The Three Halves of Martyn Manning--Chapter Six: Lisa - Part One

He got lucky and caught her on her lunch-break so she was free to talk. She had a strong West Country accent but it was innocuous enough.

“It’s a red Ford Fiesta” she said. “The registration is L-I-S-A 586.”

“L-I-S-A?”

“Yeah, like ‘It’s Lisa’s car.’ “

“Oh! It’s a personalised number plate!”

“Yeah!”

Personalised number plate eh? Could there be some money here? To be honest, she didn’t sound like the sort of person who had money to throw around on personal number plates.

They arranged to meet that evening at 8.00pm in Grape Street car park. She said it was by the Ladies College, just outside the centre. He’d only been to Cheltenham once, but he had a rough idea where the Ladies College was. She’d first suggested 7.30pm but Martyn demurred. After all he thought, it could be a complete disaster, in which case he’d want to get away as soon as possible and the later hour would reinforce his excuses. On the other hand, it might be mutual lust at first sight, in which case he didn’t want to waste too much time on polite chat before getting down to it. He’d spent some time that morning pondering his hopes and expectations for the evening. A soulmate and life partner would be nice but come on, let’s be realistic, he wasn’t going to hit the bullseye with his first arrow. The best he could hope for really was a pleasant couple of hours of company, and if there was a shag at the end of it, well he wouldn’t say no. Did the non-professional classes shag that quickly and easily? From the little he’d seen of daytime TV it would appear they did, but he had no direct experience.

As he ate his sandwich he went online and booked the cheapest hotel in the city centre. It didn’t matter to him where he slept. At worst he’d crash out for a few hours. At best he wouldn’t sleep there at all.

He had a quiet afternoon and left work at six to drive the forty miles to Cheltenham. As he drove he considered possible outcomes to the evening. What would he do if he did think there was a possibility of sex? He knew he was a useless closer and could never have been a salesman. Look at that time in the States when Jenny was gagging for it and he completely bolloxed it by asking her to watch a porn movie with him. Ah relax. Put it down to experience and do better next time. He’d just have to play it by ear. But he did sometimes wish he’d made one more visit to Fort Royal, just to discover the joys of Jenny’s robust young body. And was he even attractive? He supposed he couldn’t be ugly, after all, Janet had married him, fucked him and had his children, and she was objectively attractive. But he couldn’t remember anyone ever commenting on his looks. No-one had ever said to him “Gosh Martyn, you’re quite strikingly handsome.” Nobody had even said “Well Martyn, I’d put you slightly below the median in a standard deviation of male attractiveness.” Why couldn’t people just say what they think? He knew what he thought women found attractive but he invariably found he was wrong. There was that actor from Sheffield, tall blond and muscular and famous for his role in a series about the Napoleonic Wars. Then there was that Welsh comedian. Slight, curly black hair and smart as a whip. He’d often thought he’d give his right arm to look like either of them, but when he mentioned this to Janet or Janet’s friends they’d just laugh and say “Nah, not my type” or “Not bad looking I suppose, but he thinks too much of himself.” Maybe women just weren’t socially programmed to admit when they found a man attractive? It was all so confusing.

And that’s before he even got to his cock! It was true that God had re-assured him but that was only a dream. The only comment he’d ever had even indirectly about his cock was when an ex-girlfriend told him about her ex-boyfriend who had “a massive cock”. Sadly, he was forced to assume therefore that his cock was not “massive”. But did women even like big cocks? He’d seen on a recent trash TV programme that women preferred thickness to length. This was because women had more pleasure receptors close to the entrance of the vagina and fewer higher up. So how thick was his cock compared to other mens’? By the time he parked at the hotel he was quite strung out.

The room was cheaply furbished and had no en-suite. There was nothing to keep him there so he put down his bags and walked out again. He couldn’t have been in there thirty seconds but he did have time to grab a couple of condoms from his briefcase. Martyn had an intense dislike of condoms. Whatever the makers claimed, they did take away the sensation, and anyway, he felt strongly that you could never claim to have fucked a girl unless you’d left something behind. He knew that millennials used condoms as a matter of course, but that was their problem.

He set off in the drizzle for Grape Street car park following his usually trusty nose, dashing from cover to cover. It didn’t matter if he was early, he could use the time to recce the area. As it was he wasn’t early. His trusty nose let him down and he eventually admitted defeat to Google Maps. He found LISA 586 quite easily as the car park was nearly empty, but it was overcast and raining harder now, so he couldn’t see anything inside. He opened the passenger door.   

“Hi, you must be Lisa?” with a half-laugh to mask his embarrassment.

“And you must be Martyn, jump in and get out of the rain. Did you find me alright?” He couldn’t tell if she was smiling or not but he got in.

“Yeah, no problem. I’m only ten minutes away. I like your car, and your number plate!” He was floundering now. He badly needed some booze to loosen his tongue.

“Thanks” she replied, “She’s only six months old. I love her. So what shall we do? Anywhere you want to go?”

“I’ve got no idea Lisa, I don’t really know Cheltenham. You choose. Somewhere nice. I’m paying.”

He tried to form a first impression but had little to go on. He was sat in the passenger seat, staring out of the front windscreen. He wouldn’t feel comfortable in turning to his right to perform an objective appraisal.

She pointed to a dimly lit path leading from the corner of the car park.

“There’s a new place opened just up there. Shall we give that a try?”

“Let’s go” he smiled. Lisa reached in the back for her umbrella.

It was a new place, but the refurbishment had tried to make it look like an old pub, with a traditional bar, oak panelling, settles against the walls and round-topped tables scattered around the room. It didn’t really work, which may have explained why it was almost empty. At least they could take their pick of the seating. Lisa chose a table by the open fire while Martyn went to buy the drinks. Behind the bar an acned youth was washing glasses while a pretty goth barmaid re-stocked the cabinets. Both ignored him as he reviewed the shields on the handpumps, looking for the strongest. Good, they had Bear Claw, 5.2%. He wasn’t driving. Eventually the youth looked up.

“Yes sir, how can I help you?” continuing to wash.

“A pint of Bear Claw and a white wine please.”

The youth dried his hands on an already sodden bar cloth.

“Any particular white wine? Small, medium, large?”

He realised she’d specified neither the type or size of her white wine. He couldn’t be bothered going back to ask.

“Just House please, a large one.”

It came to £8.95 which pleased Martyn as by giving the barman the exact money he was able to get rid of the heavy change in his pocket. He carried the drinks back to the table and after a moment’s hesitation sat at right-angles to Lisa rather than opposite.

He gave her his best smile.

 “So Lisa, tell me all about yourself. What’s a nice girl like you doing on a scuzzie dating website?”

She began to talk with Martyn interjecting appropriately and he hoped respectfully. She told him about the break-up with her husband, how he’d run off completely without warning with one of his friend’s wives, abandoning her and her young son.

“That’s awful. Why do you think he left Lisa?”

“Because all men are bastards? I don’t know, he never really said.”

“Enough to put you off men for life!” he said, hoping to sound empathetic. ”Anyway, I’m not a bastard.”

“I got him back though. He left his credit card and I’d spent thousands before he noticed and cancelled it.”

“Crikey, remind me not to get on your bad side.”

As she talked he had a chance to assess her looks. About 5’2” with short spiky blond hair, small breasts and a sort of skinny elfin look to her face and body which reminded him of Audrey Hepburn and which he found quite attractive. She was wearing skin tight black leggings and a pink angora sweater like the one Johnny Rotten used to wear with the Sex Pistols, but Johnny’s was yellow. She was one of that small lucky band who naturally carried that fresh smell of clothes newly-laundered in a strongly perfumed fabric softener. Martyn was getting into it now and had fully deployed his “Three L’s” technique. He’d developed this technique in his single days and it had served him pretty well. The three L’s were Look (deep into her eyes, it showed interest and established a connection), Laugh (drink was the only thing that got a woman into bed faster, laughter and drink were a powerful combination) and Listen (nodding and commenting in sympathy or acknowledgement).

“Come on, let’s talk about something nice. What do you do for fun? Do you like books? Films? Telly?”

“I like that Jeremy Kyle, you get some real chavs on there. I love it when they do the lie detectors. And I like that “Cash in the Attic” and that “Homes Under The Hammer”.

Martyn had only seen Jeremy Kyle once and had been appalled at the manipulation and exploitation of poor and clearly vulnerable people. He’d never seen the other two.

“Yeah, I like Jeremy Kyle. But they’re all daytime TV programmes. You don’t have a job then?”

“Nah! It’s not worth it. I did get a job on the check-outs at Tesco but then I lost my benefits so I packed it in.”

“That’s a shame. How about films? Do you go to the cinema? What sort of films do you like?”

Lisa thought before replying.

“I haven’t been to the pictures for ages, but I watch a lot of DVD’s with Tyler. He likes those cartoon ones like Shrek and Finding Nemo. We must have watched Toy Story fifty times.”

“Yeah, I love Toy Story. I can never decide who I like best, Woody or Buzz!”

“Oh I like Woody best. He’s so funny!”

Martyn took a deep breath, knowing it was going to be wasted.

“Do you read many books? I love books.”

“I’ve only ever read one, that “Fifty Shades of Grey”. That was really good though so I might read some more.”

“Yeah, it was really good!” (Well, at least he felt good when he threw it in a rubbish bin in Inverness after forty pages.) “What did you like about it?”

“I don’t know really. I just liked it. It was really rude though. He was always tying her up and beating her before they had sex!”

“Ha-ha! Do you like that sort of thing?”

She turned slightly pink and looked down at the table.

“Ah, that would be telling.”

She changed the subject, describing all the things she’d bought with her husband’s credit card, and then how helpful and supportive her divorce lawyer had been.

“She was so nice to me. I couldn’t have got through it without her. I think I’m going to go back to college to be a divorce lawyer, so I can help people, like her.”

“That sounds great!” said Martyn, lying again. His nose must surely be growing by now. “I can see you as a lawyer!” Oh Lord! Not only was she clearly not bright enough to be a lawyer, she wasn’t bright enough to know she wasn’t bright enough.

They’d both drunk their drinks quickly. Martin wanted another and was pretty sure Lisa did too.

“Same again?”

“Oh yes please. That was nice.”

“Are we going to get something to eat?”

“Yeah. Can you see if they’ve got any scratchings please?”

Martyn grinned.

“No, I meant a meal. There’s a menu there.”

He reached over to the next table and offered a laminated sheet to Lisa.

“No, I’ll be fine with scratchings.”

Martyn stood up.

“And if they don’t have any scratchings can I have some Cheese & Onion crisps please?”

He went to the bar and returned with his hands full. Another pint of Bear Claw for him, another large non-specific white wine for her, and two packets of King Hog pork scratchings.

 As he sat down at the table Lisa spoke again.

“Well you know all about me. Tell me something about you.”

Martyn replied, hoping he sounded responsive and enthusiastic, but he only gave up desultory details of his job, family and break-up. Mainly the break-up. Clearly they were two lost souls, cruelly abandoned by their heartless partners, tossed together on a sea of heartache and destined to find solace in each other’s arms. Martyn knew enough about women, in fact most people, that they prefer to talk about themselves, and the points that would accrue from the perceived flattery of his intent listening could only work in his favour. He wanted to pivot the conversation back to Lisa but was struggling to think of things to say.

“So are you going to try and get another job while you’re studying?” Then he remembered. “Oh no, of course, you’d lose your benefits.”

“And I shouldn’t really work anyway. I’ve been ill and I’m not fully right yet. The doctor says I shouldn’t do anything too strenuous.”

“You’ve been ill? Oh I’m sorry to hear that. What sort of ill were you?”

“I had bowel cancer. I had radio and chemo then a big operation and they took half my insides away. I was in hospital for three weeks.”

“Oh Lisa, that’s terrible!” This time his concern was genuine, he’d been expecting her to say she’d had ‘that bug that’s going around’. “Bloody hell! When was this? Are you Ok now? Have they any idea what caused it? Come on, tell me all about it.”

Martyn was truly interested and sympathetic, but as she talked he was also trying to think quickly. So, the cancer may go some way to explain the skinny elfin look, and maybe the angora jumper was an attempt to bulk out and disguise all the weight she’d lost during treatment. But how did this affect the possible outcome of the evening? For his part he’d previously decided that he would like to fuck her, after all, he found her physically attractive and you don’t need to be an Oxford academic to be a good fuck, but in the light of the latest revelation he needed a few more details. Was she strong enough or even biologically capable of having sex? She might not have all the right bits. Skinny he could handle, he liked skinny, even skin and bone, but Christ, what if she had a bag? No, he couldn’t handle a bag, he just couldn’t, not even as charity.

Lisa broke off from her in-depth critique of hospital food.

“What’s the matter Martyn? Are you OK? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Have you got a bag?” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

“A bag? What sort of a bag? I’ve got my handbag…”

“No, a colostomy bag, you know, after the operation. Did they fit you with a bag…?”

“Oh yeah. I know what you mean. My Grandad’s got one of those. No, they never mentioned it. I’ve just got to be careful what I eat. I shouldn’t really be eating these scratchings.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and his pulse began to return to normal. It was time to lay the foundations of his bedding strategy.

“So do you like living in Cheltenham? Whereabouts do you live?”

“I don’t actually live in Cheltenham, I live in a little village a few miles out. It’s nice, but everybody knows everybody else’s business.”

That’s not good he thought. She might not want to take a man home for the night with all the village peering through binoculars.

“I’m staying at the Windholme Lodge in the middle of town. Sheep Street I think. Do you know it?”

“Oh yeah, the one next to Primark. God, that’s a bit of a dive isn’t it? I’ve never been there but that’s what people have told me.”

“A dive? You’re not bloody kidding. My room stinks and the carpets sticky and there’s stains on the bedding. I wish I hadn’t been so tight and booked somewhere nicer. I can’t bear to think of going back there. Anyway, that’s my problem, tell me all about Tyler, you’ve hardly mentioned him. Four’s a nice age isn’t it?”

Lisa talked about Tyler for a solid fifteen minutes, as any mother should, with only occasional interjections from Martyn. Then she looked at her watch.

“That reminds me, I need to be getting back soon, I’ve only got the babysitter till ten.”

She unhurriedly started gathering her things together.

“Oh, that’s a shame Lisa, we were just getting going and I was really enjoying it.”

“So was I!”

“Lisa, listen, I know I’m being really cheeky and you can tell me to get lost, but I really don’t want to go back to that horrible hotel. I don’t suppose there’s any chance I could sleep on your sofa tonight could I? We could carry on chatting and I promise I’m not an axe murderer.”

Lisa paused, but only slightly.

“Are you sure you’re not an axe murderer?”

“Do I look like an axe murderer? Do I talk