bunch of Arabs how to build a straight wall in a hundred degree heat.

  ‘What time is it, Snoopy?’

  He shrugs and sits cross-legged in front of the sound system, even though he knows he’s not allowed there. I bet Pammy lets him touch it when I’m away. She pops her head out from the kitchen. She’s frowning.

  ‘Dave and Lynette will be here in half an hour. Don’t you think you better pull your finger out and get changed?’

  ‘I’m not changing.’

  ‘You look like a cowboy.’

  ‘Yee ha!’ I shout, slapping my thigh.

  Snoopy smiles and starts clack clacking his cube.

  Besides Dave and his wife, Lynette, I’ve invited John and his new girlfriend, Nancy. Dave is an old mate, who I’ve known for donkey’s years. His wife gets on with Pammy, so they always come over when I’m back. John I know from the pub. His girlfriend is buxom as a Page Three girl, with dimples and a glint in her eye. When she said she’d heard about my barbecue grub, I told her, you don’t know what your missing till you’ve tried it.

  ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ she said, grinning. ‘I’d love a taste.’

  The way she said it, the tip of her tongue poking out between her lips, I had to invite her.

  Ours is a small town, a village really. It’s one of the reasons I can’t stand staying long. Too claustrophobic. Same people every day. Nothing much ever changes or happens, which is probably why my barbecues are so legendary. I brought the idea back with me from Oz, when I left the navy.

  That’s another reason why I work away. To make my life here more bearable. I’ve made the place as nice as I can with my Saudi work money. The sound system was my first purchase. I’d always wanted one, and it was great to be able to swagger into the shop and ask for the finest machine they had, peeling off the cash in notes. After that I bought Snoopy a pool table, but he never uses it. Too busy hiding in his room.

  As for Pammy, she gets gold. Necklaces, chains, earrings, you name it. I get it from a bloke in Riyadh before I come home. Twenty-four carat, only the best. This time I got Snoopy a chain too.

  ‘What do you think of that?’ I asked, when he opened the package.

  He held it in his thin hands, and licked it.

  ‘What you doing? It ain’t for eating!’

  He looked up at me through that stupid fringe Pammy cuts for him. ‘I just wanted to know what gold tastes like.’

  He does stuff like that. It’s Pammy’s fault. Spoils him rotten. She says that I don’t know how to be a dad because I never had one. She reckons I lacked a role model. Well, that’s as may be, but when I’m at home I make sure he acts more like a boy should.

  Today, I even let him help me set up the barbecue. He carries over the charcoal and the bits of wood, dropping them as he goes.

  I shake my head. ‘Where’s the matches?’

  He shrugs. ‘Dunno.’

  Next door’s kids are kicking a ball about in their garden. One scores and runs around banging his chest and cheering at the sky. I spot Snoopy on his knees prodding some ants with a stick.

  ‘They’re in the fireplace, muppet,’ I say, giving him a friendly clip round the ear.

  He jumps up and runs off without a word. I had an open fireplace built for the winter. Snoopy loves it. Sits there looking at the flames like it’s a TV or something. Pity he’s not so enthusiastic about his football practice. The one time I watched him play, he touched the ball once. If I’m honest, I was bloody embarrassed. I sat in the car when the whistle went so nobody would know he was my kid. I never thought being a dad would be like that.

  When Dave and Lynette arrive, I shout at Pammy to bring out some drinks. She appears with a big smile and a tray. She’s done something fancy to her hair, and has gone Cleopatra crazy with the eyeliner. It works, though, and I suddenly feel all nostalgic for the good times before we got married. Like the night I saved her from getting bundled in a mosh pit at a Kinks gig and she gave me a slap for ruining her view.

  ‘Do you want a drink, darling?’ she says, all sweetness and light.

  When I nod, she gives me a fresh can and a full-on kiss. For a second, I feel guilty about the French airhostess I met in Riyadh. But then she goes and kisses Dave and Pammy and I realise she’s just putting on a show.

  By the time John and Nancy turn up, the sausages are sizzling and Pammy has put the Stones on the sound system. Nancy looks fantastic. She has these cute little arse-hugging shorts on, and a T-shirt that’s perfect for showcasing her tits. When she kisses my cheek, I take a quick sniff of her perfume.

  ‘Blimey, you smell better than my bangers,’ I say, pushing the sausages around the grill.

  ‘I should hope so,’ she says, all mock offended.

  The sun has gone down and we’ve cracked open the Southern Comfort when Dave asks me to break a brick for them. I’ve been waiting for this all evening. It happens at every barbecue and I always go through the same routine. First I pretend I haven’t heard and try and change the subject.

  Dave starts shouting, ‘Come on, show Nancy and John what you’re made of.’

  ‘No, I can’t be bothered tonight.’

  ‘It’s bullshit, I reckon,’ John says, challenging me.

  ‘I can assure you it’s not,’ I say, winking at Snoopy.

  They all start chanting. ‘Break a brick. Break a brick. Break a brick!’ Even Pammy, who thinks I’m stupid doing it.

  I hold up my hand. ‘Okay, but only because you’ve been such great guests.’

  They cheer and clap.

  I nod at Snoopy and tell him to go and get a brick, while I pick up a couple of breezeblocks.

  ‘Can I watch, Dad?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t like karate,’ I say, remembering the time I took him to join the club and he hid in the toilets pretending to have the gut rot.

  He doesn’t say anything, just looks at his fingernails like they’re the most important things in the world.

  ‘You can watch me do one, then you get to bed. You hear?’

  He nods and runs off.

  I clear a space in the centre of the patio and set up the breezeblock and place the brick in between. I look at the crowd. Dave’s got this manic grin on his face. Lynette is holding her hand to her mouth. Pammy is telling John something with this I’m-clued-up expression. And Nancy is leaning forward, staring at my every move. I catch her eye and she giggles.

  ‘Be careful,’ she says.

  And I nod, all serious, even though I’ve done this a hundred times before. I take off my flip-flops and roll up my flares. Nobody says a word. The only noise is the stereo. The Who playing ‘My Generation’. I lift my foot u
p as high as I can above the brick. The higher it is, the faster it goes, the more force it makes. Speed, focus and power. The holy trinity of breaking. I breathe deep. Scream my breath out and blast my foot through the brick.

  Someone, Nancy I think, squeals. The two halves of the brick clunk to the floor. Snoopy starts clapping in a way only kids can. Everyone else joins in.

  ‘Fuck!’ John says. ‘How do you do that?’

  ‘Years of training,’ I say, and it’s true. I’d be a black belt by now if it wasn’t for Pammy and the boy.

  ‘That was brilliant!’ Nancy says.

  I take a bow.

  Pammy comes over and puts her arm around me. She nibbles my ear, and kisses me. I can smell the vodka on her breath. I call Snoopy over and mess with his hair, and for a few seconds it feels good, like we’re a normal family or something. Then Snoopy says he feels sick and Pammy lets go of me and starts cooing at him like he’s a bloody baby. I look at them and think about how my mum used to lock me under the stairs if I made a fuss about anything.

  It’s well past midnight when I meet Nancy on the landing. She’s wobbling all over the place, but still in better shape than the rest of them. I lean against the wall, but she makes no move to go past me. Instead, she runs a hand through her hair and asks how my foot feels.

  ‘Fine thanks. How does yours feel?’

  ‘My what?’ she says, and pushes her chest out.

  It’s pretty obvious what she wants. I think about it for maybe half a second, before deciding I’d be a fool to turn her down. Opportunity only knocks once and all that.

  ‘Your softest parts,’ I say.

  She takes my hand and cups it on her tit. ‘How about that?’

  ‘Works for me.’

  She grabs me then and practically slams me against the wall. Before I can tell her to be quiet, she is grinding herself against me and sticking her tongue down my throat like it’s the last kiss she’ll ever get. I look over her shoulder and see that Snoopy’s door is wide open. Nothing’s moving in his room, so I let her carry on.

  I’ve got my hand on her arse and she’s whispering dirty in my ear, when we hear someone messing around with the sound system. She lets go and wipes her mouth. We both hold our breath. The music changes and somebody shouts her name.

  She grins. ‘Another time maybe,’ she says and totters down the stairs.

  I watch her go before lurching into the bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror and shake my head. You’re too bloody smooth to move, I say to my reflection, even though I’m already starting to feel a bit of an arsehole. I splash some water over my face and take a piss. Before I go back downstairs, I poke my head around the door of Snoopy’s room. I can just make him out laying still, arms above his head like he’s sunbathing.

  I smile. Silly bugger. ‘Goodnight, mate,’ I whisper and make my way back to the patio.

  Next morning my head’s clanging like a pile of pans and my mouth feels like a dustbin. Pammy’s dribbling into her pillow, her mascara smeared over her face like a bruise. I stare at her until I hear a noise downstairs. Banging. Metal on brick.

  The banging stops by the time I get to the landing, replaced by a sizzling, hissing sound. I walk down slow because of my head. In the living room I find Snoopy sitting in front of the fireplace. There are still embers burning from the fire I made last night, and stuck in the embers is the poker. The boy’s in his Spider-Man pyjamas, all hunched up over something. I’m just about to bawl at him when I see him pull the poker out of the fire. There’s another sizzle and a wisp of black smoke flies above his head. A smell like burning tyres fills the room.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

  I see his body shudder and for a second I think he going to hurl it at me.

  ‘Snoopy!’

  I grab his shoulder and spin him round. His face is flushed from the fire and his eyes are red. In his hand, he’s holding his navy Action Man. It’s still wearing its hat and it’s still got its blue and white uniform on. But where its mouth and nose were there’s now a gaping hole of melted plastic.

  ‘Bloody hell! What have you done that for?’

  He looks up at me through his fringe and his mouth quivers, but he doesn’t say a word. I ask him again, but he just carries on staring. Then I see that his fists are clenched and he’s breathing hard. And I realise that the look he’s giving isn’t his scared one and his lips aren’t wobbling out of fear or shame or embarrassment. I realise that he’s angry, angrier than I’ve ever known him.

  ‘I saw,’ he says.

  ‘Saw what?’

  ‘You kissing that lady.’

  I put my hands on my head and slump in my chair. We sit in silence for a few minutes. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. I wonder why he hasn’t blabbed to his mum.

  ‘Listen, Snoopy, it was just a game. I had too much to drink.’

  ‘My name’s not Snoopy,’ he says, staring at his charred doll.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dylan.’

  He doesn’t say anything, just sits there.

  After a while, I pat the arm of my chair. ‘Come here, mate. You keep this our secret and I swear on my life I’ll never do it again.’

  He sniffs and looks at his chewed nails for a while, before clambering onto the armchair. I pull Abba out of Pammy’s section of records, and hand the vinyl to Dylan.

  ‘Here you go. You can put it on if you want. For your mum.’

  He doesn’t say anything, just holds the record in his hand like it’s made of crystal. Then, looking through his fringe, he bites his lip and smiles.

  Skin Against Skin

  Edgar ambles down the high street, past smiling couples, bellowing families and teenagers bristling with energy. It feels as if everyone is going too fast, and only he is moving at the right speed. He tugs at Nelson’s lead. His dog’s nose is glued to the pavement and every thirty seconds he cocks his leg. Edgar leaves him to it, knowing when he’s sniffing and pissing he’s happier than a virgin cabin boy in a brothel. It’s then that he spots Percy with Edna May, his Edna May, promenading down the pavement opposite.

  ‘God in heaven! See that, Nelson? See that old bastard across the road with Edna?’

  The dog looks up at him with his one decent eye.

  ‘I can’t bloody believe he’d do such a thing. Not to me. Not after all these years.’

  Nelson carries on lapping a chocolate wrapper like nothing has happened. Edgar yanks his lead, then apologises when the dog yelps. By the time they get back to the bungalow, Edgar’s heart is pounding, just like the doctor said it shouldn’t.

  In the living room, first thing he does is grab his bottle of Johnnie Walker. Another thing the doctor said he shouldn’t do. One swig warms him up, but not till the third hits his belly does he feel any better. He wanders over to the mantelpiece and picks up his wedding photo. Dust puffs off it and there is Edna May, all showered in confetti.

  ‘She was a good girl then, Nelson. A looker, too. Who’d have thought after all this time she’d do the dirty on me with him next door. Three hundred and fifty dog years, he’s been my mate. Spent nine year at sea with him. Just you and Gavin now. Only ones I can trust.’

  Edgar coughs, and tips his head back. He can feel himself chocking up. It happens more often these days, but he holds his head back and the tears stay where they belong. Nelson runs out into the garden and Edgar follows him outside. It’s a fine day. Too fine. The garden’s looking bright. Flowers doing well. The birds are bantering and bees getting busy. It’s hard to believe that a day like this could have kicked him in his gut. He starts feeling sorry for himself, and then he sees Percy’s carpet-smooth lawn. And that’s when it hits him. He’s not taking Percy dilly dallying with his other half lying down.

  ‘The way he mows that bloody grass you’d think he was a groundsman at Wimbledon.’

  At the bottom of Percy’s garden there’s a battered armchair. It’s leaning again a shed, stuffing is bursting from it and its leather is all cracked. Ed
gar picks up Nelson and throws him over the fence, then hauls himself over. He’s got two voices in his head. One, which always sounds like his old Captain, is getting arsey. It tells him it isn’t worth it and he should reconsider. But the other voice, the one which sounds more like him, is louder. Make the bastard pay it says.

  He cracks his knuckles and looks at the armchair more closely. Must have been a grand piece of furniture once, but it’s nothing but a wreck now. He scrambles behind it and, with a deep breath, pushes it towards Percy’s house. The lawn starts peeling away in great big chunks. He ignores the pain spiking his bad leg, and carries on until he’s right outside Percy’s back door. Then, with a sigh, he sits down. He feels tired and the lawn all churned up doesn’t make him feel as good as he’d hoped; still the leather feels nice against his arm.

  ‘Damn, Nelson, I miss skin against skin. That’s what I miss most. I was with Percy the first night I learnt the pleasure of it. Singapore Palace, me and the lovely Lilly Lee. I’m showing you how to be man, she said. And God in heaven she did, too.’

  Nelson whines and that’s when he sees Gavin leaning over the fence, staring.

  ‘Granddad, what the heck you doing there?’ He jumps over.

  ‘Shit! What you done to Uncle Percy’s lawn. He’ll go ballistic!’

  ‘He betrayed my trust, Gavin. Simple as that.’

  Gavin puts his arms round Edgar. ‘Let’s get you indoors. I’ll have a talk with Percy. Tell him you got a bit confused, then you can have a word with him.’

  Edgar pushes him off. ‘Don’t bloody well patronise me, lad. The only talking I’ll do with him will be with these.’

  He holds up his fists. The tattoos, can still be made out, but where there were once beautiful ocean-blue swallows, there’s now nothing but black smudges.

  ‘What you going on about?’ Gavin says.

  ‘I saw him with your grandmother. Bold as bloody brass.’

  Gavin shakes his head. ‘So what? You haven’t been married since before I was born.’

  ‘What?’

  Gavin repeats what Edgar thought he said.