Merry Measure - Lily Morton Page 0,24
all the difference. I take off my jacket and look around. There’s no one here to witness my moment of revelation. Tom pulled Jack away in the lobby to look at something, and I came here, intending to have a shower and get changed before we go out for an early dinner and then a walk around the city.
The hotel room is calm and sweet-smelling, the beds made and everything tidy. I wish I had a maid at home, although the poor person would probably require danger money to do my flat.
I strip my clothes off down to my briefs, wriggling my bare toes in the expensive carpet. I’d intended to have a shower and a quick wank, but now that seems tacky. And I wouldn’t be able to look Jack in the eyes once I’d done it, as I’d definitely be thinking of him when I came.
Instead, I switch the TV on. The hotel’s screen saver appears, and I notice the numbers have changed on it. I wonder if it’s some sort of room temperature gauge or something. I flick to the music channel and smile. “Oh my God,” I say out loud as “Work It” by Missy Elliott comes on.
The song brings back memories of being thirteen and how that summer my best friend Ronnie and I dedicated our time to creating intricate dance sessions to my sister’s Missy Elliott album. Well, Ronnie did, and I followed happily and somewhat clumsily. Our sessions were brought to a sad end when I fell and ripped down my mum’s new lounge curtains and put my foot through the TV. Last I heard, Ronnie was continuing his dance obsession by being a pole dancer in Lewisham. The poles of the world must have rejoiced when I didn’t join him.
But still, I think I remember the moves to this song. I try an experimental wiggle, and before I know it, I’m dancing and grinding away. Actually, there’s more grinding than I remember which probably explains the time my dad had popped his head around the lounge door, exclaimed, “Jesus fucking Christ,” and was ushered away by my mum.
I’ve just executed a rather spiffy twirl and dip combo that’s a lot harder to execute now that I’m in my twenties, when, to my horror, I hear a gasp. I pause, hoping wildly that I imagined it and that someone is definitely not standing behind me watching me make the most massive twat of myself, but then a throat clears.
I extend the hope that it’s just a poor maid who will need a huge tip to get over her trauma, but that dies when I turn around and find Jack and my brother watching me. Tom is clutching the room card and looking rather wild-eyed, and Jack’s face is alight with laughter.
My brother shakes his head. “I’ve said it before, and I’ll no doubt repeat it a bajillion times in the future, but you are a massive weirdo, Arlo,” he says in a sanctimonious tone. He sniffs disapprovingly and claps Jack on the shoulder. “I’m going to my room to get a drink that will hopefully bleach this memory away. You should probably do the same.”
The moment he leaves, I’m overwhelmed by the need to twat my brother. I race out into the corridor after him. “Oh really, who are you calling a weirdo?” I shout, dimly aware of a man and a woman standing outside the door to the next room. “I’m not the one who used to rub his squirrel on his penis. When he was thirteen,” I finish triumphantly.
The woman gasps.
“It was a soft toy,” my brother says frantically. “And the fur felt nice.”
“I’m sure that’s one of the signs of a serial killer,” I say.
Jack steps neatly between us and sighs. “I think that’s setting fires and torturing small animals,” he says, trying for diplomacy as usual. The man should have a job with the European Union. Such is his patience.
“Well, I’m sure that if Mr Whizzles could have talked, he’d have strenuously objected,” I say sniffily.
Jack shakes his head. “Shall we get you back into the room?”
I look down at my outfit of skimpy briefs and then at our audience who are watching us with open mouths. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to cup my hands over my groin. “Yes, maybe that’s a good idea,” I mumble.
“Are you sure? Maybe you could give everyone a few jazz hands and twirls before we go,” Jack says.
“Well, it would probably