by Heide Goody
Gutterscum sighed and looked at the floor.
“Those masochists slow me down. They snatch my pitchfork so that they can stab themselves.”
“We’ve given you lots of support in this area, Gutterscum. We’ve arranged for surprise inspections to observe your techniques. We’ve assigned you a mentor who meets with you twice a day.”
“But that stuff just makes me get further behind.”
“Now, Gutterscum. We’ve been over this in lots of these meetings. If you can’t maintain a positive mental attitude, even after the behavioural training, then it’s hardly surprising that you’re struggling with your targets. I can see no option at this point other than putting you back into basic training here at the college.”
Gutterscum nodded in easy-going acceptance.
“After a period of reflection,” said Toadpipe.
Gutterscum’s head snapped up.
“Er, what does that mean?” he asked.
“It means that we’ll be cementing you into the foundations for a hundred years, so that you can think about your continued employment with our organisation.”
Gutterscum’s mouth moved wordlessly for a few moments and then he shrugged.
“Be nice to get away from those masochists.”
Toadpipe stood and shook his hand.
“Good man. Well it’s been nice helping you through your development.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” replied Gutterscum and two larger demons in work boots and hard hats appeared behind him.
Later, walking away from the college, Satan and Michael discussed what they had just observed.
“We’ve found that it’s really helped with efficiency,” Satan said. “Now everybody knows exactly what’s expected of them. We can recognise who’s doing a really good job, and give them more challenging tasks, and then we can weed out those who are just trying to get by with the bare minimum.”
“I’m pleased that it’s proving effective,” Michael said.
“Oh yes,” said Satan, “I will be doing the performance management reviews for Mulciber and Azazel next week.”
“Well, that’s a surprise,” Michael said, turning and facing him. “I wasn’t sure that you’d be quite so ready to apply these principles to your most senior colleagues.”
“Oh I’m a firm believer in leading by example.” To demonstrate this, Satan skewered the buttocks of a newly arrived client who was being used in a tug of war contest between the younger demon students. “Good work there. Pull a bit harder, we’re looking for dislocations.”
He smiled at the powerful effect of his intervention. They put in such efforts that they pulled one of the arms completely off the torso. Satan made a mental note to put them forward for a commendation.
There was a lip-smacking kissy noise that Aunt Molly used to summon her dog. Aunt Molly normally got to do it in the privacy of the flat. Nerys was less happy with having to do it Sutton Park.
“Twinkle!” she called in a high and enticing voice.
She took out her phone and looked at the time. She had been searching for three hours now. Aunt Molly would have already finished listening to the Archers omnibus and be wondering where her niece and her dog were.
She phoned Dave.
“Twinkle!” she bellowed while it rang out and went to answer phone for the fifth time.
“Dave,” she spat, “are you even listening to your messages? Get here now!”
Ten minutes later, Dave jogged up to her, red-faced.
“What happened?” he asked.
She indicated the empty lead that she carried.
“Oh,” he said.
“Aunt Molly’s convinced he got out under the fence, but he’s so fat with all the biscuits she gives him that he’s more likely to have bounced over the top. I thought he might have come up here because he likes to chase the squirrels.”
“Have you looked in those bushes?”
She fixed him with a stern gaze.
“Have you ever been called a ‘paedo’?”
“Um.”
“I heard a rustling and went to investigate. The two... amorous teenagers I found were quite rude. I mean, do I look like a paedophile?”
“I wouldn’t know what one –“
“I was mortified. And Aunt Molly will be beside herself.”
“Oh dear,” said Dave. “Poor dear. I can see why you said it’s an emergency.”
“This?” She shook her head at his stupidity. “Oh no, this isn’t the emergency. Here’s something much more pressing.”
She handed him Clovenhoof’s invitation.
“This looks like, um, fun,” said Dave handing it back.
Nerys rolled her eyes.
“Yes, but it’s tonight and I don’t have a date.”
“I’m sure you know lots of men. I mean, when I say lots, I don’t mean –“
“Graham and Mark. They’re both busy. Nice guys. Gentlemen of reduced stature but I don’t hold that against them. They’re apparently working as extras in a film.”
“Yes?”
“I phoned Trevor, I think that’s his name, do you know it might be Stephen. Anyway, I got the impression that he was just making excuses. I think he’s intimidated by strong women to be honest.”
“Really?”
“And I went and spoke with that Doug down at the supermarket. He’s a Libra but I’m not prejudiced. I know he was drawn to me, but I could see that he was fighting it. He’s a very physical man, if you get what I mean. Anyway, he said he’s on shift tonight.” She blew out her cheeks. “There’s nothing for it Dave, you’ll have to come with me.”
“Oh,” said Dave. “Like a date, you mean?”
“No,” Nerys said firmly. “Certainly not.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Off you go now. You need to find something suitable to wear.”
Dave looked down at his outfit.
“What’s wrong with this?”
Nerys didn’t even bother looking. She took a document wallet from her handbag and passed it to him. He flipped through. There were photographs taken from magazines, swatches of cloth, a list of dos and a longer list of don’ts.
“You know my inside leg measurement?” said Dave but Nerys had already moved on, making kissy noises.
7:30 pm
Ben waited for the second hand to reach the twelve and then knocked on the door of flat 2a. Clovenhoof opened the door, grinning enormously. He was wearing a luminous paisley smoking jacket that made Ben squint in pain.
Clovenhoof had pushed the easy chairs out of the way, and had set up a bar on one side of the room. A large table and chairs filled much of the remaining space. Candles burned in the centre of the table. They were the size of church candles although Ben doubted any church had black candles streaked with red.
Blenda came through from the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel.
“Ben? Nice to meet you at last.”
Ben, never happy with social situations, was unsure whether to say, ‘thank you’ or ‘nice to meet you too’ or ‘I’ve heard so much about you, Blenda’ and plumped unwisely for, “I’ve heard thank you too.”
“Are you going to be first to sample some of Jeremy’s cocktails? He’s pretty excited about some of them.”
Ben looked at the bar and the array of drinks on the bar.
“Can I just have a cider and black?”
“Have a Pink Leopard, it’s very similar,” said Clovenhoof, upending bottles into a cocktail shaker at great speed. He launched into an ambitious routine of mixing the drink. Ben was impressed with the back-kick, particularly in such a confined space.
Ben took the sugar-frosted glass, and sipped the Pink Leopard.
“It tastes pretty strong.”
Clovenhoof slapped him on the back, taking that as a compliment.
“So Ben,” said Blenda, “I heard all about Jeremy’s foolishness with your credit card.”
“It’s all forgotten about now,” he said magnanimously.
“Is it?” said Clovenhoof.
“No.”
“You’ve been a decent lad about the whole thing,” said Blenda, squeezed his shoulder and headed back to the kitchen.
Ben turned back to see a man leant against Clovenhoof’s bar wearing the kind of suit that probably cost more than a small car.
“I didn’t see you there,” said Ben.
The man smiled at him with such charm and warmth that Ben felt all strange and confused inside.
“I’ve seen you before somewhere, haven’t I?” ventured Ben.
“I’m Michael. I meet so many people.”
Clovenhoof sighed.
“Michael, this is Ben. Michael, you can be Ben’s date for the evening. You can decide between you which one of you is the man.”
“Now then, Jeremy, let’s not be unkind,” said Michael. “And, yes, I’ll have one of whatever you’re making.”
“Is it the cocktails? Can you smell them from wherever it is you hang out?”
Michael picked up Cocktails: a Man’s Guide by Richard Harris and flicked through it.
“Hmmm, very earthy. Hello, what’s this?”
A printed page from the internet fluttered to the floor.
It was headed Mind-Bending Cocktails for Students on a Budget. Michael tutted gently.
“I’m not so sure that some of these things are suitable for consumption.” He picked up a large container of what looked like pink hand-cleansing gel. “This came from a hospital didn’t it?”
The doorbell rang. Michael put down the bottle, which was now quite clearly a pink lychee liqueur not hand-gel.
Nerys entered with Dave slightly behind, pulling unhappily at the tight collar of a new shirt.
“Jeremy!” declared Nerys as though she hadn’t seen him in months and made mwah mwah noises at Clovenhoof’s cheeks.
“Ben!”
She approached Ben with similar intention, but he flinched awkwardly, snagging his lips on her long, angular earring.
She turned to Michael.
“Well hello, I think I met you here once before?”
“I’m Michael.”
He turned his perfect smile on. Clovenhoof stuck his fingers down his throat and made barfing noises, which he quickly turned into a cough when Michael looked round.
“Well, I’m Nerys. I’m sure you’ve heard about me.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “Oh, and this is Dave, everyone.”
“Hi,” said Dave with a little wave.
“He is not my boyfriend or anything,” said Nerys firmly.
“Nope,” agreed Dave dutifully.
“We’ve met,” said Clovenhoof. “Dave got me my first job.”
Nerys froze for a moment, the smile on her face transforming into a feral snarl at the memory and then saw Ben’s lip.
“Oh Ben, you’re bleeding! Go and clean yourself up.”
Blenda came in from the kitchen.
“Right, let’s try those cocktails then, chuck. Jeremy’s so excited to show you what he can do. Well I’m ready to be wowed with a Pink Leopard.”
“You can’t all have the same,” complained Clovenhoof, “that’s no fun. Let me check the book.”
As Clovenhoof launched into his cocktail-shaking routine Ben went into the kitchen to get some tissue for his lip.
He stopped and stared at the counter. Lined up in the orderly manner of an operating theatre was a puzzling array of tools. Ben could just about imagine that the mallet, the saw and the goggles might be used in the preparation of food. As he looked at the grind wheel, the foot pump and the ladyshave, he gulped and backpedalled. He almost tripped over the belt-sander as he did so. There was an elaborate stand behind the door, supporting a muslin bag of red jelly-like substance that dripped slowly into a bowl placed beneath. He grabbed a piece of kitchen roll for his lip and walked quietly out, trying not to look at anything else.
“So, Ben, are you a Blues fan?” asked Dave.
“What?”
“Villa perhaps.”
Ben’s mind lurched into familiar unhappy territory: football. Dave was a man and men talked about football and Ben knew nothing about football.
“Er, no,” he said.
“Not West Brom, surely?”
He wished he could say something knowledgeable and insightful about football, something that would make the conversation stop without revealing his ignorance. Perhaps there had been an important game earlier in the day. Was it even football season at the moment? He floundered and gave up.
“I’m sorry, I’m not into sport.”
“Oh, right?” said Dave in a voice which was not condemning but politely interested in the curious notion that there were people who didn’t like sport. Ben felt like a freak and felt the subsequent need to defend himself.
“I was put off it at school. I never liked PE.”
“Shame. Exercise is a good thing.”
Ben scoffed mentally. There wasn’t much exercise in being stuffed in goal and used as a moving target by the taller, less clumsy boys.
“I think sports are elitist, a substitute for war,” he said.
“Oh, I’ve always loved football,” said Blenda.
Dave smiled at her, clearly relieved to be in the company of a normal human being.
“It’s not even a sport though,” said Ben. “The richest teams buy the best players. It’s just a matter of who has the biggest bank balance.”
“Oh,” said Blenda in gentle disagreement. “There’s nothing as good for the soul as a live match, I always say.”
Dave beamed in approval at this.
“The roar of the crowd,” he said.
“The team spirit,” agreed Blenda.
The mindless conformity, thought Ben and sloped off towards the cocktail table. Clovenhoof gave him something called a Stinking Zombie. He downed it in one.
Clovenhoof raised his eyebrows.
“Can I get you another?”
“Whatever.”
“Maybe you’d like something from my other, ah, reference work?”
Ben nodded and Clovenhoof eagerly scanned Mind-Bending Cocktails for Students on a Budget.
Ben couldn’t keep up with the speed that Clovenhoof assembled the drink, but he sipped appreciatively.
“Interesting. Reminds me a bit of something else. Maybe that flavouring they put in cough mixture.”
Clovenhoof grinned and pushed the bottle of linctus out of sight.
“Who else needs a top-up?”
Clovenhoof equipped Nerys with a Between the Sheets, which got him a nudge in the ribs. He made a Bosom Caresser for Blenda, which he delivered with a lewd wink. He made a Golden Daisy for Michael, which he handed over with an exaggerated moue of the lips.
“Jeremy, I’m surprised you haven’t thrown away that filthy mess yet.” Michael said, indicating the impressive bloom of mould that was thriving on Clovenhoof’s mantelpiece.
“Herbert? Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t get rid of Herbert.”
Michael touched the edge of the mould, which had mounted the rim of the cocktail glass and was reaching outward in plate-like layers. It seemed to be making a bid for freedom. Light-headed, Ben reckoned that given a month or two it would be out of the flat and making off down in the road in a stolen car.
“Honestly,” said Michael, turning to Ben. “Such a childish thing to do.”
“Hmmm?” said Ben.
“Herbert Dewsbury was the previous tenant of this flat, wasn’t he?”
Ben blinked.
“You knew him?”
Michael nodded.
“I’ve worked with him. You knew him well?”
Ben blanched.
“Uh, he kept himself to himself. Didn’t see all that much of him.”
“Really? Come on. He wasn’t exactly a quiet man. I think some people found his personality grating.”
“I...”
“Maybe that’s what got him killed in the end.”
Ben whimpered in fright.
&nb
sp; “Killed? No, I think he went away to...”
“No, no,” said Michael with a terrifying finality. “Killed. Murdered.”
Ben reached out behind him for a bottle, any bottle...
8:30pm
Nerys watched Michael over the rim of her glass as she sipped.
“Dave, I’m not sure who he is exactly, but I think Michael might be someone.”
“Well obviously he’s someone,” said Dave with a knitted brow.
“I mean,” said Nerys in the tone of a woman whose previously paper-thin patience could now only be measured in microns, “that he’s not just anyone, but someone. Someone of importance. You can tell.”
“Oh, okay.”
“So no more blathering on about football, for pity’s sake.”
“Right. What can I talk about then?”
Nerys counted on her fingers. “Travel, current events, weather, hobbies. But don’t bring up hobbies if Ben’s listening, obviously.”
“Right, right.” He looked at the empty glass in his hand. “Well I think I’d better mention to Jeremy about my food allergies.”
“Oh, don’t bother the man.”
“I’ll be back in a minute.”
Dave went into the kitchen, brushing up against Blenda in the doorway.
“If you’re looking for sanctuary, I’m not sure this is the place,” said Blenda.
“No, no. It’s not like that. I just need to talk to Jeremy.”
He entered the kitchen and took in the sight of Clovenhoof wielding a cleaver on a bloodied carcase. He held the cleaver high above his head and brought it down onto the board with a cry of “Hi – YA!”
Clovenhoof brought the cleaver up for the next blow. A string of blood droplets splattered up the wall.
Dave clutched the doorframe to steady himself.
“What, ah” – he coughed -”what meat is that?”
Clovenhoof looked up, registering Dave’s presence. He wiped the cleaver across his thigh, adding to a sinister, crusted stain.
“Hi, Dave. What’s up?”
“It’s just, I have some food allergies.”
