Poets are Eaten as a Delicacy in Japan by Tara West

Description:

It’s the ‘what ifs?’ that keep thirty-something Tommie Shaw awake at night. Well, mostly it’s her big housemate Blob, a morbidly obese actor and Morrissey impersonator, who keeps her awake as he vogues around their shabby kitchen. But the ‘what ifs?’ are definitely up there.

What if her mother’s sensational and soon-to-be-released memoirs air all of Tommie’s sad and sordid laundry? What if she can’t save her beleaguered colleagues’ jobs when she’s hit with an unwelcome promotion? What if Gluteus Maximus’s wife learns of their affair? What if Blob finds out he didn’t win the role in the TV ad through his ‘enormous’ talent, but through her influence? And what if her depression comes back?

After fifteen years in a walking coma, life comes looking for Tommie Shaw – but as the pressure mounts, can her artistic soul take the heat? Fresh, highly original, and darkly funny, Poets is a subtle, bittersweet account of one woman’s struggle to stop falling apart.

Excerpt:

The air smelled different. There was something earthy about it, even in the city. Frost dusted the car but it wouldn’t last long in the morning sun. I ran the engine and blasted the heater. The night had not been kind to Blob. Unused to physical labour, his muscles had undergone some kind of temporary (or at least we hoped it was temporary) atrophy. He shuffled like an old man, slowed by stiff, aching limbs.

In the time it took for him to call Chris, excuse himself from that day’s work, and hobble from the house to the car, I was able to apply my entire make-up the way Patricia had shown me. But I didn’t have her touch and no amount of dabbing, smearing, powdering or wishing could disguise my black eye. I put on the sunglasses and flicked up the mirror. There would be something on the internet about the instant healing/disguising of bruises before meeting up with ex-boyfriends.

Blob opened the car door and let in a wave of icy air. He bent his knees slowly, lifted one foot into the car and dropped the rest of his body into the seat. The car rocked and twanged. Blob’s low groan grew to a roar as he leaned outside to grab the handle and pull the door closed. His hair was flat and pushed back, the way he wore it for castings.

‘I’m ready,’ he said, exhausted. His skin and hair were ingrained with plaster dust.

‘You smell nice,’ I said, encouragingly. ‘What’s that?’

‘Air freshener. I’d give the bathroom a wide berth if I were you. Nerves.’

I threw my bag and make-up into the back and turned the key.

‘Fuck!’ Blob jerked suddenly.

‘What’s wrong?’

He looked at his crotch, which was buzzing. ‘My phone. Get it.’

‘I don’t want to fumble around in your groin.’

‘Help me, woman. My arms don’t bend.’

Turning my face away, I worked my hand inside the warm vibrating pocket of his jeans and pulled out the phone. He took it and looked at the screen.

‘Eugh, it’s Donkey Breath,’ he said. ‘Tell her you can’t talk.’

I snatched the phone and answered. ‘Georgie. Everything OK?’

‘I wish you’d get your own phone,’ she said. I could hear banging in the background. ‘I don’t like having to call him when I want to talk to you. I tried phoning your work but the receptionist wasn’t sure if you still worked there.’

‘Where are you?’ I asked. ‘It sounds like you’re on a building site.’

‘Workmen are taking out the old bathroom suite.’

‘Come on,’ Blob said, nodding towards the road. ‘We’ll be late.’

I turned away.

‘What’s the squeaking noise?’ I asked her.

‘Don’t you ever clean the phone?’ she said. ‘You should try it. You’d be shocked. Anyway. Any luck?’

‘None. And I didn’t get the book either.’

‘Why not?’

I told her about the embargo and the problems it posed with getting a preview copy. The cleaning sounds became more frenzied.

‘I spoke to Mo too,’ I said. ‘And it’s not good. Gloria was at the farm. She took the old photographs of us.’ I closed my eyes. ‘Mo told her everything. She didn’t mean to, she didn’t think Gloria would be, you know, like that.’

The cleaning stopped and the phone creaked in her grip. ‘I’m going to have to tell Darren and Joe,’ she said. ‘I’m going to have to tell them before they hear it from someone else.’ Her voice was hushed. ‘Oh my God.’ I could hear every breath she took.

Blob lifted his arms in a theatrically Gallic, if slow, way. He reached for the phone but I had plenty of time to get out of the car. I closed the door and stood on the path, watching the deserted morning street. Between the fading dawn and the red bricks, everything glowed, even the skip.

‘Don’t do anything yet,’ I said. ‘Give me a few days. There’s someone else I can try.’

‘Who?’ She sounded hoarse.

‘Liam.’

Her breathing was fast, forced. ‘You know what I think of Liam.’

That tone always brought out the worst in me. ‘You never even gave him a chance.’

‘Listen, you silly bitch. He slept with your flatmate while you…he has a lot to answer for.’

I held the phone tight. A few weeks after the miscarriage, I’d had to go and live with Georgie and Darren, and not for the first time. I’d dismissed the signs as grief, and when I realised it was more than that, it was too late. I was crumbling and a strong wind would have scattered me like sand. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t stand to be awake. It was unfair that Georgie had to put up with me, and I thought switching myself off would be the best option. But she’d cleared the house of sharp things and locked away the drugs.

The window rapped. Blob’s face loomed. He pleaded and when that didn’t work, he mouthed profanities.

‘I have to go, Georgie,’ I said. ‘Give me a few more days. Let me at least try Liam, he has real contacts.’

‘Don’t get involved with him again.’

‘I’ll give you a call.’ I opened the car door to get in.

‘Like you gave me this one?’

‘I’ll ring you, I promise.’

‘Have you cleaned out your car?’

‘You’re worse than I am.’ I hung up and crunched the car into gear.