is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

 

 

If one were to make a fact sheet about Jason Robinson it would be as follows:

Name: Jason Miles Robinson
Date of birth: August 2, 2001
Place of birth: London, England
Previous criminal activities: carving his initials in a church pew
Hobbies: football, swimming, football, reading historical fiction, and football
Aspirations: studying to go towards dentistry but secretly wishing he would be discovered as the next big thing in football

All in all, a rather normal fifteen-year-old boy, right? Not quite. You see, this particular fifteen-year-old was going to meet Mira Bloom's father in for the first time.

Unbeknownst to young Master Robinson, Mr. Bloom had called reinforcements. This was, after all, his beloved, adored, sunlight-pure-and-dew-kissed daughter’s first boyfriend. And while these selfsame reinforcements were the ones who managed to convince Mr. Bloom to allow Mira to date before she went through menopause, they were also equally determined that her beau be of the best quality that England-- nay, the whole of Europe-- had to offer.

Ding-Dong

From upstairs came the excited-scared-giddy shrieks of Mira and her neighbour and footie-teammate, Anne. Mira’s former nanny, Elisa, was also present, sharing those delicious stories that only the keenest of grown-ups could share. From downstairs came the steady whap-whap-whap of Mr. Monaghan's cricket bat against the kitchen's tile floor.

"Papa!" Mira called down. "Papa, I think Jason is here! Would you get that please? We're not ready yet!"

Mr. Bloom looked up from his chess game with Mr. Boyd. "I suppose we should answer that."

Mr. Boyd shrugged. "That's usually what a doorbell ring means."

They stared at their chess game. They'd made all of four moves for the same number of hours.

Ding-Dong

"I really hate people who ring the doorbell incessantly," Mr. Bloom commented.

"I was about tae say the same thing," said Mr. Boyd. "If ye cannae wait a few minutes for me tae answer the door then ye cannae possibly be worth the effort."

Mr. Schneider nodded sagely. "Besides, what the hell is he planning that he's in such a hurry?"

Five male faces went stormy at the thought.

"That's it," announced Mr. Dhillon. "I knew I should have bought those steel-toed boots I saw--"

"For Christ's sake." Mr. Mortensen, both the best and the worst of the lot, stood up. "Mira's not going to appreciate her date freezing his skinny ass off at the door."

"A wee breeze wouldnae bother me," muttered Mr. Boyd.

Reluctantly leaving his post behind a potted plant where he'd intended to give the boy a good bash should he so much as wear his hair in a manner that offended, Mr. Schneider opened the door. The January winds blew in a flurry of snowflakes. The telly had announced that it was to be one of the harshest winters on the record.

"G-G-Good even-n-ning," said Jason.

"Stuttering," Mr. Monaghan said darkly. "He's either an idiot or he masturbates too much." His cricket bat rapped a faster beat on the tiles as he took another swig of beer.

Jason did a double-take, not really sure if he’d actually heard what he thought he’d heard. Mr. Monaghan *was* a good six or seven metres away.

"Hello," was all Mr. Schneider said, his German accent laid on thick. He made no move to back away from the threshold.

Mr. Mortensen coughed.

"He's brought germs," added Mr. Dhillon. "Sure it seems like a cold but he's probably got second-level syphilis, herpes, mad-cow disease…"

"Come in, Jason," Mr. Mortensen said, yanking Mr. Schneider away. "A bit chilly out there, huh?"

"Oh, y-y-yes," said Jason, relieved that the one that looked like a fallen angel had decided to fall back into the shadows.

"So you were planning to take Mira out on a cold winter night?" Mr. Monaghan snapped. "Do you want her to die of hypothermia or are you planning a snogfest in the back of your van?"

Jason' eyes widened. "No, of course not!"

Mr. Schneider pounced on him next. "Are you saying that Mira's so unattractive that you're not tempted at all?"

"Of course, I'm tempted--"

"So you admit you're randy as a mountain goat in spring!" Mr. Dhillon yelled, pointing an accusatory finger.

"Yes! I mean no! I mean--" Jason wanted to die.

Mr. Mortensen smirked. He put a hand on Jason' shoulder. It was supposed to be comforting but the boy was in such a state that he jumped a foot into the air.

"Would you like a seat?" Mr. Mortensen asked, gesturing the way into a very well-appointed living room. "Something warm to drink?"

Relieved to find a friendly face, Jason nodded. "Yes, thank you, Mr…er… sir."

"I'm Viggo," said the gentle-voiced one leading him to the living room. "A family friend. That's Mr. Bloom." He pointed.

Mr. Bloom. Jason swallowed. He'd watched a film once with Mr. Bloom in it as a serial killer. He looked very convincing. At the time, he'd told himself that Mr. Bloom was simply an outstanding actor to be able to convey such a pitiless lack of emotion towards his fellow man. Jason now thought that he wasn't acting at all.

"Sir." His voiced cracked.

"Bloody hell, he's a nancy," said Mr. Monaghan. "God only knows where he's going to stick his pecker."

Mr. Bloom's face turned an interesting shade of puce. He stood up slowly. Jason fancied he could hear the sounds of a broken violin in the background, ominously heralding the appearance of a chain saw from behind Mr. Bloom's deceptively lean frame.

"So you're Jason," he said in the same way a lion would observe, "So you're a rabbit."

"Yessir." This time, Jason managed to loosen his vocal cords a bit. "Verypleasedtomeetyousir."

Mira's father did not return the greeting.

The second one he'd met, Viggo, pushed him down gently on the high backed easy chair in front of the fireplace. It was a huge fireplace. Massive actually. It could probably cook a sow whole. And, oh, look, it had all sorts of weapons hanging above it. There was a battle-axe, two wicked looking swords, a spike-studded mace, and half a dozen knives on the mantle. There were even a few spears leaning up against the wall close by, their points shining menacingly. Rivulets of sweat ran down the back of Jason's shirt and it wasn't because of the fire.

"So, Jason," Mr. Bloom began, "I understand you're a year above Mira."

"Yessir," said Jason, knowing exactly where this conversation was going to go. "I've just finished my last GSCE exam."

"And what do you plan to do afterwards?"

"Erm..." The rest of Mr. Bloom’s friends crowded around the hapless, minutely trembling Jason rather like a pack of wolves surrounding a kill. One of them even sniffed. "I… er… want to go into dentistry, sir."

"Dentistry," repeated Mr. Bloom. One would have thought he’d said "pimping" instead. "And where do you plan on going to school?" As one, the six men loomed over Jason.

He shrank back into the chair, doing his best to make himself as small a target as possible. "B-Barts and the London. I-It’s the best in the country."

"Cocky wee of shite," muttered Mr. Boyd.

"That is, if they accept me," Jason amended.

"Tsk," said Mr. Monaghan, "No balls to speak of."

A night spent doing extra calculus homework instead was starting to look very enticing indeed.

Mr. Bloom took the seat across from Jason. He leaned back and steepled his fingers, peering at the teenager through lowered brows. "And in the meantime, what are you doing with yourself?"

"Sir?"

"Definitely deaf," Mr. Dhillon said. "You were right about the chronic-masturbating, Dom."

"I thought that was hairy palms," Mr. Schneider put in. The other reinforcements glared at Jason’s tightly clenched fists.

Jason took a deep breath, silently reciting the list of reasons why Mira Bloom was worth all this trouble. It was a very long list with the top reasons being her fantastic blue eyes and the way she beamed when she managed to score a goal. He began to feel a little bit better. "I’m goalkeeper with the boys’ football team at school. I’ve also done work in the audio-video department of the drama productions. And this summer, we-- that is, the boys in footie-- will be doing door-to-door fieldwork to raise money for charity."

"Well, la-di-da," sang Mr. Monaghan mockingly.

"Which charity?" Mr. Bloom demanded.

Jason’s mind went momentarily blank. Thankfully, Mr. Mortensen mouthed a few words to him. "Drama preservation," he blurted out.

Mr. Mortensen continued his mime.

"For... underprivileged children in... erm... Africa."

His helper held up an "OK" symbol with his thumb and forefinger. Jason mentally nominated Mr. Mortensen for sainthood. Viggo, Patron Saint of Teenage Boys Undergoing Cruel and Unusual Inquisition.

Mr. Bloom opened his mouth for yet another gut-wrenching question but Fate took pity on Jason and sent Mira down to rescue her date. He rose quickly as soon as she entered the room, not only because he’d been trained to do so, but also because Mira was... well... she was... and her hair was... and her dress... and that smile...

"Hullo, Jason."

"Hullo." Jason gulped. Had he been sweating before? It was nothing compared to this moment when he realised that Mira Bloom, the girl with eyes that sparkled bright enough to dazzle a blind man, was going to the winter formal with him. Was his deodorant working? "You’ve... your dress looks fantastic."

"That was original," Mr. Boyd snorted.

"And she’s wearing a blouse and a skirt not a bloody dress," sniffed Mr. Schneider. "Idiot."

Mira ducked her head down and grinned, fidgeting with the material of her skirt. "Thank you. Well, aren’t we keeping your cousin waiting?"

Mr. Dhillon rolled his eyes. "He doesn’t even have his own car?"

"Oh. Oh, yes." Jason strode forward and held his arm out smartly. "It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Bloom. And your friends as well." He nodded to the pack of glowering flesh-eating sadists.

They nodded back simultaneously, like Alfred Hitchcock’s version of windup dolls.

After retrieving their coats, scarves, and gloves, there were only eight, nine, ten steps to the front door and at long last, Jason was free of the dragons’ jaws! Never had the frigid cold and his cousin’s scowling face behind the wheel looked so inviting. He leaned his body forward in anticipation.

"Oh, wait!" Mira jerked him to a stop in mid-step. "Go on ahead in the car and I’ll catch up. I forgot something inside."

Chivalry only went so far. Jason jumped into the back seat of the VW.

Mr. Bloom was still glaring at the door when Mira re-entered. "What happened? What did he do? Should I kill him?"

His precious, beautiful, incomparably smart and engaging daughter who could do no wrong shook her head. "I forgot something," she said. Throwing her arms around his neck, Mira kissed Mr. Bloom’s lightly whiskered cheek and whispered, "He’s not cuter than you, Papa."

Then she whirled away and the door closed, leaving Mr. Bloom in a much better mood.

Until he remembered that he’d agreed to extend her curfew to half-past midnight tonight.

Mr. Mortensen started to brew tea strong enough to walk out the door. It was going to be a long night.


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