‘She’s about to lie to you, Martyn,’ said Spanky. ‘You asked for it.’
‘Sure. I’d really like to see you too. Give me a call sometime.’ She didn’t volunteer her number, didn’t even stop what she was doing to catch my eye.
How do you know that was a lie?
‘Oh, come on. There are photos of some bearded chap all over the lounge, modelling suits in exotic places. Not the last boyfriend, probably a long-term lover, away on a shoot. Unreliable, treats her like dirt, married perhaps, but she still waits for him. At least you helped her by reducing her STQ—’
STQ?
‘Sexual Tension Quotient. And now she wants you to leave. Let’s go.’
And so we left. I looked up at the tall windows from the street and waved, but there was no sign of her.
‘I wonder if Katisha—’ I began.
‘Don’t worry about the young lady. You did each other a favour, so you’re equal.’
‘It’s just—it wasn’t very romantic. More like the Olympics.’
Spanky threw his hands wide in disgust. ‘Who said anything about romance? There’ll be plenty of time for you to settle down later, get a nagging wife, crushing mortgage and screaming kids. You want to play the field for a while, don’t you?’
I gave no reply. He looked down at his knees. ‘There must have been a cat somewhere in her apartment. My trousers are smothered with white hairs.’ He brushed at them, grimacing. ‘A few more encounters like that and we’ll have sorted out a sexual persona for you. Next time I’ll teach you a bedroom trick called “Pearls and Swallows” that you can do with iced water and a shoelace.’
He pulled back his sleeve and checked his Cartier. ‘Now, I have to go away for a short while, so you can have the rest of the weekend off. On Monday morning we’ll start work on your career. You need to make more money if you’re going to run around with a different crowd.’
He gripped my arm warmly. ‘I was proud of you today. I honestly think you’re going to be one of my best-ever clients. See you later, Sex God.’
I turned to speak, but he had already gone. By now I was becoming used to finding myself alone in the middle of a crowded London street.
Chapter 10
Sportsmanship
The snow was several feet thick and carpeted the whole of the city, deadening sound and reflecting brilliant white light. Shocked, I stared down from my bedroom window. Surely it was too early in the year for this kind of weather? It looked as if a fresh linen tablecloth had been thrown over the streets. Below, the people passing on the pavement were dressed for the middle of winter. Clouds of flakes brushed the glass. The geraniums in the flowerbox were completely buried. I turned away to find Spanky sitting on my dressing table, dangling his legs. As always he was immaculately dressed, this time in a black Moschino suit, cream silk shirt and a splendid black waistcoat with gold buttons.
‘I thought you’d like a change of weather. Don’t worry, it’s an illusion I created just for you. I’ll get rid of it before we go outside.’
‘It’s very difficult to get used to you tampering with my sense of reality,’ I complained. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Actually, I went into the countryside to see some old friends.’
‘Human or spirit world?’ I asked, searching around for my dressing-gown.
‘Human, of course. Daemons never mix socially. We exist on tangential planes to one another, so contact is awkward and often dangerous. And for me it’s out of the question.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘I’m in a human body. I couldn’t cross back even if I wanted to. Each daemon has a choice. He can remain a spiritual entity on a celestial plane, where he will have great power but no physical control, or he can take a human form on earth, where he will have corporeal substance but reduced abilities.’
‘And what have your abilities been reduced to?’
‘Certain cognitive tricks, like reading the minds of those to whom I am attuned, the production of illusions, simple kinetics, seeing through solid objects, that sort of thing. All rather minor compared to what I can do when I’m freed from the shackles of a mortal form.’
‘Then why do you choose to remain down here?’
‘I love human company. It interests me. One of the others has spent so little time among real people that he can no longer master an earthly tongue or a solid structure of flesh and bone. Consequently he exists in a rarefied celestial world that has no meaning. How was the rest of your weekend?’
‘Boring,’ I admitted. ‘Yesterday I worked on some sale ideas for the store. Zack got drunk and passed out in the middle of the lounge rug. I wanted to watch TV but he was asleep on the remote and took a swipe at me every time I tried to move him.’
‘Well, you won’t be having many more weekends like that, I can assure you. Today we’ll begin to sort out your work situation. I must find a way to give you more confidence in yourself.’
I searched around for a towel and headed for the bathroom with Spanky following close behind. ‘I’ve never been very good at that,’ I admitted.
‘Well, you will be by the time we’re through. Notice how you already feel more assured this morning?’
‘Not really, no.’
He gripped my bare forearm and held it tight. A tingling sensation, like a thousand tiny ice-needles, goose-pimpled over my skin.
‘How about now?’
I pulled my arm free in alarm and rubbed at it. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘I’ve just given you a little chemical surge that should help do the trick.’
‘Wait a minute, I don’t want drugs pumped into me.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s naturally pure and organic, nothing that the body isn’t used to handling. Now hurry up and shower. I want to visit your place of employment.’
I entered the bathroom still rubbing my arm. The thought of Spanky seeing how I was treated at work embarrassed me. I was becoming increasingly aware of the banality of my daily life. It was as though I existed above my body and was looking down on it, horrified by what I saw. I supposed it was the result of having someone around to monitor me all the time, a kind of spiritual social worker.
But Spanky didn’t behave with the self-righteous conscience of a social worker. Showing me how to fit into modern urban society clearly meant learning to conduct my life in a morally dubious manner. I suppose I was naïve to imagine anything otherwise. It was all very well teaching someone to ape late-twentieth-century behaviour, but what if that behaviour was appalling? While ostensibly improving my life, didn’t that make me as bad as those around me? I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to change within myself, but I knew that when my limit was reached, I would have to tell Spanky to halt the process.
I shaved, showered and dressed, all the time listening to the daemon’s advice. The snow had vanished by the time we reached the street. For once I arrived at work on time. Darryl was in before me, but then he usually was. Darryl was Born to Be in Furnishings. Dokie opened up the store first, but he worked different hours to the sales staff.
‘What a depressing building. So much dust everywhere.’ Spanky looked around at the gaudy sofas and dining-room suites, then blew his nose and tucked his handkerchief away into the air. ‘This is your desk over here, isn’t it?’ Dokie was standing within hearing distance, so I projected my thoughts in reply.
It’s my workstation, yes. This is where I happily pass the waking hours of my day.
Suddenly, a sharp tingling jolt passed through my chest, a stinging electric shock. I fell back against a stack of Tudor Rose mock-Elizabethan laundry hampers in surprise. Dokie looked over at me, confused. ‘You all right, Martyn?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. He was carrying a sink.
‘I’m sorry,’ Spanky apologized, lightly shaking out the tips of his fingers, ‘but I won’t listen to that kind of attitude.’
What attitude?
‘That smug happy-with-my-lot chatter civil servants make. I’m amazed you haven’t got a little wooden
plaque mounted above the desk: You don’t have to be mad to work here, just mentally disenfranchised. I’m going to knock that manner out of you, Martyn.’
He beckoned me forward, but having been hit with the equivalent of a cattle-prod I was loath to move any nearer.
‘For heaven’s sake, I’m not going to hurt you. I couldn’t do it even if I wanted to.’
Reluctantly, I stood before him. At close range, the perfection of his face was almost absurd, a physical anomaly.
‘Why are you in this terrible job?’ he demanded.
It’s not that terrible. I get three weeks holiday a year, and there’s the prospect of advancement . . .
‘Do it again and I’ll punish you more severely than before,’ he warned. ‘Just look at this place! It’s a dead-end. It’s not even part of a chain, where you could at least move into higher management. Everything stops with Max. You know that. You’re not a stupid man, Martyn. You could have entered university. But rotting away in here, it’s as if you’ve abandoned any thought of enjoying your life. When you were at school you must have had dreams, ambitions. What happened to them? Why did you let them all go? Why on earth are you here?’
I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want him to know about Joey. It was an area of my life that I hadn’t yet learned to deal with. When the time came I would confront the problem alone, not with the help of some supernatural entity.
Later he came to know everything. But right then, with Darryl hovering in the background and the first customers of the morning entering the showroom, I refused to allow him full access to my mind.
Spanky knew. ‘There are some parts of you I have trouble reading, Martyn,’ he complained. ‘You’re subconsciously blocking something from me. All right, I’ll drop the subject for now.’ He looked about with distaste. ‘Well, before you pick a new career for yourself, we might as well see what can be achieved in the old one. Better to leave this place on your own terms, wouldn’t you agree?’
I nodded dumbly. Spanky waved his arm in the direction of Darryl’s desk. ‘How do you feel about your fellow salesman?’
I don’t like him much.
‘Why is that, do you think?’
He tries to curry favour with Max all the time.
‘Well, it’s working. He’ll get the advancement, not you. There’s already a note in his top drawer from Max, congratulating him on those sales ideas and hinting at “increased sales responsibility”. Your colleague is out of shape but likes to think of himself as a sportsman, doesn’t he?’
I don’t know.
‘Perhaps you somehow failed to notice the racquet handle sticking out of the sports bag he carried to work. According to his diary, he’s playing squash at lunchtime today. I want you to challenge him to a game.’
I don’t play squash.
‘You do now.’
I haven’t got the kit.
‘I’ll take care of that.’
He must already have a partner to play.
‘Look.’ He pointed over at Darryl, who was moving around his desk to answer the telephone. ‘Oh dear, that’s his partner calling to cancel their game. What’s that he’s saying? He has a terrible cold. Ventriloquism, Martyn, is a most useful talent.’
I watched until Darryl replaced the receiver. Won’t his partner still turn up at the court? I asked.
‘What a worrier you are! No, because I’ll get his number from Darryl’s phonebook and call him up in Darryl’s voice. I’m not in the habit of providing explanations for everything, Martyn. Darryl has been misled. Now’s your chance.’
Do I have to do this?
I hated the idea of charging around a sweat-reeking court chasing a little rubber ball. I couldn’t see the point of it.
‘It’s all part of the plan, Martyn.’ Spanky smiled and clapped a hand on my back. ‘Don’t look so alarmed. You want things to change, don’t you?’
Of course I do . . .
‘Then ask him for a game.’
‘I had no idea you played,’ said Darryl, pulling his shirt over his head to reveal a sweat-stained undervest.
Neither did I, I thought, removing my racquet and twirling the handle in a less-than-expert fashion. Darryl had stared at me in amazement when I had suggested that he keep his lunchtime booking at the sports centre. The grey concrete locker room smelled of ancient plimsolls, and was filled with overweight red-faced executives who were prepared to risk sudden respiratory failure in the cause of fitness.
As we walked onto the court I realized that I had no idea where to stand. The gym kit Spanky had prepared for me was a perfect fit. Darryl’s was far too tight, and stretched over his chubby torso forcing the flesh into banded folds, so that he looked like a joint of beef trussed up with string.
‘I hope you like that touch,’ said Spanky, sauntering past my opponent and pointing to his exposed midriff and minuscule shorts. ‘I shrank his kit down one size.’
‘I must have put this shirt on a hot wash,’ said Darryl, puzzled. He raised an arm experimentally, and I half expected to see the fabric tear.
Spanky came over to me and showed me how to grip the racquet. He had changed into black gym-instructor sweatpants and a vest that displayed his muscles. There was a golden whistle around his neck.
‘Now, this won’t be as fast a game as your opponent usually plays, because he won’t be able to turn easily in those shorts. It’s a matter of wrist and touch, arm and leg strength, eye and hand coordination. That’s the service box, just there, and the service line is above—are you following this?’
‘I’m trying to.’
‘Let me make this easier for you.’
He encircled my wrist with the fingers of his right hand and pressed hard. Once again, the strange tingling feeling passed through the nerves of my arm. Spanky looked pleased with himself.
‘There. I’ve just given you the playing ability of Janet Morgan, the British women’s squash champion from 1950 to 1959. I couldn’t remember the names of any male players. You’ll automatically adopt her play characteristics. Just be careful how you walk across the court afterwards.’
He pointed up at the gallery to the rear of the court. ‘I’ll be up there watching. I’ll rejoin you at the end of the game.’
Darryl served first, and I was amazed to find myself returning the volley with dazzling speed. I careened across the court, slamming the ball off the back wall with a dizzying right-arm smash that shocked us both.
I span and turned, volleying the ball as it caromed off the front in a blur of rubber. Darryl was dumbfounded. He fought to keep up, puffing from one end of the court to the other, while I hardly needed to stray from one spot. His returns were hampered by the tight shirt, which prevented him from raising his racquet directly above his head. Time and again the ball flashed past his disbelieving eyes as he tried to match my own lightning responses and failed.
By the end of the second game, (9–3, 9–1), he was a crimson sweating mess. Friction had heated the ball until it was barely comfortable to hold. We entered the third and final game of the lunch-hour. My opponent was fading fast, barely able to keep visual track of the ball, let alone follow it up with his body. I caught a brief glimpse of Spanky leaning over the rail, watching with interest as I volleyed back with my most powerful return so far.
The ball shot across the court like a rubber bullet. There was a terrible smack as it smashed into Darryl’s left eye, knocking him back off his feet. He landed heavily on the floor, sitting down with a grunt and tipping over backwards. The eye was lost in a welter of blood, and the flesh around it was already swelling, the burst vessels spattering more blood across his cheek.
As he moaned and threw his hands across his face I ran for help, horrified by what I had done.
‘It’s a dangerous sport,’ the doctor said, looking up at me. ‘But this is one of the worst injuries I’ve ever seen on the court. That’s a very powerful arm you have there.’
But the power had already deserted me. I had felt the famil
iar tingling sensation again as I left the sports centre, and every muscle in my body had started to grow sore.
One half of Darryl’s face was bandaged, and he had been sedated. He was to be taken directly to the operating theatre, where the surgeons would try to save his eye.
‘I feel terrible about this,’ I said, watching as they pushed his trolley off along the hospital corridor. ‘It’s my fault.’
‘You can’t always keep track of your opponent’s movements,’ he said consolingly. ‘It’s too fast a game for that. There’s no point in blaming yourself.’
During my time in the hospital, Spanky had been strangely absent. Now he reappeared as I started walking back toward the store. Max would be wondering where his salesmen were.
‘I only meant you to beat him, not half kill him,’ he said, falling into step with me. ‘What did they say about the eye?’
‘It looks bad, but they won’t know exactly how much damage has been done for several days.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but at least it leaves you clear for lunch.’
I looked at my watch. It was nearly 4.00 p.m. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, suddenly suspicious.
‘Lunch on Thursday, with Max. Darryl had invited him out. He figured he was going to be offered a promotion, and decided to beat Max to the punch with a proposition of his own. Now you’ll be able to take his place.’
‘Has it occurred to you that offering to take his place would be in extremely bad taste?’ I asked. ‘I don’t want to achieve success through other people’s misfortunes. I don’t particularly like the guy, but it was my fault he was injured. I can’t just step over him. It’s wrong.’
‘That’s very noble of you, Martyn, but it doesn’t pay to be too squeamish,’ replied Spanky. ‘You have to seize the opportunity while it’s there. That’s what Darryl was doing behind your back. Look around. You’re living in a tasteless world. The streets are filled with the homeless, men and women down on their luck, scarred by changes in fortune. And walking around them, pretending that they simply don’t exist, are people of property; the ten percent who own the ninety percent. Life cheats the poor, and the poorer they are the more it cheats them. Those who improve their circumstances do so through their own actions. There was a time when you were left alone if you did nothing. Now passivity is rewarded by downfall. You must take steps toward your own future, Martyn, even if it sometimes seems to be at the expense of others. You have to reinvent yourself. I won’t always be here to help you.’
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