Clovenhoof (21 page)

“What’s the matter with me? I think you’re the one with the problem, actually,” said Nerys, indicating his rapidly shrivelling member.

He gathered the duvet around him, tucking it underneath his body.

“I want you to leave. This is just too weird for me.”

“Too weird?” spat Nerys. “I’ll tell you what would be weird. It would be really weird if we were all
born
with the knowledge of how to give the perfect blow job! How on earth can you criticise a person who’s trying to give you the best possible time? Would you prefer it if I just made it up as I went along?”

“Er, yes.”

Nerys flung herself off the bed and stamped around, gathering her clothes. She stuffed her sequinned knickers into her handbag. They were the centrepiece of her seduction arsenal and they chafed something awful. The ingratitude of men!

“Well I hope you find some nice, mediocre girl that you’ll be very happy with,” she said as she pulled on her clothes. “I could never be happy with someone who’s prepared to take second best.”

She straightened her shoulders and strode out of the room.

Moments later she scuttled back in, grabbed the library book and the recently opened bottle of champagne and scuttled out again.

Nerys banged on the door of Flat 2a

“Jeremy! Wake up, I know you’re in there.”

She thumped the door with the base of the now empty champagne bottle.

“Jeremy! Open up!”

The door opened and she narrowly avoided smashing Clovenhoof’s face in with the bottle. She gave him a look and pushed past him into the flat.

“What do you want?” he growled. “It’s four in the morning. I was having the most delicious dream. I was back in the Old Place and we’d just opened a new wing for reality TV contestants.”

“Stop talking drivel, Jeremy, I’m having a crisis and I need help. First though, I need more wine.”

On the lounge window-sill stood a half-drunk bottle of Lambrini. She pulled a face, but swigged deeply from the bottle.

She sighed and sank into an armchair.

“When you look at a woman, Jeremy, what’s the main thing that you’re trying to find?”

“When I look at a woman?”

“Yes.”

Clovenhoof coughed and stared at his hooves.

“No, no,” he said, “it’s not like that at all.”

“Eh?”

“I mean the telescope. It’s for looking at the stars, that’s all.”

Nerys noticed the telescope by the window. She leaned over and put her eye to the eyepiece. Even in the dark, she could tell that it was angled towards a bedroom in the next road.

“Oh, I see.” She gave him a sideways look. “Well, what I really meant was what qualities do you look for in an ideal woman? Is it the superficial, physical stuff that matters, or do you want her to have a great personality?”

Clovenhoof’s face twitched with confusion.

“Ah, the second one. And the first one. Yup. Yeah, they’re both important.”

Nerys shook her head.

“You really haven’t got a clue, have you?”

Clovenhoof shook his head along with hers.

Nerys exhaled heavily and stared at the Lambrini bottle for a few long moments.

“You know what we’re going to do? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.” She gestured grandly with the bottle, spilling some wine on the telescope. “This weekend we’re going to hit the scene. You and me. There’s a singles night on at the Boldmere Oak. We’re going out on the pull.” She pulled something from her bag and started to mop up the spilt drink.

“Why would I want to go –“ Clovenhoof stopped. “ Um, are those your knickers?”

“Jeremy! Stop changing the subject.” She stuffed the damp undies back in her bag. “We need to do this or we’ll be on the shelf forever.”

“Were they sequinned?”

“Listen! Don’t you want a woman?”

“I don’t know. Do I?”

She groaned. Clovenhoof frowned.

“Those sequins, don’t they chafe?”

In the morning, Clovenhoof dropped in on Ben,

“Do I want a woman?” said Clovenhoof.

“How should I know?” said Ben, busy at his computer.

“But should I want a woman?”

“Blimey, Jeremy. It’s not like I have a lot of experience in the matter.”

“Well, you must have been out with a woman at some point, surely.”

Ben focussed on the computer screen as his face flushed red.

“Oh, I see.” said Clovenhoof. “Okay. You must have thought about it though. Why do men want to have women in their lives? Lots of them do.”

“You know...”

“No, I don’t.”

“Please. Don’t make me spell it out.”

“What?”

Ben turned away from the screen to study Clovenhoof’s face.

“They have,” he coughed and dropped his gaze, “they have
front bottoms
. And boobs.”

Clovenhoof rolled his eyes.

“I know that,” he said, “but are they really that much fun to play with?”

“No idea,” said Ben, turning to the screen again. “Look at the detail on these soldiers, mmmm.”

Clovenhoof peered forward to see a miniature figure in a leather skirt and carrying a short sword. Ben ran his finger lovingly down the image and then clicked through to the checkout and entered his credit card details.

“How about the people who come into your shop?” Clovenhoof asked. “They must talk about women.”

“Well going by what they say, I think that mostly, women are useful for things like doing the cooking and washing and finding their keys,” said Ben. “That seems to be what they miss when the women leave them.”

Clovenhoof picked up Ben’s credit card and tapped it thoughtfully on the table.

“I can see that it might be useful to have a woman,” he said. “But don’t you think it might also be hard work?”

They both found that they gazed involuntarily towards the ceiling. Their eyes met but they said nothing.

“Well if you find out, let me know,” said Ben.

“Oh no, you’re coming with me.”

“What?”

“Nerys has decided that I need to go and find a woman this weekend. She plans to look for a man.”

“So what’s that got to do with me?” Ben asked.

“Well,” said Clovenhoof, slipping Ben’s credit card into his pocket, “judging by her past performance she’ll find some poor victim in the first ten minutes and leave me sitting there. Let’s face it, I’m going to need the company.”

Clovenhoof admired himself in front of the mirror. He hadn’t had a chance to wear his leather and denim gear since that ill-fated Symphony Hall concert.

There was a knock at the door.

He gave himself one last preening look.

“You’re on fire, Jeremy.”

On the landing, Nerys tottered in the highest of heels. She saw what he was wearing and pointed theatrically.

“
What
are you wearing?”

“Um, pulling clothes. Babe-magnet clothes.”

“No, no, no. You look like a rent boy. Let’s go and find you something else.”

“Look, it’s this or the smoking jackets.”

“Smoking jackets? Who are you? Hugh Hefner?”

She took a step to the side and rapped smartly at 2b. Ben emerged from his door.

Nerys sighed.

“Ben, I never thought I’d say this, but I need your clothes.”

“I’m kinda busy...,” said Ben, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.

“Helping me,” said Nerys. “I know.”

Inside, she ransacked Ben’s wardrobe and piled his arms high with anything that was both clean and vaguely wearable.

“What’s this?” she said, pulling out a bright red sheet.

“Seleucid cloak,” said Ben.

“What?”

“To go with the armour.”

Clovenhoof and Nerys just looked at him.

I’ve got the sandals too,” he said.

He picked up a pair of strappy leather sandals.

“It’s for historical re-enactments,” he said.

“Not kinky bedroom roleplay?” said Nerys.

“When has Ben ever had anyone in his bedroom?” said Clovenhoof.

“Point. He just spends his night all dressed up, alone, polishing his helmet.”

“Have you quite finished rubbishing my wardrobe, hobbies and sex life?” said Ben testily.

Clovenhoof shrugged.

“Suppose,” he said.

“Right,” said Nerys. “We’ll look through this lot. Maybe between the two of you we can make a couple of wearable outfits. No, you can leave all those white socks, we won’t be needing those.”

In the lounge, she strode over to the large blue and brass trunk.

“Any clothes in here?” she asked, reaching for the lid.

Ben launched himself in front of her and flung his arms out to ward her off.

“No!” he said. “Definitely nothing in here.”

“Keep your hair on,” mocked Nerys. “What is it? Dirty mags?”

“No,” said Clovenhoof. “He keeps them under his mattress.”

“I don’t!” Ben sat on the chest and tried to compose himself. “Sorry. It’s just private.”

They eventually made it out onto the street, fully dressed. Ben and Clovenhoof weren’t overly impressed by Nerys’s sartorial decisions.

“I don’t get why we both have to dress the same,” complained Ben. “We look like dorks.”

“Best I could do, I’m afraid,” said Nerys sniffily. “You’ve got t-shirts, Jeremy’s got jackets. It’s the closest thing to a normal person’s casual attire we’re going to get. You think yourself lucky you didn’t end up with one of his smoking jackets.”

“No, I just look like I should be selling ice cream.”

They stopped outside the Boldmere Oak. There was a poster for the over-twenty-five’s singles night in the window and a kaleidoscope of disco lights shimmering across the frosted glass.

“Right,” said Nerys. “You’re going to meet women. How will you behave?”

“Just be ourselves?” Ben ventured.

“God, no!” Nerys turned and grabbed them both by the arm. “Whatever you do, don’t be yourselves. You need to pretend you’re regular people. Say normal things. Jeremy, whatever you do, don’t start rambling about the place where you used to live. You know how you go on.”

“I do not
go on
.”

“And Ben, you are absolutely forbidden from mentioning toy soldiers.”

“Actually, they’re collectable militaria –“

“Shush! Game faces, gentlemen.”

An hour later, Ben seemed to have come to a decision.

“I reckon everyone thinks we’re a gay couple. We’re dressed in these stupid outfits, looking like we picked them out together.”

Clovenhoof, who knew two meanings of the word ‘gay’ considered Ben’s point and decided that neither applied to him at all. Not at that moment anyway.

“At least it means we can have a quiet night,” said Clovenhoof.

Three tables over, Nerys was wedged between two braying salesmen. The pair of them took it in turns to recount golfing anecdotes and guffaw at the other’s. Nerys tittered politely at the appropriate pauses.

“Well, relatively quiet, anyway,” said Ben. “How do you think Nerys stands it?”

“Do you know, I think she actually likes it,” said Clovenhoof. “Do you want another drink?”

Clovenhoof went to the bar and ordered drinks. He pulled out Ben’s credit card to pay, and then realised as the machine was presented to him that he didn’t have the pin number.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten the code.” He took the card back and started to go through his pockets, looking for money.

“Here, let me.”

A woman leaned across and passed Lennox a tenner.

Clovenhoof looked up at her. Clovenhoof had decided upon some very specific criteria for his ideal woman. She had to be legal, own her own teeth, free from disfiguring diseases and financially solvent. He was surprised to meet his perfect woman quite so soon.

“You’re very kind,” he said. “Just give me a moment.”

He scooted over to Ben with his cider and black and whispered loudly.

“Don’t look now, but I think I found a woman. No more washing for me!”

He went back to the bar and leaned against it casually. How he wished he was wearing his smoking jacket.

“I’m Jeremy,” he said, taking a manly and debonair sip of his Lambrini.

“And what do you do, Jeremy?”

Clovenhoof thought quickly. He was not permitted to mention Hell or any of his previous employment. He must say something simple and earthly.

“Well. Sometimes I weigh myself before and after having a poo.”

He smiled broadly at the woman, who looked as though she was going to say something but then she shook her head and moved down the bar.

Clovenhoof turned in confusion.

“Does that mean you don’t want to have sex?”

She did not look at him.

Lennox slid along the bar to Clovenhoof.

“You’re new to dating aren’t you, mate?”

“Yes.” he said, “You can tell?”

“Do you want my advice?” he said.

“Yes,” said Clovenhoof who felt Lennox, as a barman, must have seen all of life pass through at one time or another.

“Don’t mention sex or bodily functions, mate. Most of the ladies don’t enjoy that. And think about some grooming.”

“Grooming? What’s that?”

“Tidy yourself up. It’s the horns and the hooves.” He gave Clovenhoof a big toothy grin. “You’re ugly, mate.”

Doris turned to Betty at a corner table.

“They’re not very good at this are they?” she said.

“Well, you know Doris, they don’t have our wisdom. That only comes with age.”

“You think
we
could sort them out? You do know that they all just want to have, you know…”

“Sex?”

“Not just sex! Sex outside of marriage, Betty. I can’t agree with that.”

“Well let’s give it some thought anyway. We’ll start with Nerys, shall we?” said Betty.

“Well, there’s a case in point. She takes a different man home every week. Dreadful carry-on.”

“Why do you think she does that?” asked Betty. “It’s as if she’s always searching for something she can’t find.”

“Well she’s not going to find it with those two.” Doris indicated the salesmen. “Pair of predators if ever I saw them. Both married.”

“I know, but I think Nerys can give as good as she gets.”

“You make that sound as if it’s a good thing,” scolded Doris.

Betty shrugged.