The Three Halves of Martyn Manning: Chapter Eight - Revelation - Part One

He
used to love telling people, especially foreigners,
how much he loved living in England, particularly
the weather. Whenever
anyone moaned about the cold and the wet he’d be
straight back
at them.

 

“But
that’s the beauty of it, don’t you see? That’s exactly what I
love, the
uncertainty! I
pull back the bedroom curtains every morning and never know what I’m
going to find! It might be sunshine or rain or grey and overcast,
I’ve
no idea.
I’d much rather that than knowing it’s gonna be glaring sun every
day. And
then there’s the unpredictability, the four seasons in a day thing.
It could be raining when I first
open
the curtains then sunny an hour later, and raining again an hour
after that. Warm
one minute, cold the next. I
love it.”

 

Given
that statement
you’d
have thought he’d have had
the foresight to take
an umbrella. But he didn’t. When
he started out for The Feathers it had been a bright but blustery May
evening. Then
half way to The Feathers the skies grew suddenly dark and the heavens opened in
a heavy spring shower. The Martyn that arrived at The Feathers was
drenched and bedraggled and considering a re-assessment of his
passion for the
English
weather. He
was also gagging for a pint. Luckily Simon and Charlie were already
there, half-way through their first while
Martyn’s
pint
rested
on the bar beside them. They
were bickering about the previous weekend’s F.A. Cup Final. As Martyn
approached Charlie broke off.

 

“Whoa!
Look
what the cat’s dragged in. It’s
the Roddington Romeo!
Has
it been raining mate?
You
look a bit wet.”

 

“Fuck
off. Anyway,
what’s this Romeo
shit?”

 

Simon
spoke up. “We’ve been trying to think up appropriate nicknames in
tribute to your all-conquering and
irresistible
essence of masculinity and I’m afraid that’s the best we could
come up with. We
tried the
Stud of Stackhampton, but that didn’t really work, largely ‘cos
we don’t live in Stackhampton. What was the other one Charlie?”

 

“It
wasn’t very good. The Lewkwood Lothario or something crap like
that. So
my friend, who you been shagging this week?”

 

“Bollocks
I’m
not telling you,
I’ll
tell you later. I
want to finish on the Cup Final first. And I haven’t been shagging
anyway. You two are just pervs. Broad should have been sent off for
that tackle.”

 

“Never!”

 

“No
way!”

 

“He
played the ball!”

 

“No
he
didn’t! He went straight through him!”

 

They
argued about the match for the whole of the first pint and half way
down the second, until a brief lull in the conversation when Charlie
could contain himself no longer.

 

“So
how come no shagging this week then Cassanova? You losing your
touch?”

 

“Well,
I suppose
I might be actually. I did go on a date.”

 

“Well
go on then, tell us all about it. Let’s have the gory details.”

 

The
pub was empty except for a few regulars in
dark corners, muttering to
themselves over
almost drained glasses,
so the three men
felt
able to talk confidently without lowering their voices.
Unfortunately,
they suffered a common delusion found
amongst many
drinkers, even sensible, successful professionals
like Martyn, Charlie and Simon. Perhaps it’s
particularly
common in sensible
successful professionals
like Martyn, Charlie and Simon.
They
could
never have consciously articulated it as
they
weren’t even aware of it, but deep down inside they knew with
complete certainty that there was a magical invisible baffle which
ran from the ceiling to the bar top, which prevented the bar staff
from hearing what they were saying. Consequently they would never have dreamt that Margaret
the barmaid was listening intently, memorising every word of their conversation. The highlight of her week was recounting the details of
Martyn’s adventures to her
rapt friends
over coffee at the village
hall Monday
Club. After
all, Martyn had the biggest house in the village, except
for The Manor, and
he was a successful architect, so
really
it
was a matter of public interest. She
was resentful and curt with any customer who called her away for
service and
caused her to miss anything. She
pricked up her ears as Martyn began to speak.

 

“It’s
not all about the
shagging
you know. I’m trying to find a life partner here. Anyway,
I met this girl on
Tuesday
night. She
was called Sue.
She
was OK looking, not a stunner but not a munter either, perfectly acceptable.
Met her at The
Lodge in Stanton. It’s a nice place, thought
it might impress her. Booked
a room just in case I got lucky.”

 

“Yeah
it is a
nice place,”
said Charlie,
“We
went there for our twentieth. But go on.”

 

“Well
we had a nice dinner, pleasant conversation, but she made a
couple of comments early
on that she never shagged on a first date. Fine,
no problem, good
to know where I stand.
But I thought I’d try it on anyway and asked her up for coffee and
then
because of
what she’d said about no-shag first dates I
was quite
surprised
when she
said yes. But
of course I wasn’t gonna argue. We
went upstairs and lay on the bed and watched a bit of TV and she
showed me some funny videos of her kids on her phone. Then
we
had a bit of a cuddle and things were going well so I put my hand
down the front of her pants, even got my finger in. I
thought I’d cracked it but then every time I went to undo
her jeans and get them off she pushed my hands away. She
said I could have a wank if I wanted but that
she
wasn’t going to do it and then
I
couldn’t be bothered.”

 

“What
a fucking
tease!”

 

“Well,
it’s her body, it’s up to her what she does with it. So
we wrestled like that for ten minutes then her phone went off. She
said it was her son and she had to go pick him up from the station so
she got up and left. I don’t
know if it was a genuine call
or a set-up to give her an excuse to leave. Anyway,
the
thing was, she
didn’t come right out and say it, but I certainly got the
impression that although
she didn’t shag on a first date she’d
definitely shag on a second one if there was one. Right?
Well the
thing is, when I got home there was a message from her saying what a
good time she’d had and would
I
like to meet again? So
the question is gentlemen, can I be arsed?”

 

“Go
for it.”

 

“You
might as well, a shag’s a shag.”

 

“I
suppose.”

 

A
regular drained his pint and ambled up to the bar for a refill.

 

“Be
back in a second Bill!”
said Margaret,
sidling into the store-room where she kept a pen and jotter. She
didn’t want to forget anything.

 

They
asked a couple more questions,
then Simon asked what they all thought about the celebrity DJ’s
tweet and was it racist and should he have been sacked for it? Two more pints and a large whisky each and they left the pub and went
their separate ways.

 

 

 

When
he reached home Martyn went straight to the kitchen and as he poured
himself another large whisky he heard the door of Caroline’s room
open and the sound of her footsteps coming down the stairs. He was
settled in his armchair and lighting a cigar as she entered the room.

 

“Hi
Martyn, good night down the pub?”

 

“Hi
Caroline. Yes, it was fun. Just the usual stuff. Football, politics,
music.” He didn’t mention that his sex life was also a major
topic.

 

“Good!
I just popped down to tell you that Janet skyped the kids earlier and
then they went to bed no problem and they’re fast asleep now.”

 

“Great.
Thanks for letting me know.”

 

“Oh
and by the way, Katie’s sleeping in her ‘nest.’ ”

 

Martyn
laughed.

 

“Fine.”

 

In
Martyn’s bedroom there was a gap of about half a metre between his
bed and the outside wall. Every now and then his eight year-old
daughter would wedge herself and her duvet into this gap and spend
the night fast asleep next to him. She called it her “nest”. He
supposed it was some sort of security thing but he thought it
wonderfully cute. He’d often tried but he couldn’t even begin to
express in words how much he loved his kids. He sighed. He supposed
most parents felt exactly the same. He knew some parents didn’t.

 

Caroline
reached across the kitchen table and picked up a banana.

 

“Do
you want me for anything else, I’m binge-watching a box set
upstairs?”

 

“No
I’m fine. Off you go, have a good binge-watch.”

 

Alone
again in the silence and dim light of the kitchen he took a gulp of
his whisky and started his descent into deep thought. He enjoyed this
part of his week. He called it his “Friday Night Mull”. His first
thought was that he was drinking too much. This would have to be his
last whisky before bed and he’d have to cut down a lot generally.
He’d start tomorrow. Then he thought about his conversation with
Caroline. So Janet had skyped the kids. Well, that was good of her,
but funny how she only ever managed to find the time to skype the
kids when she was pretty sure Martyn would be out. He’d not spoken
a word to her for months now. He picked up his phone and checked his
banking app. Yup, she was still sending him chunks of money, big
chunks as well, but apart from that nothing. You’d have thought
she’d give him the odd call or e-mail just for old times sake.
Thank God he had Caroline, only nineteen but so reliable, honest and
professional even at that age. She hadn’t had to come down and tell
him that Janet had skyped and then ask if he wanted anything else, it
was well outside her official hours and it could have kept till
morning. And she was bloody good looking as well, with her slim
figure and lithe limbs, pert breasts and delicious bum, shoulder
length corn blonde hair and that impeccable public school accent. But
then he’d always had a thing for posh girls. Nevertheless she’d
make one young man, or more likely several young men, very happy one
day. She was going to be tricky to replace. And Oh My God! It was
only a few months now till she was leaving for uni! He really needed
to get moving urgently on her replacement. His thoughts turned to his
date with Sue and whether he should pursue her or not. He picked up
his phone again to check his dating app but then put it down again
without doing so, partly because he had a rule never to make
important decisions while half-pissed but mainly because he just
couldn’t be bothered. You know, this dating app thing wasn’t all
it was cracked up to be. OK, he’d had a few shags and that had been
fun but in terms of finding a soulmate it was going nowhere. He was
pretty drunk now and his mind started meandering down paths which
when sober would have displayed a “No Entry” sign. He needed to
be able to find someone like Caroline, someone attractive, clever,
funny and kind. What if he could seduce Caroline then persuade her to
stay and not go to uni? Kill two birds with one stone? Don’t be an
idiot Martyn, she’s nineteen. Problems, problems, problems. He
needed to get to bed and let his subconscious dwell on them. It was
surprising how often that worked.