Pumping Up Napoleon (6 page)

Now I remember where I've seen him: in the newspapers. He's a big collector, one of the biggest. What he says, sticks.

‘Mr Green,' I say, ‘how can you?'

‘Nathaniel,' he says, ‘or Ned; my friends call me Ned. You mean the practicalities of staging the work?' He frowns and looks into the future: ‘Hannah will be exhibiting at different times of year and in different venues, to be arranged. Long term, I can see what you mean; she'll get older. Well, that will be interesting too, don't you think? And besides, I'll hold the franchise.' He brightens up now. ‘I could have exhibitions in countries around the world. Say, would you like to join me over the road for a drink?'

I go with him, gladly, to the Boar's Head, and find myself with the opportunity to sit on the bar stool I slid from the first time we met. Taking up this position again, I bestow upon him my full smiling attention.

‘The possibilities are endless,' he is saying. ‘You know, one of the things they might do is flay a layer off her, so that it hangs, like skin….'

‘What about her father,' I say. ‘Is he going to turn up at every event?'

‘It makes for good publicity,' he says. ‘But if it became a real issue we could even use a different Girl. It might not have the same energy, but I guess we could do it.'

‘And may I ask how much you're paying for it?' I say, which, if you consider my job, is hardly a rude question.

‘More than enough to create a great deal of interest,' he says. ‘In fact, I think Gordon will see things differently when he's had a sight of the cheque his daughter's getting.'

I hesitate then say, ‘I wonder if a negative review would bring the price down.'

‘Don't do me any favours on that score!' he says, looking surprised and a little pleased. His eyes search mine, as if he wonders whether I am joking. ‘I know not everyone's like you. They won't get it straight away. But you know a big price attracts attention.' He leaned in closer. ‘Between you and me, I don't need to make the money back; it's more important to back something I believe in; but I don't see why I'd lose money on this one. Did you see the number of people there?'

He kindly refrains from pointing out that the
Buckington Bugle
is unlikely to have much effect on world opinion.

‘I guess she's become a local celebrity,' I say and glance over his shoulder at the bar clock. It's ten to nine. ‘We finished early,' I go on. ‘Do you think people got their money's worth?'

‘Why don't I tell you over dinner?' he says.

‘I'd love to, Ned,' I say. ‘But you know what? Could we make it tomorrow?'

‘I understand,' he says. ‘You probably have a deadline.'

‘Yes,' I say. ‘Yes, I do.' I write down my phone number, swallow my drink and get down from the stool. Unsure whether to kiss him on the cheek, I stick out my hand; he takes it and pulls me towards him. Our cheeks touch and kisses whisper past our ears. With an apologetic look, I pull away. ‘Sorry,' I say, ‘but you know how it is.'

‘Oh yes,' he says, putting his hand on the seat of my vacant bar stool. ‘I know: a deadline is a deadline.'

The New Adventures of Andromeda

‘Help?!' calls Andromeda. No reply. The sea idles at her feet. She drums her fingers on the rock to which she's been chained for the best part of three hours. During this time neither monster nor hero has appeared.

Two-hours-and-fifty-seven minutes ago, Andromeda had been feeling quite attractive, having spent most of Thursday preparing for her appointment with her designated hero, Perseus. She'd carefully rubbed the hairs off her legs with a well-soaped pumice stone; she'd bathed in goat's milk (and after milking fifty goats she'd needed to); she'd rinsed and oiled her hair. Andromeda was hoping that Perseus would make her a present of Athene's mirror, the one he'd used to defeat the Gorgon. She was hoping he'd descend from the sky, using the winged boots Hermes had given him, or astride Pegasus, that beautiful white winged horse born from the damp earth soaked in the Medusa's blood.

Two-hours-and-ten-minutes ago, even without a mirror, she'd been able to look down and approve of the way the sea spray was curling her perfumed hair and making her dress cling damply to the contours of her body. She'd even considered the possibility that she might glance at the Gorgon's snaky head and turn herself to stone. After all, she would never look more lovely.

After two hours and fifty-nine mirrorless minutes – it is by now well past the hour when she should have been commanding a servant to crack open the first amphora of the day, and sinking into her lover's embrace – she feels, not lovely and vulnerable, but bedraggled and venomous. Her chilly flesh is taking on a mottled aspect and, with the incoming tide lapping round her ankles, she can't help reflecting on the fact that, since no one else cared to, she'd had to fasten her own chains.

A grey, scaly boulder, no longer able to keep still, shifts an inch or two to the left and lets out a groan.

‘Come on out!' yells Andromeda. ‘You might as well.'

The sea monster gets up from his crouch, rubbing the calf of his hind leg. The face he pulls is terrible, but this is mainly due to cramp. ‘He's late,' grumbles the monster.

‘
You're
telling
me
?!'

‘What do you think's gone wrong?'

‘How should
I
know?' says Andromeda, whose nose is cold and could do with a wipe. ‘I'm just the virgin.'

The sea monster rolls his eyes.

‘You'd better be careful,' says Andromeda. ‘For all you know he could be here right now. Don't forget he's got that helmet Pluto gave him. It makes him invisible.' She allows her eyes to slide past the monster's shoulder as if there is something behind him and has the satisfaction of seeing him duck and turn.

‘Yes,' says the sea monster, ‘I've heard that he's favoured by the gods.'

On cue, up clatters bare-chested Perseus on a horse; he holds the reins in one hand, in the other he carries a writhing sack.

‘Quick,' hisses Andromeda to the sea monster. ‘Hide.'

‘Can't I cut straight to the menacing?' the sea monster hisses back. ‘It's just that I'm awfully late for bathing my youngest.'

‘Oh, very well,' says Andromeda. It means losing her moment alone with Perseus, but never mind. In her present mood, she'd find it hard to utter a cry of welcome and gratitude. Indeed, she feels rather inclined to bite his head off herself, but then where would she be? All alone and chained to a cold, wet rock, that's where. Right now, she wants her dinner more than anything. She hopes Perseus has booked somewhere decent.

‘Where are your wings?' Andromeda can't help asking as he reins in his horse. ‘No wonder you're late!'

The sea monster shifts from foot to foot as if hoping to be introduced.

‘Get on with it then,' says Andromeda, crossly.

‘I've always admired your work,' says the sea monster.

‘Thanks,' says Perseus. ‘And I've heard a lot about you.'

‘I mean get on with the menacing and the killing and the rescuing,' says Andromeda. ‘I'm catching a chill.'

‘Charmed,' says Perseus, flicking her a look.

‘Sorry.' The monster bows, apologetically. ‘I'd like to chat, but the sun is sinking and it's a long swim home….' So saying he raises himself on his hind legs, roars and unsheathes his sabre claws.

Andromeda screams.

Perseus, instead of drawing his sword, looks thoughtful. He hooks the sack with the Gorgon's head in it over the pommel of his saddle, and gets out his diary. ‘Well, as it happens it would suit me to reschedule. I had an oaf to see to on the way over and it took rather longer than I thought.'

‘What?' says Andromeda.

‘By the way…' Perseus leans forward and beckons the sea monster closer. The sea monster advances, keeping a wary eye on the hero's sword. Perseus, bringing his mouth close to the holes in the side of the sea monster's head where the ears should be, whispers, ‘Who is she, exactly? I seem to have lost my notes.'

The sea monster sighs and recites impatiently: ‘Her name's Andromeda. Her mother bragged she's more beautiful than Neptune's daughters.'

‘And is she? I mean, after all, once one's rescued a girl I believe one's supposed to marry her and to be quite honest,' he glances over at Andromeda who grimaces back, ‘she doesn't seem to have much idea of, you know,
grooming
.'

‘Of all the nerve,' explodes Andromeda. ‘You should have seen me
three hours
ago.'

‘That's true, actually,' says the sea monster. ‘You
are
rather late.'

‘Indeed,' says Perseus straightening up and shutting his diary with a snap. ‘And now if I don't hurry I'll be even later for my next appointment. Tuesday at three. Don't keep me waiting.' He spurs his horse inland.

‘Great,' mutters the monster, trudging into the sea without a backward glance. ‘And he promised to introduce me to that woman with the snakes.'

‘Well don't imagine
I'll
be here,' shouts Andromeda.

The key is in her girdle and she reaches it easily, but her numb fingers let it drop into the water. She reaches out with her foot and is momentarily distracted by its puckered aspect. Just then a wave lifts the key up by its ribbon and draws it a little further off.

Andromeda bites her lip and gazes out to sea. ‘Help,' says Andromeda, weakly at first. And then, much louder, ‘HELP!'

The monster humps his back and dives for the ocean floor. Inland, the dust kicked up by the hero's horse is beginning to settle. The sun is sinking. There is no one else in sight.

Scary Tiger

Have you ever had an impulse? Standing on a railway platform have you never felt the urge to give someone a little shove?

In my lunch hour I'm waiting to cross the road to the baker's when I see a pregnant woman on the other side, also waiting. Woman as vessel; form dictated by function; baby-wrapping. I cross the road one way; she the other. We pass in the middle. Her eyes slide over me and away. She's thinking about danger from traffic, not me. Perhaps all she sees is a shape to avoid.

As soon as I see her I want to run across and punch her in the stomach. I
know
. I can hear you; I know what you're thinking. Please understand: I don't really
want
to, but I thought I might.

I suppose some people will assume I'm jealous. Or unnatural. I can hear the voices. Not
hear
them, you understand. I don't want you to think that I'm really
hearing
voices. But they play in my mind. Home movies.

I just had the thought and saw myself doing it. Her – doubling over, falling to the ground; old people stopping, gaping, shouting. Me instantly slashed in two by the knowledge of what I had done; what people thought of me.

You're evil
, say the voices. This is exciting for them. They're like a restless audience, easily bored. I'm haunted by the people in the cheap seats; they won't shut up.

I've had all sorts of jobs.

The old lady watches me weigh the potatoes. I know just how many spuds make up a pound. I haven't converted to metric and neither has she, although the scales are set to kilos.

I smile a lot at the customers. This one smiles back.

She checks the change in her purse. Her hair needs washing and I think, she doesn't do it herself; she goes once a week to the hairdresser's; she'd like to go twice a week if she could. Still, she knows she's lucky, counts her blessings. Some of her friends can only manage once a fortnight.

Careful with herself. Lovely soft old-lady skin. Pearl-coloured ear-studs, not too big. A shade of lipstick rosy-pink. Blue eyes, fair eyebrows. Her hair should be white but she has it tinted strawberry-blonde. Pity it looks so stiff. She should wash it herself and forget the setting-lotion.

‘Do you swim?' I ask her.

‘Oh no, I never learned to swim.'

‘You could still learn now,' I tell her. ‘My mother learned when she was fifty-seven. It's never too late. It'd keep you fit.' It could liberate that hairstyle. At first she'd wear a swimming cap then one day she'd forget and maybe she'd get her hair wet and she'd borrow someone else's shampoo and start a conversation in the changing-room and maybe make a new…

‘And can you do me half a cucumber?'

We have a lovely sharp knife for the cucumbers so the least amount of juice is wasted. I smile. ‘Of course.'

If she knew what went on in my head. A feeling breaks inside me like a wave of cold sewagey seawater. If she knew. She would drop her fruit and run.

I let it all out in a sigh. I don't want to hurt anyone. Really, I don't.