Nine

The three copies of the book Oracles of Aten, currently stored in Jeremy’s basement, were proof that Alicia’s story about the sect was not entirely fanciful, however imaginative her general interest in the occult might be. Could she, for instance, really believe in astrology? Dale asked her once why, since the constellations and planets were clearly visible in the night sky, no one had successfully predicted the winning numbers of the national lottery from them. Her answer was that the stars might be useful for forecasting general trends or bringing out people’s inner natures, but they might not be suitable for pinpointing specific items of data. Did she, though, really believe that something that did not work with straightforward questions would be effective with highly complex ones?

Yet, after the dodgy sect had been wound up, her twice a year contact with Rick Schwagger might have been only very brief phone calls or e-mails. Even if he still wanted help, it might only be with checking dates and sorting out old papers, not actual ‘ghost’ writing, for which other people, Loyd Larcher for instance, were likely to be much better suited. Not that I would be sniffy about even routine work for such a famous rock and roll celebrity.

She e-mailed him about updating his horoscope, adding that if he still wanted help with his autobiography, she knew someone who might be suitable. Inevitably she mentioned that I was ‘gifted’.
A reply came the next day, commissioning the horoscope update, and asking for more information about me. Within a week I received an e-mail asking for a short meeting.
I was collected from Fulrose Court by car a few evenings later, having left work early, showered, and put on my coolest clothes. Bang on time the door bell rang. I opened it to find a middle-aged man with a shaven head who said, ‘Hello, you Ben? All ready to go?’ I followed him down to a limousine. He opened a rear door for me, said everyone called him ‘The Handyman’, and invited me to help myself to drinks from the little bar fitted behind the front seats. Worried that alcohol, combined with anxiety, might dull my brain when I saw the man himself, I chose a small bottle of orange juice. The Handyman must have been watching in the mirror, for he said, ‘You’re not a boozer, then?’
‘I do drink alcohol. It’s a bit early.’
‘Excuse me for asking, but are you working? Alicia said you helped out in her shop sometimes.’
‘Yes. But I work mostly in the bookshop a few doors along.’
‘Bookshop? Sounds okay. Last one we tried for Rick’s book was full of crap. Turned out to be a journalist wanting to dig up smut on the lads. Caused us no amount of trouble. Had to teach him a lesson.’
Worried, I said: ‘I hope we’re not starting off with the idea that I’ll need to be taught a lesson?’
‘Don’t take it like that. If you’re straight with me, I’ll see you’re okay. You have to understand people are trying it on with the lads all the time. My job is to keep shit stirrers away. If you’re genuine you’ve got nothing to worry about. What do you sell in the bookshop? Porn?’
‘No, it isn’t bloody porn. We sell antiquarian books.’
‘Got you going, have I? I’d better not call it a second-hand bookshop, then. Look, I’ve got nothing against you. For all I know you’re a diamond. Relax, forget I said anything. Sit back and have your drink. I’ll put some music on.’
I could see very little through the car’s tinted windows, and he would not tell me where we were headed ‘on account of security’. The opening guitar riff of The Rocking Boulders’ early song Striped Candy came through the speakers behind me, followed by the voice of the young-sounding Schwagger:

Striped candy, it’s a part of the scene, Striped candy, I lick it real clean, Striped candy, makes me feel randy, Striped candy, you know what I mean.

Half an hour later we turned off the road into a short drive. We left the car and walked to the entrance of a large villa, the front door ornamented by art nouveau glass panels. The Handyman ushered me up to a first-floor parlour, where I saw waiting for me the The Rocking Boulders’ lead guitarist, Heath Prityards. He was on his own, sitting on a long sofa, blowing his nose loudly and at length.

Handyman said disrespectfully.
‘Very funny, Handyman,’ Heath said, not appearing to mind the jibe. ‘So,’ he asked, nodding in my
direction, ‘this him, the one with the sixth sense? Least he don’t look too much of a freak.’ This remark
came from a man whose wizened face was even more lined and haggard than in recent press
photographs, and whose hair sprouted from his customary head scarf like the bristles of a severely
battered paint brush.
‘You’ve got about an hour,’ said The Handyman, leaving us together.
I sat down and refused Heath’s offer of a drink. Next he offered a smoke, and when I turned that
down he lit up a cigarette for himself. Then he asked if I wanted to try some of his prescribed
medication, all the ‘stuff ’, he said, his minders would let him have these days, although one of his ‘tabs’
could, he promised, give me a bit of a buzz.
‘Thanks, but I’m fine, really.’
‘Suit yourself. What d’you want to do then? Go through some of our old photographs?’ ‘Yes, that would be great.’
He pulled out one of perhaps a dozen enormous photograph albums. ‘Sit beside me over here so I
can show you.’
With the album spread across our laps, he turned page after page of pictures from the nineteensixties, the faces of the adolescent group appearing astonishingly innocent. Some were of the band on
stage, some showed them relaxing indoors, but the most striking were outdoor shots. They had a
rawness to them. ‘Wow,’ I said, ‘plenty to choose from here for an autobiography. When will Rick be
joining us?
‘Sorry mate, he’s still in Saint Tropez. He’s left a voice mail for you though.’ Heath handed me a
phone.
I was awed to hear one of the music world’s most famous voices speak to me personally. ‘Came
down here on a quick trip but have got a bit sucked in so, you know, thought I’d leave you a quick
message to say, you know, basically, got to be quick, thing is, me and Teef go far back, way far back, so
he should be able to clear up any queries you’ve got. Hope to have a quick word with you some other
time. Quick bye for now.’
I handed the phone back to Heath and said, ‘It sounded like he called you “Teef ”.’ ‘He calls me that, on account of me having buck teeth when I was a kid.’ He pointed to his incisors,
as though I might not know where his buck teeth had been. He added, ‘ I sometimes call him Quick.’ ‘Quick?’
‘Because when he talks, every third word you hear is “quick”. Don’t put that in the book, will you?
He don’t like other people knowing about the nickname, thinks Quick Schwagger might be
misinterpreted.’
I laughed.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked.
‘Haven’t heard him called Quick Schwagger before. What actually is it that he wants me to do?’ The question surprised him, and he stared at me open mouthed.
‘What I mean is, does it make sense for me to start researching his early years, family history, school
days and so on? In the phone message he said you would know…’
‘Like to help, but I have to admit taking so much stuff over the years has more or less blown my
brains out. Quick and I did go to school together, but I don’t really remember that far back.’ ‘You can’t have lost it to that extent. You still play on stage in concerts.’
‘My fingers still seem to remember what to do, unless it’s the sound technicians playing it all back
from recordings. An army of people are hidden away backstage who take care of everything. I strut
about up front, that I can still do, but I don’t really know what’s going on, tell you the truth. Don’t put
that in the book though, will you. Quick wouldn’t like it.’
‘Well, in that case, I‘d better wait until I can talk to Quick, I mean Rick, himself.’
‘That won’t help you much. He can’t concentrate for long… round about fifteen seconds. Not
because of the drugs. He thinks he takes a load of stuff, but he doesn’t really. Thing is he gets pissed on
half a pint of beer; a couple of tokes of a spliff and he’s away with the fairies, no offence to you like,
you being a bender.’
Alicia must have mentioned that I was gay. He had been friendly until then, but the word ‘bender’ is
a put-down. I said, ‘Yes, I’m gay. Can you tell me what help is actually wanted from me with the book?’ ‘Not for me to tell you something like that, is it? What I was saying about Quick was… well… let
him near any coke, soon as a couple of specks have gone up his nostrils he’ll be straight out of the
door, stopping women in the street and asking them to swap clothes with him. He thinks he’s taking
genuine stuff big time, but what The Handyman does, is let him have a small shandy or half a tab of
something and the rest is all vitamins and sugar pills. You need to understand, when you do see him,
you mustn’t give him anything that’s too strong, in fact best not give him anything at all.’ He was surely having me on, so I said, ‘The photographs are great. Is there anything else, personal
papers or diaries, that I could see?’
‘No. The idea is for you to do it by reading the tarot cards, shaking round the old juju beads, or
whatever it is you use.’
‘Very funny, but we’ve only got an hour; we need to be practical. To do research, I’ll need to have
access to personal papers, or interview people.’
‘Oh no, Quick won’t want you to go round asking people about him. They might say all sorts of
things he wouldn’t like. You mustn’t tell him you was thinking of doing that. He can get nasty if he
don’t get his own way. Alicia told him you was gifted.’
‘She thinks I know things intuitively, but…’
‘That’s better. I’ll tell Quick you’ll find out intuitively what to put in the book. He’ll like that.’ A
gong, the dinner signal, rang downstairs, bringing our meeting to an end. ‘Thank God the food’s ready,’
Teef said. ‘You don’t half get desperate for your nosh when they won’t let you have any decent gear.
Nice to have met you. Try and smuggle a few tabs in past The Handyman for me if you come again.
He’ll take you back home now.’
‘Why do you call him that, “The Handyman”?’
‘It’s his nickname. His real name is Andy Handman, and he’s handy to have around, so we call him
The Handyman. Get it? He does loads of jobs for us, not just ferrying people about in the car.’ On the way home The Handyman asked me whether Teef had offered me any of his pills. I said
evasively, ‘I don’t do drugs.’
‘Proper Goody Two Shoes, aren’t you? Didn’t come on to you, did he, you being a bender? You
never know, these days a gay boy might get him going. You’re not bad looking.’
‘Why should it matter to you if he did fancy me?’
‘Well, I make anything to do with the lads my business. Teef doesn’t really have sex any more, not as
we know it. Do him good to have a bit of fun with someone. He used to be mad for the girls, but he
hasn’t made a play for anyone for years. I’ve taken high class chicks up to the room for him to try to get
him interested, but it’s no use, waste of money, he’s not like he was in the old days. Having you might
have been a bit of novelty for him.’
‘Well he didn’t. You’re making a lot out of me being gay.’
‘Oh, you’re well known for it, mate. That and the fortune telling.’

My hour with Teef, memorable though it had been, was not what anyone would call an interview. Surely he had been joking when he said information for the book was to come through tarot cards or juju beads. Ought I to take anything he or The Handyman had said seriously? Perhaps they had been expecting to enjoy a good laugh at some clairvoyant type who would go swooning around the room detecting supposed concentrations of psychic energy and having to be revived with smelling salts.

When I reported back to Alicia, infuriatingly she asked, ‘Well, Heath’s suggestions are not a surprise to me. Why can’t you use your gifts to help you?’
‘I am not psychic. A biography is a life story. It needs facts, not fancies.’
‘You’re so stubborn. If you’re to get anywhere in life you’ll have to come to terms with having special powers. You’re in a state of denial. Do you want the high point of your career to be having a cup of tea with Jeremy? Can’t you try to open your mind to wider possibilities a little bit?’
This was unkind to Jeremy, who had helped her so much to set up her shop. He always spoke well of her, and defended her against my charge that she made money out of hocus-pocus. Even Dale did not understand how I felt about my meeting with Heath. He said, ‘You’re a lucky bastard. First you get to meet Loyd Larcher, now it’s Heath Prityards. People pay hard-earned cash to go to concerts to see him far away on stage, and treasure the memory of being one of the crowd. You get driven to his home and spend time on your own with him. What more do you want? So far the best thing that’s happened to me all week has been finding a firm that might offer a few hundred pounds to buy some of the old laundry equipment from the hospital.’
Almost a week passed without any further word from The Rocking Boulders. Thinking over the exchanges with The Handyman, and Heath’s reluctance or inability to tell me anything useful, they might well have given up on me. I was thinking about sending an e-mail to ask how things stood, when The Handyman rang to say he would collect me again that very evening. In the car he resurrected my hopes, saying that Teef was really keen to see me. ‘He’s started calling you “Bendy” – on account of you being a bender. It’s almost like old times, Teef coming up with a nickname like that. Rick’s away again, though.’
‘You didn’t think I might be offended by being called “Bendy”’?
‘No, being given a pet name by the lads is a great privilege. Can’t say I was exactly thrilled about being called The Handyman, makes me sound like I do odd jobs, but you get used to it. Think of it as a step towards being accepted. Lots more steps to go, mind. Anyway it’s best not to complain. If you do they’ll call you something really nasty, like rat-face or bollock-chops.’ When we pulled up outside the villa he said he wanted to search me for drugs.
‘If that’s how it’s going to be, you can take me back home right now.’
‘Come on Bendy,’ he said, ‘You ought to like having a man pat you down and put his hands in the pockets of your jeans. You mystics are a bloody touchy lot. What worries me is Teef getting hold of something that would harm him. Checking people out is part of my job. I’m not accusing you. Alicia’s recommended you, and Quick’s got a lot of confidence in her from ages ago when she helped him out. Will you promise me, word of honour, that you’re clean?’
‘Yes. Even if I was into drugs, which I’m not, do you think I would risk causing Teef to have a relapse?’
‘Okay then. Don’t get so pissed off. You have to understand being suspicious is part of my job. I’ve got nothing against you. Shake hands with me, come on.’ He grasped my hand, pulled me towards him and patted me on the back before ushering me up to Teef ’s room.
‘Bendy, my old mate,’ said the Boulders’ guitarist, ‘nice of you to come over! He’s in good shape, isn’t he, Handyman?’
‘He’s fine. What would you say, Teef ? Do you think he’s a cute one?’
Teef was non-committal. ‘Expect all the other gay boys think so.’
‘You bet they do. You enjoy yourselves. I’ll come back when it’s time for dinner.’
‘The Handyman must have taken a shine to you, asking me if I think you’re cute. This is rock and roll you know, it is allowed, if you and him wanted to have a bit of…’
‘I’ve got a boyfriend.’
‘Up to you. He’s married anyway. How’s it going with Quick’s autobiography?’
‘I’ve nothing to go on, have I? No one has told me properly what I’m supposed to do. I could spend days researching stuff, only for Quick to say it’s not what he wants. Lots of issues we’ve not even talked about, like whether the book should be a couple of hundred pages or a thousand, when it’s supposed to come out, and the money side of things. No one has made any proper arrangements.’
He nodded, thought for a moment and said, ‘Can’t all that be sorted out after? P’raps you need something to get you in the mood. If the book’s not coming to you yet, we’ll have to be careful what we say to Quick, don’t want him turning nasty. He’s left a message for you, by the way.’ He handed me the phone.
‘Allo there Bendy,’ the voicemail began. ‘Just a quick call. Teef ’s give me a quick, you know, appraisal like, and says he thinks you could be the right man to do the book. Sorry, but have to be quick, got a plane to catch, quick trip to Rio for a quick couple of days, you know, lot of partying to catch up with, so quick bye for now.’
‘Understand why I call him Quick, can’t you,’ said Teef. ‘Do you think touching some of his belongings would help you with the book?’
I shrugged. ‘How is that going to help?’
‘It might give you some ideas. It’s all right, you can trust me, I know you guys can’t turn the mojo on and off, it’s not like something that comes out of a tap. If I try and help you get the ’fluence going, maybe you can help me with my problem. I’ll show you some of his things.’ He opened a cupboard and pulled out an assortment of stuff including a feather boa, some cricket pads and a pair of maracas. ‘Try having a shake with these,’ he said. ‘With his attention span they’re about the only instrument he’s ever been able to play. See if they get that old sixth sense of yours tuned in.’
Fooling around with a few of Quick’s belongings was hardly likely to help, but the opportunity to play with the very maracas that those famous hands had held so often was too good to turn down. ‘They’re big, aren’t they?’ I said, picking them up.
‘Be careful with them, won’t you. They’re easily damaged. He’s very fussy about anyone touching his private bits and pieces.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with them. Wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt the most valuable maracas in the world.’ I took one in each hand, shook them back and forth gingerly, and listened to the contents swishing about inside. Urging me on, Teef picked up a guitar and strummed a few chords. I tried different ways of shaking the maracas, rotating them beside each other in opposite directions, holding them in one hand and smacking them gently against my free arm and so on – they were easy to play. Having a go with them was terrific, and somehow touching things so personal to Quick did make me feel, in a way, that I was getting closer to him. After a few minutes Teef stopped playing, and I rested them on my lap. He grinned impudently and said, ‘Thought I’d better stop. You was getting a bit carried away, wasn’t you, Bendy? Began to worry you might be over-exciting yourself. Mustn’t go too far. Remember we didn’t have Quick’s permission to play with his maracas. Promise you will never tell anyone about our little session, not even The Handyman? Quick might turn nasty if he ever found out.’
‘I won’t say a word, don’t worry.’
‘Have you ever heard of drugs being hidden inside maracas and smuggled through customs?’
‘It must have been tried.’
‘Watch this,’ he said, unscrewing the handle of one of them to show me it was hollow inside. The dinner gong sounded downstairs.
‘Oh fuck,’ he said, and quickly returned the maracas and other oddments to the cupboard before The Handyman appeared to take me back home.
In the car he asked, ‘How’d it go, Bendy? Anything to report?’
‘We got on all right.’
‘Sex?’
‘No,’ I said, smiling at the way he always turned our conversations to drugs or sex.
‘You know I can see you sitting there in the mirror. You’ve got a sweet little smile on you. I could park, nip round the back and give you a quick one if you like.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve got a boyfriend.’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
‘Everything. Look, about the autobiography, is anyone going to tell me properly what it is I’m supposed to be doing?’
‘Writing it, of course, what else do you want me to tell you? Quick’ll be wanting to see something before long. Soon as you’re indoors, if I was you I’d get shuffling those tarot cards. He’s dying to have his book come out. We don’t want him turning nasty.’

Hatshepsut’s Pavilion was usually ready to welcome the world before nine o’clock. On Monday at ten I noticed that Alicia had not yet opened up. She was always bright and sparkling first thing, difficult for someone like me who needs time for the brain cells to warm up. When Jeremy arrived at the bookshop a little later he was in an agitated state, his face flushed, his hair messed up, one shirt sleeve down and the other rolled halfway up. ‘Thank heavens you’re here,’ he said. ‘Something awful has happened. I don’t know what on earth to do.’

The last time he had been like this was when he had dropped his breakfast egg on the floor and, as he tried to clean up, spread the goo everywhere. I got him to sit down while I made him tea, took the steaming mug in, and sat opposite him. ‘Now, tell me all about it.’

‘There’s no way of breaking this to you gently. The fact of the matter is…’ – he took a deep breath – ‘Alicia’s hat has been taken into police custody.’
‘What did you say? Her hat?’
‘Yes. You remember, that wonderful bio-thaumaturgical hat, the miracle of germination one that you helped her plant up.’
‘Is Alicia all right?’
‘She’s taken it very badly. And it had to happen during one of her country weekends with her girlfriend, Muriel. I’m so upset for her. I think I may have to lie down.’
Afraid that Toby’s cannabis seeds in the brim had resulted in the police charging Alicia with possession of an illegal substance, I held back a feeling of panic. Could my little joke have caused such a disaster? What if sniffer bloodhounds, excited by the scent of the weed, had leapt through the air, grabbed the hat in their teeth, and knocked poor Alicia to the ground? Concealing my own fears I reassured Jeremy until he was calm enough to go into the little office to do some work on the accounts, a task that might distract him from worrying about Alicia.
We heard nothing more until midday when she rang to say she was in the shop and had opened up. Jeremy took his sandwiches over and kept her company over lunch, and I went in during the afternoon to see how she was, ready if necessary to admit responsibility for the drugs in her hat. For the first time in months she was not wearing headgear of any kind. Actually her hair was rather nice, sort of sandy coloured and fluffy. Cautiously I told her I was sorry to hear of her bad news.
‘What bad news?’ she asked.
‘About the police and your hat.’
‘Oh that. Well, I suppose Myrtle and I were asking for trouble.’
‘Myrtle? I thought your girlfriend was called Muriel.’
‘Yes, Muriel is her name really. My pet name for her is Myrtle – rather sweet, don’t you think? You’re showing off, aren’t you? You’ve never heard me call her Muriel, I never do, but you just knew it without needing to be told, didn’t you?’
‘Did I? No, of course I didn’t. Jeremy always refers to her as Muriel.’
‘Not when he talks to me he doesn’t. Is he all right? He was a bit shaky when he came over for lunch. He’s a worrier. Well, of course, no need to tell you that. Can I ask you something? Do you know everything that’s going to happen in advance? I mean, did you set off for work this morning thinking oh dear, Alicia will be late opening up and Jeremy is going to be in an awful tizzy, I’ll have to calm him down?’
‘Please don’t start going on about me being “gifted”. Tell me about the hat.’
‘You’re so stubborn… in denial as usual. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, the hat. The trouble started when Myrtle and I were driving to her cottage in Hay-on-Wye. We usually stop off at this pretentious tea shop full of posh old biddies. It’s one of those snooty places where the staff dress up as maids from days of yore. We thought we’d give all those wilting petunias in their Sunday best a jolt, so we strode in, argued about which table to sit at, and banged the chairs about before plonking ourselves down. Then we complained about lack of choice on the menu, and when our order arrived we said it was barely enough to sustain a budgerigar. We slurped our tea, talked loudly, then pretended to have a row. You know the sort of thing, I don’t suppose it’s much compared with what you and Dale get up to when you go out. Well, the looks of indignation from all around almost curdled our milk. We were really pleased with ourselves. The manageress actually came over and asked us to leave. We got up, protesting vociferously, and said it was no good her hanging around expecting a tip.
‘Unfortunately in the excitement I left the hat behind, and the vindictive cow of a manageress noticed some strange leaves among the seedlings in the brim. She called the police and said she thought they were cannabis. Half an hour later, on the road, we were pulled over. Myrtle is now terrified I’m turning into a drug fiend.’
‘Doesn’t she mind you calling her Myrtle?’
‘Mind? Why on earth should she? You do say the strangest things sometimes, even if you are gifted.’
‘What happened next about the hat?’
‘It’s still at the police station. God knows what they’re doing to it. I suppose the firm that made it could have accidentally put some hemp seeds in the compost. It’s hardly my fault if they did. Anyway, the leaves didn’t look much like hemp to me. Myrtle is quite a plantswoman, she would have spotted hemp leaves, I’m sure. No, it’s just the thought of that snooty manageress causing us trouble that riles me. In a way I wish they were cannabis. Imagine what a laugh the court case would be… newspaper headlines screaming Psychic shopkeeper grows drugs in her hat. If only we had thought of putting some in when we planted it up! You could have spoken in my defence in court and said you saw someone sneak something into the brim while we were on a bus.’
‘You haven’t been wearing that hat on a bus?’
‘No, silly, as if I’d risk damaging it on a crowded bus. What is up with you today? Is anything wrong?’
Her attitude made it difficult to decide whether to confess to planting the cannabis seeds or to keep quiet. Luckily, a few days later she learned the suspect leaves had turned out not to be cannabis after all. The police had sent the hat to the botanical gardens at Kew, where they were identified as a common wild flower, cinquefoil. Finally I showed her Toby’s seed packet and confessed to what I had done. She was very good about it and joked, ‘I suppose you were getting your own back for those runes I planted on you.’ By the time the hat was returned all the leaves had shrivelled. Alicia, though, may have been more worried by the incident than she made out, for she never wore the hat again.