There we are! Esther snorts.
Sorry? Ransom glares over at her.
If the man takin inspiration from your career, he plainly delusional!
Or just his email address Nimrod persists.
Delusional? Ransom echoes. Fuck you!
Im fascinated by palm-reading, Toby muses. Id love to get my palm read by a real professional. Find out if nine-holes got a future whether Turbo Golfs actually a goer. God knows I could do with the encouragement as things stand
If he got him no lifeline and he still survive, Esther reasons, just think about it: a lifeline dont mean shit! Either way, the man a sure-fire liar.
Toby scowls, confused.
By your way of thinking, Esther, Nimrod interjects, if I always drive at fifty on a road with a thirty limit, then ergo, the road doesnt actually exist.
Crazy logic! Esther snorts.
Nimrod turns to Ransom. Is this guy local by any chance?
Whats with you and the fucking attitude?! Ransom suddenly confronts Esther across the tables. Youre Stuart Ransoms manager for Christsakes! Start acting like it!
Watch your mouth! Esther is trenchant.
Id blame it on the hormones if you werent always such a friggin bitch, Ransom mutters.
Whats with you and the fucking attitude?! Ransom suddenly confronts Esther across the tables. Youre Stuart Ransoms manager for Christsakes! Start acting like it!
Watch your mouth! Esther is trenchant.
Id blame it on the hormones if you werent always such a friggin bitch, Ransom mutters.
You want hormones ? Esther growls.
Ransom turns to Toby. I call her the Black Widow, he confides.
Toby smiles, agonized, not daring to respond.
This is her third bub on my watch an Ive never yet shaken hands with a dad. Ransom shrugs. I think she kills the poor bastards and eats em.
Go to hell! Esther hisses.
Toby looks mortified.
Heres an interesting fact for you. Ransom seems enlivened even cheered by the horribly strained atmosphere hes engineered. Did you know that we inherited our aggressive impulses from our spider ancestors?
Spider ancestors?
Toby blanches. Hes mildly arachnophobic.
Yeah, spiders, Ransom reiterates. We share a genetic background. Why else dyou reckon Nimrods got such hairy shoulders?
Nimrod smiles wanly as Ransom slaps him, jovially, on the back.
Spiders are naturally aggressive, Ransom expands, same as we humans are
He tips his head, disparagingly, towards Esther (who is sending an SMS on her phone, jabbing away at the keypad with a face like thunder).
But most other animals in the world seek to actively avoid conflict, Ransom continues, by resorting to various strategies. A pecking order, for instance
Like hens? Tobys quick to catch on.
Yeah, like hens. And take the piranha, for example. Piranhas are completely lethal. Theyre these bona fide little killing machines, but because theyre so dangerous and theyre fully keyed into this fact about themselves they choose to fight each other with their tails, not their teeth.
They slap each other around? Toby grins.
Like Laurel and Hardy Ransom chuckles but with fins!
Esthers looking up from her phone now, gazing at Ransom through slitted eyes.
Nimrod grabs his notebook and primes his pencil. So this fortune-telling guy he starts off.
Hold on a sec Ransom focuses in on Toby with a sudden almost bewildering level of intensity. What was it you said the I stood for again?
Sorry?
Tobys in a completely different head space.
The I. In S.P.I.C.E.
Oh. Right. Yeah. The I. The I stands for incongruity.
Seven times, though? Nimrod mutters, scribbling frantically. Surely thats gotta be a record of some kind?
Incongruity Ransom echoes (apparently riveted).
Youre much more likely to be able to persuade someone of something if theres an unpredictable element to the set-up, Toby expands. Something strange. Something out of the ordinary like if theres a song written in a major key and then the composer sticks in a minor chord when youre least expecting it
Something unpredictable Ransom repeats, a distant look in his eye.
Like if you see a really beautiful woman but she has I dunno Toby cant think of a suitable example.
Stupid, blonde ponytails, Ransom finishes off.
A small gap between her front teeth, Nimrod suggests, glancing over towards Esther, fondly. Esther peers down at her phone again, fighting back a smile.
So weve got simplicity, perceived self-interest, incongruity Ransom counts them off on to his fingers.
Then C for confidence which is pretty self-explanatory and the E
Energy, Ransom tries to pre-empt him, bouncing to his feet.
Empathy, Toby corrects him. People need to be able to relate at some level, to find you sympathetic
Right. Good. Brilliant. Well Im off to the range. Ransom grabs his baseball cap from the table and prepares to leave.
Dont forget your book.
Nimrod nudges Artist of Life towards him.
Toby can have it. Ransom checks for the phone in his pocket.
Really? Tobys touched. He reaches out for the paperback as Ransom applies his cap, touches the brim by way of farewell and casually saunters off.
We not gone through the itinerary! Esther yells after him.
Ransom doesnt turn to answer, simply makes a little hand signal while he walks, as if to imply much to his profound regret that she is no longer fully audible.
Ill be literally thirty seconds, he pants, thats all, I promise.
Valentine stares at the proffered identification badge, almost disbelieving. She has a dozy, thumb-sucking Nessa on her hip. Her hair is swept back into a ponytail. Her fringe is drawn up into a single curler. Shes wearing a wrap-around housecoat (red, covered with tiny, white dots) and a pair of fancy, white satin slippers with red bows, peep-toes and cute, wooden-look kitten heels. Her make-up is immaculate but her nail-polish he immediately notices is chipped.
My brother said you work at the hotel, she mutters, an edge of accusation in her voice.
Gene uses his sleeve to pat a light film of perspiration from his forehead. I do the odd shift there, yes, he admits.
Is that the uniform?
He peers down at his green jumpsuit. No. This is
For some reason he resists telling her about the Arndale.
I work in a couple of places He inspects his watch. In fact Im currently on my lunch-break
When Noel saw you here yesterday he thought Ransom mightve sent you she interrupts, looking over her shoulder, nervously (as if Noel could be hiding behind the door possibly wielding a sledge-hammer). He got all stupid and paranoid about it.
But why would I be ? Gene finds this idea difficult to process.
Your guess is as good as mine. She shrugs. To spy on us, I suppose.
She laughs, self-consciously.
Well Ransom didnt send me, Gene maintains.
I already knew that.
She gazes at him for a moment, her expression softening.
Oh.
His colour rises. Good. He glances down at his clipboard. Thanks.
You want to read our meter again?
She pushes back the door to reveal the hallway. Is there a problem? Didnt the numbers add up or something?
No, no, no. No problem Gene clears his throat, self-consciously. I just didnt get around to reading it on my last visit. I mustve got distracted
Cant imagine why. She lifts her eyebrow, suggestively.
Gene quickly shifts his focus from the immaculately raised brow to the lone curler in her fringe. It is large, white, plastic and filled with tan-coloured foam.
You dig my retro-curler? Valentine grins.
Sorry?
Gene drags his eyes away from the curler.
My curler ?
She points. Of course its not remotely functional, she avers, drolly, just an accessory part of my forties housewife look
She performs a neat, little twirl, holding out the fabric of her housecoat. As she lifts the material she unwittingly reveals the span of soft, bare flesh inside her knee.
Genes eyes shoot straight up to the curler again. They take refuge in the curler.
You know how it is she sighs, at home, doing the chores, still gorgeous, preparing to head out on a visit to the aerodrome
Genes eyes remain glued to the curler. Well it looks real enough he mutters.
She scans his face for a second, smiling but slightly perplexed. Im just teasing. She reaches up a tentative hand to touch the curler herself.
Oh. Gene nods. His stomach sinks. He adjusts his grip on his clipboard.
I have a collection of housecoats, she expands, pinching, dispassionately, at the spotted fabric. I buy them on the internet. Theres still quite a market for them in France
My grandmother virtually lived in them, he volunteers.
Mine too. She smiles. Although I prefer to wear them in the French way, like the French do: as a dress, with nothing underneath
Genes own eyebrows now rise, infinitesimally.
What I mean to say is that the English like to wear them differently, she flounders, her cheeks reddening, over the top of their clothes like an apron
Gene furtively inspects the housecoat as she speaks. It clings to her curves in a way he cant really believe a housecoat should. He remembers his grandmothers housecoats: nylon, blue gingham, loose, drab, lumpy
The antique ones are nicer, though, she runs on, embarrassed. Softer. Less synthetic. Better fabrics
Gene nods. He cant really think of anything pertinent to add. Valentine bites her lip. Her lipstick, he notices, matches her housecoat perfectly, and theres a deep and immensely characterful dimple in her cheek.
So when did you realize? she wonders, eager to change the subject.
Pardon?
He glances up from her dimple.
The meter. Our electricity meter ?
Oh, that He smiles, ruefully. I was about halfway home.
You mustve kicked yourself!
Yeah He nods. This isnt even my area. Im usually based around Sundon Park Limbury Leagrave Im just covering for a colleague whos been off sick all week.
As he speaks she shifts Nessa on her hip and then adjusts her grip. He notices a tattoo on her arm towards the top. Its a drawing of a cupcake with the words Daddys Girl written underneath. She catches him studying it. Its one of my dads, she explains. I had it made up from an original stencil of his after he died
She smiles, self-deprecatingly. as a kind of two-fingered salute to the world, I suppose. He was a local tattoo artist Reg Tucker. Reggie Tucker. You probably ?
Sure. Gene nods. He had a place over on Mill Street. A friend of mine owned the war games shop a couple of doors down.
Not Marek?
Her face lights up. I havent seen him in ages! Hows he doing?