Confessions of an Ice Cream Man. Timothy Lea
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you’re still stuck here when we leave it looks more serious and puts me in a better bargaining position.’
Sid pats my shoulder. ‘Good thinking,’ he says.
I return to Valentina and shake my head. ‘Looks bad,’ I say.
‘I know,’ she says. ‘He may never be able to sing again.’ I can’t help feeling that there is a trace of sarcasm in her voice and it is in silence that I follow her out into the car park. I hope I am going to enjoy what I have lined up for myself. Valentina is not exactly bubbling over with hot-blooded Italian vitality and I am a very cold starter when met less than half way. Even as I think about it I can feel the heart dropping out of my winkle. I can actually feel it shrinking – like a slug dropped on a block of ice. I must try and turn my mind to something else – like England’s chances of qualifying for the World Cup Finals. No, there is no point in torturing myself. There must be something else. But no, my thoughts keep returning to the void between my legs. The void once occupied by a vibrant organ eager for the fray – and blooming nearly frayed on more than one occasion. There is no doubt about it. The best times have always been the unexpected ones. When a spot of nooky sort of slunk up behind me. I don’t think I could ever have it off with a tart.
I mean, I always remember the first time on Clapham Common with Sid’s Aunty Lil – well, strictly Speaking, it wasn’t the first time, was it? Not with me getting it tucked under her suspender strap and never realising. How green I must have been in those days. How refreshingly innocent. Anyhow, I was useless with Lil and that was because it wasn’t for real. I was just ten minutes of Lil’s time. And what am I with this bird? Not Marcello Masturbati, that’s for sure. Just a way of buying off trouble. It’s not the stuff of great romance by a long chalk. Maybe I should tell her to stop and get out – I mean, me get out. But, on the other hand, that’s being cowardly, isn’t it? That would be turning my back on an experience. If I do that I will never know what might have happened. I will give my old man an even worse complex than it has got at the moment. Once it knows that I am pulling it out before it has even had the chance td get in I will be creating big problems. And there is not just this bird to think about. There must be others – in the future – somewhere in the future. One has to face up to failure sometime. It’s inevitable. That’s what makes one human as opposed to someone who believes what they read in Cosmopolitan. Even if it is a total disaster with Valentina and she tells all her friends – what the hell! There must be about fifteen million shaftable birds in this country and she can’t know all of them. Even if she does, it’s not the end of the world. Women like a challenge – some of them, anyway. If she can’t convert Percy into fifteen and a half centimetres of nether ramrod then there must surely be others prepared to have a try. I mean, if you reverse the situation, I’ve never held it against a bird for being untutored in the ways of love – in fact I frequently have held it against her. Not only held it but propelled it forward urgently until the only tight band in her life was a recollection of Nat Temple’s lot playing at the opening of a brewery extension.
‘’Ere we are.’ I blink and look up. Amazing how times flies when the mind is wrapped in thought. I am certain it was the same for Isaac Newton and the rest of the boys. They must have felt as if they hardly lived.
‘Very nice,’ I say.
Actually, it is just the same as all the other semi-detacheds in the street but one likes to appear willing, doesn’t one? The front garden isn’t a patch on the one next door but then you don’t expect the eyeties to go a lot on gardening. They are probably busy teaching the kiddies to hold a mouthful of spit until the referee’s back has turned. Valentina carefully locks up the car and then produces another key for the front door. I start to get a funny feeling in my stomach as I see it turning in the lock – the key, not my stomach. Will I be able to come across with the love offering? What started out as being solid and turning to liquid now seems to have converted itself into air. I don’t believe there is anything there at all. How embarrassing when I take my trousers off. ‘And I always thought you had to have an operation,’ I can say with a light laugh. Of course, she might cap it by being a bloke in drag but somehow I don’t think so. Those curves look as natural as the ones that stop the moon from being a square.
‘Nice places you have here,’ I say mesmerised by her knockers. She does not reply but looks at her face in the mirror of the hallstand and pushes a few wisps of hair into place. I pick up an electricity bill and give it to her. ‘It keeps going up, doesn’t it?’ I say. Of course, I am referring to the price of electricity but from the way she looks at me I wonder if she understands this. Better not try and explain or I might make matters worse. She puts the bill on the hallstand without a word and starts up the stairs. Half way up she turns and looks down at me.
‘Come on. You want to come, don’t you?’ I follow her without saying anything and she pauses on the landing and points to a half open door. ‘Bathroom.’
I take the hint and go inside. Very nice pong and Jesus holding a soap rack. First sign of the Catholic influence. There is also a bidet with an attachment for directing a jet of water at your balls. It is a shame I have to find this out by turning on the hot tap. I nearly flatten my nut against the ceiling. I have a squeeze of toothpaste and rub it round my cakehole with a finger and contemplate a spot of lily of the valley over the gonads. In reality I am playing for time. Putting off the evil moment. Evil moment! I must be round the twist. Millions of blokes would give their mother-in-law’s right arm to be in my position. What is wrong with me? Why am I cursed with this ultra-sensitivity when the chips and knickers are down? Why can’t I be like the kind of people who read these books? I will really have to examine my scruples. Having said that I sprinkle some talcum powder over them and stand further back from the wash-basin so that I can take a good gander at myself in the mirror. Uhm. Three and half inches at a rough guess and shrinking fast. It is most disturbing. Usually a spot of hot water and a gentle tug brings it on a treat. When I look down my body I can hardly see anything. It is like overlooking a wren’s nest in the ivy. Honestly, I can’t go up there like this. It would be letting down the British Empire – and if you let it down any further it would be in Australia. Pull yourself together, Lea. Tuck your socks in your Hush Puppies, sling your dicky dirt over your arm and get in there. A big boy like you shouldn’t be frightened of an Italian ice cream vendor’s niece. I look out of the window and see that it is raining. That could be nasty. Supposing Uncle Pietro decides to chuck it in early and pop round to see how his niece is bearing up under the strain of having nearly garrotted somebody? That might put a very unhealthy strain on Anglo-Italian relations. Oh dear, I wish I hadn’t thought of that. It does not help in my present condition. I look down at Percy and there is a slight movement towards the window. I think he wants to get out. Well he can’t! I set my jaw for three thirty and march towards the stairs. A man has to try and do what a man has to try and do. Which room is she in? Another feeling of panic grips me. We don’t want one of those jokes in which you open the door stark bollock naked to find the local Women’s Institute settled down for a talk on ‘Soil Erosion in the Southern Hebrides’.
‘Valentina?’ I am almost whispering but there comes a muted ‘Si’ from behind one of the doors. I open it and go into a room with the curtains drawn. I am grateful for that for a start. Maybe the darkness will bring my old man on like it does with tomatoes. At least the shrinking menace of the miniscular Mad Mick will be concealed from her eyes other than by the shoe I am holding in front of it – it could be snitched from a doll’s house and still do a good blot-out job the way I am shaping up at the moment.
Valentina is lying in bed with the sheets pulled up to her chin and I am grateful for that as well. Her clothes are hung over the back of a chair and there is a pleasing pong of perfume in the air. ‘Come.’ She means get into bed and I do just that making her wince as my cold hand brushes against her back. I should have soaked my mits in hot water. They are always a bit like fish fingers to start off with. I lie there between the sheets and wonder what to do next. Valentina seems poised and expectant even though her back is to me. She is waiting too. I put my hands between my thighs and wince. They are cold.
Valentina turns her head. ‘What is the matter? What are you waiting for?’ She sounds suspicious.
‘Nothing,’