by Anna Roberts
“I just bought a helicopter thanks to that ‘dot com nonsense’,” he says, curling his lip.
“Good for you, dear. Perhaps if you get the bathroom fittings gold plated they’ll let you go on MTV Cribs.”
He glares at her. “You see what I have to put up with?” he says, turning to me. “She spends all her time trying to fix her patients when her own family is as dysfunctional as hell...”
“Physician, heal thyself,” says Claudia, rolling her eyes and burying her nose in her wine glass.
“...why don’t you tell Hanna, mother? Tell her about how you bought me from my real mother? The crack whore?”
Claudia Trescothick-Neigh puts down the glass and sighs. “For the last time, Crispian – don’t overdramatise. She was a nice little college girl from Iowa who simply didn’t have the money for a baby or the stomach for an abortion.” She turns back to me and smiles a Bordeaux tinted smile. “We still exchange cards at Christmas. Sweet girl. Very bright. No idea what went wrong.”
Crispian snorts. He is furious, red-faced and rather sexy. “Oh yes. I wonder what went wrong,” he snarls, sarcastically. “What could possibly go wrong with a child raised by a closet-case and a hopeless fucking soak?”
“Darling, really – that’s not fair. I may be a soak but I’m still an optimist...”
“Is that why you abandoned Alicia?” he yells. “Your buoyant, cheerful spirit persuaded you to send her all the way across the ocean, did it?”
She rubs the bridge of her nose and sighs. “Crispian, Alicia thought she was a videogame character. We’ve been through this...”
“...you didn’t even try to help her...”
“...yes I did. We all did, but after about fifteen different psychiatric referrals we came to the conclusion that the best way to help her was to let her go to Japan and experience the reality of being yet another dumpy white girl in cat ears.”
“Really?” says Crispian. “And how’s that working out, Mom?”
“All right, fine – she did call me a ‘baka gaijin’ the last time I spoke to her but at least she’s stopped miaowing. It’s a start, Cris.”
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I say. I say it so softly that they double take.
“I know what you’re trying to do,” I say again, looking his mother in the eye. “You’re trying to control him...”
“...Hanna...”
I hold up a hand and continue. “You don’t want to cut the apron strings because you can’t bear the idea of your little boy becoming a man.”
Crispian’s mother arches her eyebrows as far as her Botox permits, but I’m not scared of her. I’m a woman now – I don’t need to take this shit from blondes. “That’s why you tell me he’s strange and obsessive and try to scare me away from him,” I say. “Because you can’t bear the idea of me taking away the baby you wanted more than anything else in the world.”
She presses her lips together. “Yes,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “That’s probably it. Somehow, with my Doctorate in Psychiatry, I must have missed that.”
“I’m a student of Literature, Mrs. Neigh,” I say. “While I may not understand the medical jargon I still see a great deal of the world, reflected in the mirror of art. My literary heroes are Heathcliff, Romeo, Edward Cullen...your son’s obsessive streak doesn’t scare me. It only wakes a dark, sleeping passion within me.”
She stares at me for another moment and takes another sip of Margaux. “Well,” she says. “You’re both adults and perfectly capable of calling the police, I suppose. If it’s obsessive you want then you’ve certainly got that...”
“...mother, will you just leave?”
“I’m going, I’m going,” she says, gathering up her giant purse that probably costs five times more than my car. She glances at me, knowing she’s beaten. “Best of luck, dear – it’s been two years now and so far nothing has trounced his obsession with those stupid fucking ponies.”
Chapter Nine
Several Pages of E-Mail Filler
When I get home, Kate is packing.
"Oh," she says, almost dropping a box of stuff in her surprise. "It's you."
"Of course it's me. I live here."
"Of course you do," she says, putting down the box and smiling. "We were going to tell you - honest. I just...I hadn't figured out how to explain it to you."
Jesús comes by carrying a desk chair. He spots me and says "Oh shit."
"Are you...moving house?" I murmur. "Were you going to move house without telling me?"
Kate shakes her head. "Noooo. Nothing like that. Anyway, where the hell have you been? We've been worried sick."
"No we haven't," says Jesús. She kicks him in the ankle.
I smile secretively, and go to my room. They haven't started packing in there yet. Kate follows me.
"Hanna, did you bone him last night?"
Bone - it's Kate's word for sex. I hate it. It's devoid of warmth. She also likes bang, fuck, screw, pork, rollin' over in the clover and fuckytime. She sees me shudder and sighs.
"I'm sorry," she exhales. "Did you 'make love' or whatever the book club set are calling it these days?"
I fold my arms around myself. There's an empty space in my chest when I think of him saying 'I don't make love - I clop.' I don't even know what that is. "We were intimate, yes," I murmur.
"Oh. Intimate," says Kate, in a cod English accent. "You don't look too happy about it."
"It was nice. I liked it." And I did. It's just...well...the ponies were offputting. I used to play with My Little Ponys when I was six. It's a bit strange having them staring at me while I'm doing that - like staring into your own childhood at a time when you should absolutely never, ever be thinking about children.
“I met his mother,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “While you were fucking him?”
“No. After. She turned up for breakfast. She’s kind of a harpy. And there’s something weird going on with the sister – Alicia. She thinks she’s a cat or something. Do you think it’s something sinister?”
Kate shakes her head. “Nah. Probably just plot set-up for a sequel.”
“A sequel?”
“I know right? There’s hardly enough plot for one book, let alone a sequel, but what are you gonna do? Twenty-first century publishing’s a dirty old game.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about. "When were you going to tell me you were moving house?" I ask, determined to gain the upper hand in the conversation.
"Um...soon," she prevaricates. "I dunno - it's like Jesús changed everything. This new place - Jesús is going to be moving in too and I didn't know how you'd feel about it, since he'd started being such a sex pest towards you and everything."
"Kate, I hardly think one incident in a parking lot makes him a sex pest."
"No, but it kind of does," she mumbles. "When he gets really fucking high like that he always tries to stick his head under girls' skirts - it's like he was a dog in a previous life or something."
"Didn't hear you complaining, mi Catalina!" Jesús calls out, from the hallway.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" shouts Kate. "What part of 'Don't eat Hanna's pussy in the motherfucking parking lot' didn't sound like a complaint to you, you lazy prick?"
Jesús sticks his head around the door. "Grammatically speaking it was more of a command than a complaint," he grins. "A complaint would have maybe involved a please but you went straight to the imperative. Like always." His smile widens even further when he sees me. "Hi Hanna. Did you bone the billionaire?"
"Out," says Kate, getting up off my bed. She chases Jesús off, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which are currently pretending to be trapped in an invisible box. It's annoying, to say the least.
I lie on my bed for a while and think about all the packing I'm going to need to do. Then the doorbell rings. It rings twice and I wonder why nobody is answering it, but when I go out into the hall I can hear Kate and Jesús have taken their fight into her room.
It would be too much like consideration on their part to actually shut up while I open the door, so they carry on. Naylor is standing at the door. He wears his black suit and earpiece, only this time instead of a bouquet of pink roses he's carrying what looks like a laptop computer. There's a bow tied around it and a helium balloon bearing the face of the pink pony whose name I should probably know by now but don't.
"Compliments of Mr. Neigh, Miss," he says.
"What?" I say, which seems to be the only thing that springs to mind. "Naylor, I can't accept this."
"I'm to come in and set it up for you, Miss," he tells me.
I wonder about Naylor. Is this all he does - delivering gifts for Crispian Neigh's women? How many other women have there been, how many other bouquets and computers? His eyes flicker towards the door, where Kate is yelling like a woman in a headlock. Which she probably is. She and Jesús like to wrestle when they're drunk. (Which is often.)
"Oh God, oh God, oh Jesus..."
"It's pronounced Hay-soos," says Jesús, in a strangled voice.
"Is everything alright in here?" asks Naylor tentatively.
"Fine, Naylor," I say, trying to sound patrician and unflappable, like Claudia Trescothick-Neigh. "Please, return the computer. I can't accept expensive gifts like this." Part of me wants to, but all I can think about is what Kate will say. The word 'ho' will probably figure into the conversation somewhere.
Naylor doesn't move.
"You have to go now," I say. "And take that with you."
He still doesn't move. Something goes thud in the living room. Kate has probably killed Jesús, or vice versa.
"Naylor, really," I say. "Take the laptop back to Mr. Neigh and tell him thanks but no thanks. This is beginning to feel sinister."
"I can't do that, Miss," he tells me. "Mr. Neigh's orders. Do you want me to configure it for your Wifi or do you want to wait until you've finished moving house?"
I stare at the computer. It leers at me like the lid of Pandora's Box. Part of me wants it - really wants it. If I could learn the internet then maybe I could be a bit more...normal. Nobody would ever laugh at me for using silver pens and Hello Kitty stationery again. And I could learn things. Sex things. And then he might like me even more than ponies.
It's an investment really.
Kate comes back out as Naylor's leaving. "Holy shit," she says, looking out of the window and seeing the company SUV drive away. "He bought you a fucking computer?"
"I know what you're going to say..."
Kate buttons her shirt and sits down at the dining table, where the computer is all set up and ready to go. "No way," she murmurs. "What's the spec on this thing? I don't think I've ever seen one like this before. Hey, Jesús - come and check this out."
Jesús comes out of the living room. He looks flushed but they're obviously friends again. "Where the hell did your boyfriend get this, Hanna?" he says.
I turn about fifty shades of red all at once. My boyfriend. How I would love for him to be my boyfriend, but he's too rich, too remote. And I can't help thinking the pony thing is a little bit weird.
"Holy shit – look at this thing. He probably built it from secret plans that Steve Jobs handed over on his deathbed," says Kate, taking a drag from Jesús' horrible herbal cigarette. "It's so thin."
"I know right? And look at that screen." Jesús tugs at the ribbon. "And what's with the My Little Pony balloon?"
I want to tell someone. I want to, so much, but I remember what he said. "You're the only woman who has ever seen inside this room, Hanna."
So I say "I like My Little Pony," and Jesús laughs.
"Why doesn't that surprise me?" he says.
The computer makes a 'broop' noise and Kate stares at it. Oh my God. She's broken it already.
"Relax," she says. "It's just your e-mail."
E-mail? I have e-mail?
Kate touches something and the screen changes.
"There," she says. "E-mail."
From: Crispian Neigh [email protected]
To: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
Welcome to my world, Hanna. A world of delights and fascination await you.
"And Warcraft," says Jesús.
"Not to mention fat, busty dwarf maidens," mutters Kate. "You want to reply, Hanna?"
I nod. "What do I do?"
"Click here. It'll fill in your addresses automatically. Just type your response in there. I can't believe I'm having to explain shit like this to a person under seventy. How do you miss the entire digital revolution?"
"Crispian says I'm self contained," I say, with a measure of pride.
"Well, I guess that's one word for it," opines Jesús. Kate kicks him again.
"Don't start fighting again, you guys."
"We weren't..." he begins, but once more I hear her boot crack against his ankle bone.
"Shh," says Kate, her hands almost tender as she ties a length of pink ribbon around my hair. "She's so self-contained. Let's keep it that way."
Chapter Ten
Three Things You Should Never Google Image Search
From: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
To: Crispian Neigh [email protected]
Thank you for the computer. You shouldn't have. You REALLY shouldn't have. I don't even know how to work this thing.
Hanna.
From: Crispian Neigh [email protected]
To: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
You'll get the hang of it, toots. Computers are idiot-proof these days. Even my brother Bennett can work one and you could armour plate a presidential limo with his skull. Can't stop thinking about last night. :) You were a very naughty little filly. And methinks I rather liked it. ;)
From: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
To: Kate Hannigan [email protected]
Kate, can you help me? Crispian just e-mailed me and he used all these weird little symbols and I don't know what they mean. What does ;) mean?
Hanna.
From: Kate Hannigan [email protected]
To: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
Are you fucking serious? It's a winky face. Turn your head to one side and wink - get it? Didn't you ever text this shit on your phone? By the way, are you planning on doing anything today, because I've got better things to do than pack up your extensive collection of macramé fucking potholders and ugly china cats. I know you're all excited because a rich weirdo busted your hymen and bought you a computer and I'm cool with that, but this is no time to turn into an internet addict. Seriously. Now get off your ass.
From: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
To: Kate Hannigan [email protected]
I don't know what you mean. It doesn't look a bit like a winky face. And for your information, the intimacy and the computer were in no way related, so wash your mind out with soap and water. I'll start packing my stuff as soon as I've e-mailed Crispian back, okay?
Hanna.
P.S. What does :) mean?
From: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
To: Crispian Neigh [email protected]
Hi. Me again. ;) I think I'm winking at you. Is that right? Are we flirting by e-mail? This is so exciting. I've never had a computer before. I suppose I should, shouldn't I - what with you being an internet billionaire and everything. I have to go now because I need to pack - we're moving to a new loft apartment across town. I only found out this morning. Nobody ever tells me anything.
Hanna.
From: Hanna Squeal [email protected]
To: Crispian Neigh [email protected]
Okay, one more thing and I really MUST turn off the computer, but I just got this weird e-mail out of nowhere. I don’t know why this guy would contact me but maybe he was trying to get a hold of you instead. Do you know any Nigerian princes?
Hanna.
I spend the rest of the day thinking about Crispian Neigh and trying to ignore the bitchy mime now living
in my head. Thankfully her repertoire is pretty limited. She can only do the invisible box and walking into the wind, so if she attempts anything more complicated it's easier to ignore. Of course, at certain times she has recourse to the middle finger - like, quite often actually. Why does my subconscious hate me so much?
In the evening Kate orders pizza and keeps pawing pepperoni grease over my brand new keyboard. When I call her out on it I get the third degree.
"You let him buy you a computer before third date?"
"I'm borrowing it," I protest. "Because it makes him happy."
"That's convenient," says Kate. "It's all fun and games when the things that make him happy are the things that make you happy, but what happens when the things that give him the happies down below are things that make you feel bored. Or nasty. Or like there's never going to be enough soap in the known universe to wash away the ewww feeling?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's Relationships 101, Hanna. Sexual compatibility."
I fail to keep the smug look off my face. "We're very compatible, thank you very much."
She laughs. "No way. You're telling me he not only popped your cherry but flicked your bean to the point of satisfaction?"
"He did, as a matter of fact."
"I don't believe you. What did it feel like?"
I blush and stare at my half played game of solitaire. "Like...shivery. Like shattering into a million pieces and coming back together again. It came out of nowhere - every time."
Kate sits down on a tea-chest and lights up a horrible cigarette. "Every time?"
"Three times," I say. My Inner Goddess has given up attempting to mime and now simply looks surly, arms folded and one painted eyebrow arched to match the curl of her lip.