‘If you’re capable,’ I say. ‘That’s a good strong flow you’ve got there.’
‘Three pints in, three pints out,’ he says, and nods proudly down at the urinal as I approach him. Concealed in my hand is the orange extension lead from our shed, usually reserved for lawnmower use. One end has been plugged into the mains in the corridor outside (minus the circuit breaker that Luca insists on). At the other end, which I am holding quite carefully, the socket has been removed and the plastic stripped back, leaving the copper wires exposed.
‘You coming in for a closer look or something more?’ Josh says with a wink, but there’s a faint sense of vulnerability in his voice now.
‘I’m disappointed in you. You think you’re untouchable and can do what you like,’ I say, and move closer, observing that the ground beneath the urinal is sopping wet, presumably because several drunken men have missed the large open ceramic bowl in front of them. Josh’s expensive hand-made, leather-soled shoes are standing in a pool of piss. It’s quite poetic and rather helpful.
‘This is going to hurt you more than it’s going to hurt me,’ I say, leaning in, ensuring I’m not touching him.
‘What is?’ says Josh.
I push the live wires into the urinal. Instantaneously, the electric current travels up his stream of urine, through his penis and fingers, and up through his body, then down through his legs to the wet ground, forming a circuit.
I smell burning flesh almost immediately. His body does a kind of floppy dance, jittering like a glitchy computer image, and a moment later he’s flat out on the floor, urine all over his trousers, fizzing and jerking on the wet tiles.
‘You’re a sick man, Josh. But I hope those nasty burns will make our assignation impossible, so let’s call that quits. Now, I want you to focus on getting the bank to give Stephen his job back. If you don’t, I’ll find you again and tie your testicles to my car. Do you understand?’
He gulps, his eyes open. He tries to speak, but it’s unintelligible.
‘I’ll follow up with an email to clarify,’ I say, and walk out.
I unplug the extension, wind the cable up neatly, remove the sign on the door, and head out into the night. I think of my father at moments like this. I walk down the street feeling that state of complete oneness that only electrocuting a bastard like Josh can give you. It’s like your whole body is connected at every point to the universe, and pleasure tingles through every part of your being.
I return home. Stephen is out, possibly nursing his bruised ego or wiping away Georgie’s tears at her lost teddy bear. I have the chance to continue my read-through of Georgie’s rather pathetic little diary. She marks some occasions with a number of stars, which I imagine indicates sex. I presume it’s with Stephen because they’re always on Fridays and Sundays. She’s rather coy even in her diary, which is quite sweet, but Stephen often gets five stars, which means either he’s always saved his best for her or, more likely, Georgie has a low pleasure threshold.
It’s hard to read all the intimate details of Stephen’s affair, but I know it’s not a reflection of my attentiveness or attractiveness. He’s responding to his feeling of personal deterioration. Happensto all men as age, work and family life wearies and emasculates them. They look in the mirror at receding hair lines and increasing girths, and feel intense sadness at their failure to get promoted, find fame, or realize their footballing dreams. Men might cry when their teams lose, but it’s the lost confidence of youth they’re crying for.
We should offer our sympathy, not our censure. No one really appreciates the intense pain of the middle-aged man, so worshipped in youth (by himself) and disabused of his delusions in age (by others), left just with hairy ears, a sport fixation, and a friend from twenty years ago called Dave.
All my to-do lists have been thrown in the air and, although not ideal, I have to plan on the hoof at the moment. However, I’m amazed to have completed some key things:
Get pregnant
Secure Hampstead
Get Stephen his job back
And one or two things still to do:
Remove Hollis
Remove Georgie
Remove Madeleine
Live happily ever after
Chapter74Strand
Saturday, 25 January
Hollis arrives at the Strand in his manual wheelchair. He’s twenty-five minutes late. Even though it’s a bitterly cold evening, he’s enjoying the workout as he darts between pedestrians on the pavement.
I feel a little twinge of affection but quickly remind myself that he’s an obstacle to my happiness, and if Stephen or Madeleine discover his existence, I may end up with nothing, as no divorce will be needed. Poverty is not an option.
Hollis explains that someone parked in the disabled parking space, so he had to find another spot further away, having already scoped out the disabled bay on a parking app he recommends. If this indicates the type of conversation he foresees in our future, I have no qualms about cutting things short.
I’ve worn an all-black ensemble with a hood. You’d find it tricky to identify me from the poor-quality CCTV that records London life from overhead. I’ve also made my route here purposely circuitous and even used the Tube, that large sewer for human beings.
