PEPAC novel: excerpt: "Tinky Winky"

Donna picks up her empty post trolley from outside Clarissa’s door.  She decides to takes the long way back to the Post Room.  She wants to drink in the gorgeous summer’s day through the massive, expensive-looking windows of the Executive Dome.

She likes it up here.  It’s lovely and cool.  And so comfortable!  Hushed and special, like being on a long-haul plane with nobody on it, or a church.  Loads of cameras too, like an airport.  VIP-styley.

This is the VIP Dome, the Executive Dome, so what’s Plucky Donna from the Post Room doing in the middle of all this glamour?  Well, delivering the post obviously, she thinks, but it’s nice to dream, just for a moment, that it somehow belongs to her, that all this quiet and squidgy carpets and cameras is just for her.  Of the four PEPAC Domes, the so-called Pain Dome is wicked too, where the gym is, very modernistic, pretty much Donna’s favourite place. 

When it’s not full of sweating, roaring men doing Terror Yoga.

Don’t ask.  Let’s just hope it’s a fad. 

The Pleasure Dome, home to PEEPAC’s 24/7 super-size bar, is a total shit-hole, end of.   It’s massive, and done out like a proper club in Ibiza, but the wine is shit and Geordie and his mates are always in there doing lines of heroin in the toilet.  You sometimes see one or two boffin-types from the Underworld, the researchers or whatever they are who work in the old bunker.  They usually look completely fucked too.  Like they’ve been up all night on something.  Zombies.  Quite nice, but shy. 

Shy zombies!  Ha ha!   Donna glances at her Swatch; only three hours to go till she and Clarissa hit the garden of the Seven Stars.  And it’s a lovely, lovely day! 

Until then, it’s delivering the post indoors with a bunch of chavvy boys.  And their language!  Christ All-fucking Mighty! 

But what do you do?  At least it’s not like working in a real office.  That would be a fucking nightmare.

She sees a boy now.  He’s walking, or rather loping, towards her.  Doesn’t look like one of hers.  All the Post Room boys wear matching black tracksuit things with a custom-made little flash of green here and there.  Quite cool if they weren’t all 18. 

Now she recognises this intruder, if that’s the right word.  It’s that gangly little kid from The Bangalore Basement, IT Nerd. 

He looks like a miniature Ali G, bad-boy shades and everything.  Definitely hustling somewhere in a hurry.

“Hi there!” says Donna breezily as they are on the point of crossing in the corridor. 

He pongs a bit, blimey.  Is he old enough for BO?

“Hi.”  Says the boy in a little high voice.   

Donna stops as he strides past, eyes determinedly down.  She’s got time to be nice.  “Hey!”

The boy stops but doesn’t turn around.

“Are you Blinky?”

“No, Miss.”

“Oh.  Didn’t you used to have glasses?”

The boy turns around.  “Yes, Miss.”

“I mean real glasses, not sunglasses.  Cool by the way.”

“Thanks, Miss.”

Donna stands, smiling.  The boy fidgets hard.  He fidgets so hard it’s like he’s about to have a seizure.  Maybe he’s never spoken to a woman before? 

“And you are?” Donna asks, eyebrows raised, smiling blandly, trying to get her eyes to sparkle with polite motherly interest (not really her thing, it’s making her want to laugh).  “What’s your name?  That’s all I’m asking.”

“Maggot, Miss.”

“Maggot?  Why do … never mind.”  Says Donna, trying to mask a rising giggle “I’m Donna.”  She manages soberly.

I know who you are, bitch, thinks Maggot – you Ditzy Donna Summer-Snatch!  It Sunshine in your panties day and night!  Yo’ ass so easy, that pantyline be the Equator between Pussy and Wussy!  A nigger just got to ask, an’ he a coward if he don’t!  That wot niggers say anyhow.

“Donna.”  Repeats Donna, assuming Maggot is a little deaf.  “You look very busy.”  She suggests, still thinking how nobody is going to believe she’s met a boy who calls himself Maggot.   “With your bag and everything.  Anything interesting?”

“No.  Just, er … “  Maggot panics.  “What do you mean, ‘what’s in my bag?’”

“I just wondered if you were doing anything  interesting?”

“Interesting?  I haven’t done anything.”

“You haven’t done anything?  What – ever?”

“No, I mean, well, Miss, interesting.”  Maggot is losing his thread.  “Just going to … what do you mean ‘interesting’?  Like what?”

“I don’t know.  Whatever it is you do.”

“Computers.”

“I know.”

“You know?”  Maggot’s panic intensifies.

“Of course.  Everybody knows the Banga – the IT boys do computers.”

“Do they?”

Donna is beginning to wonder if Maggot is a bit slow.  Perhaps he’s been taking something.

Under excruciating pressure now, Maggot attempts to direct the incoming fire onto one of his comrades, however randomly.

“Blinky’s the one with the specs, Miss.”

“Blinky?”

“He’s black an’ all.  I’m not Blinky.  Blinky is.”

Donna has a sudden image of Tinky Winky from the Teletubbies with his best friends Maggot and Blinky and really is going to laugh if she doesn’t go, like NOW.

“Oh.  Well, have a nice day Maggot.”  She manages to blurt out quickly on the point of hysteria and she’s off, keen to be on her jaunty way after a very brief flirtation with Talking to Younger People Without Coming Across As A Vamp, speculating that Maggot’s black bag is full of sticky Tinky-Winky porn pawed by those horrible yellow fingers. 

Well that seemed to work, thinks Maggot.  But he’s landed Blinky in it now.

Blinky did say don’t talk to nobody.  And now he’s talked to Donna from the Post Room.  About him, about Blinky!  Fuckity-fuck, that gonna be a problem, right there.  Fuckity-fuckity fuck!

Maggot hasn’t got a plan.   A set of automatic responses is what he’s got, which generally fire off randomly, like burning ammunition, in the heat of combat.  And he’s feeling in full contact now, with a shit-load more fire forecast to come raining down from the skies when he gets back to the Crib.  He’s in the shit already!  And he’s only just left!  And he’s fucking useless!  Fuckity-fucking fuckwit.

Do something Maggot.  Do something, dude.  You one cold cat when the shit is down.  You’ll see, y’all.

 “And Miss?”

Donna stops and turns, surprised the boy can open his mouth without prompting.  “Yes Maggot?”

“Did you know the new guy’s coming?  Espinosa Something?”

“No.  What do you mean?  Who is he?”

“New boss.”

“But Clarissa’s the boss.”  And I’ve just spoken to Clarissa, thinks Donna.  Why didn’t she spill the beans?  Secretive mare!  Have to bollock her about that later, make her talk to that nice businessman who has dinner every night at the Seven Stars who she says is “starchy” (“rich” is what she means). 

“Another boss.  A bloke.  From London.”  Maggot puffs himself up, proud to be the bearer of important news.  Maggot’s anxiety about Blinky is totally forgotten.  Donna is looking really interested in him.  She’s seeing him as a player, man — for the first time!  This the real shit, right here!  He takes his sunglasses off in triumph.  His slitty, excited eyes flick from Donna’s boobs to her face.  He gives his bag a shake.  “I’m just off to do the necessities for him.”

“Oh yes?  What, like his laptop and stuff?  Must be very complicated.  Or I suppose you find that sort of thing simple?” 

Not as simple as getting yo’ ass in the sack, thinks Maggot to himself with a gleeful rush of satisfaction.  That a done deal, signed and sealed, yes Sir!

 Donna doesn’t say anything.  She just looks at him.  Her lips purse.  She suppresses a sigh of irritation. 

She knows what he is thinking.  The bloody wallpaper knows what he is thinking!  Standing there struck dumb suddenly, big greedy eyes locked onto her tits.  Bloody men, can’t help themselves!  And look at those teeth!  OMFG!

Shit!  Thinks Maggot.  She can see what I’m thinking!

“Better go now Miss, got to be somewhere.”