The Pornographer Diaries

12. Look who’s stalking?

Colin didn’t take the hint.

He phoned up the company a dozen different times and put on a dozen different voices but as he asked to speak to Jerry each time, we all knew who it was.

‘Jerry isn’t here. She doesn’t work from here,’ he would be told time and time again but there would be no getting through to him. Sometimes he’d erupt into a temper and sometimes he’d plead, but most of the time he’d just try and con us that he was an agent or a photographer or that he wanted to hire her for a million pounds or something. Actually, I hope that was him because I turned down fortunes for Jerry one week.

Anyway, we gave his number and address to the Old Bill and they went around to talk to him, but like all good nutters he just denied everything and continued his fruitless attempts to get in touch with Jerry from phone boxes around London.

I told Paddy that we should get one of the girls to ring him up and pretend she was Jerry just to wind him up but Paddy thought that would probably aggravate the situation rather than help it.

It was another few weeks or so before he started showing up at the office again. He didn’t come into reception this time but instead chose to hang around outside waiting for... well, presumably Jerry to emerge. That wasn’t very likely seeing as Jerry lived in Budapest and had never even visited our offices. This too had been explained to Colin during one of his calls but he wasn’t having any of it. As far as he was concerned Jerry was from Guildford; he knew this because she’d said it in one of the bullshit interviews I’d made up about her in Bling once. He didn’t quite phrase it like this but you know what I mean. Besides, when he’d made his first enquiries we’d probably humoured him a bit too much, not realising what a persistent bastard he was going to be, and so that was that as far as he was concerned. Jerry was alive and well and waiting for him to find her, and we were the enemy keeping them apart.

‘I still think we should get Hazel to ring him up,’ I said.

‘And say what? “Fuck off you nutcase”?’

‘No, get her to say something like, “Oh Colin, I hear you’ve been trying to get a hold of me. They won’t let me talk to you, but I’ve had it with them. I want to get out of here and be with you. If only I was sure you truly were the man for me. Prove your love to me, go and stick your legs on a railway track.”’

‘Yeah or “knock over Barclays for us or something, will ya, you loopy cunt”,’ Fat Paul chipped in.

‘You don’t think Colin would smell a rat then?’ Paddy asked.

‘Well, I don’t know, I’m not his psychiatrist, am I?’

‘I’m not telling him to do anything like that,’ Hazel objected.

‘Well, look, we can at least tell him to fuck off, can’t we? Get him off our backs. You phone him up, pretend you’re Jerry, tell him you’re not interested or that you’re getting married or something, and tell him if he don’t like it he can go and chuck himself in the river. It’s got to be worth a go, ain’t it? Even if it’s just for a laugh.’

‘No, I’m not doing it.’

‘All right, sod you then. Jackie, do you want to do us a favour?’ but she wasn’t having any of it either. Nor was Mary or Susie or Wendy. I thought Mary or definitely Wendy would’ve done it, but girl are like that, aren’t they? As soon as one of them puts the kibosh on something none of them want to know. It was the same at school; you’d have one perfectly normal, decent bloke in class and some girl would take a disliking to him and put it about that he smelled or was covered in fleas or something, and that would be it. No other bird in school would ever talk to or sit next to the poor bastard again, no matter how much they sympathised with his plight because he was Smelly Dirty Flea Bag and to show him anything other than vicious, joyful contempt would be to see them labelled Mrs Smelly Dirty Flea Bag. And no girl wants that.

Incidentally, answers on a postcard if you can guess what my nickname was at school.

We didn’t phone Colin in the end but he kept us on our toes for a few weeks. In the absence of Jerry, it was me and Wendy he was after. We were the only people he’d dealt with in the office and the only people he seemed to remember. Matt, Hasseem, Fat Paul and Hazel all reported passing him in the street without him taking any notice of them so this seemed to confirm things for us.

We tried the Old Bill again and Peter set to getting a restraining order drafted, but Colin was still spotted here and there.

I was dreading running into him outside and so was Wendy, probably more so than me. People started seeing him so much that it got to the point where the pair of us would stay behind after everyone else left work so that they could give us a buzz and warn us if they saw him hanging about on their way to the Tube. A couple of times me and Wendy had to leave by the side entrance to avoid Colin, who would be lurking around up the street.

In a funny sort of way, it brought me and Wendy closer together. There’d been an unexplained frosty antagonism between us ever since day one, but our shared plight melted away much of the ill-feeling and we actually started getting on together. We’d sit and chat together around the office while we waited for the all clear, then walk each other to the Tube Station and see that the other got there all right. Occasionally we’d even smile and wish each other a ‘good morning’ when appropriate. What was it that Humphrey Bogart said? It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

I immediately wondered if I could bone her.

At the end of the day I decided not to bother. Nothing seemed to piss girls off more than me having a crack at them, particularly the ones I got along with (not a long list). I think they saw it as evidence that I was only actually interested in them for one thing all along, which is so fundamentally untrue. It’s a good job blokes don’t think like this otherwise you’d never be able to ask one of your mates if he fancied a beer or a game of golf for fear of him getting all upset with you and accusing you of only pretending to like him so that you could have someone to drink or play golf with.

Anyway, like I said, I didn’t try it on with Wendy but I settled for pencilling her down as a possible Christmas Party target. It would keep, particularly if I kept on making an effort to play the non-threatening mate.

*

It was a Wednesday and no one had phoned. Me and Wendy were sitting around the office waiting to get the all-clear from fat Paul but we hadn’t heard a word in 25 minutes. The Tube Station was only ten minutes away too and he knew we were hanging on for his call. This was typical of recent behaviour from the lads. This would be the fourth time no one had phoned us back and it was starting to piss us off.

‘Oh, I forgot.’

‘My battery ran out.’

‘I thought Paddy was phoning you.’

‘I thought you said don’t ring.’ etc.

In fairness to them, they always rang in when they did see Colin so I guess I could understand it slipping their minds when they didn’t – especially as half the week they were usually plastered.

‘What do you want to do, give it another ten minutes or shall we just fuck off now?’

‘Let’s fuck off now,’ I said.

We had a peep around the front door and up the street and the coast looked clear – well, it was full of prostitutes, crack addicts and angry piss-smelling drunks but there was no sign of Colin so we headed for the Tube.

‘We should go for a drink one of these nights,’ Wendy suggested.

‘Yeah, that would be nice,’ I agreed. ‘Where do you fancy? We could just go to The Abbot or something?’

‘Hmm, maybe not. Not if that bloody idiot’s going to keep hanging around, I wouldn’t want to bump into him on the way home afterwards. There’s a few nice pubs up my way though, if you didn’t mind travelling up to North London,’ she said, giving me a look that had me rearranging the lie of my pants without using my hands.

‘Yeah that’s not a bad idea,’ I told her. I lived way down south and she knew it. There was no way I’d be expected to face an hour-long Tube journey at half eleven when we would both be hammered, what with her place being just around the corner. ‘We could make it tonight if you want?’ I said, suddenly keen as Colman’s.

‘No, I’m afraid I can’t, Liverpool’s playing at home tonight,’ she replied.

‘Oh,’ I said, suddenly understanding. ‘Urgh!’

‘What? No, no, not like that. I mean Liverpool really are playing at home tonight – in the Champions’ League. It’s on the telly and I’m off around my brother’s to watch it.’

‘Oh right, yeah I forgot, I’m meant to be watching that myself. Maybe tomorrow then?’

‘Yeah, sounds good,’ she said and smiled. This was great. I was going to get to shag Wendy and that was a definite cert. She had quite a cute body too. Fairly short, nice big knockers, blonde hair. As we walked along together I tried to conjure up a mental image of what she looked like in the buff and immediately realised I was going to have to give myself the old one-two as soon as I got home this evening. In the movies, blokes take cold showers when they have thoughts like these. In real life, they smash themselves off into a sock. At least in my real life they did.

Maybe it was because I had all of this going on in my mind that I didn’t hear someone shouting after me from up the street. That and the fact that they weren’t shouting my name. They were shouting Don’s.

‘Don! Don! Slow down. Hang on a second, I want to speak to you! Don!’

It took a good few seconds of hearing this phrase shouted over and over again, combined with the slap slap slap of rapidly approaching feet before I was jerked back to reality. I almost broke my back spinning around to see Colin charging up the street towards me and Wendy. My heart screamed in my chest and the chewing gum dropped from my mouth as I saw the reds of his eyes closing fast.

‘SHIT! Fucking leg it!’ I yelled at Wendy and sped off down the road, leaving her for dead (in every sense of the word).

Wendy screamed in panic and sprinted off as fast as her high heels could carry her – not very far as it turned out. She managed about half a dozen paces before her stilettos got the better of her and she went tumbling tits-first into a discarded kebab. Not that Colin seemed to notice; he went straight on past her and after me like a man on a mission.

‘Don, wait up you bastard! Wait there! Don, stop or I’ll fucking have you! Don!’ Not the sort of encouragement that was likely to see me slowing down.

Now they say that madmen have the strength of five men when their blood’s up, well I have the speed of ten cheetahs when one’s after my claret, and I tore away from Colin like a dragster with no brakes. Unfortunately, cheetahs and dragsters only have the legs over a furlong or two and that’s pretty much their bolt. I nipped and tucked around a few corners but Colin wasn’t for shaking. I even considered darting up a couple of the alleyways but I really didn’t fancy getting caught and clobbered up one of those in case it was days before I was found again. In the end I reasoned that my best bet was to stick to the main roads and rely on the help and intervention from my fellow Londoners – if that’s what it came to.

I sprinted in the road to bypass the crowds on the pavements and Colin did the same. I’d put probably 30ft between us but my lifestyle and Colin were both catching up with me fast and I started tensing up, readying myself to get hit.

‘Fuck off, you nutbag!’ I half-screamed half-pleaded with him. ‘Please leave me alone.’

‘Don! Fucking stop you cunt! Donnnnn!’

‘Bollocks to you,’ I croaked and carried on running, clutching the stitch that had begun tearing away at my side.

I didn’t know how much longer I could go on but I knew one thing – I really didn’t want to stop. I really couldn’t see any good coming of that.

My long powering strides had shrunk over the course of half a mile so that they now resembled stumbling quick-steps. I had no energy left, just the will not to be gouged. ‘Come on,’ I gasped, urging myself on. ‘Come on!’

My legs burned with every step and my side ripped with pain; the sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes and burning my cheeks; my heart thumped in my chest and I could hardly catch a breath as I plodded along the street, but nothing was going to stop me, nothing short of my fags falling out of my pocket. I turned around and saw Colin closer, but no longer closing. He’d sunk into step with me about 20ft back and was mercifully looking about as fucked as I was. This was suddenly a war of attrition. The winner would be the guy who wanted their objective the most. For Colin, it was to smack me in the mouth. For me, it was to not be smacked in the mouth by Colin. That was basically what it boiled down to.

I soldiered on, out of Wardour Street and left along Oxford Street. The crowds swelled significantly and I wondered if I could nip into one of the shops up ahead and lose him. I wasn’t sure, but figured if I could just get a big round display table or something between myself and Colin, I might be able to stay out of reach just long enough for security to come to my rescue.

JJ Sports fitted the bill perfectly so I shoulder-barged my way through the throng and down the stairs into sports equipment basement. Colin never missed a step and careered in after me as I desperately sought out a safe refuge.

A big square basket of assorted mini-footballs offered a decent obstacle so I skidded to a halt behind it, grabbing hold of the side to stop my legs from buckling beneath me. Colin caught up before I’d had a chance to draw two breaths and immediately started chasing me around the basket. When he realised that I wasn’t going to let him get anywhere near me and that we were just going in circles, he suddenly stopped and tried going the other way. I was too sharp for him though and stayed a frustrating 180° out of reach.

‘Come here you bastard, I just want to have a word with you!’

‘Not fucking likely mate, you’re a fucking headcase.’

‘For fuck’s sake, stop!’

‘Stick it up your arse.’

‘I’ll kill you, I mean it.’

‘Fucking help me, help me!’ I started yelling, causing half the shop to look our way.

‘Just wait there a minute!’ Colin was saying, his voice full of frustration.

He skidded to a stop the other side of the basket and feigned to go anti-clockwise, before darting clockwise again, then he stopped and started feigning this way and that, trying to catch me out. Unfortunately for Colin, I was synchronised his every movement and he didn’t gain so much as an inch on me as we danced around the basket together.

‘Wait, just wait,’ I urged him. ‘Let’s just calm down and wait a moment, can we? Can we?’ Colin agreed and simmered down just long enough for me to chuck one of the mini-footballs straight in his face, flattening his nose and blacking both his eyes.

Colin fell back howling in pain and I took the opportunity to put some distance between us. I wanted to leg it from the store and start running again but I got disorientated in my panic and I lost the exit. Colin was after me again and looking like he was ready to rip my head off with his bare hands.

‘I’m going to kill you, you fucking bastard.! You dirty piece of shit! Arhhhhhhhhhh!’ he came screaming, prompting me to bawl with fear as I charged headlong straight into a rack of trainers.

I pulled myself up but he dived at me and caught hold of one of my ankles. I tried to shake him off but he clung on doggedly as I dragged him along the wooden tiles, screaming for help.

‘You bastard!’ he was still shouting as I dragged him along the floor on his face.

‘Get off me you cunt!’ I screamed at him, kicking him whenever possible.

Finally security guards from all corners of the store were converging on our position and shoppers scattered. Two of them fell on top of Colin and tried prising him off my ankle, but Colin wasn’t having any of it. He clung on like a rabid dog, threatening to eat me and all sorts and only let go when I started whacking his hands with a pair of golf spikes.

‘Ahhh!’ he hollered in pain again, and I managed to land one last beauty right on his fingers as they lay flat against the floor, but that was about it. I was suddenly bundled over by the rest of Group 4 and held in a headlock until the fight had left my body.

‘Call the police,’ he shouted at his mate, who was jabbering into his walkie-talkie. Colin was still fighting for all he was worth to get at me but that was my lot. I was done in and more than happy to sit it out until the Old Bill arrived to cart Colin off. And I was in no doubt they would too. Colin had been warned to stay away from the company a number of times and here he was attacking a member of staff. The fact that Colin was bleeding from head to foot while I didn’t have a scratch on me was immaterial. Multiple complaints had been made against him and he hadn’t listened. He’d chased and harassed me and was currently screaming about biting my ‘fucking nose off’ in-front of five security guards. He was definitely going down, no question about it. I was just worried that one day he’d get let out again and come looking for me then.

‘Jerry is not your girlfriend,’ I took the opportunity to point out, while pinned to the ground underneath a guard. ‘You’ve never met her and you’re never going to. You’re fucking delusional.’

‘No I’m not, I love her and she’ll love me. Why won’t you just let me talk to her?’

‘No way you donut.’

‘Okay, that’s enough,’ the security guard butted in. ‘Save it for when the police get here.’

‘Keep out of this fatso. What’s it got to do with you?’ I asked.

‘Yeah, this don’t concern you, so fuck off!’ Colin also then told him in no uncertain terms.

‘You tell him, Col,’ I agreed as the pair of us struggled beneath £20 an hour’s worth of security (that’s four guards, to you and me).

And there it was, a single moment of solidarity between me and Colin; one last fittingly bizarre moment in a frighteningly bizarre relationship.