The Not So Secret Emails Of Coco Pinchard by Robert Bryndza Page A
Authors: Robert Bryndza
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smoke.
“His pheromones have flooded my body, and taken away the cravings,” she said as I lit up a fag, my fifteenth of the morning.
Rosencrantz met a guy during a Flashmob this morning at Kings Cross Station, organised via Facebook. Three hundred strangers congregated at precisely 11.09 and all performed the Macarena. Post Flashmob, when they were being herded out of the ticket hall by the Police, Rosencrantz got chatting to Clive, a handsome older guy wearing Prada sunglasses.
“I’m like, in love,” he said. “The writing’s on the wall.” I presume he meant his Facebook wall.
Doesn’t anyone meet in the pub anymore?
I’ve made Yorkshire puddings, (from a packet.) xxx
Monday 9th February 10:00
TO: [email protected]
At seven this morning I shuffled past my computer on the landing when it started to trill like a 1950s phone. There was a popping noise and Meryl appeared, sat in her front room with her palm tree wallpaper in the background. Her mouth was moving but there was no sound.
In my bleary state, I realised it was the new Skype account Rosencrantz downloaded to talk to the Prada sunglasses guy, Clive. I clicked on the speakers and Meryl came booming through at full blast saying,
“Coco! It’s Cock-crow, and you’re still in your nightie?” I said I was recovering from a boozy lunch with Rosencrantz, Marika, and Chris where we all talked about men.
“What’s Rosencrantz talking about men for?”
“Because he’s gay,” I said. “You remember? He told us all over the PA system at your Silver Wedding party.”
“Yes,” said Meryl shuddering. “But, are you sure he’s gay. He’d make some girl very happy.”
“Look,” I said. “I am not going to debate my son’s sexuality with you. Again. The penny should have dropped years ago when you made him all those evening gowns for his Barbie Dolls. Now. What can I do for you?”
“I was seeing if you wanted to come for Easter?”
“When is Easter?” I said.
“When is Easter?” said Tony popping up behind Meryl. “You Labour voters. I bet you could tell me when Ramadan is but not Good Friday.”
“Tony I’m talking,” said Meryl pushing him away. “Coco, Easter falls on April the tenth, Mum’s coming. Daniel will be in the States, Whistle Up The Windis doing very well… It’ll be your first Easter alone.”
Meryl blinked and let it hang there. I was too tired to think of an excuse, so I agreed.
“Super I’ll send you a note-let to confirm. Must dash.” With that there was another popping sound and the screen went blank.
What are you doing for Easter? Could you manufacture a fake relative who could die, and invite me to the funeral? I must try to get out of it. I must also get Rosencrantz to switch the computer off when he is finished. This Skype thing is too close for comfort. Last night, I was unwittingly introduced to Clive as I walked past in a towel.
“Ooh. Isn’t mum a curvy goddess?” He crooned. I couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment. He still had on his Prada sunglasses, indoors, at night. Their first proper date is tomorrow evening.
Wednesday 11th February 23:18
TO: [email protected]
Thank you for your message. Why can’t you lie like other teenagers? I don’t need to know that the date is going well and you are going back to Clive’s ‘for coffee.’
Chris is here . He just showed me the text you sent him; ‘Will the sunglasses come off along with the underwear?’
Could you please not send things like that to Chris? It puts him in a position of knowing too much and then he feels he has to tell me.
I went for tea and Corned Beef sandwiches with your Nan today, she sends you her love. There is a new resident in her home, Mrs. Burbridge, who is jostling to be top dog. Last night she led a coup in the Resident’s Lounge, which resulted in Eastendersnot being shown. I told her to tell Mrs. Braun, the manager but I was met with a torrent of expletives
“His pheromones have flooded my body, and taken away the cravings,” she said as I lit up a fag, my fifteenth of the morning.
Rosencrantz met a guy during a Flashmob this morning at Kings Cross Station, organised via Facebook. Three hundred strangers congregated at precisely 11.09 and all performed the Macarena. Post Flashmob, when they were being herded out of the ticket hall by the Police, Rosencrantz got chatting to Clive, a handsome older guy wearing Prada sunglasses.
“I’m like, in love,” he said. “The writing’s on the wall.” I presume he meant his Facebook wall.
Doesn’t anyone meet in the pub anymore?
I’ve made Yorkshire puddings, (from a packet.) xxx
Monday 9th February 10:00
TO: [email protected]
At seven this morning I shuffled past my computer on the landing when it started to trill like a 1950s phone. There was a popping noise and Meryl appeared, sat in her front room with her palm tree wallpaper in the background. Her mouth was moving but there was no sound.
In my bleary state, I realised it was the new Skype account Rosencrantz downloaded to talk to the Prada sunglasses guy, Clive. I clicked on the speakers and Meryl came booming through at full blast saying,
“Coco! It’s Cock-crow, and you’re still in your nightie?” I said I was recovering from a boozy lunch with Rosencrantz, Marika, and Chris where we all talked about men.
“What’s Rosencrantz talking about men for?”
“Because he’s gay,” I said. “You remember? He told us all over the PA system at your Silver Wedding party.”
“Yes,” said Meryl shuddering. “But, are you sure he’s gay. He’d make some girl very happy.”
“Look,” I said. “I am not going to debate my son’s sexuality with you. Again. The penny should have dropped years ago when you made him all those evening gowns for his Barbie Dolls. Now. What can I do for you?”
“I was seeing if you wanted to come for Easter?”
“When is Easter?” I said.
“When is Easter?” said Tony popping up behind Meryl. “You Labour voters. I bet you could tell me when Ramadan is but not Good Friday.”
“Tony I’m talking,” said Meryl pushing him away. “Coco, Easter falls on April the tenth, Mum’s coming. Daniel will be in the States, Whistle Up The Windis doing very well… It’ll be your first Easter alone.”
Meryl blinked and let it hang there. I was too tired to think of an excuse, so I agreed.
“Super I’ll send you a note-let to confirm. Must dash.” With that there was another popping sound and the screen went blank.
What are you doing for Easter? Could you manufacture a fake relative who could die, and invite me to the funeral? I must try to get out of it. I must also get Rosencrantz to switch the computer off when he is finished. This Skype thing is too close for comfort. Last night, I was unwittingly introduced to Clive as I walked past in a towel.
“Ooh. Isn’t mum a curvy goddess?” He crooned. I couldn’t tell if it was meant as a compliment. He still had on his Prada sunglasses, indoors, at night. Their first proper date is tomorrow evening.
Wednesday 11th February 23:18
TO: [email protected]
Thank you for your message. Why can’t you lie like other teenagers? I don’t need to know that the date is going well and you are going back to Clive’s ‘for coffee.’
Chris is here . He just showed me the text you sent him; ‘Will the sunglasses come off along with the underwear?’
Could you please not send things like that to Chris? It puts him in a position of knowing too much and then he feels he has to tell me.
I went for tea and Corned Beef sandwiches with your Nan today, she sends you her love. There is a new resident in her home, Mrs. Burbridge, who is jostling to be top dog. Last night she led a coup in the Resident’s Lounge, which resulted in Eastendersnot being shown. I told her to tell Mrs. Braun, the manager but I was met with a torrent of expletives
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