Playing Silly Buggers and Other Stories E-Book

Christian Robshaw

• Herausgeber: Ali Ribelli Edizioni
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Sooty Stevens receives an unexpected visit from a barely-remembered acquaintance. Jim Christ finds redemption in the unlikeliest of places. An attempted break-up goes terribly awry. And a boy attempts to enforce law and order in wild Wales.
A set of stories by the author of Wankers, combining tenderness, wit, and often unlikely pathos, sometimes in the same paragraph.

Leseprobe

Playing Silly Buggers and Other Stories

by Christian Robshaw

Publishing director: Jason R. Forbus

Graphic design and layout: Sara Calmosi

ISBN 978-88-33465-37-1

Published by Ali Ribelli Edizioni, 2020©

Fiction – Possible Worlds

www.aliribelli.com – [email protected]

Any reproduction of this book is strictly forbidden, even partially, with means of

any kind, without the clear authorization of Editor.

Playing Silly Buggers

and Other Stories

Christian Robshaw

AliRibelli Edizioni

Contents

Playing Silly Buggers (A Sequel to Wankers)

A break-up breaks down

Wine and dine

High

A romance.

Hate

Badge

Randy old bastard

After the autumn ball

Back home

The visit

A minor betrayal.

Profiling

An English rose

James, Alison & Gwen

On Camberwell green

Three couples

Three families

Three friendships

Playing Silly Buggers (A Sequel to Wankers)

There was going to come a time that Jeanette would have to say something to Dougal.

… but then, she thought, isn’t what just what he’d like to hear? He was no boss of her. After all, he was only her cousin, hardly someone special or something. And she’d always tried to simply be herself, never tried hard to be a McIntyre. Regardless, those protective telephone calls of his would never stop, not unless she said something to Dougal. Jeanette thought he’d have liked to have a little sister, if not a daughter. Who wouldn’t? Still, it was Wednesday night and she was free to do what she liked, she could whatever she-

“Jeanette-!”

-felt, like cook an egg and-

“-you big ho, how was work?”

-watch Netflix – presumably after she’d said hi to Miguel for the night.

“Miguel.”

“You fucking knows it.”

“Nice to see you, Miguel. What’s the news?”

“Only shit that’s been happening between bitches you know. You should have seen the fucking dude Jordan brought home, he was like-”

“Like what? A 9? Or a 4?”

“9. Definite 9.”

“How did I know.”

“Now, you… are a little jealous.”

“Great story. Listen, if you’re at the stove fry me an egg.”

“Ooh, no can do bitch, we’re out.”

That meant noodles again. Again. Some people say they eat a lot of noodles and watch a lot of Netflix. But Jeanette really ate a lot of noodles and watched a lot of Netflix. That was OK – you never really got bad noodles. Netflix was another matter. They sell you on the idea that you can always turn on and find something good to watch. That wasn’t true, but Jeanette watched loyally, night after night. It provided something to do, at least. Uni, there was something to do every night. It was harder trying to find ways not to do things – to make time to stay in and write essays. That was the real leisure time. “Waterhouse and the Madonna/Whore Complex”, that sort of thing. Jeanette told people coursework was a pain between the nights of getting pissed when really it was the opposite, making excuses not to end up having the time of somebody else’s life again, shots and outrageous outfits. “Spiritual Dimensions of Violence in Caravaggio” was a good one too, “Sublimated Homoeroticism in Dalí”.

Staring at her laptop, bowl in hand, Jeanette realised she wasn’t really doing anything. She certainly wasn’t doing what she was doing; what she was really doing was waiting for Dougal to ring, because she realised it had been a while. She had to prepare to sit through the conversation again, not saying anything. She set her noodles aside, noticing she had a message on Facebook. Shit, she realised, someone had texted her too. Wait, it was only Miguel. “Ive sent you a message on facebook”, he said. He had. “Were all going out tonight. First big night out in ages!” There was a knock at the door. Jeanette thought she could guess. Actually, she couldn’t; it was Jordan – probably here to talk about Miguel. Jeanette thought she could guess.

“Jeanette, you have to come out tonight! We’re doing a big night out and it’s going to be the first big night out in ages! Are you coming? Miguel’s already got his coat on!”

“I haven’t even finished my dinner.”

“Yeah, hurry up! Ooo, are you having noodles? I could help you finish if you’re not eating them.”

“I am eating them. Look.”

“Alright. So you’re coming out when you’ve finished them, aren’t you? Good, I’ll tell Miguel. Miguel!”

***

There were yet more Facebook messages from Miguel. They were piling up. Sure, said Jeanette, she’d come out. Otherwise spend the time waiting for a chat with Dougal she didn’t even want to have. So it was nice to have the excuse. She knew the expectation would be that she’d throw on some clothes, the way the rest were sure to have done. Jeanette was wearing what she still habitually called her work clothes, although they hadn’t seen much work lately. They were a little tight, but also comfortable and really they looked fine. She’d just tie the shirt’s lower hem in a little bow an inch above her belly button, in the way that Jordan never does.

Miguel was in fur. A big fur Jeanette had never seen before, that made it look like he killed a bear, looking in fact strangely like Theodore Roosevelt. Well, he didn’t really look that way at all, it was just the coat.

“There she is! Jeanette, do you think I look like a teddy… what did he say?”

“Teddy Roosevelt” said Jordan, in one of her eager-to-please moods.

“No.”

“Thank you! Peter said.”

Jeanette looked around for Peter. It had been ages.

“No, on Snapchat.”

“Does Peter still use Snapchat then? I thought he said it was dead.”

“No, he said Rihanna said it was dead.”

“And did she?”

“Probably! What do I give a shit? Rihanna’s not the boss of what I do.”

That was the sort of thing Miguel tended to say early on in the evening, before coke and alcohol and dancing.

“Yeah, you say that now. Wait ‘til we’re at the club. And hurry up!” Jeanette had been about to say something very similar, before Jordan got in first. But it was time to go.

***

At the door the doorman checked the list for the little group. Jordan said she’d managed to get them in somewhere again. But every time they went out they ended up queuing and they ended up paying. It was miserable, standing on one of Soho’s still-filthy streets on a cold night. For March, it was very cold. But things’d be OK once they got in. Peter would be in.

“Jordan, is Peter in?”

“We’re getting in in a minute.”

“Yeah. I said is Peter in already?”

“Who the fuck knows with Peter, I doubt if he’ll even be here, he never comes out any more, I mean have you tried getting him out lately?”

Thanks Miguel. Jordan bounced up to the bouncer, “Jordan Chen, I’m on the list! Yep, and Miguel Rodriguez. Peter Cavendish… hold on a sec. Jeanette, you need to pretend to be Peter.”

“Right, easy enough that. Your hair’s shit and your outfit’s crap.”

She smiled to acknowledge the joke but didn’t laugh. Actually the outfit wasn’t bad.

“His name’s on the list so you have to say it’s your name.”

“Can’t I just use my own name?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you’d be coming out! You didn’t come last week and I didn’t know to put you down. They don’t like me putting down too many names, you know, when they don’t come out. So just be Peter! Well, not Peter… Pee… Pitta… Pitrelle… Petter…”

“Rita.”

“Come on, Rita! Let’s get you in.”

So Jeanette did her best to bounce up to the front like Jordan and her charming, twee Scottish accent returned to her as it always did in these situations. The bouncer looked unimpressed.

“Can’t see no Rita. Next!”

“Hold on now, love, would you mind looking again only I’m sure I’m on there?”

“Nope, sorry. Next!”

She tilted her head and pouted for him and everything, felt cheapened for nothing. Jordan asked the bouncer if he’d let her see and leant way down over the list, turning back to flash a grin at Jeanette.

“Oh, here she is, look they put her down as ‘Peter’ when she should be ‘Rita’, they must have misheard me over the ‘phone, I’m really sorry about that, I’ll have to…”

She went on and on. He said, “In.” and they were in.

***

“Jordan!”

“Yeah!”

“Are you not worried about Peter?”

“What? No, no don’t worry darling, we got you in ages ago, he won’t even be thinking about you any more!”

“No, I mean the Peter!”

“What?”

“If I’m Rita, what will happen to Peter? When he comes…”

“He’s probably not coming… oh wait, there he is. Why don’t you ask him?”

“Pete!”

“Hey.”

“We weren’t sure if you were coming!”

“Here I am.”

“How did you get in?”

“What?”

“How did you – never mind, do you want a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Me neither, come on!”

Jeanette ended up apologising outside because it was more-or-less true that she didn’t smoke – she’d given up years ago, if she ever really started – so the only times she still did it was when she was able to borrow someone else’s cigarettes. Peter really didn’t smoke, and so was no help to her – but the fact was hadn’t really gone out for a cigarette exactly, but more to get some peace and quiet for the sake of catching up with him because, as she pointed out, she never saw him any more.

“Well let’s be honest,” he said, “I wouldn’t be here if I had something better to do, would I?”

He said it almost as if he was joking, but also like he meant it, the same way he said most things. It made him hard to love, but then so many hard-to-love people find ways of making you, anyway.

“It’s really nice to see you out, Pete. I mean, I really like you. I think you’re just… terribly swell.”

“Yeah, you know what that is? That’s gay.”

“Good one. You can talk, anyway. Seeing anyone nice at the moment?”

“No. Actually I’m seeing this total prick of a married guy, I feel just awful for his wife. Fantastic in bed though.”

Comments like that tended to make Jeanette doubt just how awful Peter really felt, or if he really felt anything at all. But what he undeniably felt, was the need to let you know what he felt. He wasn’t like Miguel, letting you believe most of the time that he had zero feelings on anything.

What Jeanette felt, when the group had all ended up living together, was that she could easily have lived with Peter, or maybe that Peter would have ended up in her flat with her flatmates instead of her, which would have put her, like him, on the periphery, popping up every so often just to let the others know she was still surviving, giving away surprising details about the developments in her own life since they’d last seen her. Who knows, Peter’s married man might not even be real.

“Right, well it’s been great catching up with you over these cigarettes” – he mimed taking a quick drag, then stubbing out his imaginary one – “but I need a gin and tonic.”

“Okay, but how did you get in?”

“How did you get in? I just walked in.”

And off he went to the bar. And, Jeanette supposed, that’s what she’d better do, too.

***

Hours later, everyone stood outside arguing, because Jordan was ready to move on elsewhere, while Miguel had been just about ready to go to the loos and drop an E, so now he’d have to wait. Besides, he’d been enjoying the music – they’d left just when the DJ was “dropping” Rihanna, who’s like a queen anyway.

“I told you so”, said Jeanette.

“What?”

“Oh, well I suppose Jordan told you so, actually – but I was going to say it.”

“Good one.” said Peter.

“Alright, look, come on, this place is shit and we only came here for a joke, all the guys are rank, you must have noticed, and we’re going somewhere that plays hip-hop! Woo!”

Peter shrugged. “I’m alright with that. We’re only going from one type of shit to another.”

“No way, man! I hate going to the rap club, it’s always about “homos” and “faggots”, it’s not very nice. You can all go. I’m going to stay here and I’ll meet some new people instead, thank you.”

“It’s not all “homos” and “faggots”, that’s what everyone says. “Oh, it’s just a bunch of black guys being misogynist and homophobic and whatever else”, I’m surprised at you, Miguel, you’re not normally like that!”

“Like what? You’re saying I’m racist, because what, you can totally speak for how, what black guys feel just because you’re always sleeping with them?”

Even Peter seemed to think Miguel had gone too far. Jordan had looked for a few seconds like she might cry, but instead glared and yelled “Prick!”.

“Peter, you want to stay here don’t you?” Miguel sometimes expected Peter to take his side out of solidarity. Peter seemed to resent it.

“Yeah, I want to stay… out of this.”

“And if someone is racist here, you think if someone’s black they should be able to say all this shit, all this homophobic shit, you wouldn’t let them say if they were Justin Bieber.”

“Justin Bieber?” Jordan laughed.

“I think Miguel means Eminem, maybe, or Robin Thicke.” Jeanette offered, in spite of herself really.

“Whatever.” Jordan left, tottering a little on heels in spite of the dignity she was trying to assume, and that was the decision made.

***

Miguel spent the rest of the night bitching about Jordan, her choice of club, and her preference of music. It was the first time Jeanette had seen him properly upset about anything. She tried initially to make small talk with Peter instead, but couldn’t help wondering whether Miguel had a point – but then, Jordan had a point too. And Jeanette blamed herself for not having been able to do anything to keep them from arguing, and Jordan had left and everything had turned a bit shit. Plus, the guys here were definitely rank. She looked around for Peter and another imaginary cigarette but he’d wandered off. She looked for him at the bar, the dancefloor, the smoking area, even the men’s toilets before going to ring him. He’d sent a text. “Decided to fuck off. Hope you luv the vibe. Look after Miguel for me ;)”

Miguel was off his tits and back to one of his usual lines of conversation, which was that he totally loved Jeanette, and if he was straight she’d totally be his wife.

“What about Jordan?”