Books & Poetry

Last week, Edward Lasala continued our London chain story. Here is the fourteenth chapter, written by Time Out reader Gillian Bland. Thanks to everyone who contributed.

Chapter Fourteen by Gillian Bland

A London Story: Chapter 12 by Gillian Bland
The latest instalment of our unique story, written by a different reader every week.

‘My favourite advert?’ Tobias brought the phone’s mouthpiece right up to his mouth: so close that Gary would, he hoped, hear the flecks of spittle hitting it and a fuzzy halo of distortion around each shouted word. ‘My favourite advert, since you ask, you piece of shit, is the one where… I think it’s for a car, some sort of family hatchback with airbags all the way round it and plasma screens showing “Finding Neverland” on permanent rotation, and a fridge stocked with Innocent smoothies and sweetmeats made from the intestines of wild deer. And it’s driving through a desert, a road in a desert, when suddenly it stops because a flamingo has crossed the road. A flamingo! In a desert! But the driver and his family aren’t fazed by this, this… magical happening. Because no matter how magical the flamingo is, it’s no match for the relentless feast of magic that is their smug, extravagantly funded lives…’
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Gary tried to get a word in edgeways. ‘I don’t think I…’
‘What? Speak up, son.’
‘I said I don’t think I know that advert.’
‘Well,’ said Tobias, ‘you should watch more television, shouldn’t you? Then you’d know it as well as I do. Which is pretty bloody well, I don’t mind telling you.’
‘It’s been a pleasure talking to you, but I’m going to go now, sir.’
‘No you’re not.’
‘Thank you for your time.’
‘I’m trying to imagine a world in which I might need or want your thanks. No, sorry – can’t do it.’
‘Just one thing.’
‘What?’
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My name isn’t Gary. This isn’t Gary you’re talking to. It’s Thorsten.’ From the next room there came a burst of high-pitched laughter. Tobias heard it through the phone as well as the wall. ‘It’s Thorsten here, you fucking loser. Now put your clothes on and come next door. Mo’s asking for you, and besides, there’s something I want to show you.’

Tobias dressed as requested and joined Thorsten and Mo in the bedroom. Thorsten was lying on the bed, twirling something shiny between his fingers. Mo was sitting on a leather armchair. They both laughed as he entered. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Mo. ‘Thorsten thought it would be funny.’
‘I can take a joke,’ said Tobias.

‘Course you can,’ said Thorsten. ‘Now have a gander at this.’ He passed Tobias the shiny thing. It was a ring – a gold ring studded with five diamonds.

‘Nice,’ said Tobias.
‘But just a ring, yeah? Nothing to get excited about?’ He smiled across at Mo, who was watching him like a lovestruck schoolgirl. ‘Tell him who it belonged to.’
She blurted it out. ‘Marilyn Monroe! Arthur Miller gave it to her, on the set of “The Misfits”!’