Nicola Barker - Burley Cross Postbox Theft

Well, there’s absolutely no question about it, Troy, the whole teapot section will have to go. And anything favourable I say about Luella. We’ve got to delete it. And we’ll need to reinsert all my ideas about astrology and political philosophy. And the stuff he didn’t include about how that thieving b**tard Robbie Williams ripped off my entire act.

I need to wrest this book back from his filthy clutches, Troy. I need to wrest my f***ing life back — because what remains is all me, it’s mine , by right . It’s the stuff I recited, verbatim, into the Dictaphone. It’s 100 per cent Frank K. 110 per cent Frank K…

Point of fact: I don’t know why we even hired the little turd, Troy. I mean I effectively wrote the damn thing myself, didn’t I? I am The Little Wren, after all, and The Little Wren is a storyteller… ergo… well, that’s what he does , Troy. That is his gift. That’s what he’s celebrated for, what he’s loved for: he tells stories. He weaves stories…

[ More straining]

And the bottom line is…

[More straining — followed by a small plop — followed by a grunt]… that I effectively wrote this alone, Troy. The magic is all mine, eh? The content is all mine. The life is mine. Robert Pole just conducted a couple of crummy interviews, sent me a list of fatuous questions to answer and then typed my answers up in some semblance of order. I did all the donkey work on this thing, Troy.

Me…

[ Straining]

Now I’ve finally seen it all written down, I realize how much of the overall content is just pure, undiluted Nebraska — it’s Frank K., through and through…

[More straining — followed by two further small plops]

Writer’s f***ing credit, my arse!

I mean who the f**k does this little worm think he is? Huh? He expects a credit now? For what?! For taking a little dictation and moving a few sentences around? For sorting out the odd place name and date? For confirming the odd bit of sequential detail? For meeting my mother a few times and finding out the colour of the kitchen lino, or how slow I was to be potty-trained? Is seven really that late, Troy? Seriously?! I mean do we honestly need to make such a f***ing issue out of that? [ More straining, another plop]

I mean the f***ing gall of the little twit!

Who the hell does he think he is, Troy?! Huh?

To call me ‘High Maintenance’!

There it is… [Rustle of paper]… in black and white!

To call Frank K. Nebraska ‘High Maintenance’!

It’s downright bloody vindictive , Troy. It’s creepy! And to sneak around interviewing people behind my back? He’s like a stalker! I think he’s probably deranged! I think he’s fixated! He’s jealous, Troy! That’s it! He’s literally eaten up with jealousy — consumed by it! It’s pitiable, Troy, pitiable! If I didn’t hate him so much I’d almost feel sorry for him…

But lucky for you I do hate him, Troy, so that means you can fire him, with total impunity. We need to get rid of him, Troy. And let’s do this properly. Let’s take out a restraining order on him, and use a couple of contacts to blacken his name in the press. Say he was unstable. Say he was incompetent. And withhold the last payment, obviously. I don’t want the little pr**k getting paid for this drivel! He doesn’t need a f***ing reward for what he’s done here — he needs to be chastised, Troy! He needs to be brought up short. He needs to learn a harsh lesson, here, Troy — the harshest lesson…

No mercy, Troy. None . Because it’s probably kinder to treat him this way in the long run. I mean, who knows, in the end he might even end up thanking me for it.

Yeah.

Right.

Good …

And we need to do all this now , Troy. Okay? We need to do this immediately — like, yesterday . You need to contact the accountants and stop his cheque.

[Straining] This is urgent , Troy. It’s critical. Time is of the essence…

[More straining]

I mean where the f**k are you, Troy? What the hell are you playing at?

[Yet more straining] I mean who else’s agent f***s off to the Maldives for three weeks over f***ing Christmas?

Do you see me flitting off to the Malidives for f***ing Christmas, Troy? Do you? No! No! I’m at f***ing home , Troy, with my gormless, weeping, pregnant mare of a girlfriend. I’m saving my autobiography. I’m starting a new f***ing album . I’m just back from a promotional ‘tour’ of f***ing Japan — I turned up at the store in Kyoto and they didn’t have a single copy of my last album! Not a single copy! What kind of a shonky, two-bit operation is this?! I flew to Japan , you t**t! And there wasn’t a single copy of the last album in Kyoto for me to sign! That’s your responsibility, Troy. That’s your fault. I’m holding you personally accountable for that, Troy! Hear me?!

[Sound of tissue being pulled from a rattling holder. Dabbing. Grunting]

OI! KIZZY! KIZZY ! THIS STUFF IS LIKE F***ING

SANDPAPER! WHAT’VE YOU DONE WITH THE GOOD

STUFF? EH? WHERE’S THE F***ING WET WIPES?

KIZZY!!

WET WIPES!

WET WIPES!

KIZZY!

WET WIPES!!

NOW!!!

[ Silence]

Bollocks!

[ Disgruntled noises. More scuffling with paper. Sound of toilet being flushed]

Well, I guess that’s me pretty much done for the moment, Troy. I’m just gonna…

[Sound of distant female voice shouting something]

Huh? Oh. Yeah. Kizzy says enjoy the rest of your honeymoon…

[ Sound of yet more distant female voice shouting]

She says she can’t get a courier to come to the house so she’s banging this tape straight into the post.

[Pause]

KIZZY? KIZZY?! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE WET

WIPES?

[Silence]

THE WET WIPES, KIZZY!

KIZZY…?

[Tape is turned off. Tape is turned on again]

Troy. It’s me. It’s Frank. On second thoughts, leave in all the stuff about Luella. Leave in the good stuff about Luella. Let’s keep her sweet and then try and reduce the f***ing alimony payments early next year at some point.

Good.

And you can sort out all the other stuff, yeah? The other stuff? Just tell Pole to return the tapes and then get some office dogsbody to type them up and gradually filter the bits I mentioned back into the text.

Now I come to think of it, I actually remember saying something really insightful — really profound — about Nostradamus at one point. Definitely put that in. Or — better still — get Pole to do it before you sack the little s**t.

Yeah…

Thanks, Troy.

Just get the f**k back here, now, okay?

Pronto.

Okay?!

[Tape is turned off again. Tape is turned on again]

Three weeks in the f***ing Maldives?!

Are you serious?

Is your secretary just taking the f***ing p*ss , or what?

I mean how much am I f***ing paying you for Christ’s…?

[Tape runs out]

Finches

Lamb’s Green

Burley Cross

21st December, 2006

Dear Mr Jennings (or ‘Claw’),