2008 - The Bearded Tit by Prefers to remain anonymous, Rory McGrath Page A
Authors: Prefers to remain anonymous, Rory McGrath
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today!’
‘Jesus Christ,’ Kramer said, shaking his head in despair. ‘Are you taking part in the foreplay marathon or something?’
‘A little often, my friend.’
Yet, despite Kramer, it had been a good day. They all had been. Why had a note of doubt crept into my mind? I was walking back to my room down the path by the duck pond and something flew over, a dark, silent shadow flapping slowly.
Amazing.
A tawny owl.
Always a delight to see.
Or was it another magpie, I thought to myself. Yes, you know what: I think that was a magpie.
MR CRITCHLEY
‘H ello. Is JJ around?’
‘Oh dear.’
It was not the answer I expected. The grey-haired man with thick-lensed glasses precariously close to the end of his pointy nose smiled with a mixture of kindness and pity. ‘It’s her day off.’
I knew it was her day off. She told me that the last time I saw her. Then why was I here in the natural history department of Blackwaters? Was I turning up to see her in some sort of subconscious reflex action? JJ’s immediate boss, Mr Critchley, tilted his head back to line up his eyes with his glasses and looked at me appraisingly.
‘You seem like a nice boy,’ he said and shook his head. World-weariness weighed down on him like a block of concrete but he gave off no bitterness. Perhaps the blocks of concrete had squeezed it out of him. Bitterness uses up more energy than kindness; perhaps he was too tired to be anything other than benign. ‘She’s a nice girl.’
‘She is,’ I agreed enthusiastically.
‘You would have made a lovely couple.’ He shook his head again. ‘Another lifetime, maybe.’
I was unsure what to make of this and was wondering if I should go through the motions of pretending to buy a book when Critchley suddenly became business-like and said, ‘Are you going to buy a book or did you only come in to see JJ? Please don’t say you want to buy a book because you know you’re over your limit on your account card. Don’t make me have to refuse you.’ The likeable old man seemed genuinely distraught and I started to assure him that I was only there to browse: books and shop-girls.
‘Well, obviously I did want to see JJ, but as I’m here—’
I was interrupted by the arrival of a handsome young man in a suit. He was self-assured and immaculate. A lady-killer. A screen idol. Drop-dead gorgeous, if the phrase had been invented in 1975.
‘Mr Critchley!’ He nodded in Critchley’s direction.
‘Oh hi, Neil!’ said Critchley, and turned to me to introduce the suave devil. ‘This is Neil Curtis from social science. He helps me and JJ out from time to time.’ He pointed in my general direction and said, ‘And, Neil, this is…er…a customer. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Rory.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Rory’s another one who’s in love with JJ!’
Neil frowned in my direction. ‘Oh, another one I’ve got to fight off?’ He winked at me and patted Critchley on the arm. ‘I’ll see you later. Call me if you need me!’
The cool Mr Curtis glided effortlessly away, leaving behind a pleasant hint of expensive aftershave and an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt distinctly uncomfortable about such an obviously good-looking charmer ‘helping out’ JJ from time to time. My discomfort was increased by his cheeky ‘another one I’ve got to fight off comment and its attendant wink. Whatever that meant, I did not like it.
I took a quick look through my faces to see if there was a brave one I could put on, and said, ‘He seems like a nice bloke.’
Critchley slumped back into his chair, swivelled 360 degrees and grabbed the desk to halt himself abruptly.
‘Listen, there’s something I should tell you—’
I was distracted from Critchley’s revelation by the sound of a familiar boisterous cackling coming from somewhere around organic chemistry. I peeped round the corner and saw Degsy and Lobby, the ponding kings, coming up the stairs towards me.
‘Jesus Christ,’ Kramer said, shaking his head in despair. ‘Are you taking part in the foreplay marathon or something?’
‘A little often, my friend.’
Yet, despite Kramer, it had been a good day. They all had been. Why had a note of doubt crept into my mind? I was walking back to my room down the path by the duck pond and something flew over, a dark, silent shadow flapping slowly.
Amazing.
A tawny owl.
Always a delight to see.
Or was it another magpie, I thought to myself. Yes, you know what: I think that was a magpie.
MR CRITCHLEY
‘H ello. Is JJ around?’
‘Oh dear.’
It was not the answer I expected. The grey-haired man with thick-lensed glasses precariously close to the end of his pointy nose smiled with a mixture of kindness and pity. ‘It’s her day off.’
I knew it was her day off. She told me that the last time I saw her. Then why was I here in the natural history department of Blackwaters? Was I turning up to see her in some sort of subconscious reflex action? JJ’s immediate boss, Mr Critchley, tilted his head back to line up his eyes with his glasses and looked at me appraisingly.
‘You seem like a nice boy,’ he said and shook his head. World-weariness weighed down on him like a block of concrete but he gave off no bitterness. Perhaps the blocks of concrete had squeezed it out of him. Bitterness uses up more energy than kindness; perhaps he was too tired to be anything other than benign. ‘She’s a nice girl.’
‘She is,’ I agreed enthusiastically.
‘You would have made a lovely couple.’ He shook his head again. ‘Another lifetime, maybe.’
I was unsure what to make of this and was wondering if I should go through the motions of pretending to buy a book when Critchley suddenly became business-like and said, ‘Are you going to buy a book or did you only come in to see JJ? Please don’t say you want to buy a book because you know you’re over your limit on your account card. Don’t make me have to refuse you.’ The likeable old man seemed genuinely distraught and I started to assure him that I was only there to browse: books and shop-girls.
‘Well, obviously I did want to see JJ, but as I’m here—’
I was interrupted by the arrival of a handsome young man in a suit. He was self-assured and immaculate. A lady-killer. A screen idol. Drop-dead gorgeous, if the phrase had been invented in 1975.
‘Mr Critchley!’ He nodded in Critchley’s direction.
‘Oh hi, Neil!’ said Critchley, and turned to me to introduce the suave devil. ‘This is Neil Curtis from social science. He helps me and JJ out from time to time.’ He pointed in my general direction and said, ‘And, Neil, this is…er…a customer. I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.’
‘Rory.’
‘Oh yes, of course. Rory’s another one who’s in love with JJ!’
Neil frowned in my direction. ‘Oh, another one I’ve got to fight off?’ He winked at me and patted Critchley on the arm. ‘I’ll see you later. Call me if you need me!’
The cool Mr Curtis glided effortlessly away, leaving behind a pleasant hint of expensive aftershave and an unpleasant feeling in the pit of my stomach. I felt distinctly uncomfortable about such an obviously good-looking charmer ‘helping out’ JJ from time to time. My discomfort was increased by his cheeky ‘another one I’ve got to fight off comment and its attendant wink. Whatever that meant, I did not like it.
I took a quick look through my faces to see if there was a brave one I could put on, and said, ‘He seems like a nice bloke.’
Critchley slumped back into his chair, swivelled 360 degrees and grabbed the desk to halt himself abruptly.
‘Listen, there’s something I should tell you—’
I was distracted from Critchley’s revelation by the sound of a familiar boisterous cackling coming from somewhere around organic chemistry. I peeped round the corner and saw Degsy and Lobby, the ponding kings, coming up the stairs towards me.