Nicola Barker - Love Your Enemies

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From the brilliantly unconventional Nicola Barker, the short stories in ‘Love Your Enemies’ present a loving depiction of the beautiful, the grotesque and the utterly bizarre in the lives of overlooked suburban Britons.
Layla Carter, 16, from North London, is utterly overwhelmed by her plus-size nose. Rosemary, recently widowed and the ambivalent owner of a bipolar tomcat, meets a satyr in her kitchen and asks, ‘Can I feel your fur?’
In these ten enticingly strange short stories, a series of marginalised characters seek truth in the obsession and oppression of everyday existence, via a canine custody battle, sex in John Lewis and some strangely expressive desserts.

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Jason let out a sharp yell of frustration and raised his eyes and hands towards the ceiling as though pleading with an invisible God. ‘Sammy Jo don’t you understand anything? Don’t you see what’s happening here? Don’t you understand that it doesn’t matter what the hell it is that he says to you on the phone, it doesn’t matter whether he’s swearing at you are singing Gregorian chants, the issue here is power. Power, do you remember? Can’t you remember the endless conversations with Lucy and I about why it is that people telephone other people anonymously and abuse their time and their privacy? It’s a power thing. He’s making you passive. You don’t question him, he is in control, he is powerful and you are passive. He probably gets exactly the same kick out of it as if you were involved in some sort of direct, sick, sado-masochistic relationship. He’s dictating your life, Sammy Jo, can’t you see that? Can’t you?’

As he finished speaking he leaned towards her and snatched hold of her arm. She didn’t meet his gaze, her arm hung limp in his hand. After several seconds she said quietly, ‘You think I don’t know all this, don’t you? You think I’m so bloody stupid. Well you’re wrong. I know all about this shit. Maybe you think that I actually enjoy being dominated, that I actually go out of my way to get into situations where I can be dominated …’

Jason dropped her arm, ‘What do you expect me to think, Sammy Jo? Do you expect me to congratulate you on getting an education? Do you expect me to go to night classes to learn French so I can discuss Sartre with you in the original? What the hell do you expect me to feel? Pleased? Delighted? Grateful?’

Sammy Jo sprang up and pushed Jason in the chest with her flat hand. ‘Don’t you dare patronize me, you bastard. How dare you speak to me like this? I’ll do what the hell I like with my time and you can’t stop me. You just resent him because he is offering me something that you have never bothered offering me.’

Jason laughed. It sounded like the wail of an angry hyena. ‘So you think. I’m threatened by this pervert do you? You think I’m intimidated by some sick bastard who gets his kicks out of telephoning vulnerable women and talking about philosophy with them? Look at me, Sammy Jo, I’m not threatened, I’m angry. You should be angry too.’

Sammy Jo pushed past him and marched over to the cot. She lifted Charlie up with one hand and reached under the mattress with her other hand. She grabbed hold of her three new books and then replaced the baby on top of her blankets. Jason watched all of this in silence and then said harshly, ‘Well, that’s very mature, Sammy Jo, hiding books under the baby’s mattress, very adult. You thrive on this sort of deception, don’t you? You love your little secrets, your private collusions.’

Sammy Jo marched past him and towards the door. ‘I’m going upstairs for a while. I don’t want to be disturbed.’

Jason slammed his fist down hard on to the table, the force of which caused a coffee cup, the telephone and pizza pad to jump up into the air by almost an inch. The telephone made a little jangling, ringing noise as it landed. He yelled, ‘Give me those books Sammy Jo, give them to me now!’

She held her books against her chest and glared at him venomously. ‘You’ll have to kill me first, Jason. Be warned, I’m not quite as passive as you’d like to believe.’

They stared at each other venomously for several seconds and then Sammy Jo turned and left the room.

In the kitchen the ratatouille was starting to burn. Jason switched off the oven and started to prepare a bottle for the baby. His hands were shaking.

After forty-five minutes Jason had fed the baby and watched half of Coronation Street . He kept listening out for any noises from upstairs, but the house was silent. He switched the television off, opened his briefcase and took out his address book. He found Lucy Cosbie’s number and dialled it. It rang several times before she answered it.

‘Hi, Lucy here.’

Her voice was depressingly familiar to him. He said, ‘Hello, Lucy, it’s Jason Wells here, Sammy Jo’s husband.’

This took Lucy Cosbie several seconds to register, then she responded warmly: ‘Oh, Jason, hi. Is something wrong? You’re the last person I expected to hear from.’

Jason cleared his throat. ‘Lucy, Sammy Jo’s in trouble again. She said you phoned her the other day. I wondered whether she’d told you about it. I’m somewhat concerned.’

Lucy Cosbie sounded mystified. ‘Jason, Sammy Jo said nothing to me about any problems. Is it the baby?’

Jason smiled. ‘No, nothing like that. I’m afraid she’s receiving anonymous calls again.’

Lucy responded sharply. ‘Who from? Same guy?’

Jason was surprised. ‘No, I don’t think so. She didn’t suggest to me that it could be the same person. I think she would’ve said that. I hope so anyway.’

Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I’m glad to hear that, Jason. It’s all a bit complicated at this end because I’ve seen a fair bit of him lately. I was assigned to his case recently. I’m sure you can understand that it’s something of a conflict of interests.’

Jason nodded. ‘I can imagine. Anyway, Lucy, this new guy is really weird, they aren’t dirty calls as such. In fact Sammy Jo seems very happy with the arrangement. It seems that he’s teaching her philosophy, you know, “Philosophy the Anonymous Caller’s Way”.’

He tried to crack this joke light-heartedly but it fell somewhat flat. Lucy Cosbie was silent for a few seconds and then she said, rather slowly and hollowly, ‘Oh dear. I think this could all be slightly problematic.’

Jason scratched his head and then tightened his grip on the telephone receiver. ‘Why? I didn’t think what was said made any difference. He’s still pestering her. It’s the same thing isn’t it? The same as before?’

When Lucy next spoke she sounded a fraction testy. ‘Jason, I think maybe I should speak to Sammy Jo about this. Is she there? Can I have a word?’

Jason was irritated. ‘She’s upstairs at the moment. We’ve had a slight disagreement about the whole thing. She’s being a bit irrational.’

Lucy was persistent. ‘I’m sorry Jason, I’m afraid that I can’t talk to you any further about this without chatting to Sammy Jo. I’d prefer to deal with her personally. I’d appreciate it if I could speak with her privately.’

Jason frowned. After a short pause he said, ‘I’ll go and call her. I don’t know how responsive she’ll be though. Hang on.’

He put down the telephone and walked into the hallway. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and shouted up, ‘Sammy Jo? Lucy Cosbie’s on the phone, she wants to speak to you.’

Sammy Jo was lying on their bed engrossed in her book. She swore under her breath at Jason’s untimely interruption and turned over the corner of the page to mark her place. She got up and shouted back as she began to make her way towards the door. ‘I’m coming!’

As she walked down the stairs she glared at him. ‘I bet you phoned her.’ He shrugged as she brushed past him and decided that it was probably better to say nothing.

Sammy Jo picked up the telephone. ‘Hi Lucy, I’m sorry about this. I’m sure you’ve got more pressing matters to deal with. This isn’t at all important.’

Lucy’s voice was low and apologetic. ‘Sammy Jo, I’m sorry, but I do think that this is my business. I’m pretty sure that I know who it is that’s telephoning you and also how and why.’

Sammy Jo frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

Lucy sighed. ‘I think it’s my fault. I’ve been a bit slow on the uptake. Maybe I haven’t been careful enough. That man, Duncan Sands, who was telephoning you before, well, he was recently assigned to me …’

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