Yours Truly (9 page)

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Authors: Kirsty Greenwood

BOOK: Yours Truly
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Oh God.

Marie marches over to me, eyes blazing. Her fists are clenched. This is it. She’s going to beat me up. I always knew she would beat someone up. I just never imagined it would be me. I’m the nice girl. The nice, polite girl who shuts up and gets on with it. I close my eyes and wait for the impact of fist in head.


Ahem.

I open my eyes to see Stone looming large in front of Marie, essentially blocking her path towards me. Where did he come from? Behind him Marie is shaking a fist at me. Surely only people in black and white films shake fists at each other. Now is so not the time to giggle. What is wrong with me?

My face flushes red.


I’m so sorry,

I bleat.

I didn’t mean to say that, something has happened to me. I have no control over my brain, I -

Stone puts a hand up to stop me from talking, and points Marie in the direction of the bemused, waiting customers. She bares her teeth at me briefly before following his instructions. God. That was close.

Stone ushers me into the storeroom, runs a hand through his dark, Liam Gallagher style hair and raises his monobrow in concern.


What have you been taking, love. Is it shrooms? Blow? Cat’s Pee?

In all the time I have worked here this is the first time I’ve heard Stone speak. His voice is scratchy and actually rather high pitched. My shock doesn’t get a look in as I feel the urge to answer him at once.


I’m not on drugs. Of course I’m not. Cat Pee? That’s horrible. Do people actually do that? Ugh!

Stone frowns and mutters

Denial ain’t just a river in Egypt

to himself.


Really. I’m not on drugs,

I try.


Love, I have been around a lot of drugs, and that little speech you just made in there was not you. Now, will you be honest with me?

It’s so weird that he’s actually talking. Like a normal, actual person, rather than the silent, shady figure that sits in the corner all day.


That’s the problem. I can’t be anything but honest. I’ve been…

I can already tell how weird this is going to sound
.


I've been hypnotised. Somebody has cast a spell over me. Taken over my mind. I’m sorry, I am trying get it sorted out and then I’ll be back to normal. I promise!

Out in the shop I can hear Meg’s voice demanding to see me, and Marie snapping at her to wait.

Stone bites his fist and shakes his head sadly.


It’s always the quiet ones. It always gets to them.


What does?


The lure of hard drugs.

Suddenly he envelops me in a hug. What is it with this morning? We’ve never spoken and now there is physical contact?

I pull back and try once again to explain that I’m not on drugs, but Stone is having none of it. I’m between a rock and a hard place. Try to get the owner of my workplace to believe that I am under some kind of creepy mind control, or let him think I’m a drug addict. Either one could get
me fired. And I need this job…
I have to make an executive decision. Stone is clearly far more sympathetic to the idea that I've been using drugs. And so...


Yes,

I event
ually say.

It’s so hard. This…
squalid life of drugs. Please don’t sack me. I’ll get help!

It seems to work because Stone pats me kindly on the shoulder, and with tears in his eyes, tells me to take some time off. Go to rehab, whatever, he’ll pay. My job will be waiting for me.

Wow. What a nice guy.

He’s right. Not about the drugs thing obviously, but about the time off. I simply cannot be in work while this is happening. Better to take a little time off than get fired altogether.


Thank you,

I say.

Thank you so much.

Stone clamps his mouth shut, does a kind thumbs up and lumbers back off into the shop.

 

 

After whipping my apron off I run out from behind the counter (avoiding all eye contact with Marie, who I’m sure I can hear growling) grab hold of Meg’s hand and drag her out into the bustle of Piccadilly. Without a word I quickly march us over towards the oak benches by the fountains and try my best to explain to her what I think is going on.

I tell her everything that has happened since this morning, and apart from a few gasps and ill-concealed giggles
,
Meg has listened with an unlikely calmness.

When I’m finished she takes hold of my hand, looks searc
hingly into my eyes and says:


Are you still pissed?


No!

I yell, frustrated.

Please believe me. No one bloody believes me.

I cross my arms and resist the urge to stamp my foot.


Calm down,

Meg says sternly, surprised by my yelling, which we both know is completely out of character for me.

Let me get this straight. You think that last night when Brian tried to hypnotise me, he ended up hypnotising you instead?


Yes!


And that as a result of that hypnosis you have no control over what you say. That you can’t help but speak the truth, and only the truth, even if it’s subconscious?


Yes! It just blurts on out. It’s terrible. Awful!


But... Brian was a complete fake. Everybody in the pub saw that. He didn't manage to hypnotise me, so how would he have hypnotised you. Without even trying!

I shrug.

I’m not sure he was a fake. I don't know. Maybe I’m extra persuadable. I have a weak mind. Plus, I found this card in my bag.

I hand over The Amazing Brian business card.

I don’t even know where it came from.

Meg examines the card, frowning, before glancing suspiciously from side to side as if trying to find a hidden camera or a psychiatrist or something.


Okay.

I huff.

I’ll prove it to you. I'll prove that this really is happening to me. I know. I’ll try to tell you a lie, but I won’t be able to. I’ll tell
you a lie about something easy…
I don’t know, my age.

Meg obliges me and waits patiently.

I take a deep breath and prepare to tell the lie.

Okay. Here goes…
I’m fifty five years old,

I blurt.

That’s odd. I told a lie. I
can
tell a lie. And that weird bubbling urge to tell the truth feeling wasn’t there.

Now Meg looks even more confused and, fishing around in her bag for her phone, announces that she is going to call Olly and get him to take me home to bed, because I’m clearly unwell.


Wait. No,

I plead.

It didn’t work that time. I don’t understand.

I slump back onto the bench and put my head into my hands. I think carefully back to the events of this morning, over my entire conversation with Olly. And then it occurs to me. The urge to tell the truth only happens when I’m
asked
about something. I’m sure of it.


Ask me a question!

I demand, grabbing Meg’s phone and putting it back into her bag.

I think it only happens when someone asks a question.

Meg ponders for a second before saying:


Well, that
was
the point of the hypnotism last night. To get the audience to ask me
questions
. That I was only supposed to tell the truth when someone asked me a question.

She’s right! That’s it!


Go on then. Ask me a question. But make sure it’s something I wouldn’t really want to answer. That way, you’ll know I’m not lying.

Meg nods and rubs her hands together.

Right. Let me see… Okay. Do you ever pick your nose and eat it?


No! Ick,

I state immediately, the bubbling need to answer overtaking my brain and my mouth. There it is. That feeling! It only happens when I’m asked a question. I look up at Meg haughtily.

See!

Meg huffs and folds her arms.

Well that’s no good. You could be lying!

Fair point.


Okay. Try again with another question.

Meg purses her lips in concentration, and then her face lights up.


Fine. Remember that time at the upper sixth disco when you went missing for half an hour and told me you got locked in the toilets, even though I checked the toilets and you weren’t there?


Yes,

I say, my face beginning to burn up because I know exactly what’s coming next.


Where were you really?


I was in the art studio.

Meg gasps, her eyes widening. She bites down onto her bottom lip


And what were you doing?

she whispers.

Oh no!


I was snogging Mr Francis!

I cry before covering my face with my hands.

And his breath smelt like pipe. It was horrible!

Mr Francis was the sixth form head of art. He had a beard. It was grey. In my defence I had had two entire bottles of red wine beforehand. Okay. There was no defence.

Meg yelps and does a tiny
jump up and down.

No! That’s disgusting.


He had the look of Sean Connery,

I reason.


Nat, he had the look of Bill Oddie. Ew!

She's right. Oh Gad. I’m so embarrassed.


That was supposed to go with me to the grave.

Meg is laughing so hard that tears are trickling down her face. And then she stops and inhales sharply, as the realisation of what I’ve just revealed hits her.


Ohmigod Natty. You’re hypnotised.

At last.


I know! That's what I've been trying to tell you. What will I do? If I don’t fix it, I’ll never be able to make it up to Olly. I’ll never get married!

At the thought of Olly, tears spring to my eyes.


I have to fix it Meg. I have to.

Meg’s face becomes serious and she examines the Amazing Brian card she’s still holding onto. She runs a thumb over the back before looking back up into my eyes.


Well, my malleable brained friend. Looks like we’re going to be taking a leetle road trip.


What? Where?


The village of Little Trooley,

she says reading from
the written address on the card
.


But before we go anywhere, you have to do something, and it’s extremely important.


What is it?

I breathe
.


Put my flipping cardigan on. I can totally see your nipples through that top.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TEXT FROM: DIONNE

RU going to have a Brazilian before the wedding?

 

REPLY TO: DIONNE

No. x

 

 

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