Walnut slopes off. The barmaid leans her enormous bosom on the bar and winks at him suggestively. He returns rather quickly with two pints of brown froth.
“She’s predatory,” and he nervously sits back down.
“I have some interesting news. I received a letter from Detective Waxford this morning. He thanked us for the retirement gift,” I say sarcastically.
“Oh shit, I forgot about that.”
“Yes. I thought you might, considering I sent you out specifically to get him a book of William Blake’s poetry and you decided to choose something yourself.”
“In my defence…”
“Yes, I’m waiting.”
“I was really hungover.”
“Walnut, you sent him a book instructing how to perform lobotomies. And even worse than that, you inscribed it with the lines ‘I hope this helps you recover’.”
“I thought it might provide him with some insight into how to deal with criminals, sir.”
“By removing their brains?”
“It’s a valid theory, sir.”
“So, you sent Detective Waxford – a man who has served Scotland Yard for over twenty five years, won countless medals for bravery – a book about how to remove a brain from a skull.”
“You think it’s not quite appropriate?”
“No, it’s not appropriate.”
“Um… so what did his letter say, exactly?”
“You really want to know?”
“Not really.”
I take the letter out of my coat pocket and give Walnut a deeply penetrating stare.
Dear Percival and Walnut,
What can I say? A book about lobotomy… I presume you chose this, Walnut. What a thoughtful gift. I was deeply moved. My brain, however, will remain in my skull. But I can’t guarantee Walnut’s will when I see him next.
Waxford and Mr Lumpy the cat
The Angel-Eater
I’m only a symbol.
Hang me on a wall. Pin me through my heart. Paint me on a temple.
The only power I have
is
what
you
give
me.
Detective Waxford and Mr Lumpy the cat
Next time I see Walnut I am going to hit him over the head with a welding mallet.
It’s very peaceful here in Wugglethump. Nice spot of Kent. Apple trees in my garden, wild plums and floppy headed daises. How happy I am. I love you, daisies!
I’ve just finished reading one of Mrs Charm’s medieval horrors: The Curse of Black-Stump Priory. Mr Lumpy quite enjoyed it. Involved some sort of black magic rituals going on in the cellars: incantations, whippings, human sacrifice. That’s the lovely part of being retired. I can read about the horror but I don’t have to be involved any more. Beautiful detachment. Finally!
A decomposing corpse flies through my window and lands with a squelchy thud onto the carpet. I can hear laughing outside. I pick up my gun and run to the window.
“MR LOVEHEART! I AM GOING TO BLOODY SHOOT YOU!”
And he appears smiling at the window, dressed in lemon meringue yellow. “Waxford! Happy Retirement. Aren’t you going to invite me in for tea and cake?”
“I AM SUPPOSED TO BE RECOVERING FROM A NERVOUS BREAKDOWN. WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE PLAYING AT?”
“I missed you.”
“SEND ME A FUCKING POSTCARD THEN. DON’T THROW A CORPSE THROUGH MY WINDOW.”
“Oh come on now, Waxford. I know you’re pleased to see me.”
“WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO WITH THIS?” I scream, waving the gun at the corpse.
“You could examine it for any criminal interference?”
“IT’S ALREADY BEEN CRIMINALLY INTERFERED WITH. YOU DUG HIM UP! GET RID OF IT NOW OR I WILL KILL YOU.” And I aim the gun at his head.
“Ooooooh, you spoilsport.” Mr Loveheart climbs through the window and picks the dead body up by its decomposing foot and begins to drag it out of the front door.
I slam the door shut and peer out of the window. “I’m watching you, Mr Loveheart,” and I waggle the gun at him. He drags the body down the path and rolls it into a ditch, comes back into my house and slumps himself down in the armchair. He sighs. “I’m so bored.”
Mr Lumpy jumps onto his lap and purrs. The traitor!
“I am not providing you with entertainment. Go and play with Detective White and Constable Walnut.”
“But you’re funnier. If I prod you, you squeak!”
“You’re not going to leave, are you?”
“No,” and he strokes Mr Lumpy affectionately.
Boo Boo
I live with Mr Loveheart in his mansion of hearts. They are all over the place. There’s even one on the privy.
We dance round his house like mad bugs.
He dances round my heart.
Me and the mad prince.
Hand in heart, heart in hand. ?
Loveheart
I walk my gardens. Make Underworld trees appear, red fruit bulge. Wobble and drop off. I lie on wet grass and gaze at the stars, try and count them. Lose track, start again and then fall asleep.
Snore.
Dream of the underneath.
I AM LORD OF THE UNDERWORLD,.
There are sharks swimming in my head. There are worlds spinning and breaking in my heart.
If you kiss me
you
will
live
forever.
Death
What colour is the devil? You’re about to find out.
Epilogue
Queen Victoria