I know I’m not very nice to people when I kill them off, but sometimes, it’s justified. Having said that, I don’t always kill the people that annoy me. For instance, when I’m faced with people at the tube station, who walk as if they have nowhere to be, I don’t kill them off. Sure, it’s because stopping to kill them would slow me down and I don’t want to upset the other commuters, but you get my drift-there are so many people out there who have annoyed me and yet freely roam the earth. On the other hand, there are people who have annoyed me so much, I have tried not to kill them simply because I thought giving them a second chance would be a viable option in the long run. There exist people who have annoyed me to the extent that I have had to consider breaking my own unbreakable vow of not committing another act of murder. Consider it, yes, but keep going back and forth about actually breaking it. This is the story of how I dealt with the idea of potentially killing someone I really didn’t want to. Arse-face. I don’t know what I was thinking when I decided that writing about this would make me feel better, it has just got me enraged all over again. But anyway; this is the story of how the first man I got physical with and liked as a person since the likes of Lord James and Neil Patrick, really tested my patience because he was such an idiot. Well, actually, this story involves so many idiots, it’s hard to blame just one person. More than anything, murder was needed to calm me down because I was so very angry. Believe me, if there existed other methods to calm my tits, I would adopt them. For instance, I recently met someone who said that he likes to train in mixed martial arts when he is so very angry-but ain’t nobody got time for that! Having said that, I did try out his mixed martial arts class...because he is a bit of a sexy beast. But I digress.

Life could have been all about the calm if not for all of the idiots at play. This is the only story (for now) where I am also one of the idiots involved. By the logic of “kill the idiot” I should have killed myself, but I am too precious to die. My time hasn’t come yet.

So, we left this story at the part where I had just come back home and I was knackered so I decided to take a nap. This was about 6 in the morning. When I woke up, it was noon-ish, and obviously Aunt Sheila ain’t no fool-she knew exactly what happened.
‘Good Afternoon, Aunty Sheila’, I said meekly as I caught sight of her in the living room.
‘Good Afternoon to you, Zxy!’ Aunt Sheila bellowed. I don’t think I’d ever seen her this excited before.
I quietly settled on the sofa with the most sheepish expression.
‘And how was the night for you, my dear?’
‘It was quite pleasant, thank you’, I smiled sheepishly. The awkward just wouldn’t die down. She is so sweet, ohMyGod. Was (RIP). ‘Normal’ people, the ones overrated by society would probably have lectured me about trying to keep it in my pants, but Aunt Sheila looked genuinely proud of me at that moment.
‘I would imagine! I won’t lie, I always knew Algy would make a fantastic lover!’
‘Algy?!’ I looked up, now more surprised than awkward. That I had never imagined Algy in the bedroom would be a lie. But that Aunt Sheila had also imagined it was a bit distressing-not to mention, that she thought he and I had hooked up was also a bit distressing. If true, it could ruin the dynamics of the Bond Street society between numbers 72 and 78.
‘I do apologise, is that not what you got up to the previous night?’ Aunt Sheila looked a bit embarrassed.
‘No need to apologise! My activities of the previous night were indeed in line with what you stipulate-merely, that I was with Dr. James and not Algernon.’
Aunt Sheila did not look overly pleased. She approved of Dr. James, that wasn’t the problem. She was just hoping for something to happen between me and Algernon.
‘Do think about it!’ Aunt Sheila insisted. ‘Zxy Garibaldi! That sounds far better than anything I have ever related Zxy to!’
‘What else have you related Zxy to?’
‘Zxy Talbon. Listen to that. Zxy Talbon. That does nothing for me. Zxy Garibaldi. Zxy Garibaldi. See? Zxy Garibaldi. Zxy Garibaldi. Oh, I’ve said it too many times now, it’s gone weird.’
‘Aunty Sheila, I assure you, I am not going to become Zxy Talborn or Zxy Garibaldi any time soon. I haven't even received communication from the Doctor yet!’
‘Yes! For all we know, this incident could be a lesson for you! Don’t fraternise with a Talbon when there’s a magnificent Garibaldi at your disposal!’
‘He isn’t at my disposal, Aunty. Besides, didn’t Algy say that the Dr. would come down to see you?’
‘He did, but I received no formal communication about it from the Doctor himself. When did he say he intends to depart?’
‘Tomorrow. I believe he was booked on to the carriage at half past seven in the evening.’
‘Well, you’ve got enough time to see him off, then.’

But I didn’t know if that was true. It felt a bit weird, now, actually. I had just hooked up with the cousin of one of my best friends of the time. Aunty Sheila didn’t approve. I just felt like I needed to see him again, simply because of the fun we had had and the connection we had felt. Obviously I can only speak for myself but of course he felt it too. I mean, it’s me. I have the allure. But I also had this strange feeling that I won’t see him. But that was ridiculous. I know we hadn’t had the chance to discuss how and when and where we would say goodbye but Algernon would serve as our little communications officer. I would make him serve as our communications officer.

The day passed by and no communication occurred between 77 Bond Street (the Hemendip abode) and 73 Bond Street (the Garibaldi abode). I was occupied anyway, so I didn’t mind (I was hungover, so I was occupied with the feeling of wanting to kill myself). But it felt weird coming back to my bed, so cold, and with no one by my side. I felt the way song-writers of today feel. “Same bed, but it feels just a little bit bigger now.. (8)” or “You know the bed feels warmer...sleeping here alone (8)” (people like Bruno Mars and Kelly Clarkson are just kidding themselves). Having said that, I was positive that communication would occur the next day.

The next day dawned and I went downstairs to check the post. Nothing from no. 73. What the pug is taking him so long to say ‘Oh, Zxy, I miss you already; be mine? <3 a="" anyway.="" clingy="" it="" less="" nbsp="" of="" or="" p="" version="">It was still quite early though, and if James was anything like his cousin, sleeping in on a Sunday was probably his thing. It’s fair enough, not everyone was getting back out there in the dating world. Not everyone had a scary past. Not everyone had murderous tendencies.
So, I decided to wait until about 3. I knew for a fact that Algy would not wake up until at least noon. If he had a social gathering the previous night, though, he would probably have woken up earlier (it’s weird, people tend to wake up later than usual when they’ve had a bit of fun the previous night-Algy was the opposite. He’d wake up at 9 if he was severely drunk the night before, and at noon if nothing had happened the previous night). And as our communications officer, he would suggest to James to write to me before he left, or even better, visit me before taking off and give me the closure I needed. I didn’t need a relationship, I didn’t need love, I didn’t need him to tell me I was the best he ever had (honey, that’s a given). I just needed a goodbye. And Algy knows how I function, he’ll take care of it. So, essentially, I had left it all on Algy. Because apparently, he could be trusted. Now, you must know, at this point, bankers were trusted. I do believe that this is the point when all bankers started to go downhill. Disappoint customers. Take extra risks. It’ll be fun. Arse-faces.

So, anyway, I gave them until 3, and when they didn’t say anything, I got iffy and decided to send them a letter myself. In my head, it wasn’t a contest. I could say goodbye first. All I cared about was a goodbye.

And this is where Idiot #1 stepped in.

“Dear Algy,

I hope you and your cousin had a lovely weekend and that your cousin enjoyed his stay in London. Aunty Sheila extends her regards to you both. Do convey my wishes to James and a farewell.

Love,
Zxy”

There. That should do it. It’s not clingy, it doesn’t say anything about, ‘why the pug would James not write to me first?’, or ‘why have you, Algy, not acted according to your responsibilities as communications officer; do you like the idea of being fired?’ or ‘Jamessss come back to me, baby’.
I thought it was perfect. It would make James think about the fun we had and that would make him want to come over and then he would say goodbye. The way I saw it, I was merely being a good member of society, saying nice things to visitors. It had nothing to do with the fact that I had a bit of a crush on the young Doctor. I say ‘young’, he was the same age as me. I checked, because I was paranoid about my cougar days coming early. Oh, there’s a story about that too, but we’ll come to that later. You, dear reader, are in for a treat! (LOL I keed, it’s absolutely horrific)

So, by my calculation of time, the letter should have got to the Garibaldi residence at about 3.15. Knowing Algy, he probably would have looked at the envelope for a few seconds, set it down, deciding he would read it later because having to read things is effort (honestly, to this day, I don’t understand how he became a banker). An hour later, he would remember the letter and be like, ‘oh shit, yeah, I forgot about Zxy’s letter’ (except, we didn’t say things like ‘oh shit’ so he would probably not say that). He would read it, grin like an idiot, show the letter to James, and then they would have that look of ‘yeah, I tapped that’ (that=Zxy; ugh, men objectify women so much). And then James would rush over to say goodbye to me because he’d realise that I was a perfect delight and that not saying goodbye would be a shame. By my estimation, James would be at #77 between 4.30 and 5.

But did he show up?
No, because if he had, I wouldn’t be writing about it.
He didn’t show up.
His coach was for 7.30. I decided to wait until then. Aunt Sheila could tell I was fidgety and distracted so she didn’t bother me, sweet lady that she was. But I was so very angry. If it hadn’t been for my no-murder pact with myself, I probably would have engaged in the act of blood. And the sexy beast from the mixed martial arts class wasn’t there to comfort me either, so I was left with nothing but the constant  nagging thought of James in my head.
All I could think of was ‘I cannot believe he would just sleep with me and then not see me.’
It’s of little comfort to know that men of this generation are not so very different. The only difference is that I’ve had 200 years of experience with them so I know what to expect. But for those who are just stepping in, I have to say, good luck out there. Men are idiots. People say women over think, but men don’t think at all, so we have to compensate for that. Having said that, I have come across men who over think things way too much. Yeah, I don’t understand men.

Anyway, it was now 8 o’ clock and I knew that if nothing had happened while he was here, nothing can happen now that he was gone. All I could do was let it go. But did I let it go?
No, because if I had, I wouldn't be writing about it.
On the surface, I did. Like, I didn’t communicate with my chief communications officer for a few days after. He sent around a letter to the flat but I could not be arsed with it. Fair enough, because it was for the benefit of Aunty Sheila anyway. She knew what was going on with me, so she tried cheering me up. She took me out to Osterley Park and stuff and showed me horses and horse-riders and things like that, and it was fun, but she could tell that I was still not over it. I didn’t say anything to her or anyone else, obviously, but she just knew.

A few days later, Algernon decided to randomly show up again and I assumed it was to check on Aunt Sheila but I was wrong.
‘Ms. Hemendip, I wonder if you could spare Ms. Zxy for the evening at all? I was hoping to run a few errands around town and would love to have her company for the evening’, he said.
‘Of course, Algy!’ I swear I have never seen her so happy. It was like her wish for Algy and me to get together was finally being fulfilled. I wanted to ask her to calm down, that we’d probably just end up going to his flat for a drink or whatever (pubs didn’t welcome women for binge drinking in those days-I know, right, so sexist), but I thought I’d let her have this one.

‘How do you find the winter coming along? Gone a bit chilly, hasn’t it?’ he said as we left the flat.
‘Indeed! My eyes are cold. It does not feel normal’, I added. It’s true, my eyes were actually cold.
He laughed, thinking I was joking.
Things were normal with us. We were both just chit-chatting about the stuff we normally spoke about. People we encounter on a daily basis. Mutual friends. The weirdos at his party (but not James). How he was trying his luck with a busty lass but failed because he was too tired for life (that’s what he said; I like to think she wasn’t interested and that he just got shot down). The plays coming up. Etc.

We did the stuff he wanted me to accompany him for-paying a few bills, posting letters, etc. and then headed back to his flat for what we liked to call ‘wine night’ (not the most creative name, and it leaves nothing to the imagination. It was basically a night with wine).
The point of the night was to drink until our inhibitions were lowered and then tell each other stuff we didn’t already know about ourselves. We never actually got to that part, though; most of the time we would just end up dancing to classical tunes, or just generally chatting shit. What a great time to be alive.

Now, it’s common knowledge that when someone talks under the effect of alcohol, he/she doesn’t normally say the most sensible things. So when I decided to speak, I should have known I would regret it.
‘I had a wonderful night with James.’
‘As did he’, Algy grinned. I could tell he was thinking about James’ reviews of my performance. I’m not a fool, I know what guys talk about.
‘Why did he not say goodbye? I thought that was very rude of him. That really hurt my feelings, you know.’
‘Aw, Zxy’, he said, hugging me. ’That wasn’t because of something you did.’
‘I know’, I said, moving away. ‘I didn’t think it was because of something I did.’
‘Oh. Well, then, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.’
‘I want you to tell me what was going on in his head when he decided that not saying goodbye to me was the best idea in the world.’
And that’s where Idiot#2 stepped in. Algernon Garibaldi.
‘Well, he was going to. I asked him not to’, Algy said as he poured us another glass of wine each.
I blinked several times before saying, ‘Did you really? You’re the worst communications officer I have ever known.’
Obviously he didn’t understand what that was, so he didn’t care. Instead, he just told me what happened when he received my letter.
‘Well, Littimer brought in your letter at about 3.15, and I was going to read it, but then I didn’t, because I was a bit distracted by something else. Then about an hour later, I remembered your letter and read it and showed it to James, and he said that he would go around to yours to say goodbye.’
So far so good. My prediction was actually right.
‘But why didn’t he?’
‘Because you said that you didn’t want to pursue a relationship. I thought if he went around to yours, he would say something silly and then things would be awkward for you. I thought that was what you wanted, too?’
I have never wanted to scream ‘You idiot!’ with such emotions before.
‘But all I wanted was closure’, I said quietly. ‘I just wanted to say goodbye to him.’
Algy looked at me earnestly. ‘I’m sorry, Zxy, I had no idea. I just did what I thought was best for you.’

And that’s when I realised the existence of Idiot#3. James Talbot.
What kind of an idiot can’t act of his own accord? So, Algy asked him not to come around, but is that the end of the world? You’ll just leave without a goodbye?

‘I know, I do appreciate it. I just wish he hadn’t left without a goodbye. It’s a question of manners, not feelings’, I added, not wishing to come across as someone with feelings.
But Algy knew. He wasn’t going to continue talking about it but he did hug me and in order to make it up to me, he decided to play a few of my favourite songs so that we could dance a bit and go crazy so that all would be forgotten. All was forgotten. Not just James, but also the sense of time and...boundaries. The next time that we spoke to each other, for some reason we were cuddling.
‘I have never been involved in a serious relationship with a woman’, he was telling me. ‘It’s not because I’m not ready, it’s just that I’m not sure I want to commit myself to one woman yet.’
‘It sounds like you're not ready’, I giggled. Because that’s something you giggle about.
‘My Lord, Zxy, why are you so cuddly?’
‘Why am I so curly?’ Yeah, I was seriously drunk.
‘Cuddly! Why are you so cuddly!’
‘I don’t know, it’s the natural grace of the Hemendip clan.’
‘You have a fine waist’, he added.
‘You have fine hair’, I giggled again, but this time, because he had taken to tossing me around by my waist.
And then he stopped.
‘Do you think’, he started, ‘it would be the worst idea if we got together for just one night and then never spoke of it?’
‘I do’, I said.

Needless to say, we did get together for just the one night (and a few nights after, but that’s for another time), and when my children ask me why friends hooking up is a bad idea, I tell them about this.
Okay, so my children don’t ask me inappropriate questions. I don’t have children. But the point is, this was the day when I decided to let go of James, and take on Algy instead. When I went home the next morning, Aunty Sheila knew exactly what had happened. Nothing could contain her joy. But I also remembered what Algy had said the previous night-that he wasn’t ready to commit to one woman yet and that we would never speak of us again, but I didn’t have the heart to destroy Aunt Sheila’s joy yet. It could kill her. I’m serious, she had a weak heart situation. Normally, I would have killed both Algy and James. James for leaving without a goodbye (if you don’t kill the ill-mannered ones, the disease will will just spread), and Algy for coaxing me into getting together with him for just that night (I know he didn’t really have to say or do anything to convince me, and that it was alcohol for the most part that made me do it, but if I wanted to, I could have killed him for getting things to go that far) and getting James to leave without a goodbye. But I didn’t. For two reasons-a) James was up in Nottingham, so effort, and b) Aunt Sheila liked Algy, I could never do that to her.

But yes, that’s the story of how I almost did consider breaking my own unbreakable vow. You’d think this was the end of Zxy’s murder phase, but you never know.

Compared to the lavish life I had led in England, France was turning out to be quite stale in comparison. Not when taking into consideration Nash’s home and the balls, of course. The balls and his home were quite satisfactory and very much to my liking, but I couldn’t help but miss my dear, old England when I thought about the mess I was going to be in (By the way, when I say balls, I don’t just mean the dancing kind, if you catch my drift-if you don’t catch my drift, I don’t know what you do with your life). If I were in England, I could have been in a situation of comfort to the extent that even a few minutes after performing a murder, I could have had a hot bath, settled in with my favourite book and not have had anything to worry about. But that was clearly not meant to happen, thanks to how law-abiding the country wanted me to be. Gawd. Plus, I had JUST killed two people, so I kind of HAD to be quick in leaving the God-forsaken place and hurry on to a safer one. I hoped to God I wouldn’t encounter another Swinea on the train, because I was getting bored of murdering people.
LOL, jk.
(^See what I did there? I just tried to fit in with the youth of today. I do believe they are quite dull, but one has to try to keep up with them).

So, anyway, I boarded the train to Marseilles and as the train crept past the mists of France, I realised that this was not what I wanted. I didn’t want to have to kill people and be on the run, constantly. It was as the star from Lethal Weapon would come to say-I was too old for this shit. I was tired of having to do a bad deed and then run away from it. I just wanted to be normal for a bit, you know? I mean, sure, after being Zxy for so long, one can’t just downgrade to normal like that, but at that point, I really felt like that was the only option I had. You, reader, are a normal human being (I assume, even though it’s highly likely you aren’t because you’re still reading this), so let’s take you as an example. Let’s say you have the opportunity of flying first class to Hawaii. The only condition is that you’d have to sit next to this really annoying, chatty person. Eight hours of having to endure THAT just so you can fly first class. Now remember, you aren’t me, so you can’t kill this person, so you just endure it. There is, however, the other option of the standard Economy class, where you can sit next to the person of your choosing. What do you do? You want to be able to sleep but chatty Cathy in first class won’t let you. All you can do is downgrade yourself to Economy. And that’s exactly what I had to do. I would love to be in first class, continue killing people. But then chatty Cathy in the form of the police won’t let me be in peace. I had to downgrade myself to going back to England and settling down like a normal person for a bit. I felt so adventurous as I made that decision (sarcasm, obviously)...

I had been away for almost two months. No one really cared that Grey George was missing. The person who did at one time care-Shontelle Jay-was dead, and all of my previous victims were long forgotten. So, maybe it was safe for me to go back. If not back to Yorkshire, maybe I could go somewhere else. Maybe London, or Birmingham, or Manchester. I just wanted to be back in good, old England and be with my English people and do English things. 

I decided to spend a few days in Marseilles before actually leaving for London, the city I finally came to settle upon. I wanted to plan out exactly where I would go, how I would get there, and who I would get in touch with. I somehow felt like I needed to let go of my murderous urge and move on, because lately, I kind of got the feeling that I had anger issues.

Spoiler Alert: I didn’t actually end up letting go of my old habits. That was just a phase. You’ll see why.

But I was still in France and that really got to me. I hated it so much at that point, it was like being in a constant state of PMS. Everything about the place just made me feel nauseated and sick. I wanted to go home. Where everybody knows my name (I can sense the raising of the eyebrows, reader. Don’t. Just don’t). Given how crazy the past few weeks of my life had been, I knew I needed a proper plan of how things would be. I did not want to mess this up-not this time. I wouldn’t just throw caution to the wind and end up somewhere in...Wick (so many places in Britain and THAT is what I think of). I would go to London, to my eccentric Aunt Sheila. Who is this Aunt Sheila, you might ask. Well, let me tell you who she is.

You know how all my familial ties come with some sort of absolutely messed up links? She is the primary messer from the Hemendip clan. My father’s sister, Sheila Hemendip. Lovely lady, really. She was funny, she was clever, she never judged people even if they did completely and utterly, mind-bogglingly messed up things, because she had this urge to please everyone around her. So when she found out that I had committed the act(s) of murder, she said, ‘Oh, well...that...isn't socially acceptable, I am aware, but you may stay with me for as long as you like, my dear’. And because she had the urge to please everyone around her, she didn’t even do anything to annoy me, so I didn’t once have to consider murder as an option to live with her (get it, the oxymoronic implication there? No? Okay, I’ll move on).

It’s a shame she had to die.

Out of old age (she was seventy-three when I met her again, and seventy-four when she died) and not because I killed her. I would never kill a woman like her. They don’t make them like her anymore. I think she was just a limited edition make, and they gave England one and that was it.

But anyway, I was glad that I was coming closer to a plan to get back to England. Do you want to know something amazing about me? In my rush to get out of Nash’s house, I had done one good bit of quick thinking-I had with me a LOT of cash. Nash’s cash. Nash and cash rhyme, I never realised. Anyway, to this day, I love the fact that I took all of the money. More than that, I love the fact that Nash told me where the extra cash was. Oh, I am so bad, he had revealed that piece of information for emergencies. Oh, well, escaping was an emergency.

With the cash I had accumulated upon my exit from his residence as a woman outside the law, I managed to get to one of the better hotels of Marseilles. I was glad that none of the frustrating experiences of the kind that had to be dealt with in Humming Jambiya’s motel had to be encountered here. All because it was a good hotel that charged a great deal. All hail money.
I believe that hotel room to be the best I have ever had. They were experiencing a shortage of single rooms that week, so they bumped me up to a double room for a 20% discount-and it was magical. It wasn’t like present-day hotel rooms that hardly have any room-it was BIG. Not average-person big, but Zxy-big. And that is BIG.

So, with all the physical comforts ensured, I was able to re-establish my health (I was beginning to lose my will to live-although now that I think about it, it may have been just pms) and arrange for my travel to London. I was making life-changing decisions in that hotel room. I decided that starting my time back in England, I would stop sleeping around, stop murdering the people who annoyed me, turn over a new leaf entirely and be nice to people. I would stay with Aunt Sheila for a week or two till I find myself a flat, I would marry (eugh) and have children (I miss Valerie now), and do good deeds.
"Yeah, okay”, I could hear my inner voice. I just shushed her and continued thinking about doing good deeds.
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Do you ever imagine something to be so beautiful in your head that when you see it in material form and it doesn’t quite match up to the ridiculously high expectations in your head, you just feel disappointed and sad?
Yeah, that didn’t happen to me. I mean, yes, it was raining when I arrived, but breathing in the fresh air of London just did something to my nerves. I had never felt this alive before. It was an actual city. There were tall buildings around. People were good at minding their own businesses. I could have cried, I was that happy. If I could, I would tell people that I was glad to be in London. But people mind their own businesses in London, so no one cares-which thought again made me even happier! Oh, the cycle of joy.

Upon my arrival at Aunt Sheila’s, her housekeeper Betty announced my arrival and there, on her face, I saw the look of genuine joy. Most people just have the look of terror when they find out it’s me at the door. But Aunt Sheila was different. She was...nice, I could have cried.
‘Zxy, my dear child’, she said as she hugged me. ‘Betty, the cucumber sandwiches!’
‘Aunt Sheila, I cannot begin to describe how happy I am to be here’, I squealed. ‘You remember my fondness for cucumber sandwiches!’
‘Well, of course I do, they were your father’s favourite too!’

As we began to catch up, I realised truly how thrilled I was to be back in the familiar surroundings. The cucumber sandwiches were delightful; they were like the cherry on top of the sundae of joy my day was turning out to be, or like the last bit of oxygen required for the flame to keep going, or the highest amount of marginal utility from the consumption of a good-you get my drift, don’t you?
But then again, God has a messed up sense of humour, one that he passed on to me, his descendent. As I sat there thinking, ‘Oh I’m going to keep my promises’, he was probably thinking, ‘what if...you don’t keep your promises? Let’s see what happens then!’
Nothing else would explain the entry of Betty as she announced, ‘Algernon Garibaldi for you, Ms Hemendip, Ms Zxy’.

‘Oh, Algy is here!’ squealed Aunt Sheila, adjusting her hair.
Oh, what do we have here?

And there he was, Algy the douchebag. The man who would make sure that...you know, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s just keep it simple.

‘Algy, my boy!’ she squealed again as he walked in. I think the last time I had seen someone dress this well was in France, with Malcolm Blumenthal. He was an idiot (you’ll see why), but he dressed well. I hate that. I hate that idiots have to be good-looking. Why can’t they just not look good? It’d be so much easier to hate them. Or maybe it was just me, I have a thing for grey suits. Even before George Clooney came along. He was dressed in grey, everything about him shining with obvious class.
Thanks, big guy, I could hear my inner Zxy.

‘Ms. Hemendip, I do apologise, I did not mean to be an intrusion’, he said as he caught sight of me.
‘Not at all, Algy! Come, meet my little niece, Ms. Zxy Hemendip. She has only just returned from her travels.’
‘Oh, and where is it that you were travelling, Ms Zxy?’ he looked up at me.
‘I was in France for two months', I said. I was proud of myself. The old me would have flirtatiously flicked her hair a little bit at this point of the conversation, even though all he wanted to know was where I had been travelling. The new me was turning out to be a lot more in touch with the part of her brain that was in charge of self-control.
‘And is England going to be fortunate enough to have you back for good?’
‘Yes, yes, she intends to stay with me’, Aunt Sheila nodded.
I personally thought that Algernon was quite sweet, coming all the way to Aunt Sheila’s just to see if she was okay, because she had been complaining of some sort of ache in her feet a few days ago. And yes, the old me would occasionally resurface and say things like ‘oh my’ in my head, but I learnt to suppress those voices. I was going to be nice to this one. This one shall not die. No one shall die. Not for a while, anyway. I was still preoccupied with the idea of being civil.

“Sure”, I could hear the inner Zxy again.
“Oh, shush please”, I said in my head, as we bade Algernon goodbye, me with the sweetest smile I could gather.

‘Mr. Garibaldi seems like a pleasant man’, I said, settling down on the sofa with my tea.
‘Yes, he is, isn’t he? I do think he is one of the most delightful people in all of London’, Aunt Sheila added.
The old-me would have probed in for more details, but the new me didn’t. Mostly because Aunt Sheila poured them all out without me asking.
Mr. Garibaldi was one of the most respected bankers in town. Of course, I speak of a time when bankers were actually respected and not thought of as blood and money sucking machines. Back then, bankers in London would work from 10 till 4 and have a lunch break during the day. Can you imagine something like that today? Anyway, he was a respected banker, and was a favourite among the ladies. When I say ‘ladies’, I don’t just mean women in their 20s or 30s or even 40s. Mothers in particular had a fondness for him. Not my mother, obviously. My mother is dead.
So, yeah, from what I gathered, he was meant to be this really charming person and everyone loved him, especially Aunt Sheila. So, I wasn’t quite happy with what was happening. I mean, really? Really, God? Are you kidding me? I said that I want to move on, so you brought to the fore another man? And he wears grey suits? And he is liked by everyone? Do you not know how much of a skank I am? Have you learnt nothing from the past?
God has the most messed up sense of humour, I swear. I suppose that’s why I, the natural descendent of God, am also so messed up in terms of my sense of humour. But I digress.

It was all normal for the next few days. As normal as it could be anyway. But a few days later, he showed up again to call on Aunt Sheila and see how she was doing. It was after he left that Aunt Sheila said to me, ‘Oh, isn’t this delightful, Zxy? Algy is hosting a little party in honour of his cousin becoming a Doctor!’
‘That does sound delightful, indeed. Such an accomplished family; him, a banker and his cousin, a Doctor.’
‘Yes, that’s all very well. His cousin will be coming down to London from Nottinghamshire, two weeks hence.’
'Two weeks hence? We do have time enough to get our dresses sorted, then', I added, knowing that that was Aunt Sheila's concern too. We're dressy people. We dress to impress. The Zxy from a week ago would have dressed to get laid, but the Zxy from now was going to keep it simple. The Zxy from now had opted to go with a white muslin look. Fresh flowers that were sent over by Algernon (because people did that back then to be nice, deal with it) served as perfect accessories for my hair. Oh, I did look lush that night. Aunt Sheila had gone for the classy, timeless look, with a Thai silk-like material for her dress and pearls for her accessories. When I'm that old, I aspire to have her fashion sense. I know what you're thinking, I'm over 200 years old at the moment, but in my head, I feel about 25 so it's cool.

Anyway, we went over to the Garibaldis' and it was so beautiful, ohMyGod. Keep in mind, this was my first party after France. It felt like losing my party-virginity again. Like, it was painful how long it had been since I had experienced it, but it was so beautiful.

'Ms. Hemendip', Algy said as he saw Aunt Sheila and I approaching our table. 'Ms. Zxy. Ah, I see you have done me the privilege of donning the flowers I sent you?' he added with a wide smile.
'They were very beautiful, thank you! Not wearing them now would have been a waste of your effort and thought', I replied.
He left soon after enquiring after Aunt Sheila's health and after we had congratulated him on the success of his cousin, asking when we would get to meet the young Doctor and if Aunt Sheila would be fortunate enough to receive care from him while he was in town. Because, you know. Free healthcare.

'My dear, you look absolutely delightful', Aunt Sheila said to me when we were quite alone.
'Aunt Sheila!' I said, almost going 'awwww', 'you are the sweetest!'
'And upon my word! Those flowers do look beautiful! Algernon must really care to bother with them!'
'Oh, I'm sure he's just a gentleman!'
'Mmm...I am beginning to wonder if I see a spark there', she said.
No no no no. Not this again. No romantic alliances, please. I'm trying to stay away from this mess, Aunt Sheilz!
'I beg your pardon', I chuckled. 'I do believe you're mistaken.'

Just then, Algy appeared with another gentleman, who I took to be the Doctor.
Not the one from Dr. Who.
Although that would have been cool.
I would have had access to his telephone booth and we could have just traveled to the past instead of writing about it.
'Ms. Hemendip, Ms. Zxy, please allow me to introduce to you my cousin-Dr. James Talbot.'
My first thought was of Lord James, my ex-husband. I hadn't thought of him in a long time. My second thought was of our daughter. I didn't remember where she was, or until that point, that I even had her.
James looked like a shorter version of Algy. The rest of him was the same. Except for his hair, actually. And there was a glint in his eye that I cannot for the life of me explain even today.
'It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance', he said and smiled. Honestly, that glint became even more pronounced when he smiled; like, what is that?
'Ms. Hemendip', Algy looked at Aunt Sheila, 'Would you like to accompany me to the music chamber? I wish to pick your brain on music selection, if you don't mind?'
'Oh, not at all!' she chuckled and I was left alone with the man with the glint in his eye.

We did an awkward smile and I swear there was complete silence for like 10 seconds.
'Did you have a pleasant journey from Nottinghamshire, Dr. Talbot?' I decided to end the silence.
'Indeed, thank you very much', he smiled after sipping on his wine. 'I do enjoy the air of London. I find that people in larger cities do not concern themselves with petty issues, it's a refreshing change from a smaller city.'
I swear I almost screamed out of joy-finally! Someone else who understands the pain of gossip!
'I share your opinion', I replied with a massive smile. 'I do remember the days from York when people were always concerned with the ins and outs of my life but no one in London wishes to know, and no one in London cares.'
'Everyone in York wanted to know the ins and outs of your life? What a celebrity-like life you have led', he added with a grin.
I paused. He knew something was up.
'Are you quite alright, Ms. Zxy? Have I said something to vex you?'
'No, Dr. Talbot', I sighed. 'It's of little concern.'
'But something is the matter', he just wasn't going to let it go.
'Well...I have left it behind me now, but...I suppose it won't hurt anymore. I am the Duchess of York.'
James' eyebrows would have disappeared in his hair if they could go slightly higher.
'You are indeed a celebrity then', he said.
'Well, Dr. Talbot, I do believe that you are the celebrity of the hour', I chuckled. As did he. Then-
'Ms. Zxy, would you...care to dance with me?'
A pregnant pause. And then I smiled.
'Yes', I said, taking his hand.
We chatted about this and that- about how I thought Algy was funny and how James didn't; how sweet Aunt Sheila was; about Nottingham; and about my travels in France. Obviously, I spared him the gory details.
It was when Aunt Sheila returned from the music chamber that we paused for a drink and then it was time for dinner and given how we were seated quite far away from each other, it was time to say goodbye to James for a while.

I was seated next to Algy and his first question was-
'Zxy, I see you've attracted the attention of my dear cousin.'
'I beg your pardon', I said a few seconds later.
'Oh, don't even pretend. He told me a few moments ago that he does indeed fancy you.'
Almost three weeks it lasted, my no-zex pact with myself (that wasn't a typo. See what I did there?)
'Really?' I said with the cockiest smile I have ever produced.
'Indeed. I'm sure his fancy will not be without consequence, then?'
'What do you propose?'
'Well, he is here for just two nights. I'm sure he won't mind...your attention for the duration that he is here. If you don't wish to engage in a romantic venture so far away from London for the sake of two nights, I perfectly understand.'
'I don't wish to engage in a romantic venture', I said quietly. Long-distance never works!
'Not a problem, Zxy, I will let him down easy.'
'No! I don't wish to engage in a romantic venture, but...I do wish to get to know James better...for the duration that he is here', I said with a small smile.
And Algy grinned.
'Well', he said. 'I'm sure James will be delighted to know this.'
That was basically the less obvious way of saying that I don't mind hooking up with James as long as it means we don't get serious in the future. In other words, a one night stand was about to occur that weekend.

So dinner was over and James and I were dancing and I was still pretending not to know he likes me because I enjoy doing that, and about two hours later, Algy appeared to tell me that Aunt Sheila had gone home. Without me. Rude.
'I thought you wished to get to know James better?' Algy protested.
'Well, yes, but I didn't realise that was tonight', I shrugged.

So the one night stand was about to occur tonight. Oh, dear. This was the longest I had gone without sex so I was excited and nervous at the same time. I didn't even know what his move was going to be, how we would be after the sex, or if he would be any good.
He took me to the backyard when everyone had left. I suppose he knew Algy had already spoken to me about this. In a way, it made it easier that we knew and didn't speak of it, because that really saved the awkward. Now that I think about it, he would have been so awkward without Algy. He had done some pretty awkward moves whilst dancing, too.
Well, Lord bless us and save us. Or Algy, in this case.
So, we were just sitting on the bench, still chit-chatting, when he decided to kiss me.
First kiss in a WHILE. I think the last person I had got involved with even slightly was...Malcolm Blumenthal, ohMyLord, that is so sad.
But anyway, so James was kissing me, and it was nice. Less tongue would have been appreciated and I didn't realise it but I said it out loud, so he actually did reduce the amount of tongue. This is when I realised, for the very first time, communication in the bedroom is the key to a healthy sex life.
#isoundlikecosmo #iamtheoriginalcosmogirl #tryingtofitinwiththeyouth #foreveryoung #idontunderstandhashtags #nowiamjustusingthembecauseilikehowthisdocumentlooks

Anyway, so because I had just made the beautiful discovery of communication-in-the-bedroom, I decided to use it to my absolute advantage. And then to his. Such absolute fun. The loss of my virginity-Part 2 was so much better than Part 1 for two reasons-a) It didn't hurt, and b) I already knew what I like and I had just discovered Communication so I could just tell him what I wanted him to do. Bit unconventional for that time, but it worked. And you won't believe this-when it was over, I didn't feel the urge to kill him. In my head, that was a big thing. We were still happily chit-chatting after it was over, but I had to leave because we didn't want Aunt Sheila to think stuff had happened between us.
So I got home and was all smiles for the rest of the day. When you think about it closely, that night with James was the most extraordinary thing that could have happened to me. Not because of the sex, no. Even I knew when I made the pact with myself that I wouldn’t be able to abide by it because I’m not mean enough to deprive the world of the sensual joys of Zxy Hemendip. No, the extraordinary bit was that I wanted to stay with him even after it was over. I was even considering telling Algy that I wouldn’t mind engaging in a romantic venture with this one. Me. Of course I’d been involved with people before, but to be involved with them and actually like them was something I hadn’t had since Neil Patrick or Lord James. Do you know what I think it was? It was London. The London air was just changing me. I never felt this free when I was in York. In France, I just wanted to kill myself and all those around (mostly those around me). Lancaster was just shit, with the likes of Humming Jambiya and Patricia Pollock and Andre Murdoch alive. Lancaster got me in touch with my charitable side, I suppose--helping God in the cleansing process. Yeah, the North of England is just messed up that way with the kind of people that live up there. I wasn’t made for the North, I was made for London. London has people like Aunt Sheila and Algernon, and people like Dr. James come down for a bit o’ pump-de-rumpy. Whatever it was, I was thoroughly enjoying the fact that I could consider Dr. James for more than just the night.

With that revolutionary thought in my head, I settled for a nap, absolutely knackered that I was (maybe I was losing my stamina, it HAD been a while since I had had any action). My disposition was of joy, fatigue, confusion (like WHAT’s happening to the old Zxy?), and satisfaction.
The little Zxy in me did speak to me before I fell asleep, though- “Lets’ see how long that lasts.”