Dumped, Actually(71)

That’s not true!

But it is, isn’t it? The elephant knows it – so I know it . . . deep down, anyway.

‘And that’s the root of your problems, mate. That pathological need for love makes you a bit . . . soft. Skews your perspective, so to speak. You’re constantly searching for the love of your life, and it’s not doing you any good, is it? Look at what happened with Sam. And it didn’t just ruin your relationship with her, either. It dribbles over into every aspect of your life.’

He’s right. He’s bloody well right.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

‘There you go!’ Troy the elephant shouts triumphantly. ‘Now you’re swearin’!’

Fuckity fuck.

Hmmm. Maybe the elephant is on to something. The swearing does feel good.

‘Fucking fucking fuck!’ I say out loud into the confines of the tank.

‘Yeah! Go for it, mate! Swear it up a storm!’ the elephant cries, rocking its head back and forth.

‘YEAH! YEAH! FUCK!’ I shout. Then I take a deep breath. ‘FUCK YOU, YOU CUNTS!’

The elephant recoils. ‘Bloody hell, mate. Steady on!’

What??

‘That word’s a bit much, ain’t it? No need to go that far!’

Er . . . I’m sorry? I say, instantly flaming red with shame.

‘Okay, no worries. Just watch it, though. Up to now, this book has been perfectly suitable for a nice, wide audience. Let’s not risk the sales figures and review scores by going too far with the bad language.’

What? Book? Sales figures? Review scores? What the hell are you on about?

Troy the elephant contrives to look extremely guilty. ‘Never mind, mate. Forget I said that. Trips into the subconscious can sometimes go a little bit too far. Once you’ve hit the metaphysical, it’s best to slam on the brakes and backpedal like a bastard.’

I have no idea what you’re talking about.

‘No, me neither,’ Troy says unconvincingly. ‘Maybe we should have a little break and listen to the sitar music. Calm ourselves down a bit.’

And with that, the background sitar grows a little louder, and Troy the elephant starts to bob his head about in time to the melody.

This is all extremely weird.

‘You can say that again,’ Troy says, continuing to bop back and forth to what is rapidly beginning to sound like a very familiar piece of music – albeit one played a lot slower, and on a sitar.

I sigh.

That’s the Super Mario theme, isn’t it?

‘Yeah, course it is. Makes perfect sense, given the context.’

I might just lie here quietly for a few moments.

‘I would, if I were you . . . which I am, of course.’

While the sitar Mario theme is a tad annoying, I am able to zone it out of my thoughts, and consider the revelation that the elephant – or my own subconscious – has just provided me with.

I have a pathological need to be in love with someone, and because I want that above all else, I’ve become a bit of a pushover – with everyone, not just women.

‘Now you’re getting it, Bruce,’ Troy says, blissing out to the sitar with his eyes closed.

So how do I stop being like that?

Troy ponders this for second. ‘Dunno. I guess you have to know why, before you can know how.’

I roll my eyes. Very philosophical.

‘Elephants are philosophical creatures,’ he replies.

Not very helpful ones, though.

Troy shrugs. ‘Possibly not. Let’s just enjoy the sitar a bit more. It’ll calm you down. Have a look at this lovely pot of geraniums as well. They’re very soothing – and I’m sure they’re entirely unconnected to what we’ve been talking about.’

A pot of bright-red geraniums pops into existence in front of my eyes. It looks exactly the same as the one I bought my parents for their garden.

I look at Troy suspiciously from over the geraniums. Is there a reason you decided to show me these geraniums, Troy?

‘Why do you ask?’ the elephant replies, contriving to look innocent.

I don’t know. They just feel a little too . . . symbolic for my liking. As if you’re trying to tell me something . . .

‘Such as?’ Troy says, giving the geraniums a long sniff with his even longer trunk.

Oh, I don’t know. That maybe the geraniums are meant to represent my parents in some way . . . and that they might have something to do with this pathological need for love I seem to have?

‘Search me, cobber. I’m just your subconscious, remember.’

Yes. An extremely unhelpful subconscious at that! Why can’t you just give me some straight answers, instead of teasing me with symbolic geraniums?

‘It’s straight answers you want, is it, mate?’ Troy says, eyes narrowing.

Yes!

‘Like . . . everything laid out in front of you with no ambiguity or confusion?’

Yes!

‘None of this beating around the bush nonsense?’

That’s right!

Troy smiles. ‘Ah well. You should have just said so.’

Aaaargh!

The elephant takes a deep breath, widens his eyes and starts to speak. ‘You see, mate, your problem is that—’

Suddenly, light streams into the pod as the hatch is opened. I see Mr Floaters peering in at me. ‘Time’s up!’ he says with a smile.