Colvenhoof: Satan's Shorts (Clovenhoof Anthology) Page 8

  “Stupid? I’ll tell you what’s stupid,” said Gavin over the phone, “what’s stupid is nagging your husband to put up a photo of your bloody family when he’s been to the pub. Think I might give them all specs and moustaches, couldn’t make them any uglier.”

  Gavin rang off, leaving Christopher staring in surprise at Gabriel.

  “He could hear me! I mean properly hear me.”

  “He heard it as an inner dialogue,” said Gabriel. “As far as he’s concerned those words came from his own mind, his conscience. I told you we do things a little differently here. Now that was a very poor performance Christopher. You’ll need to pay more attention to what you say to callers. Let's try another call. This one is Sandra in a situation we um, get quite often."

  Christopher heard a woman's voice, breathing hard.

  "Oh God," she gasped.

  Christopher pulled a face and started to remove his headset, but Gabriel placed a firm hand over his.

  "Oh what am I supposed to do here?" Christopher asked. He shrugged and then bellowed enthusiastically into the mouthpiece.

  "Come on, love! Come on! It's just what you like, oh yeah!"

  Sandra's breathing became more rapid, and Christopher took that to mean that his efforts were working.

  "Yes! Oh yes," he roared. "Come on Sandra, come on girl! Atta girl!"

  He had his eyes squeezed shut now, and concentrated hard on getting Sandra over the finishing line, shouting more urgently and punching the air as the pace quickened.

  "Go Sandra! Give it all you've got girl! Nearly there now!"

  Sandra rang off as she sighed with contentment after her climax, and Christopher opened his eyes to find an incredulous audience staring at him. Gabriel looked furious and the operators for several rows had abandoned their own calls to watch.

  "Back to work everyone," snapped Gabriel. "We were all new once."

  There was a muted grumbling noise and everyone shuffled back to their positions.

  "Now, Christopher, that really isn't what we're here for," said Gabriel.

  “I almost enjoyed that,” said Christopher.

  "If you'd taken a look at the online prompts you'd have seen that Sandra has left something cooking on the stove. You were supposed to react to that and remind her. Now she's sleeping blissfully, the spaghetti will be ruined."

  Christopher wondered whether this was entirely the right approach, but he answered the next few calls more carefully, reading the help text and checking the online prompts.

  He felt he was getting into his stride when he took a call from Pat in Doncaster.

  "God it hurts!" came a muffled scream.

  "The pain will pass," soothed Christopher. He had learned some of the stock answers by now. "Try to picture yourself in a happy place."

  "Hnyah! Got to push but it hurts!" howled Pat. “It’s never going to come out!”

  Christopher stiffened, suddenly gripped by the realisation that he was part of something amazing. He'd been patron saint of toothache before the papal decree, as well as his better-known duties for travel, but he'd never assisted with this sort of crisis before.

  "Listen to your body Pat," he advised. "Push if you need to. Try to relax as much as you can in between pushes."

  Christopher listened to Pat's laboured breathing slow very slightly and knew that he was helping. He tried some of the lullabies that he used to use for tired children on long journeys, and found that Pat reacted with quieter moans for a while.

  "Need to go again, ohhh!" came the cry.

  "You push if you need to, Pat. I'm here to help you. We'll take as long as you like," said Christopher.

  The Archangel Gabriel came and tapped something on the screen, but Christopher batted him away, knowing he'd got everything in hand.

  "Pat, I know you just want the pain to stop, but you've got to remember, it'll all be worth it in the end."

  Christopher was on a roll, he knew that Pat was coping much better with the pain thanks to his efforts.

  "Can I just mention that Christopher is a really nice name?" he added quietly. "In case you needed one."

  "Gahhh!" came the loudest roar yet, and Christopher sensed that Pat was making the final push, so he murmured soft encouragements, trying to get through the pain to the part of Pat's brain that was hearing his words. He ignored Gabriel, who was trying to get his attention again. Pat needed him more than Gabriel did right now.

  Pat's shouting stopped, and there was a distinct plink from the other end of the phone line.

  "Are you all right, Pat?" asked Christopher, puzzled.

  He got no direct reply, but he heard a voice calling out just before the call ended.

  "Hey, Maureen, I've passed the kidney stone. It's a whopper this one! Not sure why, but I think I'm going to call it Christopher."

  The Hoof

  Nerys battered on Clovenhoof’s door. When he opened it, she strode in, not giving him a chance to find an excuse to close it again.

  “Did I just see Graham and Mark come in here?” she asked, peering around.

  “Lovely to see you too, Nerys,” said Clovenhoof.

  A head popped round the bedroom door. It was at the level of Nerys’s waist, so she put her hands on her hips, knowing that she was right.

  “Hi Nerys,” said Graham, “we’re just getting our outfits on.”

  “Outfits?”

  “Just wait until you see them!” called Mark.

  Nerys gave Clovenhoof a look.

  “You take advantage of those two!” she hissed. “I’m sure it’s against the law, or the Geneva convention or something to mock gentlemen of limited stature.”

  “I’m not mocking them,” said Clovenhoof. “I’m employing them.”

  Nerys narrowed her eyes at Clovenhoof and then widened them as Graham and Mark emerged from the bedroom in leather thongs. They were oiling up each other’s torso with well-practised efficiency.

  Nerys swallowed, as she remembered the time she’d woken up after a drunken fling with the energetic duo. They were quite something.

  “What do you mean employing them?” she asked.

  “I have a job today. As a matter of fact it’s one that I must thank you for,” said Clovenhoof. “Graham and Mark are my assistants for a wedding performance that is taking place.”

  Nerys thought for a moment.

  “Does this have anything to do with the lookalike convention that we went to?” she asked.

  “The one where you were hoping to pull men, but you were too tight to pay the ticket price?” asked Clovenhoof.

  “Yes, well I was very disappointed in their George Clooney,” said Nerys, “sixty-five if he’s a day. As for their Leonardo di Caprio, he had acne like you couldn’t imagine. I can’t believe people would book such terrible lookalikes. It could only happen if they’d never actually seen them.”

  “I think that might happen sometimes,” said Clovenhoof pointedly.

  “No, wait,” said Nerys. “We only put you down as talent so that we could get in for free. You didn’t go round handing out leaflets or anything, so how did anyone ever book you?”

  “It seems as though the names and contact details of the talent are emailed round to everyone who signs up for the mailing list,” said Clovenhoof. “So, The Hoof has been booked to burst out of a cake and perform a song and dance routine at a wedding.”

  "They booked you as a David Hasselhoff lookalike?" asked Nerys, incredulous. "But we only put that down as a joke!"

  "It seems as though they originally booked a Miley Cyrus lookalike, but they had to cancel because the insurers won't cover twerking injuries. They were really grateful to find a last minute substitute," said Clovenhoof.

  "Oh surely you're not going to do it?" cried Nerys. "The most important day of someone's life and someone who looks nothing like David Hasselhoff is going to jump out of their cake and exploit dwarves in front of them?"

  "That's gentlemen of limited stature to you, Nerys," said Graham.

 
"Sorry. I was forgetting myself," said Nerys. "It happens sometimes in the face of mind-boggling stupidity. Don't tell me you think this is a good idea?"

  "Hey," said Mark, easing his buttocks into place after applying more oil. "Anything with a fee of two thousand pounds is a good idea, don't you think?"

  Clovenhoof looked smug as Nerys stared at him slack-jawed.

  "Well," she said, recovering rapidly. "You'll need someone to drive you there, and more importantly, get you out quickly afterwards. Can I suggest that you send Ben in ahead, as your agent?"

  "Why?" asked Clovenhoof.

  "You're going to want paying up-front, I reckon," said Nerys, and went off to get Ben.

  Ben stood at the back of the room as the wedding party were seated for their meal. It was a large stylish room and Ben had the uncomfortable feeling that even the waiting staff thought he was making the place look untidy. He consoled himself with the fact that he had successfully extracted the fee from the bride's father . His job was done and he just needed to wait for Clovenhoof's performance.

  Nerys slipped into place beside him.

  "I've parked the rental van outside the front entrance," she whispered. "If things get ugly we can be out of here in seconds."

  Ben nodded in approval.

  The seated guests were arranged on tables in a horseshoe shape, leaving a large open space in front of the top table. The cake stood at the top of this space, at the focal point just in front of the bridal party.

  "Have you seen the bride and groom?" hissed Nerys. "It's all very well having an eighties theme, but they've dressed up like Adam Ant and Madonna. I'm embarrassed for them, really I am."

  "Does Jeremy have to wait in the cake until the end of the meal?" whispered Ben.

  "Yes," said Nerys. "I really hope, for everyone's sake that he doesn't get bored in there."

  Graham and Mark stood nearby, and Ben turned as he heard a crackle of static coming from their direction.

  Graham lifted a walkie-talkie to his ear and muttered a brief response.

  Ben nudged Nerys.

  "Is Clovenhoof talking to Graham?" he asked, indicating with his head.

  Nerys shrugged, and they both watched as Graham walked over to a side table which held glasses of champagne. Waiters and waitresses were moving back and forth, serving dishes of food, so nobody paid any attention as he approached the cake carrying a glass. He picked up a small length of hose which was attached to the side of the cake and carefully poured the champagne into the end. He walked back to the table, put down the empty glass and returned to his place by Ben and Nerys.

  "Unbelievable!" muttered Nerys. Ben suspected that Nerys was bitter because she wanted a glass for herself, but as self-appointed getaway driver was unable to indulge.

  Moments later there was another crackle from the walkie-talkie and Graham was on the move again. This time he went to the drinks table and took an entire bottle of champagne from a cooler. He went to the cake and upended the bottle into the end of the hose. Nerys made small explosive noises of indignation at Ben's side.

  By the time Graham was back with Mark, everyone had their meals, and there was a gentle background hubbub of conversation. Ben and Nerys clearly heard a loud belch from inside the cake. They stiffened, and their eyes met. They waited for a few seconds and then allowed themselves to breathe normally again. Apparently nobody else had noticed.

  Ben decided that there was only one thing worse than Clovenhoof at his most disastrous, and that was waiting for disaster to strike, as it inevitably would.

  The main course was brought round, and Graham delivered another bottle of champagne to the cake while everyone was distracted.

  "Honestly!" said Nerys through gritted teeth. "He'll be completely bladdered. I wonder if he even realises it's not Lambrini? I'm surprised he's not bursting for the loo by now."

  A short while later, as everyone was eating their desserts, and waiting for the speeches, there was another brief interchange between Clovenhoof and Graham. Ben noticed the expression on Graham's face change. He walked up to the table and took an empty champagne bottle. The floor was deserted, but Graham walked boldly across. He placed the empty champagne bottle on the floor by the cake and popped a different hose into the top. Nerys and Ben looked on in horror as they realised what was about to happen. Graham strutted forward and turned a cartwheel, bowing appreciatively towards a brief clatter of applause from the audience. A loud tinkling sound suddenly came from the direction of the cake as the bottle began to fill. Graham whooped loudly, gesturing for Mark to come and join him. They both performed acrobatics for a few minutes, encouraging the crowd to clap along with them. It was a valiant attempt to cover up the sounds made by Clovenhoof's urine splashing into the bottle, but Ben could hear it quite clearly and he could see from Nerys's face that she could too. The bottle started to overflow, and a puddle expanded away from the base of the cake. Graham and Mark eventually decided that their task was complete, and trotted away from the cake, taking the bottle with them. The crowd called for more, banging cutlery and hollering encouragement.

  "I can't believe nobody noticed what he was doing!" Ben said to Nerys.

  "They've all had quite a bit to drink. Easily distracted," said Nerys. "Look, they're starting the speeches now. We don't have too long to wait."

  The father of the bride stood up and the room fell silent.

  He was a large, whiskered man who spoke with pride and love about his daughter. Ben was so wrapped up in his anecdote about her eighth birthday party, that when Nerys nudged him in the ribs it was quite a shock.

  "Look!" she said, pointing at the cake.

  Ben could see something moving on top of the cake. The ornamental bride and groom figures turned around and raised up slightly.

  "What is that?" asked Ben.

  "He's installed a bloody periscope!" Nerys hissed in fury.

  Ben gaped. It was true. The figurines came to rest as they faced the bride's father.

  They watched for tense moments. The periscope tracked the speeches, but nobody else had noticed the small movements at the top of the cake. There was a loud wolf-whistle at the point where the groom thanked the bridesmaids, but it was met with nervous laughter, as diners looked around at each other, wondering which of them was the culprit. Only Ben and Nerys could pinpoint the source.

  The best man's speech was last of all. It seemed to Ben that it lasted for quite a long time, and several of the jokes were making the bride quite angry. He cringed for the best man and was grateful that he'd never have to do anything so awful as a best man's speech.

  "Why doesn't he just wrap it up!" Nerys said between her teeth. "Nobody wants to hear that the groom fancies the bride's sister!"

  A loud farting noise came from the cake. Ben and Nerys both stayed very still. There was a moment where everyone looked around at each other again, wondering where the noise had come from. Then the laughing started and soon everyone was in uproar. The best man decided to quit while he was behind and sat down.

  Graham and Mark saw their cue and marched, in time with each other to the centre of the room. They bowed to the top table, bowed to all of the guests around the edges and then approached the cake. They wheeled it forward so that it was at the very centre of the room. A spotlight appeared, focussing on the cake. A drumroll sounded, and Graham and Mark urged the crowd to clap and cheer in anticipation. As the drumroll and the cheering reached a crescendo, the top of the cake flew off and Clovenhoof erupted out, clad in red lycra swimming trunks.

  "Well the fake tan has taken," said Nerys. "That was a good idea of mine."

  "Just because he's orange, doesn't mean he looks as if he belongs on Baywatch," said Ben. "He looks more like a massive Oompa Loompa."

  Clovenhoof strutted before the crowd, who were still making a lot of noise, but a small, hesitant questioning sound had replaced the previous hollering.

  "Hoof! Hoof! Hoof!" shouted Graham and Mark.

  The crowd took up the cry.

&
nbsp; "Hoof! Hoof! Hoof!"

  They looked at each other and shrugged as they shouted it, but they seemed happy to play along. Only the bride looked somewhat disgruntled at the spectacle before her.

  Clovenhoof had a microphone, handed to him by Graham.

  "Hoof! Hoof! Hoof!" he bellowed, punching the air. "It's a pleasure to be here to perform for you today."

  Clovenhoof raised his arms, as the crowd cheered.

  "Why are they cheering him?" asked Nerys, incredulous. "He's an orange, middle-aged guy whose paunch almost hides his trunks."

  Ben shook his head. He didn't understand either.

  "I'm booked as a David Hasselhoff lookalike," shouted Clovenhoof, "but nobody wants to hear those terrible songs that he did, so I'm going to do something different."

  The bride stood up and started to shout something. Ben got the impression that she probably did want to hear the David Hasselhoff songs, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of a thumping bass intro.

  Clovenhoof stomped his feet in time.

  "We're going to do Another One Bites the Dust," he said. "Join in everyone, and let's hear it for Graham and Mark!"

  Another display of acrobatics from Graham and Mark got the crowd clapping loudly, while Clovenhoof started the song. Ben had to hand it to him - his singing voice was good, but he just wasn' t sure it was the right song to choose for a wedding.

  Apparently the bride thought so too, Ben realised. She'd got up from her chair and was coming around the table, her face a mask of fury.

  Clovenhoof was oblivious. He thrust his hips in time to the music, Graham and Mark writhing at his feet.

  The bride rushed towards them, but skidded on something as she passed near to the cake and landed on her back, bringing the cake down as she flung out an arm.

  "She slipped on Clovenhoof's puddle of wee! This is a new low," gasped Nerys.

  The groom rushed towards his wife, whose hooped petticoat had become entangled in the remains of the cake. He grabbed her under the arms and then his own legs skidded out from underneath him. He landed with an audible thud, rolling on top of his wife who made muffled mewling sounds.