Apart from all the bad stuff (of which I can’t even think of offhand right now, so it can’t be that bad), the Internet is by far the bestest thing to have happened to humanity everrrrrr. One of the things I totes <3 about it is how easy it is to find people. Isn’t it great? People put everything online! We just throw ourselves up there, which is a wonderful illustration of mankind’s generosity of spirit. What’s awesome as well is that, if someone has a really distinctive name, it’s even easier to find them, without needing to know anything about their life.
Take, for example, the name Chilly Mallone. That’s a very unusual name, right? Right, babeses. It’s the sort of name that one can remember, over the rolling waves of years. I have remembered that name.
One Friday evening in June, about 12 years ago, I hooked up with Clara for drinks after work. We met in the City because that was the most convenient for me and Clara knows how I feel about taking the tube for more than a few stops, especially in the summer when it’s sweltering down there (why can’t the tube be more like Singapore’s MRT? Can it be so very difficult to just scrap the whole thing and start again??), and quite extraordinarily odiferous. She arrived uncharacteristically late and flustered, so I was already on my third wine. Not sure what I was doing… These days I’d be ploughing through the Facebook newsfeed, but then… Who knows?! Sudoku maybe? Wtf did we do with our time back then??
She plonked a bundle of files onto the table just as I was lifting my glass, and therefore thusly a collision was caused wherein my drink toppled over, and wine poured hither and thither. In an effort to save her bundle from wetness, she clumsily grabbed the files, sending pages cascading onto the floor. She didn’t apologise for spilling my drink, nor did she thank me for helping her to pick up her stuff. Looking back, I should have seen her true nature then. The trouble is my own caring, positive qualities – always preferring to see the good in others. As I gave her what I had collected from the floor, I happened to see a page of case notes, with the header “Chilly Mallone, Age 7”.
“Golly”, I said, “What an unusual name! Is that one of your patients?”
“Emma-Jane, please just give me that. You know I don’t disclose information about my work”, came Clara’s reply. She has always been so very precious about Her Work.
“Yeah sure cool, chillax babe. I know you don’t. All’s I was saying is that Chilly Mallone is like a pretty funny name. But you must see some pretty funny kids, I guess, at that clinic. I don’t know why you never tell me anything. I might be able to help with some ideas. I’m awesome at keeping secrets.”
“Funny? Funny?! Is that what you think?! There is absolutely nothing funny about children with emotional and behavioural difficulties caused by horrendously traumatic experiences that you can’t even begin to imagine.”
I must’ve looked very hurt indeed by this insult to my powers of imagination because Clara softened, saying, “Look, it’s been a long, stressful week, and I’m sorry to have kept you waiting. There was a bit of an emergency. But I’m here now, so let’s just have a chat… talk about something other than work. How are your wedding plans coming along? Did you get the venue you wanted?”
I had managed to book the fabulous exclusive venue that very day, for 13 months’ time, and as she was clearly so interested, we spent the rest of the evening talking about my wedding, my dress, the eight bridesmaids’ dresses, the honeymoon, and of course, my hen night. Clara was agog. Which, with hindsight, was a bit strange. Why would she have spent hours listening to me when I was preparing to marry the man she had so recently given up? Bizarro. It’s completely confounding that anyone would dedicate that much time listening to another person – even a person as fascinating as me – with no gain whatsoever to themselves.
So last week, while I was getting over the terrible shock of Email Gate, that evening in the City came back to me, bringing with it the name Chilly Mallone. It resounded in my beautiful brain, over and over, as if my subconsciosity was trying to send me a message. Then I realised what it was telling me. I hopped online to Google Chilly, and voila, there he was. Very easy for someone as resourceful as me. I contacted him to present him with a proposal. Offering him a large sum of money (I have started selling my valuables and am doing rather well), I suggested that he make allegations about Clara and a number of “inappropriate acts” with him when he was her patient. Chilly was a little reluctant at first (a little chilly in fact, mega-LOLs), so I offered him a larger sum and that resolved his ambivalence in my favour.
Now it’s just a matter of time before Clara gets suspended pending investigation. Where kids are involved, the UK authorities are normally pretty swift, and a witch hunt against a child psychotherapist is a cause that captures the proles’ hearts and minds, no doubt, even one with Clara’s untainted reputation. Moreso, in fact!
So that’s done. Next to Liz. I spent most of the weekend pondering Phase Two. I think I am nearly there.
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