The Liar

favourite pitch under the columns of Swan and Edgar, touting for business, he caught sight of Dr Meddlar, without his dog collar but unmistakable nevertheless, coming up the steps from the Underground.

Term must be over, Adrian thought as he concealed himself behind a pillar.

He watched Meddlar look left and right before crossing over to Boots the Chemists under the neon signs. Greg and Mark, a couple of skinheads that Adrian knew, were going about their unlawful business there, and he was amazed to see Meddlar stop and talk to one of them. He was trying to look casual, but to Adrian's knowing eye it was perfectly clear that formal discussions were taking place.

Hopping through the traffic, Adrian approached from behind.

'Why, Dr Meddlar!' he cried, slapping him bonhomously on the back.

Meddlar spun round.

'Healey!'

'My dear old Chaplain, how simply splendid to see you!' Adrian shook him warmly by the hand. 'But let me give you a piece of advice - verb sap as we used to say at the dear old school - if they're asking more than a tenner for you to suck their cocks, you're being ripped off.'

Meddlar went white and stepped backwards off the kerb.

'You're leaving?' Adrian was disappointed. 'Oh, if you must. But any time you're in need of rough sex let me know and I'll fix you up with something. But as the man said in Casablanca, 'Beware, there are vultures everywhere. Everywhere, vultures.''

Meddlar disappeared into a mess of spray and car horns.

'Remember the Green Cross Code,' Adrian called after him. 'Because I won't be there when you cross the road.'

The skinheads were not pleased.

'You bastard, Hugo! We were about to score.'

'I'll pay you in full, my dears,' said Adrian. 'It was worth it. Meanwhile let me stand you both a Fanta in the Wimpy. There's no action going on in this bloody rain.'

They sat by the window, automatically scanning the crowds that blurred past.

'Why did he call you 'Healey'?' asked Greg. 'I thought your name was Bullock?'

'Healey was my nickname,' said Adrian. 'I used to do impressions of Denis Healey the politician, you see. It sort of stuck.'

'Oh.'

'What a silly billy,' Adrian added, by way of proof.

'That's just like him!'

'Well, it's just like Mike Yarwood anyway.'

'And that guy really was a vicar?'

'School Chaplain, on my life.'

'Bloody hell. He was asking Terry and me if we'd tie him up. And him a bleeding Collar.'

''I struck the board and cried No More!' said Adrian, folding his hands in prayer.

'You what?'

'George Herbert. A poem called 'The Collar'. It must have passed you by somehow. 'Have I no garlands gay? All blasted? All wasted? Not so my heart: but there is fruit, and thou hast hands.''

'Oh. Right. Yeah.'

'You were the garlands gay, the fruit. And his hands were about to lay themselves on you, I suspect. He must have forgotten how it ends. 'At every word, Methought I heard one calling, Child! And I replied, My Lord.''

'You don't half rabbit, do you?'

'It's a splendid poem, you'd love it. I can sprint down to Hatchards and buy a copy if you'd like.'

'Fuck off.'

'Yes, well, there is that side to it too, of course,' Adrian conceded. 'Now, if you'll forgive me, I've got to nip next door to Boots and get myself some more lotion for the old crabs.'

About two months later he was picked up by an actor.

'I know you,' Adrian said, as they sat back in the taxi.

The actor took off his sunglasses.

'Christ!'Adrian giggled.'You're - '

'Just call me Guy,' said the actor. 'It's my real name.'

A famous trick! Adrian thought to himself. I've turned a famous trick!

He stayed the night, something he had been warned against. Guy had woken him up with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs and a kiss.

'I couldn't believe you were trade, honey,' he said. 'I saw you walk from Playland to the Dilly and I couldn't