Doubting doubt

I visited the local pub in the afternoon, Normally, I would only ever go there during the evening or at weekends. I met a girl and this is first half of the story her pathological tendencies

 

     I visited the local pub in the afternoon this day, normally, I would only ever go there during the evening or at weekends. I met a dog tied up just inside the doorway of The Black Griffin. I like dogs and have a habit of  talking to them. I suck the fleshy part of my palm to produce ear-raising squeak noises often to the annoyance of their owners. On this occasion, I found the owner and her mother to be quite receptive to this performance and their Collie’s bounding reaction to me bonded us to thirty odd minutes of banter.

       Sian, the daughter of her mother was well spoken and bubbly. She had recently returned from Brighton and had bought a house in North Cardiff. She was in her late twenties, pretty, bright eyed and had shoulder length hair �" dark, shiny and she was healthy looking. As she switched her attention between mother and me during conversation, I noticed her hair swished across her shoulders. Her mother seemed frail and could have been mistaken for her grandmother. She spoke through  that sixty-a-day croakiness, yet she seemed sprightly of mind. We chatted about Cliff  the dog and connections with Brighton that Sian and I shared. The weather came into it too.     

     It was hot that day; mother was smoking another cigarette. A sudden nausia caught her out and a mouthful of clotted red wine abseiled down her blue frock. Sian was evidently embarrassed and so I quickly went off in search of some toilet-paper.

 

 I handed the tissue to mother who was appreciative. She cleaned up as best she could.      

      The next few days passed. On friday night, I went to the pub again. It was warm and I sat outside with a pint. Sian was inside stood at the bar, I hadn’t recognized her. I was talking with the early evening crowd. The sun was cooling as the early evening crowd was substituting with the mid evening bunch. I went inside. I sat with Wally and Heather. They were married. Wally, who looked a bit like Budda, played in a blues band, a good one at that. Heather was not as sociable as her husband and you didn’t often see her out.  Wally’s band had played in a gazebo at a summer party at my place. Sian was drinking red wine. She was up at the other end of the pub talking to Vernon and Irish Brian who she’d not previously known.

    “Do you know Alaster?” She asked them cheerfully.

    “We do - why, do yoose fancy him?” asked the Irish man through his raspy chortle. Irish Brian was a larger than life character who everybody loved. Rotundish and tall he had a red, capillaried face that evidenced of the excesses of the good life. He was quick witted and highly entertaining.

    “Well, could you try and introduce me please?” She asked Brian.

    “Vearn, go an fetch Al will ya �" this lass has thing for him, so she has!” 

    “No, no don’t get him over here - he’s talking to those….” 

     “Oh it’s only Wally an them, I’ll get Im over.”  Tell you what go over to him. He’ll like that - so he will.

       I didn’t hear that shout but Sian came over towards where I was sitting anyway.

     She said hello and I turned my head. She was standing almost behind me, confidently reaching for the chair to the right of me. “Do you mind?” 

“Course not” I replied, gesturing for her to sit down. She was quite squiffy. She apologized about her mum being sick, efficiently passing off the incident, swiftly engaging us in more interesting chatter.  

     She had obviously made quite an effort for her hair was tied up, she had on crimson lipstick and wore a flowing sort of dress made out of what looked like greeny crape paper. It was tasteful. She bought me a drink an we conversed. After quite some time while deep in social intercourse, she reached over and put her hand on mine, took it away, then she would replace it periodically. I could see Wally and others noticing this and I felt a bit uneasy. I found her quite attractive, but in the short time I’d known her, also felt there was an oddness about her that I couldn’t put my finger on.

     “I really fancy you Al”  she announced - straight out like that. It really threw me but of course, I was flattered too! Perhaps this kind of forwardness from a girl was the norm in Brighton these days but I’d not experienced it before.

    “I think you are really nice too, but seriously, would you mind just not doing that - not here?” I asked, trying not to show embarrassment while gently pushing her hand away. Although I had introduced her to others round the table, we were no longer chatting to them but they were still observing us.           

      “Can I take you home?” She asked with a big open smile revealing nice teeth.

      “Surely you won’t be driving?” I asked as she was obviously  drunk.

       “Oh I'm fine darling” she replied in a confident, upper manner.

I was fairly hammered too and so I nodded in agreement. She lived in Rwibina in North Cardiff I lived in Thornhill which is as far North as the city extends. I thought when she asked if I wanted a lift home she meant she’d drop me off at my place. We were at the Llanishen crossroads when I realized she was driving to her house, not mine. She really is going to seduce me then. I was hoping.

       “Ive got a lodger called Simon. He’s a really nice guy. I  he has a crush on me but I don’t like him in that way, so don’t worry if he acts a little odd”.

    “Sorry what’s he called again?” I said.

      “Simon”.

      “Right, well is Simon likely to…?”  

      “Likely to what, sorry, darling?” she said, again, in her supersillious tone.

      “Act odd if I come back. Well you said he’s got a crush on you and…”

      “Shouldn’t think so - I don’t know, only known him three weeks �" it’ll be fine”.

   

        It was midnight; we were in the living room having a glass of wine. Simon came downstairs from his computer and joined us awkwardly. He must have weighed twenty stone. When he walked, it was more a kind of shuffle. He was a computer geek, but he seemed like a nice bloke.

      I could sense his undulating jealousy as Sian and I were flirting. Sian loved the attention. Eventually, having had time to suss the situation, Simon took himself off to to his room. Soon after, I followed Sian up the uncarpeted stairs trying to be as quiet as the clicking of Simon’s mouse. His door was partly open and so it was impossible for me to get past into Sians’s room without him seeing or at least hearing me. I then realized I was being unduly paronoid. He fancied her, that’s all, and it certainly wasn’t reciprocated. Nothing to do with me. In retrospect, I should have said “you’d better get used to it - pal!”

     In the morning, Simon waddled about the kitchen digging out junk food from whichever cupboards harboured junky foodstuffs. He seemed a bit pissy towards me to begin with but  soon settled down. Within half hour, he’d become quite animated; even jovial. He dissapeared.

   “Will I see you again,” Sian asked as I was leaving.

   “That would be nice�"yes, yea, I’ll give you a call. Your mobile would be best I guess?”

    “Yes darling �" I think so for now, yes it would  - well done”.  She gave me her number and I went home grinning  a lot.

 

     A relationship developed. It was fun and I really liked her quirky strangeness and charm.  The sex was always engaging too. As it was summer, we hosted barbeques at each other’s. Sian had heaps of tales to tell. I suppose I did too. It struck me she was quite experienced in life for her age. She had dropped into one conversation that she was indeed a good friend of Robbie Williams.  Wow, Perhaps I’d get to meet him; that’d be cool. Most people liked Sian. Some, I could tell, found her to be somewhat curious.

      A couple of months eroded. I was landscaping for a living and was quite busy. Sian had been a primary school teacher back in Brighton but couldn’t find a job down here in Cardiff. She never appeared to be short of money.  She met a couple locally when she first arrived back here. She used to spend a lot of time in the pub during the daytime with this couple who often had no money.

        One day Sian was over at my house helping me sort out some paperwork.

“I am going up to stay with Rob at the weekend - haven’t seen him for ages. What are you upto this weekend?”

        “Who’s Rob?”

       “You know, Robbie - he misses me!”

       “ Oh - how’s he doing?” I asked not really thinking too much of it.

       “He’s fine - really busy I think. Planning and organizing for the summer gig stuff”.

           She didn’t invite me to go with her this time, but a few weeks later said to me

    “When you do meet Robbie, you two will get on really well. He’s a bit shy when you first meet him, but once he gets to know you you will get on great I think” She said said so matter of fact and I thought it a most odd thing to say.

      “Can you pass me the stapler?” she asked, looking as though she’d be equally at home helping Robbie with his paperwork.  

“He’d really like you Al - he just wants to be normal - he’d see you as normal”.

      “Oh Thank you” I said, now finding the coversation to be quite surreal.

 

      On Saturday she went to London to stay with Robbie. She was back in Cardiff by 4oclock the following morning. She rang me at around ten am Sunday morning.

  “I’m back!”  She announced.

     

“So how come you came back so early then?” I enquired  as it seemed very strange.

Mark and Jackie, her pub friends, had had a serious argument.

 

“Mark walked out on Jackie and she’s pregnant  - Aunty Siany had to come back to sort them out as usual”.

      “What did Robbie say when all this comotion was happening?”

      “A �" oh,  yea he was fine. Probably glad to get some rest - think I’ve talked him to death. He’s used to me and my goings on”. “Do you know what he said to me cheeky sod?”

      “No, go on”.

      “He said I was worse than his ex!”.

      “Which one?”

      “I think he meant all of them �" b*****d!”. She laughed anoyingly. She could put on quite an irritating guffaw at times; this was one such time.  

   

       Anto my son, who lived with his mother in Devon, was staying up at my place for the week with a couple of his mates. Through Robbie, Sian, Mark and Jackie had  attained complimetary tickets, complete with back-stage passes for the Live8 concert coming up.

       “Anto - do us a favour, Me and Sian have to go shopping.  Mow the lawn for me please - Tim’ll help you, won’t you Tim?”

        “Yes” replied the smallest of the two friends, dutifully.

        “We want money though” Anto motioned in his mischievous way  - something he’d developed to perfection over his fiteen years.

  “Hey boys, do you fancy coming with us to Live8?” Sian Piped up boastfully, looking over for my approval.

        “YEAH” came a very excited cumulative reply. They couldn’t believe their ears!

The concert was due to start the following weekend.

It got to Tuesday and Sian rang me.

      “Hello sweetheart, got a problem”. She told me.

    “what is it?”

 Well, the boys aren’t old enough to go back-stage �" even Robbie can’t pull that one off for them. Sorry Darling, can you just tell them that Siany Warny is really, really sorry, but no-can-do.”

 

 She came round on the Thursday before the concert. All three boys were in the living room.

     “ Hello boys.” She said in an upbeat voice. “Al’s told you about the concert and, well, don’t worry cause one of Robbie’s secretaries’ mother lives in Cardiff. I’ve  been in touch with  Patricia. She’ll be at the concert and will be getting you all Tee-shirts signed by the likes of Elton, Snow Patrol, Robbie and others. Oh, there are mugs too. Don’t worry it’s all in the bag! That at least seemed to cheer them up!

The Saturday of live8 came and strangely, neither Sian nor the others went up to the concert. The particular reason eludes me and I don’t know what happened to the tickets. We all watched the concert together in my living room that Saturday night.

      About three weeks passed. Sian had been working in Newport as a teaching assistant. The funny thing was, on a few occasions, people had said to me they had seen her here or there or with Jackie and Mark, but not in Newport. I would mention to her what I’d been told and there would always be an immediate plausible response as to whty she was here, there or everywhere.

 

 Sian decided to take me away for a dirty weekend. As she was now working, I accepted her offer to treat. We went to a classy hotel somewhere up the Wye Valley. The weather  was gorgeous. I had a beautiful fillet steak for dinner on the first night, and Sian had the poached salmon. After dinner, we walked a few miles back along the road to the pub we’d spotted as a potential watering hole on the way down. We were not a holding hands type couple We each got a pint and sat outside in the beer garden. There were three or four vintage lorries in and around a barn. The owner told us, when out collecting some glasses:

     “A few of us gets together - we restore them like, then we’ll take em to the shows. We goes all round the country in summer”.

     “Sounds like an interesting hobby  - is it expensive?” I asked.

     “well it can be yes, but we’re careful. I suppose you’d call me the treasurer”. He said with as his chest inflated.

     “Oh?” 

     “ Yes, well Stuart see, he gets a lot of the materials cheap cause he does coach-work in his day job like”.

     “I see, Yes”. I said interestedly but wishing I’d never engaged him in talk. Sian was making me feel uneasy too because she could sense there would be no let-up in this turgid discussion.

     I remember thinking Sian could easily join in by enquiring as to what the third person’s function was in all this.

  “We’ll my role I suppose is, I finds the trucks”.

      “Oh do you �"yes I see.” I said Stifling a yawn.

      “Yes and that one for instance.” He said pointing at a nice shiney looking lorry. “That one only cost three hundred quid”. He said with stifled pride.

      “Stuart made those wheel trims out of stainless.”

       “Well he’s a clever bloke isn't he” I said, I wasn’t being  patronizing but It probably sounded like that.

 

 “Any rate, I best get back with these - else the missus will be out. She gets fed up of me talking to the customers about the lorries but I tells her that customers have to be spoke to”.

         “I can understand her point though, I’d be the same if I were your wife running around while your stood around conversing”. Sian had finally interjected  something to the conversation, even if a little cutting.

         “ I wouldn’t mind that�"you being my wife,” he retorted with a laugh, refusing to recognize her offish facial expression.              

       

        Before we’d left home, Anto had phoned to ask if the bag of goodies had come yet. I had to tell him it hadn’t. While Sian and I sat there on the bench-table in the beer garden chatting, I wanted to bring up the matter of the missing goodies bag. Infact, truth be known, I wanted to bring up a lot of things that were missing and didn’t make sense.  I told her the boys, especially Anto, felt really let down and  for the second time. I asked her what the hell was going on.

       “I’m really pissed off about it too Al. I don’t know why, Patricia’s usually on the ball�"she has to be in that job”.

   “I’m going to sort this out”, she said as she walked toward the next table lifting her phone to within her view. Oh, s**t, Robby’s in America”. She exclaimed looking down at the screen. She was fiddling with the buttons in order to see the time-zone difference.

     She squinted at her phone   “He’s six hours ahead I think”.  She had mentioned he lived in LA. when he was back in the States. She proceeded to dial. The phone was pushed tightly to her ear, presumably it was dialing. She eased herself down into the bench-table opposite, with her back towards me.

     “Robbie must have answered the phone personally.

    “Hi darling, how are you, Its Siany-Warny,” - she said loudly so as to leave me no doubt that she was talking to Robbie to sort this all out.

     “You alright sweetie?” she asked Robbie in an over familiar way “Listen”, she commanded, “this  stuff  Patricia’s got for Anto �" the boys are really upset about it �" where is it? �" Can you do something - please, Rob it’s getti….?” She’d been interrupted. There was a long pause this end - Robbie was probably explaining things - she tried to speak on a few occasions during this long pause, interjecting little clusters of words; sometimes only half words because she was being interrupted. I was finding it difficult to come to terms with the fact that She had mentioned Anto to Robbie in a way that conveyed that he, Anto, was a regular component of their conversation. When it was her turn to speak again at any length, she repeated back words and sentences as she was being told them. Now I was scared. Deep down, I knew that Robbie was a figment of her imagination and I guess I suppressed that knowledge to avoid confrontation �" after all, it wasn’t causing any harm, was it? There are worse things surely. But when she took the decision to carry on with this façade in this way, it woke me up pretty sharpish!   If she was acting, then she should definitely be on television. If she was acting, what does that say about me? If she was acting, what would I tell the boys?

 I sat back, watching and listening in astonishment,  I mean, I didn’t want to doubt her but at the same time I finally had solid proof that she was mentally unwell. Pehaps I t’s me who is mentally ill I thought. I mean, do people always know when they themselves are suffering from such conditions as a split personality.  I didn’t question her that day, and in fact, I put all that to one side for the very time being, letting her believe that I believed. Oddly, we still managed to have a good last night at the plush hotel.         

      Once home, I reflected heavily on that conversation. Over and over I thought about the wierd scenario infact everything about her was under my scrutiny. Everything about her life begun to crumble in my mind.  She had said once, she’d done some acting while in Brighton. She had once said a lot of things.

  In the room, as I was doubting my doubts in this haze of confusion, Pink Floyd’s ‘Money’ came on the radio. My head filled noisily with those alarm bells and chimes as I earily reflected back to everything she’d ever said. It turned out that she had completely made up the story about her job in Newport. She would get up, get dressed as though she was going to work for the day and drove off to somewhere; G~od knows where. Her brother was a total nut-case wino who I had issue with. Her mother a hopless alcoholic, her father was a top Barrister  and a curcuit Judge who I imagined was never around much when they were kids. It stood to reason that Sian might have inherited some or all of the family traits. Someone needed to help her.

     A few weeks later, we had argued and weren’t speaking. I saw my chance to get out of this bizzare relationship �" away from all of it once and forever. I told her we were over because I would probably be going traveling soon.  I was soon coerced back by her plausibility and  dark seduction.

In bed one morning I decided to confront her. I empathized and suggested and spoke softly.

“ Sian, I don’t want you to answer me right now �" please take a few days over what I am about to say as it is important…”.

     “Sorry but I don’t believe all this Robbie stuff Sian.” I paused for a while to see if she’d come up with anything. “Listen, you basically have a choice; either you can hang onto these Robbie stories  and continue to weave them into the loom of your crazy-wild imagination which obviously makes up your life, or, you have the opportunity of  just being honest about things and we can set about sorting it out! I  hoped she would choose the latter �" I was willing to help her!

           A few days later, I had to ask her what she’d decided on regarding our discussion because she had not offerered me a reply of any sort.

 

Believe it or not, this is only the half!