Escape From Samsara Read online

  ‘Yes,’ replied Barry, ‘but, it may just be—’

  ‘Make sure you cut off all the yellowing leaves – they might be infected.’

  ‘Yes, however it might just—’

  ‘Pick up all the old leaves too as the spores can stay alive for years.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Harper, but—’

  ‘I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if it is blight, Barry. I won’t be able to look my neighbours in the eye!’

  Barry tried again. ‘It’s probably just—’

  ‘The pump is very close to the back window of my husband’s cabin so please try not to make too much noise. He has a client over today and they’re doing some very important work.’

  ‘Okay, Mrs—’

  ‘I’ll be watching from the conservatory. Give me an update as soon as you can.’

  Barry opened the back door to give the non-verbal cue that he was leaving this conversational carnage. He got his body out the door then quickly shouted back, ‘Your hedge may just have wind damage.’

  As Barry disappeared into the back garden, he could hear Mrs Harper redirecting her verbal onslaught towards the long-suffering family dog.

  Barry got out his tools and set to work on the sorry-looking hedge. As he was chopping away, his shears seemed to be making a train like noise. It took him back to a day trip he had taken with his sister, Mindy, up to London. They were having an outing to Madam Tussauds wax museum that Molly had organised. It was her hope that the trip might bring the siblings closer together.

  About midway through their journey, Mindy had spotted a large bag leaning over the side of the luggage rack adjacent to where they were sitting. The bumpy train ride was causing the bag to creep off the edge of the rack where below an unsuspecting man was eating a sandwich. Mindy kept nudging and repeating to Barry, ‘It’s about to fall, it’s about a fall, it’s going to be hilarious!’ Barry looked over, got up and walked to the man to warn him of the imminent danger.

  The man took the bag off the rack and put it on the ground next to him. This was incomprehensible to Mindy: to her, it justified all the criticism she had ever directed towards her brother. Barry the destroyer of fun. The boy incapable of making friends.

  Although this was a painful memory for Barry, the most frustrating part about it was that he was never given the chance to explain his actions. When he had looked over at the guy, he noticed a bowling ball emblem on his t-shirt. His companions on the train all had the same t-shirts, leading Barry to the assumption that they were a bowling team on their way to a competition. Barry further deduced that there was a strong chance that the man’s bag contained a bowling ball. Should this have landed on his head it could well have killed him. But Mindy’s endorphin-seeking mind would probably not have been changed by such trivial details anyway.

  Barry returned to his shearing. Standing back to admire his work, Barry let out a short yelp when he saw Terry the Hedge’s big eyes looking up at him.

  ‘Afternoon, guvnor! ‘Ow’s it going?’

  ‘Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack! Couldn’t you give me a warning or something? Anyway, I want to apologise for the way I spoke to you last time; it was just all a bit weird.’

  ‘No need to apologise, squire. What’s been happening?’

  ‘Things have been much weirder. I’ve been having nightmares, warning me about samurai ghosts. Wherever I go, people start acting crazy and I’ve been getting these rages. It’s all too much.’

  ‘Your anger is a symptom. What you’re seeking is your true calling in the world – your own inner ninja – but you can only discover that when you’ve found out what’s happened to your father, isn’t that right?’

  ‘I suppose… How do you know that?

  ‘Whether you know it or not, you are the chosen one to complete the ninja prophecy.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Barry put down his shears.

  ‘You have been following it for years without even knowing it. It’s all around you, yet you don’t recognise it… It gives you hope… It’s what carries you through the day. It is a path that has been laid down for you, and you alone, for hundreds of years!’

  Barry took in a deep breath to help him process what he was hearing. ‘My dad used to sing me this lullaby every night, “forget everything you think you know, catch the sun and make it snow.” Do you know what it means?’

  ‘Only you can answer that.’

  ‘How? Is my dad still alive?’

  ‘That is your quest. I know this ain’t easy to understand. When the time is right, I’ll give you a riddle. Should you solve it, you’ll be on your way to fulfilling the prophecy. Should you fail, you will be destined to live ten thousand more lifetimes as a gardener.’

  ‘Fuck me. I’m not sure I like those odds! I don’t want any part of it!’

  ‘Too late for that, me old mukka. The cosmic wheels have already been set in motion. One last thing… I left you something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A sat nav.’

  ‘What do I need one of them for?’

  ‘It’s a sat nav with an important difference. It don’t take you to where you want to go, it takes you where you need to go to.’ With that, Terry disappeared into a puff of green smoke, leaving Barry to get his head round this new information.

  Mrs Harper leant out of her kitchen window and shouted, ‘Is that a fungus spore I can see exploding?’

  Sitting down with a cup of tea from his flask, Barry thought, Why couldn’t I channel a native American elder? Or an Inuit priest? What do I get? A bloody barrow boy!

  Barry picked up his shears, hoping he could now get on with some work. Gardening was the only thing that seemed remotely normal.

  No sooner had he started than he sensed another presence. He turned round and saw Doctor Harper standing inappropriately close, looking like his feathers had been rustled. The doctor grabbed Barry by the arm and stared intensely into his eyes. He spoke as if about to impart information of the gravest importance.

  ‘Barry, dear boy, I’ve got myself in a bit of a quandary and a rather delicate situation has arisen. I run an informal sex clinic for some of my clients on the weekends. Do you remember Joanna Tarry? although she now likes to be known as Madam Zanzibar. She’s come to me today, Barry, desperate for help. I’m trying to realign her sexual needs into healthier areas. Before I can do this, we first need to explore why she is acting out the way she does. To be brutally honest, she needs a playmate.’

  ‘How could I forget Jo, she was my girlfriend for a while. It was a long time ago now, but it’s probably not appropriate for me to take part. What kind of playmate are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, it’s nothing to worry about, Barry. Just a few silly games that will highlight to me some of the power struggles she needs to let go of. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say the word “enough” and it will all stop.’

  ‘I’m not sure how comfortable I feel about this, doctor. As I say, I haven’t seen her for a long time, and anyway, I’m draining the pond and need to switch off the pump soon.’

  Doctor Harper threw his arm around Barry and directed him towards his cabin.

  ‘It won’t take long, Barry, and it may even help you with some of your anger issues, you never know. Just one thing… I will need you to act out a character in order for Madame Zanzibar to accept you as her playmate. She is what is known as a dominatrix so I will have to dress you up a bit too. Some of the terms may be confusing but I’ll explain things as we go.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t want to get dressed up.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s only a couple of accessories. To start with, I need you to play the role of human furniture.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something you can put your feet on like a footstool.’

  ‘You want me to pretend to be a footstool?’

  ‘Precisely, Barry, my boy! But first I need you to slip on this mono-glove.’

  ‘What the–’

  Doctor Harper bent
him forwards and strapped both his arms behind him into the leather arm-binder. He then guided Barry face-first to the floor with his backside sticking up in the air. ‘Just one last thing. I need you to just pop this on too.’

  Barry’s head was then strapped into a leather head harness which had a built-in ball gag causing him to retch. In an attempt to struggle free, Barry sat up but the doctor pushed him straight back down to the floor.

  ‘Come now, Barry, were nearly there.’ With this, he hit a big gong in the corner of the room.

  A door opened at the rear of the cabin and Barry could hear a clack clack clack as someone stomped across the wooden floor towards him. Barry endeavoured to look up but could only see a pair of thigh-high PVC boots in front of him. The boots walked around him: clack, clack, clack, like a hunter sniffing out its pray. Barry went to speak but the ball gag made him choke every time he opened his mouth.

  Then a steely voice commanded. ‘I am Zanzibar! I am your ruler and your goddess! I will show you little mercy! And if you beg me, I will show you even less! Oh is that you, Barry? How long has it been? I didn’t know this was your bag. Are we gonna have some fun!’ She then bashed Barry round the head with a big padded wet sock.

  Barry kept turning his head to protect himself but was overwhelmed by a foul stench. He looked towards the doctor and mumbled as best he could, ‘Whus huppenin?’

  ‘It’s what’s known in the trade as a Hot Carl.’

  ‘Whut’s hot curl?’

  ‘In layman’s terms, it’s a sock full of fresh excrement, Barry.’

  ‘Whut!’ Barry tried to jerk free but Madame Zanzibar jacked his head back and painted a hot wet liquid on to his upper lip.

  ‘Ah, I see you have gone for the Dirty Sanchez. An interesting choice.’

  The doctor bent down to whisper in Barry’s ear. ‘That’s a moustache made of excrement. How are you finding it all so far? Enjoying yourself?’

  Barry glared at the doctor from his shit-battered face, his lip frantically quivering as he did his best to scream, ‘Get me ourra here!’ He could hear the pump outside the window making a warning noise to signal that it had finished draining the pond.

  ‘Pomp, pomp,’ Barry groaned.

  ‘Come along now, Barry. There will be plenty of time for rumpy pumpy later. There’s still a few more hoops to go through first. Come on, don’t be shy, man.’ Zanzibar bent down and zipped open a big leather bag. ‘So, my darling Doctor Death. What is next on the menu of bastard delights?’

  Doctor Harper leaned in towards Barry. ‘Don’t worry about the name, it’s just a little private joke we have.’

  The doctor then pulled down a harness fixed to the ceiling. He hooked it to the top of the mono-glove and Barry was thrust mid-air, legs akimbo.

  ‘How do you like my love sling, Barry? What say you, Zanzibar?’

  ‘I think the time has come for the metal intruder, Doctor, don’t you?’

  Barry was thrashing around in the sling at the same time as trying to see out the window. He could hear the pump overheating as it spluttered and made a sharp wining sound.

  ‘Looks like we have got ourselves a wriggler, Doctor.’

  ‘Come along now, Barry, be brave. There’s a good lad,’ said the doctor. ‘This could help with your bowels.’

  Madame Zanzibar was just about to bury the intruder deep into Barry when a loud bang went off just outside the window. She walked over to see what the problem was, placing the intruder on the windowsill as she peered out at the pump. ‘Maybe we should turn that thing off?’

  ‘Nonsense. That machine has been running for forty years without incident. Sod this. It’s about time I got in on the action!’

  Barry, now apoplectic, screeched a muffled complaint through the gag.

  ‘Enuf! enuf! enuf!’

  ‘What’s that, Barry? Are you saying rough? You want it more rough? Okay, Zanzibar. It’s time we unleashed the demon!’

  ‘You don’t mean…’

  ‘Oh yes I do! It’s time for the Cleveland steamer, and I’m the very man for the job.’

  Madam Zanzibar unhooked the harness, sending Barry crashing to the floor. Before he knew it, the doctor was standing over him with his trousers round his ankles.

  ‘Here it comes!’ grunted the doctor who began shaking uncontrollably, his body folding in on itself, contorting, as white foam dripped from his mouth. Barry looked up horrified to see he was clenching a long serrated knife, poised ready to plunge it into him. His eyes had turned into revolving fireballs spitting ash as he growled slowly in Japanese. ‘Eigo no otoko wa shinanakereba naranai.’ Barry knew exactly what this meant. ’The English man must die!’

  Just as the doctor was about to strike, the pump exploded with a thunderous roar. The impact blew the window in, sending the intruder flying across the room and straight into the back of the doctor’s head. He hit the ground with a dull thud and an eerie stillness filled the room.

  Madam Zanzibar unzipped Barry and took off his gag. ‘Do you think he’s dead?’

  ‘He has a twelve-inch steel vibrator buried into the back of his head so if I were to hazard a wild guess–’

  ‘Oh no, my dear doctor, I can’t lose you!’ She turned to Barry. ‘Where shall we hide the body?’

  ‘That must have been the shortest bereavement in history. Why do we need to hide him? This was a clear case of death by vibrator.’

  Zanzibar grabbed Barry desperately by the arm.

  ‘You don’t understand, I’m already on the run from the police… due to another accident I had...’

  ‘Yeah, actually it’s the same for me. Let’s stick him under the new pond liner. The bump won’t notice once I get the plants back in.’

  Barry set about his work while Madam Zanzibar cleaned up all traces of the afternoon’s activities. Dragging the lifeless body into the pond, Barry was careful to avoid Mrs Harper’s line of sight. He wondered how long it would take before she called the police, two or three days?

  An hour later, Barry came back into the cabin. ‘It’s time to leave. I’ll sneak out the back gate first then you follow ten minutes later. Never mention a word of this to anyone. You will never see me again.’

  ‘Before you go, Barry, would you like to try some CBT?’

  ‘Cognitive behavioural therapy?’ replied Barry.

  ‘No, I mean cock-and-ball torture.’

  ‘No, thank you, Joanna. I think it’s time I left the country. Also I think there’s probably something quite drastically wrong with you.’

  Barry went home, knowing he couldn’t stay there. It was only a matter of time before the police would come looking for him. He decided to go and hide out in his allotment shed until he could get his head straight. Molly was at Bingo so he packed some bags and left a short note:

  Dear Mum,

  I’ve done some things I’m not proud of and now I have to go into hiding for a while.

  I’m really sorry .

  I love you.

  Barry

  P.S. Please use up the rest of my fish fingers.

  P.P.S I’m going to try and find Dad and Mindy.

  * * *

  5

  THE PORTSLADE MASSACRE

  By his own estimation, Robbie Jarvis was the most talented lover in the known universe. He was also pretty well known in the world of hairdressing. Articles had been written on his revolutionary scissor-over-comb technique which really challenged the accepted paradigms within the arena of elderly hair care. Robbie was the only hairdresser in the southeast to offer a five-day crumple-free guarantee on his shampoo and sets. (In many cases the hairstyle would actually outlive the customer.) Robbie claimed the secret of this follicle rigidity was all in the roller technique and not in the half tin of hairspray he used.

  Robbie’s vision of sexual utopia could be neatly symbolised by a jar of pickled gherkins. The longer the jar sat on your shelf, the sweeter tasting the gherkins, although it was a lot harder to get the lid off – a potentially controversial vi
ew yet one he was happy to share with the old ladies at the Astral Waves hair salon.

  ‘Ooh you are naughty,’ said Molly. ‘You remind me of my Yamochi; he was like a wild dog when we were in our twenties. I had to keep him on a leash. Can you do my hair like Jennifer Lopez has hers?’

  Robbie held his scissors up in the air. ‘I might look like a wizard, darling, but these ain’t no magic wand!’ The whole salon erupted with laughter.

  ‘You cheeky bugger,’ replied Molly.

  Robbie grabbed a handful of curlers and set to work.

  ‘I think everyone should experiment sexually a bit,’ said Molly. ‘My husband spent years trying to get me to lez up with Merril when she was living above the funeral directors. I eventually gave it a go. It was all right, I suppose. The smell of formaldehyde put me off a bit, mind.’

  Two miles north of Portslade High Street, Barry was hiding away in his allotment shed contemplating his situation. What the hell is after me? Shall I hand myself in? How long do I have before the police find me? What would Dad do?

  Barry knew he had to lay low but didn’t want to be far from Molly; he was worried about how she would cope on her own. He remembered that in the garden behind Robbie’s salon was an old war bunker that he used to play in when he was a child. If he could get into that and hide, it might buy him a bit of time. Barry tried to sneak out of his shed and make it to the water tap when he was cornered by Brian.

  ‘Ah, Barry. Have you read the allotment newsletter this month? The management committee are suggesting that we use landscape fabric to mulch our plots as a preventative weed measure. That’s the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard as it’s mainly dandelions we have here. I phoned the allotment officer, Mr Baldwin, to express my alarm and told him in no uncertain terms that this was an exercise in pure folly.’ Brian edged his way closer to Barry to deliver the vital ingredient in his riposte.