Clovenhoof

by Heide Goody

  “It’s for historical re-enactments,” he said.

  “Not kinky bedroom roleplay?” said Nerys.

  “When has Ben ever had anyone in his bedroom?” said Clovenhoof.

  “Point. He just spends his night all dressed up, alone, polishing his helmet.”

  “Have you quite finished rubbishing my wardrobe, hobbies and sex life?” said Ben testily.

  Clovenhoof shrugged.

  “Suppose,” he said.

  “Right,” said Nerys. “We’ll look through this lot. Maybe between the two of you we can make a couple of wearable outfits. No, you can leave all those white socks, we won’t be needing those.”

  In the lounge, she strode over to the large blue and brass trunk.

  “Any clothes in here?” she asked, reaching for the lid.

  Ben launched himself in front of her and flung his arms out to ward her off.

  “No!” he said. “Definitely nothing in here.”

  “Keep your hair on,” mocked Nerys. “What is it? Dirty mags?”

  “No,” said Clovenhoof. “He keeps them under his mattress.”

  “I don’t!” Ben sat on the chest and tried to compose himself. “Sorry. It’s just private.”

  They eventually made it out onto the street, fully dressed. Ben and Clovenhoof weren’t overly impressed by Nerys’s sartorial decisions.

  “I don’t get why we both have to dress the same,” complained Ben. “We look like dorks.”

  “Best I could do, I’m afraid,” said Nerys sniffily. “You’ve got t-shirts, Jeremy’s got jackets. It’s the closest thing to a normal person’s casual attire we’re going to get. You think yourself lucky you didn’t end up with one of his smoking jackets.”

  “No, I just look like I should be selling ice cream.”

  They stopped outside the Boldmere Oak. There was a poster for the over-twenty-five’s singles night in the window and a kaleidoscope of disco lights shimmering across the frosted glass.

  “Right,” said Nerys. “You’re going to meet women. How will you behave?”

  “Just be ourselves?” Ben ventured.

  “God, no!” Nerys turned and grabbed them both by the arm. “Whatever you do, don’t be yourselves. You need to pretend you’re regular people. Say normal things. Jeremy, whatever you do, don’t start rambling about the place where you used to live. You know how you go on.”

  “I do not go on.”

  “And Ben, you are absolutely forbidden from mentioning toy soldiers.”

  “Actually, they’re collectable militaria –“

  “Shush! Game faces, gentlemen.”

  An hour later, Ben seemed to have come to a decision.

  “I reckon everyone thinks we’re a gay couple. We’re dressed in these stupid outfits, looking like we picked them out together.”

  Clovenhoof, who knew two meanings of the word ‘gay’ considered Ben’s point and decided that neither applied to him at all. Not at that moment anyway.

  “At least it means we can have a quiet night,” said Clovenhoof.

  Three tables over, Nerys was wedged between two braying salesmen. The pair of them took it in turns to recount golfing anecdotes and guffaw at the other’s. Nerys tittered politely at the appropriate pauses.

  “Well, relatively quiet, anyway,” said Ben. “How do you think Nerys stands it?”

  “Do you know, I think she actually likes it,” said Clovenhoof. “Do you want another drink?”

  Clovenhoof went to the bar and ordered drinks. He pulled out Ben’s credit card to pay, and then realised as the machine was presented to him that he didn’t have the pin number.

  “Oh, I’ve forgotten the code.” He took the card back and started to go through his pockets, looking for money.

  “Here, let me.”

  A woman leaned across and passed Lennox a tenner.

  Clovenhoof looked up at her. Clovenhoof had decided upon some very specific criteria for his ideal woman. She had to be legal, own her own teeth, free from disfiguring diseases and financially solvent. He was surprised to meet his perfect woman quite so soon.

  “You’re very kind,” he said. “Just give me a moment.”

  He scooted over to Ben with his cider and black and whispered loudly.

  “Don’t look now, but I think I found a woman. No more washing for me!”

  He went back to the bar and leaned against it casually. How he wished he was wearing his smoking jacket.

  “I’m Jeremy,” he said, taking a manly and debonair sip of his Lambrini.

  “And what do you do, Jeremy?”

  Clovenhoof thought quickly. He was not permitted to mention Hell or any of his previous employment. He must say something simple and earthly.

  “Well. Sometimes I weigh myself before and after having a poo.”

  He smiled broadly at the woman, who looked as though she was going to say something but then she shook her head and moved down the bar.

  Clovenhoof turned in confusion.

  “Does that mean you don’t want to have sex?”

  She did not look at him.

  Lennox slid along the bar to Clovenhoof.

  “You’re new to dating aren’t you, mate?”

  “Yes.” he said, “You can tell?”

  “Do you want my advice?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Clovenhoof who felt Lennox, as a barman, must have seen all of life pass through at one time or another.

  “Don’t mention sex or bodily functions, mate. Most of the ladies don’t enjoy that. And think about some grooming.”

  “Grooming? What’s that?”

  “Tidy yourself up. It’s the horns and the hooves.” He gave Clovenhoof a big toothy grin. “You’re ugly, mate.”

  Doris turned to Betty at a corner table.

  “They’re not very good at this are they?” she said.

  “Well, you know Doris, they don’t have our wisdom. That only comes with age.”

  “You think we could sort them out? You do know that they all just want to have, you know…”

  “Sex?”

  “Not just sex! Sex outside of marriage, Betty. I can’t agree with that.”

  “Well let’s give it some thought anyway. We’ll start with Nerys, shall we?” said Betty.

  “Well, there’s a case in point. She takes a different man home every week. Dreadful carry-on.”

  “Why do you think she does that?” asked Betty. “It’s as if she’s always searching for something she can’t find.”

  “Well she’s not going to find it with those two.” Doris indicated the salesmen. “Pair of predators if ever I saw them. Both married.”

  “I know, but I think Nerys can give as good as she gets.”

  “You make that sound as if it’s a good thing,” scolded Doris.

  Betty shrugged.

  “Do you know who I’d like to see get paired up?” she said. “Lennox there, behind the bar. They all overlook him, but he’s a lovely man. Got kind eyes. And good muscle definition.”

  Doris regarded Betty with mild distaste.

  “Let’s move on to Jeremy, shall we? He really has no idea how to talk to ladies in this kind of situation. He really needs to learn how to be more of a gentleman, in my opinion.”

  “Oh, chivalrous you mean? That would be lovely, but a chivalrous man’s a very rare thing. It’s gone right out of fashion since the war, if you ask me.”

  “Oh yes, the war. A man in a uniform never fails to impress,” said Doris.

  “I think we can forget the idea that Jeremy will be wearing any kind of uniform,” said Betty, “or suddenly becoming chivalrous. The best we can hope for is that some woman will see past his unusual appearance, and unpleasant habits.”

  “Where on earth is he going to meet a woman who’ll do that?” said Doris. “You saw how he put that woman off just now. It took him all of five seconds.”

  “Well she wouldn’t have been any good for him anyway,” said Betty. “She’s in here every week. Needs the love
of a good man, if you ask me.”

  “Hmmm, you’re right. Not Jeremy then.”

  “Ben’s a different matter though,” said Betty. “He needs taking in hand.”

  “Taking in hand? How do you mean?” asked Doris.

  “He needs an experienced woman to show him the ropes. I do believe she’s going over to him. Get the sherries in Doris, we’re in for a show.”

  Ben looked up from his drink to see a tall woman approaching.

  “OK if I sit with you?”

  “I thought you were talking to my friend at the bar.”

  “You looked so lonely, I thought it was my duty to come on over and help you enjoy yourself! I’m Sophie.”

  “Ben,” squeaked Ben.

  “Are you local, Ben?”

  “Yes, I live just up the road.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely, lovely!”

  Sophie liked to talk so Ben sat rigidly while she told him about her family, her friends and her work as a nursery assistant. She pulled out her phone and showed him endless pictures of her cat.

  Ben hoped that Clovenhoof would come and rescue him from this juggernaut of a woman but he appeared to be deep in conversation with the barman.

  “Just going to the little girls’ room, I’ll be right back!”

  Ben breathed a deep sigh as he relished the silence for a moment. If this was what meeting women was like he wasn’t sure he was up to it. The silence was broken by Sophie’s phone chiming as she got a message. Ben glanced sideways at the screen, which had brightened to display the message.

  ‘Well make sure you’re gentle with him!’ was enclosed in a cute speech bubble. Ben swallowed hard and looked up the screen at Sophie’s last outgoing message.

  ‘I think I found a VIRGIN!’ the speech bubble above said.

  Ben screamed and bolted for the door.

  By eleven, Clovenhoof was back home in his flat, wearing a smoking jacket (to make a point to himself if no one else) and casually trawling through internet pages.

  It was possible to find women on the internet, he was certain. He wondered if he could specify that he’d like one that wasn’t going to stalk off if he said the wrong thing. He tried some searches. He combined ‘ideal woman’, ‘harmless dating partner’ with ‘will not complain’ and browsed through the results.

  After a few minutes, he noticed that as well as dating sites, there were sites advertising love dolls. Love dolls? He looked at some of the sites then changed his searches to find some more.

  This was interesting. He had no idea that such things were possible, and in such astonishing detail, too.

  He was equipped for fornication; it was one of the perks of being a fallen angel. He’d practised more than his fair share too, but never on earth. It seemed as though things here were a bit more involved. Emotion and other distasteful elements seemed to be part of the whole experience. Perhaps he should get one of these love dolls and make sure that everything was in working order before attempting it with a real woman. They certainly had front bottoms and boobs, and compared favourably with the woman he watched through his telescope.

  Nerys knocked and entered.

  “It was open.”

  “What happened to your salesmen?” he asked, angling the screen away so she couldn’t see it.

  “Pah,” she snorted. “They got in a taxi and went off to a strip club after some bloke rang and said it was his treat.”

  “Oh. No sex for you then?”

  “Jeremy! We need to discuss this. I heard what you said to that girl at the bar. We’re English, and we don’t talk like that.

  “Like what?”

  “About sex. Well not out loud. Not between men and women.”

  “I don’t care,” said Clovenhoof. “Apparently, I’m ugly.”

  “Aw,” said Nerys, a noise that was probably meant to be sympathetic but sounded like a balloon going down. “You’re not ugly. You’re differently attractive, that’s all. Where’s Ben?”

  “In his flat. Locked the door. Put the chain on. Whimpered something.”

  “He’s a strange one,” said Nerys.

  “Yeah, but he’s a nice guy,” said Clovenhoof. “Generous.”

  He pulled Ben’s credit card from his pocket and looked at the top of the range love doll on the screen and hoped that Ben’s limit was large enough.

  There was a beauty therapist’s on the high street.

  Beauty therapist. Clovenhoof loved the sound of those words. There was something reassuring in them. Giver of therapies. Healer. Scientist.

  A little bell rang as he stepped through the door of Boldmere Beauty. He looked the woman in a white tunic in the eye.

  “Apparently,” he said, daring her to disagree, “I’m ugly.”

  The woman stopped stacking pots of face cream and smiled broadly.

  “Can you cure me?” he said.

  Her smile broadened further.

  “Have a seat, chuck,” she said. “And we’ll chat about that.”

  Nerys sat at her office desk and chewed a pencil like an angry beaver. Those ridiculous salesmen had ruined her chances last night. She seemed to attract losers. How on earth could she meet a decent man?

  She turned to Dave at the desk next to her.

  “Coffee break, Dave.”

  “No, I’m fine. I just got one,” said Dave.

  “No, you need to get one now. With me. I need to ask you something.”

  “Oh OK.”

  Dave allowed himself to be shepherded into the kitchen area. Nerys shut the door so that the clients in the outer office wouldn’t overhear.

  “Dave, am I attractive?”

  Dave flushed.

  “Yes Nerys, you are.”

  “Good,” she said, pulling out her notebook and her much-chewed pencil. “So tell me my good points.”

  “Your what?”

  “My good points. You know. If I’m attractive then I need to know why. Give me something to work with.”

  Dave blew out his cheeks and eyed the door.

  “OK. You’ve got good legs. And nice eyes.”

  He made a move for the door.

  Nerys scribbled on the pad and sidestepped neatly to block his exit.

  “Keep going.”

  “Um,” he said, “you’ve got a sexy voice.”

  “Yeah?” Nerys smiled. “Go on, more.”

  “You smell nice.”

  “My arse?”

  “What?”

  “Do you like my arse?”

  Nerys looked up and saw that he was now blushing furiously and looking anywhere but at her.

  “Er, yeah. Not that I’ve ever looked at your...”

  “You’ve never looked at my arse?”

  “Oh, no. It’s a great arse. Like two puppies fighting in a sack,” he added weakly.

  She wrote down ‘two puppies in a sack’ and added several happy exclamation marks.

  “OK,” she said, “now I need to know where my weaknesses are. Tell me what’s bad about me.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said. “That sounds unwise.”

  “No, no. There’ll be no repercussions. It’s a scientific process. I really need to understand what’s going on in the male mind when you look at me. Please.”

  Dave sighed.

  “Well you can be aggressive. Like now. And sometimes when you’ve drunk lots of coffee your breath smells bad.”

  Nerys cupped a hand to her mouth and huffed experimentally.

  “You don’t always listen to people,” he continued, getting into his stride now, “and I happen to know it was you who gave ‘The Dumb-ass Guide to Management’ to our boss in last year’s Secret Santa. So I’m going to say vindictive as well.”

  “Good. Er, thank you.”

  Dave slipped out and Nerys reviewed the list.

  She’d need to verify this. She couldn’t just take Dave’s word for it, that wasn’t scientific at all, especially when he’d been so harsh.

  Back at her desk, she drew up a spreadsheet. A grid
of her various qualities, with a possible score of one to five. By the time she went home she had twenty copies of the survey in her handbag.

  “So, Jeremy, what’s the thing you like least about yourself?” asked the beauty therapist.

  Her name was Blenda. At least that’s what it said on her name badge and he assumed it wasn’t her job title.

  “Well, there’s these,” he said. He showed her his hooves.

  “Ah yes. It’s common to get a thickening of the toenails. You’d be surprised how many people get that. Sometimes a fungal infection will set it off. I can give you a pedicure and make those look a whole lot better.”

  “Oh. OK. Well then, what about these?” He indicated his horns.

  Blenda examined the top of his head.

  “Hmm, interesting double crown you’ve got there. A good haircut is what you need, and maybe some massage oil to soften the scaly build-up. Don’t you worry, I’ve seen it all before.”

  “That sounds OK. Are you sure it will make a difference?”

  “Definitely. There are many things we can do for you. Some gentlemen like to have their teeth whitened too. It can take years off you, would you be interested in that?”

  Clovenhoof exhaled and wondered if he’d be able to use Ben’s credit card.

  “Yeah, let’s do it all.”

  Blenda beamed.

  “We can make a start right now if you have the time to spare?”

  “Oh yes, I’ve got nothing pressing in my schedule for today.”

  Clovenhoof found the hoof buffing a fairly pleasant sensation, and conversation with Blenda seemed an easy thing, like floating downstream.

  “So what’s made you decide to do all of this?” she asked him.

  “I’m supposed to find a partner,” he said, “and it seems as though I’m not up to scratch.”

  “You sound as though you’re not all that keen on the idea yourself.”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t know what to think about the whole thing. It seems as though men want women for the washing, the ironing or the sex, but nobody’s allowed to say that. You can get all of those things if you pay for them, but nobody’s allowed to say that either. I haven’t even started to try and understand why women would want men.”

  Blenda laughed.

  “Do you know what I think? I think that for some people, paying for those things is exactly the right thing. There’s this terrible pressure to have a partner, I see a lot of it in here, and it’s just not the answer for everyone.”