Greg had been trying to get out of his relationship with Joy for several weeks. She wasn’t going to show her famous dad his novel, so what was the point? He was in such a hurry to get to the top he couldn’t waste any more time on her. He didn’t realise she was actually a meal ticket in her own right.
Because Joy was thinking about opening a shop to sell science fiction toys, movie memorabilia and comics. There was a premises in Neal Street she had her eye on, and she’d been talking to the owner about leasing it. She even had a possible name for her shop: Time Machine. Because of her mum. Coira had auditioned for a lead role in the film, but it had gone to Yvette Mimieux. Joy always thought her mum would have been great in it.
Greg was too interested in his own future to see that Joy had one, too. However, he was sensible enough to realise his exit strategy needed careful handling. It had to be done slowly so Joy would do the dumping and he could pretend to be upset and reluctantly accept their relationship was at an end. A headbutt-free solution. But, unfortunately, she didn’t seem to be taking his hints. Greg finally, reluctantly, confided in Dave about it.
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‘I don’t see how I can end our relationship without pain, Dave.’
Dave nodded in agreement. ‘Telling her is not really an option. Let’s face it, Greg, you’re rather attached to your lungs.’
‘You don’t think she’d take it well?’
Dave grinned sadistically.
‘You’re right,’ agreed Greg. ‘She’d frisbee my goolies out the window.’
‘So let’s get back to something more important,’ said Dave. ‘My sex life. I’m getting bed sores from my lack of activity.’
This is excellent news, Dave thought. If their relationship was over anyway, he wouldn’t need to show Joy the pages he photocopied from Greg’s notebook after all.
Joy entered with a payment form for Greg to sign. ‘The latest episode of Feral Meryl is out, Greg. Readers love it. It’s so … emotional.’
‘Oh, yeah?’ said Greg, indifferently, not even bothering to look up at her.
‘See for yourself.’ She opened a copy of Shandy under his nose so he was forced to look at the drawn version.
Greg cast a quick eye over his story and grunted, ‘It’s okay.’
Joy turned to Dave. ‘Dave, have a read of it and you’ll see what I mean.’
‘Must I, Joy?’ sighed Dave. ‘I’ve really got more important things to do. Like cleaning my comb.’
‘You must, Dave,’ she said menacingly.
‘Why?’
She leaned threateningly over him. ‘You could learn from it.’
‘Okay,’ said Dave. ‘I shall be thrilled, as always, to read it.’
He decided to skim through the episode at high speed to keep her happy.
Once again the opening caption read:
‘Feral Meryl was a wild girl, brought up by wolves in the wilds of Berkshire. She was rescued by her friend Mandy who was trying to stop her being sent to a Special School.’
The gist of what he speed-read was:
After recovering from being shot by the Farmer, Feral Meryl had gone to school with Mandy, who tried to pass the wolf girl off as a normal girl.
All was going well until she ate her maths book, bit another girl, Phoebe, in the ankle, and licked Mandy’s face in class. Phoebe became even more suspicious of Meryl after she ran round the 1500-metre track at a record-breaking speed, and she alerted the Dog Catchers.
Meryl was cornered in the playground by the Catchers, who put a noose around her neck and dragged the growling, frightened girl into a van and drove away with her.
Meryl’s sad face looked out the van’s back window and she was pawing and howling as Mandy desperately ran after her.
Mandy lamented to herself, ‘They’re taking Meryl to a Special School! What will they do to her there? And … Where will it all end?’
‘Yes, it’s excellent,’ said Dave. ‘It’s extremely good.’
‘You read that very quickly,’ said Joy suspiciously.
‘I just couldn’t put it down, Joy. It’s a page turner.’
Joy turned her attention to Greg.
‘Did you like it? Isn’t it beautiful? It really made me feel for Mandy and Meryl,’ said Joy expectantly. ‘I was almost in tears when I looked at it.’
‘Yeah? I suppose it’s okay.’ Greg shrugged. ‘But I wrote it, Joy. So … it’s not really for me to say.’
‘I meant: Did you like the art?’
‘Yeah, it’s all right. If you like that sort of thing,’ shrugged Greg coldly.
Joy tried another approach. ‘You coming to the My Gang Christmas party then?’
‘Joy, I’d love to,’ sighed Greg, ‘but I’m afraid I’ve got to get back to my novel.’
‘Oh, that’s a pity,’ said Joy.
‘Yes, isn’t it? The novel you don’t want your dad to read.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Dave, quick as a flash.
‘Sorry, Dave,’ scowled Joy. ‘It’s Bring a Bottle, not Bring a Sherbert.’
‘Would you like an edible bracelet, Joy?’ Dave persisted, bringing one out from his confectionery box. ‘It’s got sweet lovehearts. It was given away with Chelsea Girl. It’s really gear.’
Joy regarded it balefully. ‘No, Dave. It’s not really me. It’s more you.’
‘I thought you’d admire my thrift.’
‘It’s not thrifty. It’s mental.’
Dave sighed. ‘I take rejections from women really badly. Some of them even sent me rejection slips, you know?’
‘Oh, don’t look so sad, Dave. You are really sweet.’ Joy looked at the pair of edible false teeth Dave was dropping into a tumbler of water. ‘Like a suicidal diabetic.’
Dave opened another comic free-gift sachet. ‘Joy, be honest with me. Would I ever stand a chance with you?’
He poured the brown powder inside into the glass. ‘Tell it like it is. I can take it.’
‘Well,’ Joy replied, observing the the powder fizzing like Alka-Seltzer. ‘You know …’ She watched Dave stirring it with the stick of his liquorice pipe. ‘You’re very …’
Dave held the drink up. ‘Toffee fizz.’ He took a sip.
‘You’ll find the right woman,’ said Joy finally. ‘She’s out there. You’ve just got to cast your net wider. You’re a wonderful catch. Any other girl would be glad to have you.’
Dave looked up, a brown toffee moustache on his upper lip. ‘You’re not just saying that?’
‘Truthfully.’
‘But what about you, Joy?’
‘With me, Dave, you haven’t got close enough to be rejected. You’re at stage one: indifference.’
And she turned on her heel and exited.
‘Did you hear that, Greg?’ said Dave. ‘I think that was a result. She’s using you to toy with me. You’re going to get badly hurt.’
‘If only I was,’ lamented Greg. ‘God. She’s just not taking the hints, is she?’
‘Yes, I was pleased to see you’re as much of a shit as I am.’
‘If only she were interested in you. It would make my life so much easier.’ Greg shook his head sadly and returned to reading his magazine, German Secret Weapons.
‘So how could I pull her?’ Dave asked. But Greg wasn’t listening. ‘Greg? Greg? Greg!’
‘What?’
‘Sorry to drag you away from the Nuremberg Rally. How could I pull her?’
Greg thought about it briefly. ‘Truthfully?’
‘Truthfully.’
‘You’ve no chance.’
‘That’s not what my mum says.’
‘Your mum is dead, Dave. Her opinion doesn’t count.’
‘She was right about us getting our sentence on Laarf! cut.’
Greg put down his magazine and gave Dave his full attention. ‘Even with your new look, Joy is just too tough a nut to crack. It can’t be done.’
‘But I need a woman in my life. Apart from my mother. Give me some advice. Throw me some crumbs from your Olympian table.’
Greg clicked his pen and looked at Dave from every angle, like a farmer evaluating a horse. ‘Okay, what is it you’re looking for?’
‘A pulse?’ Dave toyed with the sweets in his sweet box. ‘A liquorice lush. A Trebor trollop. Someone to give me a walnut whip.’
Greg shook his head. ‘Forget it. Double your rejections. Become bisexual.’
‘Like you and your friend Bernie?’
‘That is so out of order,’ said Greg, his face going grey.
‘Sorry, I should show more sympathy for your loss,’ said Dave, thinking to himself it was five years since Bernie died. Why did he have to keep whinging on about him. It was only his best friend who died for God’s sake.
Greg stared thoughtfully at Dave. ‘Sympathy … yes… maybe. Maybe. Yes. That might just work.’
‘What? What?’ asked Dave expectantly.
Greg looked inspired. ‘Sympathy shag.’
‘Make Joy feel sorry for me, eh?’ Dave smiled. ‘Last resort of a scoundrel? I like it.’
‘Yes, you see I was just admiring your insincerity over the death of my best friend.’
‘I do try.’
‘And you succeeded. Your phoney sympathy didn’t fool me for one moment, of course, but it was still very good, Dave.’
‘Thank you very much.’
‘You could pull it off.’
‘It will make a change to pulling myself off. Although Joy is not renowned for her compassion or pity.’
‘It has been known. She’s a much gentler and kinder woman than you think.’
‘If you say so,’ said Dave sceptically.
He leaned forward, intrigued. ‘So come on. How would I reach her mythical softer side?’
Serial Killer by Pat Mills & Kevin O’Neill is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.