Tim Connor Hits Trouble (13 page)

For his next trick Naylor shifted from the nasty to the sinister. Several times each day, usually when he was at home in the evening, Tim’s landline would ring. When he picked it up he would hear ‘death music’; slow deep drumbeats punctuated by wild shouts and agonised cries. It might have been frightening if it hadn’t been so ridiculous. But it was inconvenient. To counter the move Tim transferred
as much of his phone communication as possible to his mobile. Thank God for modern technology. Generally he took the landline off the hook or ignored it. When he did pick it up he remained steadfastly unfazed by the music but it was a warning to him how far Naylor was prepared to go. In this war of wills and nerves his strategy was to hang on. He made no direct accusation to Naylor. That would only have pleased his would-be tormentor. In any case there was no proof.

On one occasion he did go to the police. This followed an incident that seemed to offer some prospect of incriminating Naylor in a clear case of intentional damage to property. The issue began with a note pushed through Tim’s letterbox in which Naylor claimed that the gutter of Tim’s garden shed was leaking ‘loads of water’ onto Naylor’s property. Naylor would ‘summon’ him if he didn’t ‘sort it quickly.’ Tim checked out the alleged problem several times, including in a period of heavy rain, and concluded that this was just another case of troublemaking. He decided to leave it at that. Another note came through the letterbox. Tim ‘better do something about it this time’ or Naylor would ‘see him in court’. Checking again he found that the gutter and its supports were hanging loose, splintering part of the shed itself. It was obvious that Naylor had deliberately damaged the guttering given that the rest of the shed was sound. Tim reported the incident to the local police. The police did at least turn up and interview both parties. In the event, they were more inclined to believe Naylor’s version of events perhaps because it required no further action on their part. They passed on his story to Tim: Naylor hadn’t touched the gutter and his wife and children had been soaked by water from it several times. When was Connor going to ‘pull his finger out’ and put in a new gutter or get a decent shed? The police were unimpressed when Tim pointed out that it was more likely ‘pigs might fly’ than that water could spontaneously leap four feet from the gutter to the other side of
what passed for a fence. The police remained unconvinced, warning him ‘not to do anything silly.’ Finally they suggested he consider civil action if he really thought it worth taking the matter further. Tim didn’t.

It was stalemate for the moment. Meanwhile the fence hung like a row of emaciated cadavers, shifting and flapping in the wind.

Although Tim mostly managed to block out Naylor’s activities there were times when going into work was the best escape. Not that life on campus was without incident. He had been looking forward to doing the lecture for Aisha and perhaps meeting up with her again. As it turned out she didn’t make the lecture, instead using the opportunity to visit an osteopath with Ali. This was a first year ‘theme’ lecture under the general title of ‘Minds that Formed Modernity.’ On entering a large lecture theatre Tim found well over a hundred, possibly closer to two hundred students already there. There was a buzz of expectation as he stepped onto the platform at one end of the theatre and settled behind a podium. Aisha must have given him a good build up. He decided to play into the high mood by challenging his audience as much as possible. The topic of Freud and the psychoanalysts he had influenced offered plenty of scope.

He began the lecture by pointing out that, according to Freud, for much of the time humans don’t fully understand
why they do what they do. This proposition seemed to catch his youthful audience’s attention. Encouraged he continued up-beat. This lack of self-understanding occurs because apparently conscious motives may be and perhaps always are influenced by the unconscious. For instance we might believe that we are helping an attractive person because they need help but the ‘real’ and unacknowledged motivation may be that we are attracted to them and want to get closer. To make the point Tim took a straw poll of his audience, asking them to vote on whether they would help a very attractive or less attractive person first, given equal need. Roughly half indicated comparative attractiveness would not make any difference to their choice, but nearly all the rest, some looking slightly uncomfortable, said it would. After some discussion arising from the vote Tim resumed the lecture.

Continuing his opening theme, he observed that, according to Freud sex or the suggestion of it (and most things suggested sex to Freud) is a constant preoccupation of the unconscious mind. Tim paused and looked out at his audience. There was a scatter of sceptical expressions, but no sign of a mass switch-off. Encouraged he did a quick introduction to the id, ego and superego – quick because he assumed that nearly all of this youthful audience would be aware of this foundational piece of psychoanalytic theory, although he knew from experience that any given student might draw a cognitive blank on any given topic. Most first-year undergraduates had heard of Darwin and most of Marx but not necessarily of Freud, a consequence he suspected of a ‘cook book’ approach to learning, focusing on exams at the expense of seminal thinkers and ideas. He had decided to use the trusty technique of creative repetition to keep all his audience onboard, whether or not they knew of Freud. This was not difficult given that Freud’s ideas had been endlessly presented in more simplified form.

With most of his audience apparently still tuned in Tim moved on from Freud and launched into an introduction
to transactional analysis, a kind of everyman’s version of Freud’s theory of the psyche. Eric Berne the Californian founder of transactional analysis had the inspired and lucrative idea of substituting the accessible terms ‘child’ for ‘id’, ‘adult’ for ‘ego’ and ‘parent’ for ‘superego’: each of which referred to particular emotional states and related behaviours. Tim then added his own terminology to further explain Berne’s model of the psyche: emotions (child), reason (adult) and socialised conscience or rules (parent): their dynamic relationship forming the mental state of a specific individual at a given time.

At this point Tim noticed an intense looking young woman in the front row, vigorously waving her hand.

‘Go ahead with your question.’

‘Thanks. Aren’t two and three of Berne’s and your interpretation the same; shouldn’t rules be rational?’

‘Good question. The short answer is that the rules of society are not always or entirely the product of reason, any more than individual actions always are. Some might be the result of prejudice or worse. Look at all the rules or laws Hitler introduced in relation to the Jewish population in Germany. All societies have rules but they’re by no means always rational. Let me put a question back to you to consider. Are there any rules in our society that you would be prepared to break not necessarily simply because they are irrational but because you consider them morally wrong? Perhaps higher morality requires thinking beyond the rules of a particular society, being critical of them. As I say, this is the short answer the long one might need a full series of lectures.’

‘Maybe you should give them.’

‘Maybe but I better finish this one now. Also you could consult the reading list, of course.’

He moved into the final phase of his lecture. Consistent with Freud’s model, Berne argued that the three functional structures of the psyche are universal but are variously expressed between individuals. Thus an adult who has
experienced unmet emotional needs as a child, say a lack of love or acceptance, may seek to get them met by acting like a child in certain situations in later life. If the emotionally deprived person is unlucky enough to find a partner who is fixated on a harsh version of the parent role – perhaps also learned in childhood – the outcome might be constant criticism for ‘childish’ behaviour rather than gaining the craved for love and acceptance. Of course, another couple might experience the ‘child/parent roles’ much more constructively. As he was explaining this, it suddenly occurred to Tim that tortuous, dysfunctional and often painful patterns of interaction might be what the psychiatrist R.D. Laing was referring to when he used the term ‘knots.’ On the spur of the moment he floated this notion to the students. Glancing up he could see that most of his audience were interested but some looked lost. He dropped the Laingian digression and returning to his main topic clicked up a PowerPoint frame juxtaposing the three models for the purpose of review. Some students still looked perplexed and judging their frowns an indication of lack of understanding, Tim decided to attempt a final tricky technique of communication: audience participation. Unfamiliar with his young audience he had been uncertain about attempting this – there was a risk of a chaotic response.

‘Right, it’s time to illustrate the theory with some role play. I’d like six of you to volunteer to act out the various parts of the psyche: two each for the child, adult and parent. I won’t force you. That’s not my democratic way. But give me six volunteers. Come and join me on the platform.’

After a couple of minutes five volunteers had trickled forward, two men and three women.

The audience then seemed to reach a perverse collective decision not to throw up a sixth volunteer. Tim looked around encouragingly. The students avoided his gaze. The impasse lasted a further couple of minutes. It was finally broken by a voice from the back of the room.

‘Why don’t you volunteer yourself, Sir?’

‘Don’t call me Sir. I turned down the knighthood.’ There was a thin ripple of laughter.

‘Sorry, Sir… I mean sorry, show us how it’s done.’

‘Ok. That’s a fair suggestion. Let’s start with a child-parent interaction.’

‘Why don’t you be the child, Sir, er… Tim. That’s gonna be the most difficult,’ this from another disembodied voice.

‘Ok, here goes.’ He knew the suggestion might be a pisstake but he was keen to get things moving. He quickly allocated the parent role to one of the three women.

‘Let’s get into roles.’

‘Ready?’

There was a murmur of assent.

‘Off we go, then.’ He braced him-self for a second before continuing in a plaintive tone, ‘I’m upset. You never pay any attention to me. You seem to prefer going out with friends. I don’t think you care about me.’

‘Don’t be silly. If you acted a bit more grown up perhaps we could have a proper relationship. You’re too involved with yourself.’ The tone of the voice was appropriately parental but with an unexpected hint of teasing.

Tim suddenly felt uneasy. There was something familiar about the young woman. He ploughed on. ‘We never spend any quality time together these days. I never feel you want to listen to me.’

‘I don’t know about that. We had a great time together just a few weeks ago. Stop being miserable and perhaps we can have some more fun.’

Tim stiffened with the shock of recognition. It was Georgie.

‘Oh my Lord!’

There was a brief moment of silence followed by a scatter of laughter and applause.

‘What’s Jesus got to do with it, Sir?’

Tim tried not to look Georgie in the eye, although he couldn’t avoid noticing that she was grinning. He gazed out at the bemused faces of the students.

Panic sparked inspiration.

‘Right! Sorry about that. I’ve just realised what time it is. Getting people to volunteer took longer than I intended. I’ll be less democratic and quicker next time. We’re going to have to scrap the role-play. If any of you really want to act out some of this, we’ll do it eh… some other time.’ He paused and added with emphasis, ‘I really can’t believe how late it is.’

The students’ bemusement had more or less evaporated by the time he wrapped things up and unusually, there was even a spatter of applause as Tim swept into his peroration enjoining them to ‘get in touch with their inner child’ and have a carefree and enjoyable day.

Back in his office, mercifully empty of the loquacious Purfect, he brewed a cup of tea and opened up his copy of the
Independent
. He was settling down to read a piece on the winners and losers in the financial crash when there was a knock on his door.

‘Come in.’

Enter Georgie, now looking more serious but still with the suggestion of a smile around her mouth.’

‘Hi,’

‘Hi.’

Tim folded his paper and dropped it onto his desk. He picked up his cup of tea wrapping his fingers around it. He leant back in his chair, receptive but feeling edgy.

‘So grab a pew. I hadn’t anticipated that we would meet again and certainly not like that. If I’d realised you were a student here I…’

‘Tim, don’t worry. I haven’t come to talk about that.’

‘We seem to be talking about it.’

‘I didn’t bring it up. When I’m a student I’m a student. Only a couple of best friends know about my… er… part-time job. The
Bombadier
is not a student pub. Hardly anybody here knows what I do there. If any students do go in, it’s because they’re gay. They wouldn’t care anyway. Besides
I only have sex with people I fancy. It’s not very often. You should take it as a compliment. I usually prefer my own sex.’

‘Thanks. It was very enjoyable, but we’ll have to leave it as a one-off. Even if it’s no trouble for you, it could be big trouble for me. Really the best thing would be if neither of us mentions it again, either between ourselves or to any one else. Do you mind?’

‘Consider it done.’

‘Really? As easy as that?’

‘Really? Why not? Obviously I haven’t told anybody so far. I didn’t know you worked here until today but now it will be a total, absolute and permanent secret.’

‘Thanks a lot.’ Tim hesitated for a moment. ‘Look, just before we bury this thing for good. I mean, do you really need to make money in that way? There are other ways of…’

‘Tim I don’t have time to work for the minimum wage in a supermarket. I have to study. Right? Anyway it’s not a job, it’s more like sex with extras.’

‘Georgie, you’re a prostitute.’ He could have cut his tongue out.

For a moment Georgie flashed anger. ‘I know what I am and it’s not that. What are you, a sad punter?’

‘Georgie, I’m sorry. That was totally crass and insensitive. I’ll take my own advice and forget the whole thing.’

‘Like I said, consider it done,’ she was quickly on side again.

‘Thanks,’ he relaxed slightly. ‘Otherwise are things going ok for you?’

‘So, I was going to ask you if you’d consider supervising my dissertation. I’ve got Professor Purfect and he isn’t.’

‘Isn’t what?’

‘Perfect.’

Tim smiled. ‘That’s not for me to say.’

‘No. He keeps talking about life in Ocado instead of my dissertation. It’s about the gay community in Manchester and I don’t think he knows anything about it. You’re from
round there aren’t you? But I guess I’ve worked out you don’t think it’s appropriate to be my supervisor.’

‘No, no can do. It wouldn’t even be ethical to grade your essays unless they happen to come to me for anonymous marking. By the way Whitetown is not around Manchester, it’s a dynamic centre of technology and culture in its own right. Well, maybe not quite in Manchester’s league. Anyway, no, it would be unethical to supervise your dissertation. Sorry.’

They held each other’s gaze for a moment, sharing their disappointment. A shadow of realisation passed between them, that what might have been would not be, probably.

Georgie got up to leave.

‘Georgie. Thanks… you’ve been terrific now and you were terrific then.’

The smile that seldom quite seemed to leave her face lit up at the compliment. ‘You weren’t so bad yourself. I might even give you a discount next time.’

‘I might just take you up on that,’ he murmured after she’d closed the door, ‘but not yet a while.’