Goodnight, John-boy: Chapter 15
In which Dave revisits a painful confessional moment, but also gets to wow Joy with his stolen Torquemada outfit.
Welcome to Book Two of my dark comedy thriller series, Read Em And Weep.
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If you’re new to the Read Em And Weep series, start with Book One: Serial Killer.
IT WAS January 1957, and young Dave was waiting to go to confession at St Mary’s. Canon Williams had a stentorian voice and Dave could hear him telling the penitent in the cubicle to say six ‘Our Fathers’ as a penance and ‘Try to keep your temper under control in future … well, yes … even if you were provoked. Tell her I’ll visit her in hospital.’
Then the green light flashed for Dave to enter. As he hurried forward, he saw that the penitent leaving the cubicle was Mr Cooper, the newsagent, who scowled menacingly at him. But, for once, Dave was not afraid. He knew he was safe from Mr Cooper in the church. He entered the box, knelt down, and began: ‘Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been two weeks since my last confession.’
‘And what do you have to confess, my son?’ asked the shadowy figure of the Canon, just visible through the communicating grille.
‘I’ve told lies.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been cheeky.’
‘Yes.’
Outside the confessional, the Canon was friendly towards Dave; but now he sounded cold, remote, and bored. So Dave thought he’d better liven things up a bit by admitting to one of his more interesting crimes.
‘I stole money from the black babies missionary box.’
There was silence at the other end. Then the Canon responded: ‘Why did you steal from starving black babies? They were relying on that money for their next meal!’
‘I needed it, ‘Dave explained.
‘So did they,’ shouted the furious Canon. ‘They will starve to death – thanks to you!’
‘There wasn’t enough in there. And it took a lot of work to get it out,’ said the boy defensively. ‘You turn the box upside down, rattle it a bit until you see the coins through the slot, and then you use a knife …’
The Canon interrupted him. ‘That missionary box is church property, you blasphemous little boy! What did you want the money for?’
‘So I could buy my comic.’
‘What comic?’
‘Please, Father, I wanted a Fourpenny One.’
The Canon opened the dividing hatch in the confessional and snarled, ‘And here it is,’ as he punched Dave in the face.
As a dazed Dave staggered out of the confessional, he saw Mr Cooper kneeling in a nearby pew, saying his penance. Looking heavenwards, the newsagent smiled and silently thanked God.
* * *
As he prepared for his appointment with Joy, Dave wondered why he was thinking about Mr Cooper, the Canon, and that painful childhood memory. He often had unwanted recollections of his past now, and there was always a reason. He concluded it must be the robes he had filched from Fabulous Keen. Canon Williams was, after all, the chaplain of the Knights of St Pancras. And the Canon certainly had a temper. There had been that procession through the streets when the ex-cavalryman priest had exchanged blows with a protestant who accused him of having a harem of nuns. And there were other occasions when he had incurred the Canon’s wrath as a kid.
Donning the robes, Dave put the pointed, purple capirote on his head, and, clutching his script proposal for Joy, headed for the Shandy office. So why think about the confessional, he wondered? There must be some connection he hadn’t quite made yet. Something to do with sins, maybe? Mr Cooper being punished with six ‘Our Fathers’ for beating up his wife?
And then he saw it. It was obvious, once he had made the connection. Stealing money from the black babies missionary box was an act of blasphemy; it showed a lack of respect for the Church; and now he was wearing the sacred robes of a Grand Master of the Knights of Saint Pancras: surely a supreme act of blasphemy. He realised just how good blasphemy felt. He must do it more often.
His plan was to impress Joy with his robes, just as Greg had impressed her with his Mrs Thatcher witch cloak. To bring out the drama of the epic saga that he was going to propose to her. Joy had loved the Mrs Thatcher witch outfit: she would be terrified by Torquemada.
He burst into her office proclaiming, ‘Prepare to be examined for deviation! All Deviants must die!’
Nothing prepared Dave for Joy’s reaction. At the sight of Torquemada, she roared with laughter; she absolutely howled, practically falling off her chair, she just couldn’t stop.
‘Oh, fuck – I’ll wet myself! That is brilliant, Dave! That is so good!’
‘You knew it was me?’ said Torquemada, somewhat crestfallen.
‘Who else could it possibly be?’ asked Joy.
‘That’s true,’ said Torquemada.
She collapsed with laughter again, the tears streaming down her face. ‘Oh, no. No. No!’ She had to keep looking away, but when she looked back she just fell apart laughing again. ‘It’s too much. It’s too much.’ And banged her fist on her desk.
‘I’m glad you like it. I was worried you might be scared,’ said Torquemada.
‘Scared?’ Joy looked baffled. ‘Why the fuck would I be scared? Where did you get it?’
‘Don’t ask.’
‘It’s so bad, Dave, it’s good.’ She had another attack of the giggles. ‘I like men who make me laugh.’
That sounded encouraging, he thought. He handed over his storyline.
She started to read his proposal as he removed his hood and robes. ‘Oh,’ she said demurely, looking rather disappointed. ‘I thought you were going to examine me for deviation?’
‘I can put the mask and stuff back on?’ he suggested quickly.
‘Missed your chance.’
He waited nervously, wondering what her reaction would be to his story. So far, his track record with Joy was zero, whereas Greg was her star writer. He’d had a huge hit with Feral Meryl, the story of a wild girl brought up by the wolves of Berkshire. The sequel, The Return of Feral Meryl, had just begun in Shandy. As well as his Slaves of War Orphan School, inspired by Mrs Thatcher.
It was generally male script writers that Joy worked with, as female journalists tended to sneer at cheap ‘bog-paper’ comics like Shandy, which they thought were beneath them, and wouldn’t further their careers. They were more interested in writing for the glamorous glossies such as Mumsy for Today’s Young Mums, Twinset, Get It On! and My Gang. So guys like Greg and Dave had a clear field all to themselves. After all his failures, Dave wondered, could he finally score?
‘I don’t believe this,’ said Joy as she got to the end of the first page. ‘I don’t fucking believe it.’
‘It is based on facts,’ explained Dave warily. ‘I researched it carefully.’
Joy carried on to the end of the second page. ‘No. I just don’t believe it.’
Oh, shit, thought Dave. So all his efforts, all that research, all that thought, had been for nothing. Again. Just what did it take for him to break into girls’ comics?
‘Jesus,’ said Joy as she reached the third page. She looked up at him. ‘You? You? You really wrote … this?’
Dave nodded fearfully.
‘Bloody hell,’ she said.
Judging by her grim expression, he knew it was not going well. He got out a liquorice pipe and chewed it nervously.
She looked up from her reading, saw him with the pipe and took it out of his mouth. ‘Don’t do that.’ She looked at him reprovingly. ‘They’re bad for you.’
She put it in her guillotine and sliced the bowl off. Then lit a cigarette and continued reading.
‘Well?’ he asked apprehensively.
‘Shush,’ she said. She looked up at him suspiciously. ‘This, from the author of My Dead Little Pony? And Tower Block Tessa whose mother is a bag lady and father sleeps in a burnt-out car and is training to be an Olympic swimmer by swimming in the water tank on the 30th floor?’
‘You remember them well.’
As she read through to the end, she shook her head constantly. Finally, she put it down, and sighed exhaling a lungful of smoke. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Put me out of my misery, Joy.’
‘It’s brilliant, Dave.’
Dave’s jaw dropped. ‘It is?’
‘Yes, it’s fucking brilliant.’
He was so used to failure with her, he had no idea how to react to success.
‘It's a cracking story, Dave. I didn’t think you had it in you. It’s one of the most beautiful, heart-rending, deeply emotional serials I’ve ever read.’ She looked warily at him. ‘Are you sure you didn’t steal it?’
‘It’s inspired by the film, of course.’
She looked up at him, her beautiful dark eyes close to tears. ‘I had no idea you could be so sensitive.’
‘I just needed your guidance, Joy.’
The story was called The Defiant Chums and was clearly inspired by The Defiant Ones: the film about two escaped prisoners, one white and one black, who are chained together and on the run from the authorities.
Dave’s version was set in medieval Spain, when the punishment for any Jew or Arab who did not convert to Christianity was death. Torquemada, head of the Spanish Inquisition, had decreed their children should be parted from their parents, enslaved and Christianised ‘for the good of their souls.’ But the two orphans, whose parents have been executed for their beliefs, refuse. The Jewish girl, Aliza, and the Arab girl, Nasrin, are shackled together and await burning at the stake. They are forced to wear sanbenitos: dresses of execution with designs of Hell’s flames, demons, dragons and snakes on them.
The two ‘deviants’ manage to escape and go on the run, pursued by Torquemada. They learn about each other’s culture, about Judaism and Islam. Aliza explains her name means ‘Joy’ and Nasrin says her name means ‘Wild Rose’. Torquemada is determined that the ‘deviants’ will not get away: they must be ‘cleansed’ of their crimes. But, after many adventures and narrow escapes, where they save each other’s lives, the two friends finally set sail for Palestine and a new life together.
‘They’re lovely, heart-warming characters,’ said Joy. ‘I particularly like Aliza. She’s such a positive, strong young woman.’
‘Yes,’ mused Dave, stroking his chin. ‘I’m trying to think where I got her character from.’
‘A story of reconciliation between Arab and Jew: it’s never been done. Because all the media want to do is stir up hatred between them.’ Joy smiled to herself. ‘This’ll prove to my dad I’m not wasting my time in comics.’
Her father was the radical journalist, Lawrence of Fitzrovia. He disapproved of her working for Fleetpit Publications. He believed she should be doing something more worthwhile with her life.
‘I’m so moved, Dave,’ Joy continued. ‘It’s even better than Slaves of War Orphan School. It’s so lovely.’ Tears rolled down her cheeks. ‘It’s beautiful. It’s making me cry.’
Dave tenderly stroked her hair. Then ran an exploratory hand gently down her back. She said nothing as she clearly waited for his next move. Dave was determined not to miss his chance again. So he put on his Torquemada hood again and caressed her neck with his hand, which, to a casual observer, would have looked like he was sizing Joy up for the gallows. He knew she liked dressing up and role-playing, so he figured this was the perfect time. He remembered Joy saying her friend Sophie recommended saying the Lord’s Prayer backwards during sex. As he could barely remember the prayer the right way around, he wasn’t going to try that. But he thought some words might be appropriate.
‘Credo in unum Deum, Patrem omnipotentem …’
It was all he could remember from his church days and he had no idea what it meant, but he thought it sounded pretty cool.
‘Dave, what are you doing?’ asked a bewildered Joy.
‘Examining you for deviation?’ suggested Torquemada.
‘Bad timing,’ said Joy, pushing him away.
Dave took off his hood and sighed. Somehow, he could never get it right.
She saw the look of disappointment on his face as she appraised him. ‘You know, I would fuck you again, Dave, if you lost a bit of weight.’
‘I’m on a diet tomorrow, Joy.’ Dave despondently picked up his robes, ready to leave. Not that a diet would do him any good, he reflected. Somehow with Joy it would always be the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong robes.
‘Actually,’ Joy decided, ‘I’ll fuck you anyway. Let me lock the door. Draw the blinds.’
She had already taken her top off when he turned back from the window.
Goodnight, John-boy is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.