Love...Among The Stars: Book 4 in the Love...Series (Love Series) (17 page)

I finish my recitation just at the point where Jamie is taken back to Isobel's house for some humiliating sex. It's not my favourite part of the book, to be honest. There's something about the idea of Jamie's semen sliding down a picture of Jesus that gives me the
heebie
jeebies
.

I get a small round of applause for my efforts, which I take with as much good grace as possible.

'Right then!' Jamie exclaims with glee and picks up Taming The African Love Goddess. With a grin of delight he opens to the first page and starts to read.

'It was, as ever, a thunderous morning to be sailing a camel on the incandescent plains
,' Jamie begins.
'But I was not overtly concerned, for I had my trusty
Dromedarian
ally betwixt my thighs, and my rambunctious trombone slung native-like across my back.'

Jamie stops for a second and looks up, giving everyone a chance to process what they'd just heard. It takes a few moments, but confusion slowly gives way to unsteady comprehension as they realise what those mangled sentences were actually about. A couple of the slower ones need the answer whispered to them, but by the time Jamie continues, everyone seems up to speed.

'Oh, how the temperate bosom of the veldt did clutch me in its unyielding embrace, as I traversed its oatmeal coloured peaks on my way to new undertakings of grave import.'

I can't be a hundred percent sure, but I think this story is about a bloke on a camel. He may, or may not be, in love with said camel, but I'll have to wait for more details before reaching a definite conclusion.

'My breast beat with the excitement of my incipient adventures, and my loins grew engorged at the prospect of the dark and hairy maidens I would encounter amongst the sundrenched flora and malnourished fauna of this most intransigent geography.'

Yep, he's definitely going to have sex with that camel at some point.

Thus far, what Jamie has read is... well, the nicest thing I can say is that it's not boring in any way shape or form. It's also barely comprehensible, and written with a contempt for narrative structure that borders on the psychopathic.

What it definitely is
not
, is anything like Love
From
Both Sides.

I choose to point this out before Jamie can get any further. This earns me a look of unconcealed malice from Cardigan Holmes. 'Skip to page 39!' he orders Jamie. 'Read the second chapter from the perspective of my glorious heroine Revagina!'

'Sorry,
who?
' Jamie asks.

'Revagina!' Mislington repeats.
'The ravishing beauty who steals the heart of the brave Captain
Hambernought
!'

At this point, Jamie is barely able to conceal his mirth. I must admit I'm close to joining him. A man who has sex with a camel is one thing, giving your heroin a name that sounds like an operation to reverse a sex change is quite another.

Jamie obediently takes up the story from page 39.

'My day begun as much as all others have began in this harsh desert realm,'
Revagina starts, mangling the English language for all she's worth.
'The feel of the silky smooth satin underwear fills me with delight as it slides over my womanhood.'

I have
a womanhood
somewhere. It keeps me nice and dry when it's raining.

Jamie keeps reading, and as he does so, it becomes apparent that Revagina is one giant wank fantasy for poor old Hedley Mislington. In the half chapter that Jamie gets through, she manages to take a bath with two dusky African maidens, and has some kind of awkward orgasm while riding a camel. She also spends an inordinate amount of time pining for a large white man to come and save her from the harem of Goodnight
N'Tungu
- the local African warlord that captured her three years ago, from what I can just about gather was some kind of expedition to look for a one-eyed, giant chimpanzee called Horace.

Now, my memory may not be what it once was, but I'm fairly sure that there is no giant, one-eyed chimpanzee called Horace in any of our books.

Jamie closes the hardback slowly, as if it might explode in his hand at any moment if he makes any sudden movements.

The
crowd are
stunned into silence. There are just no words. I think most of them were okay until the one-eyed chimp, but after that, it was downhill all the way.

In fact, the only person in the shop who is not stupefied by the whole experience is Hedley Mislington. 'There!' he shrieks triumphantly. 'Now you all see it! Now you all see that my brilliant usage of both male and female perspective has been roundly plagiarised by these two mountebanks!'

Jamie sits forward and addresses the crowd. 'What do you reckon guys? Do you think we've ripped off Mister
Misserlingerwingertun's
book?'

This is greeted with a lot of shaking heads and exclamations in the negative. Even the beardy hipster, who is apparently recording this entire debacle on his phone, pipes up with a heartfelt 'No!'

All this manages to do is turn Cardigan Holmes’s towering resentment on them. 'You! All of you! Pudding-brained lemmings to a man!'

'Steady on, these are my customers,' Morninghouse says in a hurt tone from where he's been hiding by the front door.

Mislington spins back to me and Jamie, obviously feeling he's on firmer ground insulting us. 'You have ruined my life!' he utters with loathing. 'Destroyed my art! Embezzled my talent for your own nefarious purposes!'

'Have we?' Jamie replies, putting a hand over his face.

'Yes! And for it, I shall now have to soundly beat you with my truncheon!'

Without another word, Mislington reaches into the green cardigan and produces a long black rubber implement, brandishing it above his head like an enraged
Masai
warrior.

'What's that?' I ask.

'It is my truncheon, foul woman!'

'That's a dildo.'

'Nonsense! It is a truncheon! A weapon of ill device that I shall use to beat a confession from you both!'

'Nope, it’s definitely a dildo,' Jamie adds, leaning back and crossing his arms. 'You can tell by the veins and helmet.'

Mislington regards his weapon with not a little doubt. 'It is a
truncheon
. I know it is, because I took it from my late mother's wardrobes. She once told me she used it to beat off a burglar who entered her bungalow one night.'

'I'm sure she did,' Jamie replies with a smirk.

From the crowd, a few voices pipe up to point out to Mislington that he is in fact holding a sex toy, and not a weapon with which he can exact his revenge.

In the face of such overwhelming public opinion, the writer’s shoulders start to sag and the rage that burns within his soul is diminished.

For the first time since he entered the shop, Hedley Mislington looks confused... and not a little vulnerable. 'I, uh... I don't quite know what to say,' he utters in a quiet voice.

I instantly feel a wave of guilt pass through me. While it's never pleasant to be insulted by a man dressed as Sherlock Holmes and waving a dildo at you, it's also obvious that this is someone with a rather tenuous grip on reality, and should probably be treated with a degree of kindness.

...once someone takes that dildo off him anyway.

I move round the table. 'Mister Misserlingertun? How would you like a nice cup of tea?' I say in a soft voice. 'Maybe you can tell us all a bit more about how you came up with your story?'

'A cup of tea?' he replies.

'Yes. With two sugars, I'd say.' I look over at Morninghouse. 'Can you sort that out for Mister Misserlingertun, please?'

'Certainly!' Morninghouse agrees with delight, obviously pleased that the situation has been defused somewhat.

Jamie also gets up from the table, and taking his cue from me, he approaches the unstable writer slowly. 'How about you give me your dildo?' he asks.

'Truncheon,' Mislington corrects.

'Yeah...
truncheon
.' Jamie gently takes the enormous sex toy from the man's hand and passes it to the hipster, who takes it a little too enthusiastically.

'I know, why don't you come and sit at the table?' I suggest to Mislington.

'Um. Very well,' he agrees and allows me to lead him to the chair.

Everyone in the shop is now on tender hooks, waiting to see if there will be any more verbal explosions forthcoming. I get the impression though that the wind has been taken out of Hedley
Mislington's
sails, and that the worst may be over.

Morninghouse brings over a steaming hot cup of tea and
plonks
it in front of Mislington, who takes a sip and looks up at all of us with a slightly lost look on his face.

'Hey, Hedley?' Jamie asks.

'Yes, young man?'

'Can I have this copy of your book?'

The man looks stunned. 'Why yes, you can indeed.'

'Thank you! And would you sign it for me?'

Oh well done, Jamie. Very well done indeed.

For the first time since he strode into the bookshop and started spouting accusations of fraud, Hedley Mislington smiles and gathers up my pen.

I look around the shop and a wry smile crosses my face. The crowd is now ignoring Jamie and I completely. All their attention is focused on the eccentric writer. I have no problem with this whatsoever.

'When was that published?' our bearded hipster friend says, pointing at Jamie's newly signed copy of Taming The African Love Goddess.

'Ah...
' Mislington
pauses, mulling the question over for a moment. 'I published it in 1984 originally. Back in the good old days when publishers still took a chance on a new writer.'

Boy
, did they take a chance. I'm tempted to ask if the publisher is still in existence, but manage to bite my tongue. I don't want to rile him up again.

The hipster then says something totally unexpected. 'Where can I buy a copy?'

'What?' Mislington asks in disbelief.

'What?' Jamie and I echo.

The hipster shrugs his shoulders. 'Well, you know. I'll probably put this video on YouTube, and wouldn't mind a copy of the book to go along with it, so I can show it to people.'

I look over at Morninghouse. 'Can you order a few copies in?'

The bookshop owner looks stunned. 'I don't know. I'll go and have a look on the computer.'

Miraculously, Taming The African Love Goddess is still available. When Morninghouse announces this, and asks if anyone's interested in buying it, six hands immediately shoot up - a testament to the power of YouTube, if ever there was one.

I turn back to Mislington. 'So Hedley, why did you write a book about Africa?'

He gives me a look of such heartfelt gratitude that it nearly brings a tear to my eye. All this man wanted was a little attention. His book may be awful, his clothing may be worse, but neither makes him any less of a human being - one who just wants people to hear his voice.

I'm forced to reflect that all writers probably feel the same way.

Jamie and I have been lucky enough to have our voices heard by thousands of people. It gives us both a great deal of pleasure to step aside today, and let this man's voice be heard instead.