I Married My Sister

Why did she have to be so bloody cheerful tonight?

She looked sly. "Why didn't you tell me about your little secret?"

Gordon wheeled around. "Secret? What secret?"

"Gordon."

Gordon felt sick. So it was all up. He snorted wryly. At least once he'd been devolved into a threadworm life would be simpler. And he wouldn't have to break his sister's heart.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd been seeing him? And got his job back."

"What? How- how did you know?"

"He's just told me. On the phone. Well, I called him actually. Anyway once I told him I knew you and him were speaking again, he told me everything."

"Everything?" Gordon's voice was faint.

"Yes, about how you'd decided to try and break the ice. And how you wanted him to come back and work for you. And how you even gave him your secretary."

"I gave him my secretary..." He was too relieved to care that Mal had thrown that one in.

"Darling, I have a confession to make. I had you followed. I thought- I thought you were- I thought.."

Her face screwed up as she tried to hold back the tears.

Gordon instinctively went to comfort her. And then she started wailing.

"Darling, I-m sorry! I never should have doubted you! I'm sorry!"

He stroked her hair. "Shh. There, there. It's alright."

She wailed even louder. "And now I've spoilt it all! I was going to give you such a nice surprise when you got home!"

"Surprise?"

For answer, Camille let the bathrobe slip to the floor. She was wearing thigh-length boots and a studded leather corset.

Still bawling hysterically, she jumped onto the bed and went down on her hands and knees facing the wall.

Gordon found himself watching her wiggling arse as she rummaged under the bed for something. She brought it out; it was a riding crop. She stood and whipped it ineffectually, still sniffling. Tears, mascara and snot streamed down her face. She attempted a smile, failed miserably.

He brought her a tissue and wiped her face gently. She blew her nose loudly into it, thanking him.

"Better?"

"Mm. Bit."

"You've still got something here." He dabbed a little smudge of mascara from her cheek. They looked into each others' eyes.

"God Cammie, you're so beautiful." He kissed her on the lips. The kiss grew slowly, steadily and inexorably more fervent. They held onto each other, their tongues entwined; they half-fell onto the bed.

Gordon was insane with passion. He rolled her swiftly onto her front, straddled her, tore at the clasps of her corset.

"There's too many of them!"

"Slow down. Take your time."

Gordon slowed his trembling fingers, and began undoing the clasps, slowly. He kissed her between her shoulder blades.

She rested her head on her arms and sighed blissfully.

"You know, Mal. You just called me Cammie."

Gordon sucked the nape of her neck. "Mm."

"You know, the only other person who's ever called me that is my brother. The only one. Isn't that funny?"

Gordon froze. He rolled over next to her. "Yeah. Funny."

He stared at the ceiling. "Camille. I don't know how to say this. I want- I mean I think we should..."

The doorbell rang. There was a loud thumping at the front door. Gordon jumped up.

They heard a voice outside. "Gordon! Open up! Quick!"

Camille said, "Bloody hell, it's my brother! What's he want?"

Gordon scrambled off the bed and ran to the front door, opened it a crack. Mal burst in.

"Listen! Gordon.."

"Shhh! Camille! In the bedroom!" Gordon hissed.

Mal resumed in a whisper. "Skizzix just spoke to me. He said they're on our tail. The -- the 'management' or whatever. And they know about us. But he said he could do it. He can change us back!"

Gordon's mind reeled. Mal continued:

"How it works, is that we both have want to do it. Not just one of us. Okay?"

Gordon glanced towards the bedroom. "Okay..."

"He can do it tomorrow. He'll meet us at exactly nine o clock in the evening, you and me have to be together in the same place when he does it, and-"

He stopped. Camille had stepped out of the bedroom. Her hair was tousled. One shapely breast had popped out of the half-undone leather corset. Her face was flushed.

Mal went pale. He turned to Gordon. He noticed lipstick on his mouth. Mal wheeled round abruptly and stormed out.

Camille ran to the door, her spike-heeled boots clicking on the parquet floor.

"Gordon, wait!"

They heard a car door slam and a screech of tyres.

________________________________________

Mal swerved heedlessly through the twisting side roads round Hampstead. By the time he calmed himself enough to become aware of his pounding heart and dangerously high blood pressure, he noticed that he'd driven to Linda's flat. He buzzed her on the intercom.

"It's me. Gordon. Gordon Crotchet. I need to talk to you about Mal. It's urgent."

She let him up to her flat, curious and somewhat suspicious.

"Hello Gordon. I've got someone with me."

A bearded man in his fifties was seated at a small dinner table, set for two. He stood and shook hands with Mal, introduced himself as Linda's father.

Mal took off his coat and pulled up a third chair.

"Er, d'you want some wine?"

He nodded. Linda's father recommended the Medoc. He was a psychoanalyst. He spoke with a soft, soothing German accent, like Einstein's. Mal drained a glass, helped himself to another.

"Now. What's this about?"

"It's -- it's about Camille." Mal emptied the bottle into his glass. It only half filled it.

Linda's father fetched another bottle from the kitchen and filled Mal's glass to the brim. As he suspected, Mal emptied it immediately.

"Camille? You mean Mal's wife. Your sister."

"My sister. Yes."

"Is she alright?"

"You tell me. You fucking tell me. I can't stop seeing that last image of her. All sweaty, with her tit hanging out of that- bondage outfit."

Linda's father pressed the tips of his fingers together.

"And tell me: How did that make you feel? Seeing your sister like that, I mean?"

"Well, er- What's your name again?"

"Heinrich. But call me Henry."

"How do think I felt, Henry? I was shocked. No, 'shocked' isn't the word. I was appalled. Appalled. I was devastated and appalled."

"Excuse for being a little- indelicate here, Gordon, but perhaps you may have had some other feelings as well."

Mal peered at Henry through his upheld empty wineglass.

"Yes. You're right, mate. I was fucking jealous. Not to mention horny as hell."

Henry sat back in his chair. He'd made a breakthrough with his patient. Mal waggled his glass until Linda had filled it.

"Yes, ironic, isn't it. I fucked that woman nearly every day for six months, and- nothing." He pointed at his groin. "Down there. Oh, I would get hard. I'd come every time. Don't get me wrong."

Linda poured herself a glass of wine. But she didn't have a glass. Wine poured into her lap, but she was too shocked to notice. However, Henry nodded reassuringly to her.

"Sexual Fantasy", he mouthed silently.

"Yes. I came every time. But I was going through the motions. I didn't- she wasn't-"

"She wasn't man enough for you perhaps?" Henry asked pointedly.

"What the fuck are you talking about? I'm not a poof."

"And why do you feel such a strong resentment of -- 'poofs', as you call them?"

"I'm just saying: I'm not."

"Of course you aren't," said Henry gently. Linda mimed a limp wrist and nodded vigorously at her father.

"Look. It's very simple. I don't like the idea of a man fucking his own sister, it's simple."

Henry rocked back on his chair and looked up the ceiling. "And yet part of you finds it -- how shall I put it, 'titillating'. Admit it. You wanted to be in his place. It should have been you in bed with her, shouldn't it? She should be married to you, not your brother-in-law!"

"Exactly. Abso-" Malcolm drained his fifth glass of Medoc, "-fucking lutely."

Henry put a hand on Mal's shoulder. "Gordon. The bond between a brother and a sister is strong. Almost as strong as a mother and her son. Or a father and his daughter."

Linda rubbed her nose.

"The love they feel from earliest childhood blossoms sometimes in adolescence into a different kind of love, which society has deemed to be less pure."

"But-"

Henry raised a hand.

"Let me finish. But even if that love remains as it was, the innocent love of childhood, it's very common for feelings of jealousy to emerge when your 'childhood sweetheart', as it were, marries another. Especially when, as sometimes happens, the one she chooses to marry may be less than kind and loving to her than her brother."

Mal was silent. He'd suddenly thought of how cold he'd been to Camille all this time. How miserable he'd made her feel. He started to cry.

"I want her back! She's mine! I love you, Camille."

Linda and Henry both stood and held him.

"Accept it, Gordon, she's never coming back to you. She's chosen her path. You have to let her go. But that will never destroy the love you feel for each other."

Mal sighed. In his drunken state, he began to see that perhaps it was better this way. Perhaps Camille and Gordon really would find some kind of happiness together. While he would... well, he would try to forget.

"Thanks. I feel better now. There's just one thing..."

"Yes?"

"Why the fuck do you keep calling me Gordon? My name's Malcolm."

________________________________________

Gordon dialled his home number for the tenth time, but Mal was either out, or not answering.

Gordon imagined the worst. A horrible thought came unbidden to him that if Mal had taken his own life, things would in a way become a lot simpler. Then he shuddered as he realised that, if anything, things would be simpler still if it were the other way around.

"No answer? Gosh, I hope he's okay." Camille was wearing a floral dress that made her look about six years old. She did it to stop being reminded that every birthday made her another year older.

Last week Gordon had arranged to have today off work, so that he could take his sister out for a real birthday treat. Through Silverman's client entertainment division he'd managed to book a table for three at the Ivy that evening.

He'd planned to bring Mal, but all that had changed now, of course. Now, his main concern was Mal's whereabouts.

He realised it was now out of the question that Mal would show his face at the restaurant, let alone agree to swap personalities. How could he ever forgive either of them?

But suddenly, the phone rang. Camille and Gordon raced for it. Camille got there first.

"Oh, hi, Mum." Their faces fell.

Alice, their mother, was a formidable thing, chair of the local Women's Institute, who had divorced her husband for being, she had told the judge, "extremely tiresome and tedious in the bedroom". It had left her with a large house and a small opinion of marriage, especially husbands. It was a credit to Mal that, using every iota of his charm, he'd won her over against all odds. She'd seen in him the drive and ambition she herself possessed, and which both her own children unfortunately lacked.

After Camille put the phone down, she said, "Mum says 'hi'. And she's coming to the meal tonight. And before you say anything, she sounded lonely. Oh, Mal, you know how Mum is, I couldn't say no."

Although Gordon wasn't Mal, he certainly knew how Mum was. And that if he'd been first to the phone, the outcome would have remained the same.

Mal had ended up staying the night at Linda's. He'd been too drunk to drive. In fact he had collapsed fully clothed on the sofa. Linda had removed his shoes and covered him with a blanket.

He awoke hung over and confused, to the sound and smell of the coffee grinder.

The first thing he said was "It's her birthday today. I have to get her a present."

Linda was sitting in a nightdress at the breakfast table.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

"Remember last night?"

"Er, no." Mal automatically felt his cock for signs.

"Well, I suppose that's a good thing. Daddy's giving us a lift into work. Come on, hurry up and drink your coffee."

"I told you, it's her birthday. Camille. I have to get her a present, or she and Gordon will never speak to me again."

He took out his mobile phone. "Fuck. No battery."

"Don't you remember anything about last night?"

"No. Only up to the bit where I saw Camille dressed up in an Anne Summers outfit. I jumped to conclusions. Mal would never do anything to her. He's too nice."

Poor guy, she thought. Still in denial.

Gordon, Camille and Alice sat silently in the cab, lost in their own thoughts:

Gordon had made up his mind, for sure this time, that he was going to divorce Camille. But not on her birthday. That would just be too cruel.

Camille wondered where her brother had got to. She didn't worry unduly. He wasn't the type to bear a grudge. But she was still puzzling over what had upset him so much. She could only assume that he was a bit of a prude.

Alice was frowning and looking out of the window. "So many black people everywhere nowadays", she muttered to herself.

________________________________________

"Look, right next to us. It's that politician chap, the one in the all the newspapers a few years ago," said Alice, nudging Camille, who pretended to study her menu closely. "If that's his wife I'm the Cutty Sark."

"Please, Mum, keep your voice down a bit, people are looking," she begged.

Alice raised her voice: "Don't be silly. People come here to spot celebrities. Take those people there. Americans. They probably think I'm some distant relative of the Queen."

Gordon tried to change the subject. "Mum, what do you reckon to the lobster soup?"

"Don't call me 'Mum', please, Malcolm." The Americans turned to look.

The meal promised to be excellent. But Gordon was not feeling hungry. In fact he felt sick.

"It's a shame your brother couldn't be here, Camille. And I thought he and Malcolm had made up."

Mal coughed. "Yes, there's an awful lot of stomach flu going around."

Alice sipped her soup. "Yes, Stomach flu."

Camille and Gordon exchanged glances. Had she swallowed the story? It was impossible to tell.

"You know," Alice went on, "I tried calling him last night. You know what I think?"

"What?" said Gordon.

"I don't think he has stomach flu at all. I don't think he was home." She smirked. "I think he was seeing someone."

Gordon sat back in his chair.

"Do we know that lady who just came in?" Alice asked. "I'm sure she just gave me a little wave."

The Maitre-de-table found the lady's name. "Ah, yes, table for one. Please come this way, Mrs Maddox."

Mrs Maddox beamed at them as she passed their table.

"Why, it's Gordon, isn't it! Gordon Crotchet! How nice to see you again."

"He's not-" Camille began, but Mrs Maddox had gone.

Gordon suddenly felt a chill terror. He excused himself inarticulately and almost ran out of the restaurant.

"He's left all his soup, look", said Alice, and began to finish it off for him.

A cab drew up outside the restaurant. A man and a woman emerged. Gordon, breathing quickly, looked up at them.

It was Mal and Linda. Mal was carrying a package under his arm.

"Mal! What's the matter? Are you Ok?"

"She's inside."

"Who?"

"I saw her come in. She- she knew me. She called me Gordon. She's here to turn us into a Slugs."

"C'mon, Mal," said Linda. "We'll help you."

"No," shouted Mal. "You go in, Linda, we'll be in a second."

He shook Gordon. "Look. Gordon. Let's do it. If you want to, that is. I- I'll understand if you don't."

"But, you saw- Camille and me..."

"Did anything happen? I mean did anything really happen?"

"No. Of course not. But, can you- will you-"

"I want my life back. I want Camille back. Please."

Mal held out his hand. Gordon took it. Mrs Maddox appeared next to them. She beamed.

She turned to Gordon. "Crotchet, Gordon L?" Gordon nodded.

"Lessiter, Malcolm V?" Malcolm nodded.

Still holding hands, they braced themselves for slugdom.

Mrs Maddox screwed up her face in a hideous snarl and shouted:

"SKIZZIX! AGENT SKIZZIX!"

A small dog turd by a lamppost answered.

"Agent Skizzix reporting, Ma'am."

"Well," said Mrs Maddox impatiently. "Get on with it, then."

"Yeah, of course. Get on with it. But, you'll keep your promise, won't you? My old job back?"

"Yes, yes," said Mrs Maddox impatiently. "But don't fuck this one up, or so help me I'll bust you back to primordial soup."

The dog turd seemed to smile. "Okay, boys. You've got your wish. So long."

Gordon looked at Mal. And it was Mal he saw.

Mrs Maddox had vanished. The turd remained.

Mal took the package from under Gordon's arm.

"It's my birthday present to her. A boxed set of 'Sex in the City'".

They went into the restaurant. The first thing they heard was Alice's voice, regaling the head waiter.

"I'm sorry, but if you can't seat five, we shall be forced to take our custom elsewhere! And don't think that we'll pay for it either!" Alice took a giant gulp of wine and bit into a roll to ensure she got her money's worth.

"I'm sorry Madam, but as you can see, we're fully booked..."

The woman dining with the politician at the next table leaned over and whispered something to him that made him grin lasciviously. He quickly stood, asking for their coats.

"Here," said the woman. "You can push this table next to theirs. Then they'll have enough room."

She gave Gordon a big wink. Linda noticed. "Friend of yours?"

"Never seen her before in my life."

Mal whispered in his ear. "Yes you have. Last Thursday."

"Oh. Last Thursday. She's the one-"

"-you took for a test drive in your new car."

Alice sat down. "What's this? New car, new haircut, a new lady friend? What have you done with my son Gordon?"

"You know, Mum," said Gordon, studying the menu. I think I'll have the lobster soup. I'm starving."

END