Yours Truly

by Kirsty Greenwood

TEXT FROM: MUM

  Auntie Jan wants to sing at your wedding. She's been fed up since she was on Britain's Got Talent and Amanda Holden pressed the buzzer after 3 secs. Have added her songs to the checklist.

  REPLY TO: MUM

  Poor Auntie Jan. Not sure we want a singer, though.

  TEXT FROM: MUM

  She's ur auntie! Don't be so selfish. She wiped ur bum when u were baby.

  REPLY TO: MUM

  Okay. Will have a look at songs. x

  I arrive at the Pear and Partridge to meet Meg for the hypnotist show and am astonished to see that it’s really busy. The atmosphere is electric! So buzzing that you’d think Take That were dropping by for an impromptu jam sesh, as opposed to some dodgy hypnotist. Well, it’s unlikely he’s real is it? If he could actually hypnotise people he’d be doing shows in Las Vegas, or selling CD’s on how to stop smoking – not a Thursday night gig at a dubious Manchester pub.

  I politely push my way through the crowd and spot Meg. She's sat at a small table as close to the makeshift performance area as it’s possible to get. She looks gorgeous as ever with her baby fine blonde hair and Jessica Rabbit curves accentuated in a too tight red tea dress. Sexy, yet homely, a bit like a slutty farmer’s wife.

  As I make my way towards the table, I spot a load of colourful posters dotted around the walls of the pub.

  The Amazing Brian. Hypnotising, Mind Reading, Spell Casting, etc. Performing at the Pear and Partridge. Ticket Only. No photos. No vids.

  “Your hair isn’t that bad!” Meg says as soon as she sees me, before kissing me softly on the cheek.

  I reach my hand up to my head. I’ve managed to flick the ends out so that it doesn’t look quite so bowl-shaped.

  “You’re just being nice.”

  “You know I don’t do nice. We’ll have to dye it though. Totes. It’s stripy. Actually, it’s a little bit like that cat you used to have when we were kids.”

  “Tracy.”

  “Yeah, that’s it - Tracy the tabby! Aaaah. May she RIP. Yes. We’ll definitely have to change the colour. But the cut is totally fine, very Louise Brooks. Drink?”

  She doesn’t need to hear my reply before pouring me a fishbowl sized glass of Sauv Blanc from the bottle on the table and thus reinforcing one of the many reasons why she’s my best mate.

  “Your hypnotist is called Brian?” I say after taking a long slug of my drink.

  “Actually it’s the Amazing Brian.” She says his name in a low, whispery voice. Meg is excellent at voices. She's always wanted to be a singer in a band but for the past few years she's been working as a voiceover artist. You’ve probably heard her. She voiced a really famous food advert. You know the one. Images of food looking totally amazing, like hot chocolate sauce oozing slowly out of a pudding, while a seductive sounding woman describes it all? Well the seductive sounding woman is Meg. Yes, I know. Celebrity mates. Her normal accent is a lush, friendly Geordie, which is perfect for the regular radio ads she does at Manchester’s Key 103.

  “Still… Brian?” I try to raise an eyebrow. I end up raising two, which always happens and I just have to learn to accept.

  “So what? Paul McKenna’s called Paul. And Derren Brown is called Derren. What’s that about? Derren isn’t even a real name. Anyway. It’s not his name I’m interested in. It’s the power he has to make me super svelte! Popstars can’t have muffin tops. Everyone knows that, Natty.”

  I look at her, already irresistible, and wonder, not for the first time, why on earth she thinks she needs to lose weight. She’s got the kind of wonderfully placed curves that make Salma Hayek look like a malnourished ten year old boy, but there’s just no getting through to her. Believe me, I’ve tried!

  As it nears to seven o’clock, the atmosphere in the pub charges even more. The table next to us is filled with a group of middle aged ladies, chattering away in excitement, and a crowd has formed at the side of our table. I get the same rush of excitement as I did this morning. That odd anticipation. Must be the wine. It’s a bit of a shock to the system after Olly’s non-alcoholic stuff.

  “Do I look okay?” asks Meg. “Is this dress too short? I don’t want to embarrass myself on the stage.”

  I love that it doesn’t occur to Meg that she may not be picked to be hypnotised. Like I said, totally optimistic, which is one of the many reasons I love her. She half stands up from the table to show me her dress. It’s short. As short as it’s possible to get without being in danger of arrest for indecent exposure. She looks at me expectantly before sitting back down.

  Well, I can’t tell her, can I? At least not right now. The show’s about to start and she’d only feel uncomfortable if I told her, or want to go home and change. It isn’t that bad. As long as she doesn’t move AT ALL.

  “No, it’s fine. Lovely!” I enthuse, taking another swift gulp of my drink.

  A waitress comes over with two bowls of chips and places them in front of us.

  “Oh, I ordered us chips,” Meg says, reaching for the salt shaker and sprinkling it liberally over the potatoes. “I figured you hadn’t had time to eat yet, so I hope you don’t mind that I chose? If all goes well with the hypnosis, this might be the last time I’ll ever eat chips. Imagine that! We’ll have to hurry though, 'cos I don’t want to be scoffing my face when Brian comes on!”

  I laugh and tuck into the chips. Meg tells me about her day at work, and then asks how the wedding plans are coming along. When I tell her about the dress of horrors, her face goes bright red with indignation.

  “They chose your wedding dress!” she shrieks, attracting glances from the group of ladies next to us. “They can’t do that!”

  “They did,” I sigh. “It’s fine. They were only trying to help. It’s fine.”

  “As if the bridesmaid dresses aren’t bad enough!”

  Oh yeah. Dionne has insisted on bridesmaid dresses that are black, sparkly and with tutu skirts.

  “Seriously,” says Meg, angrily stuffing chips into her mouth. “You can’t let them get away with it. They take over everything. Always have done. Why don’t you ever tell them?”

  This is a bone of contention between Meg and I. The only one that’s ever occurred in our lifelong friendship. Meg thinks my family need to back off. I don’t know. Perhaps I do think that, you know, in my deepest thoughts. But I would never say it. When Meg says it, it bristles.

  “Well it’s only one day…” I reason.

  “It’s THE day! God. Can’t they ever let you make a decision on your own?”

  “I only care about the marriage bit anyway. You know I’m not into all the fancy schmancy weddingy, cake, flowers stuff. I’m happy for them to take care of it. It’s kind of them.”

  “They want you to think they’re taking care of it! What they’re really doing is controlling it. Just like they control everything. They keep you so locked in, Nat.”

  Meg’s tirade is drowned out as a heavily reverbed voice booms out from the speakers in the pub. I’m glad of it, because what she’s saying about Mum and Dionne is really out of order. And totally, utterly wrong.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen…”

  I look behind me and see one of the barmen crouched behind the bar with a microphone.

  “… Please take your seats and give a warm welcome toooooooo…”

  Meg quickly wipes around her mouth with a napkin and pushes the remainder of her chips over to my side of the table. It now looks like I’ve had two bowls of chips to myself. Meg reaches over and squeezes my hand, her eyes shining. Her excitement is infectious, and as the lights of the pub dim, I feel a few butterflies flipping around my tummy.

  “…The Amaaaaazing Briaaaaaaan!”

  The crowd clap heartily, a few whistles and cheers. Suddenly, multi-coloured lights begin to flash above us, and a loud noise sounds out through the speakers.

  Oh God. It’s Tubular Bells - the theme from The Exorcist.

  Suddenly, emerging from the door to the tap room and politely excusing his way through the c
rowd is a short, chubby man of about sixty. He has a white beard, and a beer belly encased in a woolly brown jumper with the letters ‘AB’ knitted in red. Brian looks exactly like his name. And also a little bit like an accountant.

  Meg’s head spins sharply towards the man and her eyes widen in bewilderment. I muffle my laughter with my hand. I don’t know what we were expecting. A cape? Make-up? Paul McKenna’s hotter brother? Either way, it wasn’t this.

  The Amazing Brian half walks, half jogs over to the performance area in front of us and after catching his breath signals over to the barman to turn off the music. The barman complies and the room is plunged into silence.

  “Thank you. Thank you, everyone,” Brian murmurs into the microphone. His accent is pure Yorkshire, like something from Emmerdale. Thank yo. Thank yo, everywun.

  “Right. Well,” he says, squinting out into the crowd. “We best get on, like.”

  The audience waits. A few of them titter nervously. I look to Meg who is suddenly sat up straighter, like the kid in class who wants to be picked for the lead role in the Nativity.

  “I’m Brian. Erm, Amazing Brian,” he says pointing to the initials on his jumper. “And I am right glad to be here tonight. To, you know, hypnotise some people.”

  He pauses to take a sip of ale.

  “So, Ladies and Gentlemen. During the course of tonight’s show, strange and magical type things will happen… I have trained in the art of mind reading and hypnotic induction for many, many years. And while tonight, I use my powers for your entertainment, you need to know that what I do is very real. By agreeing to take part, you are agreeing to open up your mind to my control. “

  Meg looks at me, eyebrows raised before topping up my glass of wine. Something about the way Brian speaks, with such simple belief and conviction, rather than the brash, showy way I expected of a pub hypnotist, unsettles me.

  “I will now use my powers to choose an audience member who I sense is the most open to suggestion and persuasion.

  His gaze travels across the room. For a moment it rests on me. My tummy plummets. I put my head down and stare at the empty chip bowls.

  When I look up again his eyes are still on me, and when they meet mine they light up.

  “You, young lady,” he utters softly, staring at me so intensely it’s like he can see into the very depths of my soul. It’s an unusual moment in my life.

  Crap.

  “Erm. Sorry. I’m not here to be hypnotised,” I mutter nervously. “I came with my friend, Meg. She’s the one you want.” I nod over towards Meg who smiles at me gratefully.

  My heart is pounding at the thought that I would have to get up in front of everyone. No thanks very much!

  “I’ll do it” Meg shouts to Brian, standing up and waving at everyone. “I’d be honoured!”

  The male members of the audience, apparently buoyed by her charm, enthusiasm and dangerously short dress start to whoop and clap. Their wives throw her daggers.

  Brian pauses and squints at Meg. She returns his gaze with an eager smile. “I’m really easily persuaded!” she pleads.

  Brian’s dark eyes narrow and flicker back towards me for what in reality is probably a few seconds but feels like a few minutes, and then suddenly he smiles and chuckles lightly to himself.

  “Okay then, lass. Up you get.”

  Giving a little squeal Meg bounds up to the performance area, and (thank you, Jesus) pulls down her skirt as she goes. I giggle as I hear a few of the men sigh with disappointment.

  “So,” says Meg once she’s reached Brian. “I’ve actually come prepared. I know it’s unorthodox, but I know exactly how I want you to hypnotise me.”

  Brian looks bemused but says nothing, so Meg continues.

  “So, basically. I want you to do a hypno surgery on me. To help me to lose weight. Ideally. I’d like to lose about two stones. Primarily off my arms and backside. They’re my problem areas, you see. If you could help, it’d be great. Please.”

  “Um… No, love,” Brian shakes his head. “I’m afraid that’s not something I could do on stage.”

  Megs face falls, she folds her arms. “Why? Why not?”

  “It’s not my speciality,” Brian explains. “That kind of thing is not what I do, petal. Besides, it wouldn’t be very entertaining for the audience, would it? I'm here to do something performance based, love.”

  “Oh. Right. Yes, of course,” says Meg despondently.

  “Get on with it for the love of God!” shouts one of the women on the next table, now apparently pissed.

  Brian ignores her. “I can hypnotise you for fun, and that is all.”

  Meg looks over to me and I shrug. May as well, while we’re here. To be honest, The Amazing Brian doesn’t appear to be all that amazing, so this should be a laugh.

  “Ah, go on then!” says Meg finally. “Why not. Just…no removing of clothes, okay?”

  “Booo!” say a couple of men at the bar. Meg blushes and pulls her dress down again. I give her a thumbs up and signal to the barman for another glass of wine.

  Brian, frowning as if offended by the very thought that his act would ever include anything as plebeian as clothes shedding, shushes the audience and begins.

  “Meg. Young lady. I need you first of all to close your eyes and relax…”

  Meg shakes her shoulders as if loosening up and after glancing at me one more time, closes her eyes.

  I feel nervous and excited. I’m not sure why, because it obviously isn’t going to work. Nevertheless, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

  “… As I speak, the sound of my voice will go with you…” Brian takes hold of Meg’s small, manicured hand and clasps it between his own. His voice becomes deeper and surprisingly soothing, his Yorkshire burr strong and calm.

  “Here. Now. As you feel my energies passing into you, you understand everything I say. You are safe and in control. No…wait… I am in control… count backwards from twenty. Backwards from twenty. And when you reach one you will be under my spell. My voice will soothe you and you will sleep.”

  I stare transfixed, able only to hear the sound of my own breathing. Brian begins to countdown from twenty and Meg joins in. Her eyes are still closed so I can’t tell if she’s faking or not. I count with them in my head.

  “Sleep!” demands Brian, when they reach one, turning back towards the rest of us. On his command Meg’s head lolls forward and the audience, including me, gasp. Whoa!

  Brian’s gaze meets mine once again, his eyes flashing. I feel a shiver run through me.

  “Right!” Brian announces to the crowd, back to his normal, less melty voice.

  “Meg is now under hypnosis. For the purposes of entertainment. We’re going to try an experiment, so t’speak.”

  “What we are going to ask Meg to do is simple. We are going to ask her to be completely honest. To tell us the truth…”

  A couple of people make ‘huh?’ faces at each other. I join in.

  “…When Meg awakens, we will ask her questions. And when she answers, she will only be able to answer the deepest, darkest truth, however far it may be buried into the subconscious.”

  “How is that entertaining? This ain’t a shrink’s office!” shouts a young lad standing beside the fruit machine.

  “Well…” replies Brian pointedly. “That will depend on the questions you ask…”

  As what Brian is getting at dawns on the audience, they begin to laugh. My face burns up as I think about what kind of awful questions this audience, starved of entertainment thus far, will ask Meg. And what will she tell them? I try to catch Brian’s eye, but he studiously ignores me.

  “When I clap, Meg will awaken. Raise your hands to ask a question. Any question. And let us see if it works.” He touches Megs arm.

  “Meg, when I clap once you will awaken. When asked any question, you will tell the absolute truth. When I clap three times you will be free of trance and awaken with no recollection of having been hypnotised. You will be calm, refreshed
and fully alert.”

  A rather odd fizzy feeling begins to rise up through my body. It’s that anticipation feeling again. I totally need to stop drinking.

  Brian claps once and Meg’s eyes flutter open. She looks a little bewildered, but otherwise okay. I wait with baited breath.

  She peers over to me and smiles serenely. Does she know what she’s let herself in for?

  About fifteen hands shoot up.

  This is silly. I should stop it at once. I stand up and -

  “Oi, Meg, how many sex toys do you have?” pipes up one of the drunken ladies from the next table before I can do anything

  A huge laugh goes up throughout the room. To my utter dismay I find myself sitting back down into my chair, horribly curious to know the answer. Okay. I’ll just let her answer this one and then I’ll get Brian to stop.

  I am a bad, bad person.

  Meg smiles beatifically at the woman who asked the question before saying, ever so solemnly:

  “Ten or eleven sex toys.”

  I gasp, along with everyone else. Meg continues, unabashed.

  “My collection is impressive. I’ve got my vibrators, my whips, my love balls, my handcuffs. I have those in standard steel and pink fluffy…”

  The whole pub is still. No one knows what to say. Brian is frowning.

  Oh. My. God. I have known Meg since we were children and I never knew - shit - did she just say rubber mask?

  I stand up immediately and march over towards them. My face is hot with embarrassment for poor Meg. What the hell have I let her do?

  I’m about to turn off the microphone when I hear a massive snort.

  Meg?

  She pauses for a second before doubling over in laughter.

  What’s going on?

  “Meg? What’s going on?” I shake her shoulder. Why is she laughing? “Meg, are you okay?”

  She stands straight up and wipes away tears of mirth from her eyes.

  Once she catches her breath she says, “You daft mare! You should have seen your face! Hahahaha. Oh, gosh, your face was a picture!”

  “You… you mean it didn’t work?”

  Brian takes another sip of bitter, seemingly unbothered by this turn of events.