Nicola Barker - The Yips

‘ The Wizard of Oz ,’ he volunteers.

‘Why not?’ She grins. ‘Careering along the yellow brick road, horn blaring, a couple of Munchkins behind the wheel …’

‘Bags I be a Munchkin and you be Dorothy!’ he cackles, suddenly wildly over-excited. ‘Milah can be “It”!’ he adds, guffawing.

Valentine’s grin falters.

‘You remind me a lot of Dorothy.’ He chuckles, still running with the idea. ‘A sweet, little farm girl. The quaint way you dress — your funny, bobbed fringe …’

Valentine touches her fringe again, uncertain how to react.

‘But I’m getting carried away with myself again!’ he chastises himself, taking another quick sip of his Coke, placing down the can, lacing his fingers together and then leaning back into the cushions. ‘Do please feel free to ask any questions about the service I provide. Don’t be shy! Be as specific as you like. I won’t be offended. I’m impossible to offend.’

Valentine thinks hard for a few seconds. ‘So you’re actually …’ — she clears her throat, embarrassed — ‘… you’re actually more of a … a sexual therapist?’

‘People sometimes call me that’ — Karim nods, wincing slightly — ‘although there are other words and phrases that describe what I do more effectively. Of course I have no formal, therapeutic training — if that’s what’s troubling you — no documentation I can show you. No degree from the university of heaven knows where. No GCSE or NVQ. All I have is this …’

Karim straightens up and indicates, respectfully, towards his head. ‘And this …’

He indicates, respectfully, towards his heart. ‘And this …’

He indicates, respectfully, towards his penis.

‘Bloody hell!’ Valentine bites her lip, uncertain quite where to rest her eyes.

‘Serious brain injury can sometimes result in a dramatic increase in sexual appetite,’ Karim continues, suddenly more businesslike. ‘It’s nothing to get embarrassed about. It’s not shameful or wrong. It’s just a very basic, very natural animal instinct. There’s no point in fighting it or getting upset about it. We need to be calm, focused and pragmatic.’

‘I’m not fighting it,’ Valentine insists (perhaps a fraction too hotly), ‘it’s just …’ She frowns. ‘So you’ve already spoken to Noel about all of this? I mean …’ She shakes her head, confused. ‘Noel’s perfectly happy with the idea of …?’

She can’t quite bring herself to say it.

‘Heavens, no!’ Karim throws up his hands, shocked. ‘I haven’t breathed a word of it! And Salvatore will have been very discreet — the last thing he wants to do is risk alienating his loyal client base.’

‘Because I’m not really sure if he’d entirely like the idea of you and our mum …’ — Valentine gestures, limply — ‘… you know.’

‘In the act of coitus,’ Karim interjects, mildly.

She winces. ‘He’s just very … uh … protective .’

‘Of course.’ Karim shrugs. ‘He’s a loving son. He believes he’s protecting her, but all he’s really protecting are his own fragile sensibilities. He finds it difficult to perceive his mother as a fully functioning sexual animal. And that’s absolutely fine’ — he shrugs again — ‘although profoundly detrimental to her basic physical and mental well-being.’

He delivers her a beaming smile. ‘Luckily, what Noel doesn’t know about can’t hurt him, eh?’

Valentine is quiet for a while (perhaps struggling to come to terms with what’s just been said).

‘Is it expensive?’ she eventually enquires. ‘The … the …’

‘Service,’ he fills in, cordially.

She nods.

‘Well I’m not a charity’ — Karim chuckles — ‘but I am Karim. I am Generosity. I have charitable instincts. I won’t bleed you dry, in other words. My requirements are almost criminally modest.’

‘And it’s not … it’s not illegal or anything?’

‘Illegal?!’ Karim scoffs. ‘Not remotely!’

‘And you would visit us approximately …?’

‘Twice a week.’ Karim removes a small diary from his waistcoat pocket and checks his schedule. ‘I have a regular, Monday afternoon slot up for grabs from early August — between two and three thirty — and a regular, Thursday morning slot to start immediately — between ten and eleven forty-five.’ He pauses, speculatively. ‘The initial three or four sessions consist of basic, trust-building exercises and last only half an hour — the client tends to get tired quite quickly to begin with, so the fee will vary accordingly … And of course it goes without saying that before I can wholly commit to your mother’s treatment I will need to be formally introduced to her and to feel assured of a certain … I don’t know … chemistry : a spiritual and emotional rapport …’ He pauses again. ‘I think it only fair to warn you that I generally turn down more clients than I accept. This isn’t just a job for me, you see. It’s a mission. It’s a divine gift. Some people call me an “Angel of Love”, a cherubim. I’m a conjurer’ — he waggles his fingers at her — ‘I make magic. I conjure miracles. And as such I need to feel completely at ease in my working environment.’

As he speaks he turns to apprehend Valentine’s shrine, a slight frown denting his forehead. ‘May I deduce from your shrine that you are a devotee of the goddess, Kali?’

‘Um …’

Valentine’s eyes also turn towards the shrine.

‘Because while I respect your enquiring spirit — I sincerely do’ — he smiles at her, ingratiatingly — ‘I happen to know, from intense, personal experience …’ — his hand flies back to his heart and his eyes briefly flutter towards the ceiling — ‘that there is only one God, and the best way to draw close to him is through combating the ego. There really is no other path. Kali is a digression, a deviation, an exotic fancy, a macabre, physical projection of your destructive inner God-instinct, a charming but invidious pipe-dream —’

‘I only use the shrine for chanting,’ Valentine interrupts him, slightly panicked.

‘Let me put it this way,’ Karim persists. ‘When Dorothy wanted to speak to the Wizard, what did she do?’

‘Do?’ Valentine echoes, mystified.

‘Yes. What did Dorothy do?’ he repeats.

‘Uh …’ Valentine thinks for a few seconds. ‘Well she took a trip to Oz, I guess.’

‘Exactly!’ Karim slaps his diary on to his knee, delighted. ‘She headed straight for Oz! She didn’t waste her precious time deifying the red shoes or becoming a loyal devotee of the Wicked Witch — what earthly good would that have done her?! Dorothy sensed — and quite correctly — that the shoes and the Witch were just a colourful distraction, a part of the sideshow …’

‘I take your point,’ Valentine murmurs, somewhat piqued (and not a little beleaguered), turning to face the door through which she can just about discern her brother gradually descending the stairs (her grumbling mother in tow).

‘Well I’m very glad we’ve sorted that out,’ Karim mutters, tucking away his diary and turning towards the door himself, his round face breaking into the broadest of smiles. ‘Now for the fun part, eh?!’ He chuckles, rubbing his soft, plump hands together in gleeful anticipation of their imminent arrival.

‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned about this business,’ Ransom hypothesizes, airily, ‘it’s that nobody will take you seriously unless you take yourself seriously. That’s the chief piece of wisdom I offer any dumb kid who’s honestly thinking about entering this rat-race: I say, “Take yourself seriously. Take yourself really fuckin’ seriously. Because if you don’t take yourself seriously, then — trust me — no other fucker will, either.”’