Totally Fine, page 17
Because that’s where all this happening. Did I forget to mention that?
I’ve somehow manufactured a situation where a small poodle is savaging my ankle in front of a group of laughing children, all dressed as the Fellowship of the Ring.
On Dartmoor. Miles away from the nearest first aid kit.
I appear to have lost my bloody mind.
I found them on one of the online catalogue services I subscribe to for work.
Tall Poppies Talent Agency is one of the many child talent agencies that exist across the country. This one was close enough to Dartmoor to suit my purposes quite nicely.
I wanted to give Leo the chance to face his fears, you see. I wanted him to be able to face up to the Fellowship of the Ring again in a way that would allow him to move on from his trauma.
But because I am a very considerate friend, I didn’t want it to be too much of a challenge for him. I didn’t want him to be too scared, so . . .
You see? Makes perfect sense, doesn’t it?
And agency owner Poppy Mulbray was more than happy to accommodate my wishes – no matter how ridiculous they sounded. As long as I passed a thorough security check, found and bought the costumes myself, arranged transport in the minibus there and back, and agreed to have her along as a chaperone, I could certainly employ nine members of her little troop of stars for my purposes. It would just cost me. An awful lot. Especially at such short notice.
But I was very pleased to pay Poppy a vast sum of money and put my scheme into motion. Because I am a man who can organise things at short notice. Because I am a man who can get things done, when I really want to.
And, more accurately, because I am an ocean-going, five-star, gold-plated idiot.
My poor savaged ankle is testament to that.
I shouldn’t complain, really. Having Poodlelas savage my extremities is probably a very suitable punishment for tricking my best friends into coming out into the middle of nowhere for a spot of extreme confrontational therapy.
. . . which – as I have now repeatedly said in an attempt to make myself feel better – sounded like a great idea at the time.
That time being several gin and tonics deep on an otherwise dull and depressing Tuesday evening, all alone in my flat.
The whole extravagant notion sounded like an idea that absolutely played to my strengths. A big, bold, beautiful event – organised by someone who knows how to bring things together quickly, and spectacularly.
Visiting Zitana and the O’Dowds didn’t accomplish anything really positive, because I was too passive. I just arranged a meeting with someone who I thought could help . . . and went along to it, allowing other people to take the initiative away. I just sat back.
But that’s never been a successful way of doing things for me.
All my greatest triumphs in life have been when I’ve been the one to take the lead. When I’ve been the one to be in control. The one to plan things out properly, and create an unforgettable event for everyone concerned.
As soon as I realised this, I finally understood why neither of my previous attempts to help my friends had done any real good. I was too passive. Not proactive enough.
It has to come from me, doesn’t it?
I have to be the one to put things together.
I am the event organiser. I am the co-ordinator.
Sorry, I am The Co-Ordinator.
It really does need capital letters to sell it properly – and possibly some black sunglasses and a leather jacket.
And who hasn’t heard of desensitisation therapy?
I mean, really, when you get right down to it?
It’s famous.
Everybody knows about it.
You take someone with a phobia or fear, and push them to their limits, by exposing them to it. That helps them conquer that fear, and get past it.
I’ve seen it work. Everybody has. Go on YouTube and have a look!
People who hate snakes get snakes thrust at them. And the snake-hating people get used to the snakes, and their fears go away. So much so that they end up hugging the snakes, and taking them home as pets.
Probably.
Heights!
People who suffer from a fear of heights always get better when they are exposed to being up really high. You just get used to it, don’t you? It becomes familiar. You can’t be scared of something that you’re really familiar with, can you?
Why, I’d imagine there’s nothing you can’t get over a fear of, provided you’re exposed to it for long enough.
Other than death, maybe.
Or thermo-global nuclear warfare.
Furthermore . . . how well would you get over a phobia if you were exposed to it in a really big way? Like, if they threw a really big snake at you, or made you stand at the top of the Burj Khalifa?
Surely that would do a great job of desensitising you to your fears, wouldn’t it?
A good, sharp shock to the system!
That’d do it. That’d make all the difference.
A good, sharp shock, delivered – let’s say – out in the wide expanses of Dartmoor for one friend’s trauma, and involving a collection of child actors dressed as characters from The Lord of the Rings for the other’s.
What a brilliant plan!
Because the mushrooms and the poles didn’t really do any good, did they?
But this? Dartmoor and the Fellowship?
Yeah. That sounds like a very sensible and effective way to deal with serious mental health issues . . .
I am a very clever person, completely in control of my faculties – and not at all someone who is entering into the realms of total irrationality, based on their combined desperation and lack of sleep.
‘Aaaargh!’
I just can’t cope anymore. Poodlelas is destroying me. He is the flame of doggy punishment in which I must burn.
I should have stayed in bed this morning. I should never have gone through with any of this stupidity.
But it all seemed like such a good idea at the time . . .
‘Come on, Jack! Look at the time!’ I wave my hands in my friend’s direction, trying to hurry him along. I am very excited about today, and really want to get the show on the road as soon as possible.
It will another three hours until Poodlelas launches his savage attack upon my person. I have no idea that such a horrible fate awaits me.
For now, I am excited. Because today I will properly help my two best friends come to terms with their traumas.
. . . if only I can get Jack into the bloody limousine I’ve paid a small fortune to hire.
‘I’ve put a lot of effort into these Shenanigans, Bailey, the least you could do is be dressed when I come around to pick you up.’
Jack winces. ‘Alright, alright. It’s not my fault you plied me with enough rum to get a smuggling conviction last night.’
I contrive to look deeply offended by this. ‘Me? I didn’t do anything, except facilitate the orders you kept giving me. Leo told you to go a bit easier, because of what we’re doing today. You knew we had an early start.’
Jack looks at me with disgust. ‘Alright, Mum, keep your hair on.’ He pulls on his leather jacket with another wince. ‘This had better be good, Charlie. I do not get up at 7 a.m. This is not a thing that I do.’
‘It is today!’ I exclaim, making him wince a third time. ‘Now come on, Leo is waiting in the limo, and I don’t know if he’ll be able to resist the Toblerones in the fridge for much longer.’
Do you have any idea how expensive a limousine with a fridge containing Toblerones is? Not to mention one that comes with pretty unique and special blacked-out rear windows that no one can see in or out of?
The first thing wasn’t really necessary for today’s entertainment, but the second most definitely was.
I don’t want either of my two friends to see where we’re going until we get there.
They’re going to be so surprised!
Jack nods approvingly as he climbs into the limo, and sees Leo.
‘Morning,’ our friend says to him, from around a mouthful of Toblerone.
‘Not so loud,’ Jack replies, slumping into the incredibly comfortable seat. He then looks around the cabin. ‘He’s pulled out the stops for this one, and no mistake,’ he remarks to Leo, who nods in agreement.
‘There’s champagne in the fridge,’ Leo points out. ‘And sushi – for some reason.’
I truly have spared no expense today. I want them both to feel as relaxed and happy as possible.
Jack nods approvingly once more. ‘Right then. Best we get underway.’
I nod happily, and knock on the blacked-out partition between us and the driver. The limo pulls gently away from the kerb, and as it does, music starts to be piped into the cabin. It’s the kind of chilled-out lo-fi stuff that always puts me in a relaxed state of mind.
. . . or at least, it used to, before . . . you know.
A glass of champagne will make me feel better.
‘Relax, chaps,’ I tell my friends. ‘We have a couple of hours’ drive before we get to where we’re going.’
Leo frowns. ‘You’re being very cagey about this.’
I nod. ‘Yes, I am. I want it to be a surprise.’
Jack also looks a little suspicious.
I pour him a glass of champagne. ‘Here. Have this. Hair of the dog.’
He looks at the glass for moment before taking it. Once he’s had a swig, he visibly relaxes into his seat a little. Leo continues to munch on his Toblerone.
Yes, yes. That’s it. Get nice and comfy. Enjoy the ride, chaps . . . Desensitisation therapy always works better with a relaxed subject.
This is all going to go so well!
And for the next three hours, it most certainly does. By the time the limo pulls up at the destination I have arranged, the three of us have emptied at least one champagne bottle, and the sushi and Toblerone are no more. We’re all full of booze, fish and chocolate.
‘Oop . . . we’ve stopped!’ Jack exclaims, and then giggles.
‘We have!’ I concur.
‘So, what’s next, then?’ he says, leaning forward. ‘Strip club? Backstage at a gig?’ He looks at Leo. ‘Must be something great. He wouldn’t have brought us all the way out here otherwise!’
Leo nods enthusiastically. ‘I’m sure you’re right. This is Charlie we’re talking about.’
Despite the champagne buzz, I am instantly suffused with a feeling of deepest guilt. Or maybe it’s because of the champagne, I can’t really tell. Either way, I have brought my two best friends out here on false pretences, and this is the moment my conscience has decided to berate me for it.
Turn us around. Tell the driver to take us back. It’s not too late.
No! I want to go through with this. My friends need my help, and I’m going to give it to them. I have to give it to them.
I hold out my hands. ‘Now, this is going to be a little different to the kinds of things we’ve done before,’ I tell them. ‘I wanted this trip out here to mean something, for both of you.’
‘Out here?’ Jack remarks, eyes narrowing.
At that moment, the door to the limousine opens gently, to reveal the wide-open expanse of the Dartmoor uplands. Jack’s face bleaches white in an instant.
‘What the hell . . .’ he says, his voice suddenly all a tremble.
‘Don’t be angry at me,’ I say, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze. ‘I know how this kind of thing has made you feel, and I want to face it with you. With the both of you.’
He looks at me in horror. ‘You bastard. This isn’t Shenanigans.’
‘Yes, it is, Jack. The most important Shenanigans there has ever been.’ I point out of the limo. ‘And it’s easy. Honestly. It’s a lovely sunny day out there. All we have to do is get out, and have a look around. That’s all. Then we can get back in the limo. I have an afternoon arranged for us at a luxury spa down the road. Just do this little thing for me, and we can go.’
I’m not altogether being truthful here. The spa is definitely booked . . . but there are a couple of other things we have to do before getting there.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sakes, Charlie,’ Leo says. ‘You’ve lost your mind.’
I shake my head. ‘No, I haven’t. This is going to help Jack. It really is.’ I turn back to him. ‘Come on, mate. Just do this one little thing for me?’
He stays silent.
‘You can’t put things off forever,’ I continue, my voice cajoling. ‘Seize the moment . . . get it done. Know the truth.’
‘You bastard,’ Jack moans.
I squeeze his shoulder. ‘You can do this. Trust me.’
And I really mean it. He can. This is Jack Bailey we’re talking about.
We sit there in silence for another few moments, with Jack staring out of the door at the bright blue sky and scrubby bushes beyond. Then he wipes a hand over his mouth, clenches his fists briefly and then slowly starts to pull himself up and out of the limousine.
‘That’s it, Jack!’ I say triumphantly. ‘You’re doing it!’
And he is. First at a snail’s pace, then all at once.
Before I know it, Jack is completely out of the limo.
‘Yes!’ I crow with glee.
Leo passes me to also get out of the limo. ‘You’d better know what you’re bloody doing,’ he tells me with a snarl.
This takes me aback a bit. Leo does not snarl. Especially at me.
What’s he going to think when—
No! This is working! Don’t ruin it!
It’s my turn to get out of the limo, and when I do, I see that Jack is plastered against the side of the vehicle, and Leo is stood next to him, one hand gripped on Jack’s jacket sleeve.
I close the door, and tentatively get closer to them both. ‘You see, Jack? That was easier than you thought it would be, wasn’t it?’
‘Go to hell,’ he tells me in a low voice.
I nod. ‘Okay, I will . . . But not before we’ve taken a little walk up the road a bit. How about it? You’ve come this far . . .’ Cajoling again. Wheedling. Manipulating.
I will lie in bed later tonight hating that tone of voice more than I’ve hated anything about myself before. I will replay the words I use in my head. The inflections. The persuasions. And I will cry tears of frustrated rage that I could have been so stupid . . . and so unkind.
I pull at one of his jacket sleeves, while Leo’s hand remains clasped to the other. ‘Come on,’ I repeat. ‘You can do this.’
Jack licks his very dry lips, and takes a step forward. Leo’s expression darkens considerably.
‘Yes!’ I exalt. ‘Well done, Jack!’
He even looks up at me and nods. And then he takes another step. Into a wide-open space that must feel like it goes on forever.
Dartmoor is a beautiful place. But even I feel a little disoriented by how far you can see. That’s not a common thing to be able to do in the UK at all. It’s just too small to have wide-open vistas that go on for miles.
I should know. It took me ages to find somewhere big enough for my purposes.
But here, under the blue vaults of heaven, and surrounded by the flat, scrubby moorlands that stretch on for miles, I can understand why Jack would be afraid. You could wander alone out here for the rest of your life. Alone with nothing but your thoughts.
Jack takes another step. I don’t cheer this time.
From off to our left a flock of crows takes flight, disturbed by our passage. Jack lets out an exclamation of terror.
‘It’s fine!’ I cry, trying to reassure. ‘You’re fine, Jack.’ I point up the way a bit. ‘Let’s just get to that big clump of bushes, eh? Let’s get there, and we’ll call it a day. You’re doing very well.’
‘Am I?’ he asks me, and I feel him tremble all over as he says this.
I nod hard. ‘Yes! You’re doing brilliantly. I’m very proud of you!’
He nods as well. ‘I am doing it.’
‘You are,’ Leo agrees, giving him a smile of his own. This one is more gentle. More patient. More
honest
Leo-like.
The three of us continue towards the large crop of bushes, which are just the right size to hold several children dressed as characters from a well-known fantasy epic.
My heart rate rises as we draw closer.
But Jack’s stage of this adventure has gone well, hasn’t it? No reason to suggest Leo’s won’t too!
‘That’s fine,’ I eventually say. ‘That’s far enough, Jack. Why don’t you have a little look around? Take a few deep breaths as you do it.’
Jack nods again, and does exactly that.
As he does, the deep frown lines of terror start to evaporate, and his body begins to untense. So much so, that I am able to let him go, and stand back a bit. Leo does the same thing, but with a lot less surety about his movements.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks Jack.
‘Yeah. I . . . I think so,’ our friend responds. ‘If I just stand here, and don’t try to think about things too much, I think I can . . . I can . . .’
Oh God. There are tears in his eyes. This is so hard for him.
What the hell am I doing?
‘If I just stay here,’ he repeats, ‘it’s not too bad, as long as nothing—’
‘I Am The Servant Of The Secret Fire!’ shouts a high-pitched but surprisingly powerful voice. ‘I Am The Flame Of Anor!’
‘Jesus Christ!’ Jack screams as the sound cuts through the Dartmoorian silence.
From behind the large clump of bushes, and very much on cue, emerges a tall kid of about ten years old, dressed as Gandalf the Grey. He is holding his staff and plastic sword mightily aloft, and has a look of grim resolve on his face. Good, good. He’s playing the part well. That’s just what I wanted.
Behind him come several more children, dressed as Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, Aragorn, Gimli, Boromir and—
That’s a poodle. I did not request a poodle.
That was not part of my grand master plan.
From behind the bush, Poppy Mulbray pops her head out. ‘Sorry, Charlie!’ she stage-whispers. ‘Noah got the runs and couldn’t make it. I thought Coco might make a nice alternative? I had a Christmas elf-dog costume lying around, so . . .’
