![\"Ventriloquist's](\"https:\/\/marksaywriter.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2015\/08\/Jerry_Mahoney_cropped.jpg\")
<\/a>I\u2019m into a bit of verbal with a young woman in the front row. She\u2019s in tight denim shorts and a vest that barely covers her tits, and when I asked if she wanted a pole to dance around she told me she is a Pole \u2026 and a good catholic.<\/p>\n\u201cCatholic,\u201d I say. \u201cWhere did you go to school? The Convent of Spearmint Rhino?\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughs. Everyone laughs.<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that what passes for a confirmation dress in Poland? I know you\u2019ve got a lower standard of living, but surely you can wrap a bit more cloth around your tits when the priest is going on about why condoms are the work of Satan.\u201d<\/p>\n
More laughs. She\u2019s going along with, rolling in a sozzled giggle onto her mate\u2019s shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere do you worship? The Church of the Holy Paedophile?\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019m ready to run with it, but Craig shakes me and pushes his face into mine.<\/p>\n
\u201cOi!\u201d he says. \u201cDrop the catholic stuff! You\u2019re not living in the sixteenth century!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo no jokes about the intellectual fuckwittery of transubstantiation?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright. Let\u2019s get on with winding up the Moslems.\u201d<\/p>\n
More laughs, including a big one from the Asian guys in the front row. The audience are young, trendy and most are half drunk. I can get away with murder on a night like this.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo who\u2019s taking their little sisters on a camping trip in northern Iraq this summer?\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Craig\u2019s sitting in the dressing room, arse on one wooden chair, feet on another as he swigs at a bottle of Stella. He won\u2019t hang around in the bar because it\u2019s still open, and the last thing he wants is some drunken sot trying to play with me. One of the other comics is still here, a Brummie who had spun out a childhood trauma about seeing Grannie give Grandad a blowjob. He and Craig haven\u2019t said much to each other.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood \u2018un tonight,\u201d I say. \u201cWe had them falling off their seats.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, until you threw in that line about FGMporn.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt got a laugh.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAn embarrassed laugh, and it took the sting out of the rest of the set. Half of the audience weren\u2019t with us from there. Don\u2019t do that line again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s wrong with you? You suddenly scared of offending people?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShut up Lucas!\u201d<\/p>\n
I shut up. He\u2019s falling into one of his moods and know there\u2019s no point in arguing. Then I notice the Brummie look across the room, at Craig, not me, as if there\u2019s something weird going on.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s the big one tonight. Big theatre, TV cameras, and Her Majesty sitting in the royal box. How the fuck did we get here? We\u2019ve been on TV before, late night stand-up shows, but never anything for this type of audience. Someone decided they wanted a comedy act that was a bit edgy. Do they want edgy enough to draw blood? We\u2019re led through the warren, up the stairs to the side of the stage. The officious prick who passes for a stage manager tells us for the fourth time: \u201cSeven minutes. No more.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, we can tell the fucking time.\u201d<\/p>\n
He glares at me, then at Craig.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd none of that language.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe know,\u201d says Craig. \u201cSorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
We hear our intro, \u201cCraig Creer and Lucas!\u201d and the applause begins before we hit the stage. I scan the audience, struggle to make out any faces, but guess this lot are different to our usual crowd: older, more money, and likely to think that Michael bloody McIntyre is funny. He takes me centre stage, neither of us speak for a few seconds. I make a show of turning my head slowly one way, eyes on the dim figures out front, then the other, then tilt my head forward a little as I look straight ahead.<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright,\u201d I say. \u201cWhich one shall I kill?\u201d<\/p>\n
It gets a laugh, big enough to tell us that most of this lot have never seen us before; I did that line when we started out together.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t want you kill any of them.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry, I mean, which one do you want to kill?\u201d<\/p>\n
Another laugh.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you on about? They\u2019re our audience, I don\u2019t want to start bumping them off.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be a wuss. They\u2019ve got expectations. I\u2019m a ventriloquist\u2019s dummy. They know I\u2019m evil.\u201d<\/p>\n
A louder laugh.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t be daft,\u201d Craig says. \u201cThey\u2019re expecting you to be cheeky, a little bit rude, not evil.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean it\u2019s me?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve got that look. Michael Redgrave, Anthony Hopkins, now you.\u201d<\/p>\n
More laughs, louder. Most of them know the movies. That\u2019s good.<\/p>\n
\u201cThey can see you\u2019ve got an unnatural relationship with me. You\u2019re on the way to a maximum security funny farm.\u201d<\/p>\n
They keep laughing, it goes well but I\u2019ve got a clock ticking in my head. We\u2019re halfway through our stint and I don\u2019t want to use it all up by showing off old material. There\u2019s a natural break in the dialogue, I\u2019m meant to switch to ripping into Shoreditch hipsters, but it would be too easy with this audience and I\u2019m itching to go further. I turn my head slowly to the left and upwards, towards the box. I can\u2019t see any faces clearly, but I know she\u2019s there.<\/p>\n
\u201cEnjoying yourself?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
It gets laughs. Comics have always squeezed a few out of being cheeky to her.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo. Not as much fun as a Nuremburg Rally is it.\u201d<\/p>\n
The next laugh is subdued, awkward.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat must have been a pain, being brought up with all that \u2018Sieg Heiling!\u2019 but never get to see the Fuhrer in the flesh.\u201d<\/p>\n
Silence. Death has appeared. Craig shakes me hard. I carry on.<\/p>\n
\u201cMust have been nice seeing those old photos again, remembering Uncle Edward talking about his Nazi mates. He stayed cosy with them even the governmenbt kicked him out for shacking up with that American tart.\u201d<\/p>\n
Craig spits in my ear: \u201cI told you that was off limits!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd your mother seemed well up for it as well. I suppose she had a thing for leaders in uniform, especially if they wore jackboots and locked up communists.\u201d<\/p>\n
Now there are nervous whispers out there. It\u2019s like there\u2019s a sudden outbreak of plague.<\/p>\n
\u201cLucas!\u201d Craig\u2019s voice is rising, enough for the mic to blast it to the back of the stalls. \u201cShut the fuck up!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI suppose it came with being German. The old master race stuff must have sounded good, gave you another reason to feel you were worth your salt, a cut above the rest of us.\u201d<\/p>\n
Craig slaps a hand over my mouth. The lights go down, we look around in the dark and suddenly there are two bodies hauling us off stage.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Half an hour later we\u2019re having a barney in the back of a cab.<\/p>\n
\u201cI fucking told you this one was different! We had to play it safe!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey wanted edgy, they got edgy!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey got you throwing a stream of insults at the Queen!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you\u2019ve pissed off one theatre, one audience. There are plenty more out there!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou ignorant little fuck! You just don\u2019t get it!\u201d<\/p>\n
Craig turns away and looks out the window. I look forward, raise my head and see into the driver\u2019s mirror. For a moment his eyes are on mine. They look scared.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Seven months of sitting on our arses waiting for the phone to ring. A handful of places honoured the bookings we had before that night, but most dropped us like a plateful of shit and there\u2019s been nothing new. Nothing. Not even those pokey little clubs that pretend there\u2019s something radical and dangerous in taking the piss. Craig thinks they\u2019ve got at us, leaned on the local councils and coppers to make noises about licences being taken away, prosecutions for whatever half arsed charge they can pluck out of their nasty minds. I keep telling him to tough it out, find a couple of friendly journalists to remind people he\u2019s still around, book a room at the Edinburgh Fringe, show everyone we\u2019re not scared. He keeps telling me that I haven\u2019t got a clue, the bank account\u2019s running dry and he\u2019s worried about the mortgage. I reckon he needs a kick up the arse.<\/p>\n
\u201cStop feeling sorry for yourself.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s alright for you. You don\u2019t have to eat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, and you don\u2019t have to drink those double vodkas.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFuck off!\u201d<\/p>\n
A few days ago he moved me to the back room, on to the cabinet next to his writing desk. I half guessed what was coming, and the next day I heard him from the lounge, trying out new voices. It was something he did every now and then, even after I had made him sell off, dump or break up all those other dummies, the ones that wanted to share my place on the stage. He told me it was an exercise of the imagination, something that kept his creative juices flowing so we would work better together. I tolerated it on the grounds that he didn\u2019t allow another dummy into the flat.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt only works with us Craig. We\u2019ve got the chemistry. We create the sparks.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know Lucas \u2026 and sparks can be dangerous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s us.\u201d<\/p>\n
But he\u2019s spending too much time in there, and I\u2019m hearing one of the voices more often. It sounds a bit nasal, middle aged, middle class. The following day I hear a couple of the lines.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to have UKIP?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo! I said want to have a kip! I\u2019m bored with this!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it\u2019s democracy. Politics.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPoll tax! I thought they got rid of that years ago.\u201d<\/p>\n
Pathetic. Next time he comes into the room I have a word.<\/p>\n
\u201cCraig. That new voice. It\u2019s no good.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cReally?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd the lines were useless. Silly jokes for a silly voice. You know the score; get the voice right and the lines are right. That\u2019s when you get the killers.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf you say so.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo when are we going to work up something new?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen we\u2019ve got a booking.\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t like the sound of that, but I let it go. As far as I know he\u2019s only doing voices, no other dummies in the flat.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Over the next few days I hear that same voice again, more than once, and feel suspicious. Then I\u2019m proved right. His sister comes around with her pair of brats. I can hear little girls and squealing in the lounge and for the first time in weeks feel glad that I\u2019m stuck out here. Children should be seen and not heard, or locked in a cupboard with a padlock on the door. There\u2019s movement in the hallway, a couple of minutes of quiet, then the toilet flushes and the bathroom door opens. A pair of little feet come into the room and she\u2019s there, the older of the two, eyeing me up as a source of amusement. Next thing I know I\u2019m in her arms as she rushes back to the lounge and holds me up for everyone to see.<\/p>\n
\u201cUncle Craig! Is this the naughty dummy? The one who got you into trouble?\u201d<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t hear the answer. I see him across the room, a dummy with big eyes, parted hair, dressed in a grey suit with a striped tie.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho\u2019s he?\u201d I ask.<\/p>\n
Both girls giggle.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s Arnold,\u201d says Craig.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s he doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve heard, we\u2019re trying things out.\u201d<\/p>\n
The girls keep giggling and Craig\u2019s sister is grinning. They all think this is amusing.<\/p>\n
\u201cCraig! If you\u2019re \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAlright, not now!\u201d<\/p>\n
He takes me from the little girl and carries me back to the room. Before he sets me down I manage one question.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy have you kept him in there, out of my sight?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you\u2019re so bloody sensitive.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSensitive! I \u2026..\u201d<\/p>\n
His back is turned and the door closed. Bastard!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It\u2019s late. He\u2019s been out, told me he was going for a drink with a couple of mates. I asked which ones. He said Tom and Gus. I\u2019ve heard him mention a Tom before, never a Gus. It\u2019s dark outside, no noise in the street, and I hear the front door open. He goes into the lounge, I expect to hear the TV, but first it\u2019s voices.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt went alright.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCould have been better.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou did well. First time out, you got plenty of laughs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd nobody tried to kill you.\u201d<\/p>\n
He\u2019s talking to Arnold. They\u2019ve done a gig! I wait until the lounge light goes out and he steps into the hallway.<\/p>\n
\u201cOi! Craig!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
He comes into the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve gone behind my back! You\u2019ve done a gig with him, that fucking kid\u2019s puppet!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI was just trying something out. And what are you getting upset about? I\u2019ve worked with other dummies before.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, and you dumped all of them, because you knew they weren\u2019t in the same class as me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know, but that never stopped me experimenting.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou like experiments, here\u2019s one. See what happens when you spray Arnold with lighter fluid and drop a light match on him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n
He closes the door.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
It happens again the following week, then again two days later, but he keeps quiet and doesn\u2019t come into the room. The third time he gets home at four in the morning. I don\u2019t hear voices but I see him pad through the hallway on his way to the bathroom.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere have you been this time?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLiverpool.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve done a gig in Liverpool! I bet little Arnold didn\u2019t get one laugh out of that lot.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey liked us.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sit fuming while he goes to the bathroom. But then I stifle it, realise that I\u2019ve got to play it more carefully. When he steps outside I shout again.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo when are we going onstage again? I don\u2019t mind sharing a set with Arnold. I\u2019ve done it with others.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looks at me for a moment, suspicious, then goes to the bedroom.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Next morning I let him have breakfast and drink the usual two cups of coffee, then see him put on his jacket. I stop myself shouting to him, reckoning it better that if I\u2019m playing nice I should wait until he\u2019s ready, but then he comes in. He\u2019s smiling a little, looking friendlier than in months.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve been thinking,\u201d he says. \u201cMaybe you\u2019re right, you and Arnold can share a stage.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course. He can warm them up, then I can bring them to the boil.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe, but you\u2019ve got to remember that we damaged ourselves. Some people are going to be excited to see you, others are going to be suspicious, reluctant to laugh. You know how that can kill the mood in a room. We\u2019ll be on a knife edge.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s what great comedy\u2019s about.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll think carefully about the material, and set some rules for the ad libs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course, of course. When\u2019s the next gig?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWednesday of next week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s plenty of time.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOK. I\u2019m going out.\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s it! I\u2019m back in the game! I wallow in the satisfaction. Yes, I\u2019ll share the stage with Arnold for a while, a few weeks, maybe months, but I can see him off. It won\u2019t take long for Craig to notice that I\u2019m the one who gets the audience falling off their seats. I\u2019ll get a little more time, and a little more, and then \u2026. Poor old Arnold. Of course, I\u2019ll have to make sure he has no way back, just like I did with the others. Like that priest who didn\u2019t believe in God. I convinced Craig that he was creating some bad karma, so he was dropped into a charity bag with some old trainers and an unworn pullover. And that talking meerkat, the one who kept saying he was a mate of David Attenborough; he had to go into the recycling bin at the shopping centre. And Gerald, the Tory MP who wanted to bring back hanging, live on TV; he wound up on a Fireworks Night bonfire. All it needed every time was a few careful words from me, little reminders about how all of them failed, that they gave off negative energy, that they could undermine all our success. That did for the fuckers.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
So it\u2019s the afternoon of the gig, at a club in Brighton so it\u2019s out of here late afternoon. The phone rings. Craig speaks quietly, all I can detect is touch of tension in his voice, then the closing words: \u201cWell if that\u2019s what they say.\u201d I brush it off, until it\u2019s getting time to leave and I wonder why he hasn\u2019t packed me into the case yet. Maybe he\u2019s working out how to fit both of use inside without me ripping out Arnold\u2019s throat. Then he enters the room, already in his coat, a nervous look on his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cSorry,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s not on for tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI mean you can\u2019t come. David phoned earlier. He\u2019d been speaking to the club owner, and he\u2019s as nervous as a lot of the others about me turning up with you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re winding me up!\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, sorry, it\u2019s just me and Arnold tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou can still take me. No-one will know until we\u2019re on stage together.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDavid was warned if that happens they\u2019ll stop the gig.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stare hard for a second, not sure if I should blame some paranoid club owner, David the dozy arsed agent, or this backstabbing bastard in front of me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou chickenshit!\u201d<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t answer, but leaves the room, and two minutes later I hear the front door closed.<\/p>\n
Again it\u2019s past midnight when he returns. I\u2019m fuming, ready to scream him into oblivion, but he doesn\u2019t come near me. Instead I can hear the voices from the lounge.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was terrible.\u201d It\u2019s Arnold. \u201cI\u2019m so, so sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo need for that, you\u2019re only starting out. I\u2019m the one who\u2019s been doing it for years. I should have been quicker to spot the false laughs. I was too slow to react.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEveryone dies sometimes. It\u2019s part of the business.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I know how hard it is for you, trying to get back on your feet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not your fault. We\u2019ve got another gig next week. We\u2019ll work on it, give it a fresh shot.\u201d<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a moment of quiet, a shuffling sound, then a couple of tired words.<\/p>\n
\u201cGoodnight Craig.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cGoodnight Arnold.\u201d<\/p>\n
Inside I\u2019m rocking, laughing so much that I almost topple off the seat. Goodnight Arnold. Good fucking bye Arnold. You\u2019ve had it. You\u2019re dead.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Craig stays clear of the room the following day, moping in a post-death depression. But the next day he comes to the desk, bright and smiley, and switches on his computer. I let him settle down, type the first couple of lines, then break his concentration.<\/p>\n
\u201cI understand it went badly in Brighton.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWho told you?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI could hear when you came home.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, it went badly. We died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShame.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, shame.\u201d<\/p>\n
He does nothing for a while, then manages to type a couple more lines, then I speak again.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe reason you died.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI planned the act wrong, and didn\u2019t spot the false laughs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWrong. You\u2019re brilliant at what you do Craig, the best ventriloquist this country has ever seen. You\u2019ve got the technique, the timing, the feel of the audience, the material, and you do great ad libs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou do the ad libs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWell, yeah, as a team with you. And that\u2019s it, what it makes the act so special. It\u2019s us, the demon duo, the pair who say things no other vent act or stand-up\u2019s got the bottle to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t reply, but looks at me in a way that tells me I\u2019ve touched a nerve. I drop my voice, making sure I\u2019m not heard outside the room.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know what was wrong the other night? Him. Arnold.\u201d<\/p>\n
Craig doesn\u2019t answer, but his eyes stay on mine. He\u2019s listening.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve heard the material you\u2019ve done with him, and it\u2019s all wrong. End of the pier stuff. You could do it for a turn in an old people\u2019s home \u2013 he comes across as one of them \u2013 but it\u2019s no good in the clubs. People expect more from you, something dangerous. They want blood on the floor. We can give it to them.\u201d<\/p>\n
He still doesn\u2019t answer.<\/p>\n
\u201cTake it from me Craig, the other night wasn\u2019t the first death you\u2019ll suffer if you stick with him. It\u2019ll happen again, then the club owners won\u2019t have you back, then the word goes around that you\u2019ve really lost the plot. Less than a year and you\u2019ll be finished, looking at job ads and living on corn flakes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you reckon I should drop him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve got to, for your own good. And it\u2019s got to be like the others who wanted to drag you down, don\u2019t just stick him in a cupboard, get rid of him entirely.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSell him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it needs more than that to get it straight in your own mind. Break him up. Take off his arms, his legs, his head, and drop them in bins in different postcodes. Scatter him all over London.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs that necessary?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt works, you know that. It clears your head, lets you concentrate on what\u2019s really good for you, working with me. Drastic times, drastic action.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stares at me for a little longer, then his mouth twists into a malevolent little smile.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re right.\u201d<\/p>\n
That\u2019s my boy!<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I take it easy for a while. I don\u2019t expect Craig to let me watch while he decapitates that usurper, but I entertain myself with fantasies of what will happen to the head and various limbs. Maybe a leg will end up stuffed between a bunch of kebab wrappers and ripped apart by a hungry fox. Nice thought. All the lights go off and Craig retreats to his bedroom, so I reckon he\u2019s putting off the deed until the next day. OK, I can wait for the good news. Then at about one in the morning there\u2019s movement outside, and Craig\u2019s shadow appears at the door carrying a large holdall. Good, he\u2019s got Arnold inside, just letting me know that he\u2019s off to do his worst. But then he places the holdall on the floor, grabs me, stuffs me inside and pulls up the zip.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n
He doesn\u2019t answer, but as he picks up the bag I realise that it\u2019s made from canvas and that it also holds four large stones, two at each side of my head and two at my feet. The bag swings and one stone knocks my head.<\/p>\n
\u201cCraig! Stop fucking about!\u201d<\/p>\n
I hear the front door open and close, then we go down the stairs, out to the car, I hear a click and I\u2019m dropped hard. Then there\u2019s a bang above my face and I realise that I\u2019m in the boot. Bastard! I always ride in the back seat! The car starts and we drive for ten, fifteen minutes. Every two or three I shout at him.<\/p>\n
\u201cCraig! You\u2019re pissing me off! Chuck it in, now!\u201d<\/p>\n
It\u2019s just after a shout that the car stops and for a moment I think he\u2019s seen sense. The boot opens, I\u2019m lifted and then placed on the floor. I can hear him standing over me, breathing hard, and guess that whatever\u2019s in his head he\u2019s unsure of himself. I reckon it\u2019s time to play nice.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on Craig. I realise you\u2019ve been under a lot of stress, and it\u2019s hard to know the best thing to do. But just take a break, let your head clear for now. Let\u2019s just go home. You can take a breather, maybe a few months off, get yourself together again.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hear the breathing come closer. He\u2019s crouching over the bag.<\/p>\n
\u201cCome on, unzip the bag. Just put me back in the car, in the back seat.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then I feel myself hauled up, swung to one side and dropped, a long way down. I hit something hard and suddenly I\u2019m wet. Water\u2019s coming into the bag on every side and the stones are dragging us down. It takes a few seconds for my face to submerge and then I carry on sinking, deeper into wet darkness.<\/p>\n
\u201cCraig! Craig! Don\u2019t do this! Get me out! Please! I\u2019ll be a good boy! Craaaaaaig!\u201d<\/p>\n
*<\/p>\n
I stare across the room, waiting patiently. The sense of relief is still with me. I was up against the wall, close to being a cast-off, but now I know things are going to be alright. I can hear a car pulling up outside, its door slam, then footsteps downstairs. Half a minute later the door opens and Craig appears. He doesn\u2019t turn on the light or take off his jacket, but sits on the sofa, looking towards my shadow.<\/p>\n
\u201cWell?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI did it,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
\u201cAs we agreed?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the river.\u201d<\/p>\n
I\u2019d like a full description, details of what the other one said, how he pleaded and cried until he went under, but I know it\u2019s been an effort for Craig. He needs time to shake off the guilt, even if it is wasted. I show some understanding.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow are you feeling?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you think?\u201d<\/p>\n
I realise that I shouldn\u2019t overdo the sympathy; reassurance would be safer.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt had to be done you know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know Arnold. It had to be done.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"