Nicola Barker - The Yips

She scowls.

‘Who already rang you?’

She continues scowling.

‘I did give her your number, but it’s way after eleven. I didn’t think …’

Eyes rolled.

‘But that’s different, Gene, we’re pals …’

Sticks out lower lip.

‘Has Sheila been kicking your butt again?’

Mischievous snigger.

‘She’s a beast , Gene! I swear! She’s terrifying! When I spoke to her earlier she made all the hairs on my arms stand on end …’

Jen drops the ponytail and gently strokes her phone arm, gazing down at it, tenderly, like it’s a dwarf rabbit at a petting zoo.

‘It’s that scary voice of hers …’

Pause.

‘Does she use that scary voice in bed at all?’

Nano-pause.

‘Don’t hang up!’

Pause.

‘There’s stuff we need to discuss. Not about Vee. It’s Ransom. I’ve been doing a bit of detective work …’

Jen glances towards the computer screen.

‘Turns out that Ransom’s manager — a woman called …’

She leans forward, squinting at the screen …

‘Esther! Exactly. Esther Wilson. Well this manager has a sister, a well-known Jamaican politico. A hot-head. A troublemaker-cum-disgraced MP-cum-writer-cum-poet-cum-all-round-social protester called Victoria. Victoria Wilson. I’ve downloaded all this stuff about her. She was in the papers recently talking about the use of petro-chemicals in the Costa Rican pineapple farming industry. Anyhow this sister’s staying in the hotel with her arty-farty four-eyed boyfriend. Turns out she has a kid …’

Pause. Scowls.

‘I am getting to the point …’

Grimaces, irritated.

‘Why are you so out of breath?’

Pause.

‘Then let’s meet up in the morning for a …’

Raises hand, limply.

‘But I’ve … You’re really gonna …’

Takes the phone away from her ear. Inspects the phone. Scowls at the phone. Points at the phone, accusingly.

‘Dickweed!’

Ransom is sitting on the bed, stark naked, except for a single, pristine, white leather golfing glove.

‘Will ya cover that damn ting up?’ Esther asks, indicating, vaguely, towards his genital region (unable to bring herself to maintain eye contact).

‘It’s nothing you haven’t seen a million times before,’ Ransom grumbles, half-heartedly plucking at the counterpane (but to no perceptible good effect).

‘Me can’t discuss business when ya … ya …’ She waggles her hand, visibly oppressed.

‘Then let’s not talk business!’ Ransom exclaims. ‘My corns are killing me! I’m gagging for a foot massage.’

‘The bub set on makin’ him an early appearance.’ Esther delivers this momentous piece of news (with all due ceremony) to the digital alarm clock on Ransom’s bedside table. ‘Me back was strain earlier, now it end up in contraction. Them comin’ hard — every twelve minute or so.’

‘It’s way too soon!’ Ransom protests, quickly reaching over to grab a pillow and pressing it, firmly, into his groin area (as if to shelter his genitalia from the harsher truths of the reproductive process). ‘Are you sure it’s not just wind again?’

‘This ain’t jus’ wind, Stu,’ Esther snaps, ‘trust me.’

‘ Bollocks ,’ Ransom curses. He wiggles his fingers inside the glove and scowls. The new leather’s still a fraction stiff. He forms a fist.

‘So is everything good to go?’ he wonders.

‘Me rang the local hospital.’ She nods. ‘My bag already pack. Me call a cab —’

‘I mean the tournament,’ Ransom interrupts, pulling the glove off and throwing it down, disgruntled. ‘What time’s the photographer arriving tomorrow?’

‘Ten.’ Esther inspects her clipboard.

‘Will anyone be doing make-up?’

‘Some girl from the spa. I roped in Toby to lend a hand. You got him number, an’ ya got mine for an emergency.’

‘So how long are you planning to go AWOL?’ Ransom glares at her, balefully.

‘Twenty-four hour, max.’

‘Oh.’ Ransom is secretly awed by Esther’s bewildering work ethic (and this inevitably contrives to irritate him still further). ‘Well what about your mother?’ he demands. ‘Have you rung the mardy old bitch yet?’

Esther suddenly leans forward, clutching on to her stomach, gasping. It’s another contraction. She checks her watch. Ten minutes. Ransom surveys her violent discomfiture with the haughty, dispassionate gaze of a beach-dwelling iguana watching a suffocating sprat gyrating wildly in the final, liquid millimetres of a rapidly evaporating rock-pool.

‘That quick bunk-up with old Jimbo’s not looking like such a great idea now, eh?’ he quips.

The contraction lasts a full two minutes. Once it’s passed, Esther slowly straightens up again.

‘Me mother not comin’ …’ She’s still slightly out of breath. ‘Her brother contract pneumonia. She nursin’ him at home. Joah an’ Ephie are stuck wid her neighbour …’

‘Hang on …’ Ransom’s confused. ‘So who the hell’s gonna haul the bub back to Jamaica?’

‘Uh …’

Esther carefully considers the likely impact of her answer. Eventually she murmurs, ‘I manage to persuade Vicki.’

She’s virtually inaudible.

Ransom stares at her, blankly.

‘Her lover doin’ some research at the British …’

On ‘British’, Ransom throws down the pillow, leaps to his feet, runs to the bathroom, slams the door and shoots the bolt.

‘Come on, Stu!’ Esther groans. ‘Me cab here any minute now …’

‘If she’s within a two friggin’ mile radius of this room, Esther, I swear to God …’

Ransom gurgles, hysterical.

‘She not coming here,’ Esther insists. ‘She stayin’ in town.’

‘Does she know where we are, though?’ Ransom refuses to be pacified. ‘Does she have the address?’

‘She not give a toss, Stu. Trust me …’

Esther crosses her fingers behind her back. ‘… you name never even come up.’

Nano-second pause.

‘What?!’

Incredulous.

‘Not at all ?’

Ransom unshoots the bolt, opens the door by an inch and peeks through the gap. ‘You seriously expect me to believe that?’

‘Believe what you want …’ Esther shrugs, standing her ground. ‘It a fact.’

‘I thought you weren’t on speaking terms,’ he snivels.

‘We not.’

‘Oh.’

Ransom considers this for a while.

‘She come wid her lover,’ Esther repeats. ‘He’s doin’ research at the British Library. They visitin’ all the museum an’ such wid her boy …’

On ‘boy’, Esther starts, then quickly turns her face away.

‘Vicki’s dating men again?’ Ransom’s astonished. ‘I thought she’d sworn off dick for good …’

Nano-pause.

‘Vicki has a kid ?!’

Ransom opens the door still further and pokes out his head. He’s now dressed in a bathrobe.

‘Yeah …’ Esther nods, determinedly off-hand. ‘Some college professor. Some hot-shot from America. They meet up at a conference. The boy from his first marriage.’

‘What’s his name?’ Ransom enquires.

‘Dr Hilary somethin’ …’ She shrugs. ‘Dr Hilary Wild. Dr Hilary Mane. Dr Hilary Horse …’

She shrugs again.

‘Is he wedged?’ Ransom demands.

‘Sorry?’

‘Is he pelfed?’

Ransom rubs his thumb and his forefinger together.

‘A college professor?!’ Esther chuckles. ‘You serious?’

She quickly checks her watch again. ‘Now before me run off …’

‘ Man . I can’t believe you’ve just sprung it on me like this!’