Lisa’s eyes were wide, she whispered, ‘You’re married!’
Cassie lunged forward, tore the sheet off, leaving us bare-assed.
‘He didn’t tell you… ’cos you’re just another cheap whore… and young… the same age as our daughter.’
‘Daughter!’
I moved and Cassie levelled the pistol. ‘Do… and I’ll shoot your balls off.’
The barrel of the gun swung towards Lisa, she began to whimper.
Cassie said, ‘You stay away from my man, you hear me. You wanna suck on something, try this.’
And squeezed the trigger.
The bullet slammed into the headboard between us. Splinters of wood flying outwards. Lisa curled up in a ball, screaming. Now Cassie turned to me, asked, ‘Did you memorise the lines?’
‘What?’
‘Tut-tut… it’s the dunce’s cap for you, hot shot. Alas, I must bid adieu. What’s that shit you guys say here… tootle-pip… cheery-bye, whatever… later dude.’
She backed out and closed the door. I tried to put my arm round Lisa but she slapped it away, her crying got louder and full-blown hysteria got set. I pulled her round, slapped her face, measuring out the words.
‘Shut the fuck up.’
She did.
I threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, headed cautiously to the front room. On the coffee table, in a glass, was one fresh red rose. I sighed… ‘cute’. Made some scalding hot tea, laced it with sugar. The best remedy for shock, my hands were doing an Oirish jig… no, downright hornpipes. So, I got the brandy, poured some dollops in. As I held the bottle I thought… fuck… and took a swig. Hell to Henry, it burned like a sucker punch to the gut.
Took the tea to Lisa who was sobbing quietly. Forced the mug into her two hands.
She said, ‘Don’t want it.’
‘Drink the fuckin’ thing.’
‘You bastard, never said you were married.’
‘I’m not. She must have found the spare keys when she was here yesterday.’
And argh… could have bitten my tongue for adding yesterday. The fuck was wrong with me, I was a mine of information, mister extra detail.
‘Yesterday… you had her here YESTERDAY and then brought ME here last night?’
Before she could get into full shout, I snapped her off.
‘Leave it alone… OK… just drink the bloody tea.’
She took a sip, said, ‘It’s too sweet, don’t you have Sweetex.’
‘Hey… hey Lisa, cut me a bit o’ slack… alright?’
‘Are you going to call the Old Bill?’
‘No, I’m going to call the doctor.’
‘Don’t need the doctor.’
‘I sure as hell do.’
He came round in twenty minutes. Today he was wearing a bright green tracksuit that had the logo ‘Charlton’s Arms’, and white Doc Martens. I’d never seen them in white, asked, ‘I thought you only ever wore black ones.’
‘So… I can’t change. Is this what you called me for, to talk footwear?’
Lisa was in the shower, I was in tatters and told him the events. He gave a slow whistle.
‘A raven.’
‘What?’
‘Lunatic… she’s completely ape-shit.’
‘That’s your diagnosis, lucky I called you, else I wouldn’t have known.’
‘Yo Cooper, none of your lip, I didn’t shoot at you but you’re not too big for a flaming good puck in the mouth.’
Doc picked up a piece of paper, scanned it, said, ‘Think this is for you, fella.’
I guess it was meant to accompany the rose, it read:
‘Gotta keep it together
while I’m falling apart’
(Martina McBride)
I didn’t know who the fuck this was, asked, ‘Who the fuck’s this?’
Doc laughed, said, ‘A country and western singer and if I may say so
I balled it, flicked it across the room, said, ‘Jeez, the whole thing’s like a bad country and western song.’
‘I did some reading on your account last night.’
‘On my account.’
‘Yeah, checked out MacNeice, best if you know who you’re dealing with.’
‘And?’
‘That’s right Coop, be grateful, it’s probably what you do best.’
‘You’re going to tell me or wot, you want what… flattery…?’
‘Yeah, you’re so good at it. OK, here goes. He was born in 1907 in Belfast. His oul lad was a Church of Ireland clergyman and you know what happens to their offspring.’
‘What?’
‘’Ary Jaysus, don’t you read the
‘How do you mean?’
‘In relation to the big three… C.S. Lewis, Auden, and Stephen Spender. No doubt you’re familiar with those boyos.’
‘Sure.’
‘I thought so. He had a brother with Down’s Syndrome.’
‘So?’
‘So Orson Welles had a brother who was mentally handicapped and his father had him locked away for ten years after which he became a social worker. A natural progression you might say. David Bowie has a brother who was also hidden away.’
I threw up my arms, said, ‘Enough, you’ve gone a tad too Irish for me.’
Doc gave a hard stare at his footwear, said, ‘Any chance of a sup of tea, here I am trying to wise you up, you won’t as much as wet a man’s whistle.’
Lisa came out of the bedroom wearing one of my shirts. At this rate I’d be shirtless. I already was clueless. I didn’t mention it, just old-fashioned gallantry I guess. But Doc leapt in.
‘I recognise the shirt but the coleen, now surely ’tis not the bould Lisa, you filthy article, what would your mother say?’
Lisa didn’t blush but her body language tried to convey she knew the feeling, answered, ‘My mum would say, I hope you took precautions.’
I was with her mother, she sure got my vote. Doc said, ‘Do you like me shoes.’
‘They’re white!’
‘Aye, as pure as the driven, any chance you’d give a man a drop of tea?’
She did. I had another jolt of coffee. I wasn’t in the mood for pissing about with tea, I wanted my caffeine naked and lethal. Doc asked her, ‘You wouldn’t know what a spike is me girl?’
‘Like on a railing?’
‘No, like a shelter for homeless men. Years ago when the drink had a grip, I went down the shitter and ended up in Gordon Road. Not just once either. Well, if you’d been living rough, they de-loused you.’
He paused to sip the tea and Lisa said, ‘How awful.’
