by Gary Locke
“Are you ok mate?” asked Jeremy after several more awkward, silent seconds.
“Erm, your moustache is coming off!” said Clive.
“Oh shit!” said Jeremy, instinctively reaching up and reattaching it to his face.
He spent the next minute or so stroking it firmly against his face trying desperately to re-attach it, whilst looking like a demented Bond villain. When he was finally happy that it was back looking as it should, Jeremy began to talk again, only this time in a brummie accent.
“As you can see it isn’t real – it’s something I bought when my attempt at joining in for movember got so bloody itchy.....”
He stopped talking as he, again, felt the discomfort of Clive staring at him with complete incredulity. And then the penny dropped.
“I changed my accent again, didn’t I?” he said in a, now, rather plain Cheshire accent.
Clive nodded his head.
“Shit! Look I am sorry. As you may or may not have guessed there is no Jason as well..... yep, that was me out in the rain carrying the advert around.....”
Clive sat back in his seat feeling completely bemused but also a little satisfied. He had never had the ability to work out what was going on in classic TV crime mysteries, like Sherlock Holmes or Poirot or..... Bergerac?; and the board game Cluedo had been completely beyond him but, on this day, he had spotted what was going on right from the start. As was appropriate, he adopted a very Angela-Lansbury-Murder-She-Wrote-esque smug grin and contentedly leaned back in his chair.
Jeremy (if that was his real name) slowly removed the fake moustache as he continued talking.
“Business really hasn’t been that great and so I haven’t had chance to employ any staff yet. I thought by making it look like there was more than one person here, it would make everything appear a bit more professional..... I suppose I’m not really giving that image off am I?”
Clive slowly shook his head whilst wondering whether he was now ready to re-visit some of those crime TV shows or maybe even fish Cluedo out of the loft. He could possibly give Gayle a good run for her money if he could keep up this kind of detecting level.
“Sorry, I just got carried away.” Jeremy carried on. “When I was younger I used to go to parties and speak in a different accent for every different person I spoke to. It was great fun at the end of the night, after a few drinks, trying to remember which accent I’d used for each person, it was my little way of entertaining myself..... haven’t actually been invited to any parties for quite some time now.....”
Clive began to revisit the idea of just leaving; he wouldn’t even have to sneak out now, surely Jeremy would have to understand completely someone deciding to get up and head for the door given the circumstances.
“Look, I wouldn’t blame you for walking out right now, God knows what’s going through your mind, but let me just say this: I am really passionate about what I’m trying to do here, really passionate about love. I also arrange meetings between people, the cupid branch of the business I like to call it, but I really like to concentrate on this side of things. Situations like you’re in, because I hate to see so many people throwing love away, just because they don’t understand it properly. So many couples let true love get lost forever. If you and your..... wife? girlfriend?..... boyfriend?”
“WIFE!” said Clive quickly and with conviction.
“If you and your wife were genuinely, truly, absolutely, beautifully, wonderfully, magnificently in love, then I will find it again for you..... I guarantee that!”
Clive couldn’t help but be intrigued by the enthusiasm and passion that Jeremy seemed to have. But, even though he wanted to believe what he was saying was possible, it was hard to accept that Jeremy would actually have any clue how to do it. Can you really believe a man who speaks in multiple accents and wears a fake moustache?
“Thank you for your time.” Clive began, slowly standing. “I think I’m going to go home and think about it. I know where you are if I decide to go ahead with anything.”
He stood up and began walking towards the door.
Chapter Thirteen: It’s All About Time.
Jeremy remained seated as Clive walked away from the desk, a massive, almost cunning, smile growing on his face.
“Time!” he said loudly, before Clive had chance to reach out and wrestle with the door.
“You’ve hit the nail on the head!”
Clive didn’t say anything but instead turned around and looked at Jeremy, frowning in confusion.
“Let me let you in on a couple of secrets, in case you didn’t know them already. There are only two currencies in life that actually mean anything; that are actually real. They are love and, like you said, time. If you find love; real love, then you’re one of the lucky ones and you need to do everything you can to hold onto it. But even love is nothing without time.”
Jeremy’s grin seemed to grow even wider as he paused briefly before continuing.
“Do you know what? How often do you hear people saying things like: “where has all the time gone”, or “doesn’t time fly by”, or even “isn’t time dragging”? Well that’s all just a myth. Time is time. A minute is exactly a minute, like it always has been and always will be. The trick is to not let it slip away from you. Always live in the moment. Nobody knows how much time they actually have – don’t waste it by thinking about doing things; just do them! I used to do a bit of poetry when I was younger, what was the thing I did about time.....?”
As Jeremy wracked his memory, Clive walked back to his seat and began reminiscing himself.
“Gayle used to do a lot of poetry type stuff.” He said out loud. “She was really good at it.”
“It was something like this,” said Jeremy, catching Clive’s eye.
“Focus yourself somehow,
On only the here and now,
It’s just the things in reach, you can touch and feel,
Yesterday is gone,
And tomorrow’s yet to come,
Today’s all that matters, only now is real.”
Jeremy squelched around a bit in his chair.
“It was something like that anyway. Probably still a work in progress really.”
Clive knew what it meant though and he agreed totally. Now was now; and now was the time to act. And this was why he had come in here, wasn’t it? To give it a go? Sure, even though the last minute or so had shown that Jeremy maybe wasn’t a complete buffoon, the jury was still pretty much out about him. But he wasn’t going to walk away now and give up, again, without giving it a chance.
“Ok, what do we do?” asked Clive.
Jeremy smiled.
“A simple test, I’ll just ask you seven questions, you answer as truthfully and in as much depth as you can. I will need to do the same for your wife, and then I will organise a bespoke range of handpicked activities for you to do together and, by the end of it, you will have those feelings of love reawakened.”
As Clive sat there thinking, Jeremy pulled a diary out from a drawer on his side of the desk, opened it up, and moved to close the deal.
“If you can do it this weekend, I’ll do it for a bargain..... 50% off the normal price!”
Damn it. Now there was a bargain being wafted in front of Clive’s face; how the hell could he say no to that? He composed himself.
“I’m still not totally sure how it all works.” he said.
“Ok,” said Jeremy, shuffling and squelching in his chair. “Here’s something pretty basic. Love affects everything around us. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together..... sorry if that sounds a bit Star Wars-y.”
It sounded Star Wars-y because it was part of a quote straight from Star Wars, albeit it substituting the Force with Love, but it was enough for Clive; Jeremy could have stopped talking right then and he would have done the deal. Instead Jeremy continued.
“Love changes the way you look and feel about even the most normal, everyday things. And then these things can take you to ot
her places and other times and stir other feelings and re-awaken memories. Tastes, smells, sounds, sights..... anything and everything. Here we go, do you have a song that, whenever it is played, stirs memories or feelings about your wife and your relationship?”
Clive didn’t have to think hard.
“Yeah, there’s a song by a band from the late 80’s, early 90’s, Bad English called “When I See You Smile”, it always make me think of how Gayle’s happiness, back in the day, made me feel ……… kind of special..... just to see her smile was..... kind of special.”
“There you go then!” said Jeremy smiling. “It’s exactly that type of thing. It’s the same for me and my wife – only our song is “Smack My Bitch Up” by the Prodigy.”
He sat there smiling, lost in his moment, before, once more, realising that Clive was staring at him in bewilderment.
“We actually met at a Prodigy concert – our eyes connected during that song. So that song, for me, always brings back that moment, that feeling, that..... initial spark..... you know, rather than any memories of me actually, you know, smacking my bitch up!”
Clive nodded along; as he did the look on his face didn’t change one bit.
Jeremy decided to push things along.
“Ok. For some people love is like a jigsaw and it’s about putting all those pieces, that have got mixed up over time, back together. For others it could be all about re-connecting with one specific element, or even moment, that could be classed as their happily ever after moment. For some, it’s a combination of both. And it’s up to me to find out how it would best work for you and your wife.”
Clive nodded slowly as Jeremy continued to talk, becoming more and more passionate as he did.
“So it’s about helping you to look beyond any changes that have happened to deflect those original feelings of love, and re-focus on things that made the love special in the first place. And it’s just seven questions from me to find out all of those types of special moments and memories and feelings and..... everything else that makes up what is universally known as true love.”
“What sort of questions?” asked Clive, his cautious nature again overruling his desire to be a seize-the-moment type person.
“Ok” said Jeremy. “This is one of the seven that I ask: Do you remember where and when it was that you and your..... you said wife, didn’t you and not.....”
“YES!” snapped Clive before Jeremy could suggest that he may have a boyfriend again.
“Do you remember where and when you and your wife first kissed? You know properly kissed?”
A slow smile grew on Clive’s face as his mind took him back in time and to a different place.
“Yes.” He said. “Yes I do. I’ll never forget it. It was a Tuesday night and we were at the school youth club. It was the disco room. They used to play lots of cheesy 80’s pop songs but also the odd chart rock song that me and Gayle liked. We were sitting against the wall on the stage and weirdly when we did kiss it was whilst that Crash Test Dummies song Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, Mmm, was playing. It wasn’t a particularly favourite song of ours; it was pretty weird if we’re being honest. But it was something I’ll never forget. Gayle lips were so soft and just tasted like …..”
Clive realised that his reminiscing mind had let his lips start talking about things he wasn’t sure he was ready to authorise.
Jeremy smiled.
“It’s that type of thing that I’m looking for. We’d probably need to go into more depth; details about the venue and how you felt etc, but the fact that you remember that moment so fondly is a pretty good start. So what do you think? If you’re in, and you can do this weekend, I will do it for the price of just £250.”
Clive didn’t say anything because he had no idea how much something like this was going to cost; was this the bargain Jeremy had promised or not? He moved his lips to say something but then thought better of it and stopped himself before the words could escape.
“What is it?” asked Jeremy straight away.
Clive took a deep breath and tried to articulate what he was thinking.
“Look, me and Gayle were..... very young when we first got together. I sometimes wonder if..... we were maybe too young to know what real love was. Or is. Or..... do you know what I mean?”
Jeremy smiled slowly.
“Some people do mistake what real love is. But let me guarantee you this: as long as it wasn’t just a crush or lust or infatuation that made you get together; and it was something that you felt here, in your heart, and to the depths of your soul; then it was real love. It doesn’t matter how young you are, or how old you are; real love is real love.”
Clive smiled back and nodded.
Jeremy continued.
“From what you’ve told me so far, I’m in no doubt that it was real. And you’re here aren’t you? Telling a complete stranger all about your relationship and asking for help. That says something doesn’t it? Let’s cut to the chase: If you do this, I guarantee you will be completely in love with each other again by Sunday night..... or you can have all your money back. What is £250 and one weekend of your life in exchange for being in love, with the love of your life, all over again?”
Suddenly everything made sense. £250 was nothing if it meant him and Gayle feeling exactly like they used to. In fact, all the money in the world would be nothing. Clive reached into his pocket for his wallet.....
Chapter Fourteen: Late Is The Hour.
Gayle stood by the kettle as the pitch of the rumbling water inside got slowly higher. She needed a cup of coffee. One of the other things about setting off late for work in the morning and having to sit through the rush hour was feeling like you had to work later into the evening to make up for the lateness, and then having to sit through the rush hour with the rush hour morons all over again when coming home. Thankfully this evening she had made it back without wanting to kill anyone.
As she waited, staring at the wall, a movement up near the very corner of the wall and ceiling made her jump and squeal a little. There was a spider. Before she could instinctively call for Clive, she realised that it actually wasn’t a spider but rather a daddy longs legs. Thankfully there’d be no need for Clive to use his “spider catching kit” of plastic beaker and Indian takeaway menu and humanely show it out of the back door, because daddy long legs were something Gayle could take care of herself.
Why is it that no one has any of the same kind of raw fear towards daddy long legs’ as they do for spiders? Because, basically, daddy long legs’ are pretty much spiders with wings.
Flying spiders.
Spiders that have a whole extra dimension in which to terrify you. And yet, they’re not scary in the slightest. Very odd. Maybe, for Gayle, the reason for this was that she remembered daddy long legs quite clearly from junior school and, in particular, Phil Tipman who used to take great pleasure in catching them and pulling their legs off one by one. Nothing seems that scary when a laughing nine year old boy easily catches and sadistically dismembers it. What does that tell you about a persons’ mental conditioning? Someone who takes great delight in doing such cruel and brutal things? Gayle wondered what Phil Tipman was doing now? Surely he was in prison for committing the type of outrageous offences that you see on those Channel 5 shock-crime programs? Or maybe he was a politician?
As Gayle watched the daddy long legs haphazardly fly around, bumping into the wall and ceiling (it would seem that no flying lessons or test are required to be a daddy long legs) her eyes were drawn over towards the fridge. She began to scan the numerous “important” items that had been attached to the door with magnets. (The majority of which fell off, and needed replacing, every time anyone opened and closed the fridge.) There was a voucher for “bonus” nectar points “for your next shop” that she now realised was six weeks out of date and could be thrown away – obviously not now but whenever she had time to do it. Next to it was a scary looking green appointment card that informed her that she had an appointment in two weeks time with
the dental hygienist. She shuddered as she recalled the last appointment, or rather “ordeal”, with the hygienist – a harrowingly painful event that she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. Surely the government would be best strapping any terror suspect who refused to talk to a dentist’s chair and letting a hygienist give them a good clean and floss session – without a doubt they would tell them anything they wanted to know after that. What type of person chooses to study and train to become a dental hygienist, and inflict that kind of legal torture on people? Gayle was sure that those people could have a Channel 5 program of their very own. Maybe Phil Tipman was now a dental hygienist? It was ok, she reassured herself, there was plenty of time to cancel that appointment yet.
Next she noticed the car insurance reminder letter attached to the fridge but quickly closed her eyes and tried to think of anything else. She didn’t want to allow thinking about car insurance to stir up perhaps her worst memory of all time. Instead she revisited her thoughts and realisations from earlier in the car when she had used the time stuck in traffic to not think about murdering anyone but rather the “date” she had arranged with Lee. Because what that also meant was the acknowledgement that her life was going to be moving on and therefore the beginning of the acceptance that things were really over between her and Clive.
Before this point, this was just something that was going to happen “one day”, but now it felt different. It felt real and that made Gayle feel anxious and somewhat regretful. As such she was feeling mentally exhausted and really in need of that nice cup of coffee. If she wasn’t so worn out she would have taken the extra few seconds needed to use the expensive espresso machine she had recently bought but not used that much; but the “specially selected” Colombian roast instant from Aldi would be quite adequate. She’d long given up on her “no caffeine after 6p.m.” rule that was implemented to try and help her sleep better, seeing as it’d had no apparent effect on her sleeping success rate. She just had to accept that, these days, her chances of sleeping soundly all the way through the night were pretty slim. No matter what she tried before she went to bed; whether it be hot milk, Ovaltine, or even a mug full of rohypnol, she still couldn’t sleep, so therefore there was no harm in having coffee at any time.