Mr Landen Has No Brain
Stephen Walker hits hard with his surreal hammer. Eye-wateringly funny novel.Wyndam-on-sea. Rainy season. Next Sunday.Sally manages her uncle’s caravan park. He’s ordered her to keep the park dull; the town council – feeling that the resort’s image is being damaged by the liveliness of its caravan parks – has promised a million pounds to the least exciting park in Wyndam-on-sea. If that million pounds isn’t won, the park will close.18 year-old Teena Rama is 148.7% too beautiful – and gaining a percentage point every two days. Soon no one will be able to meet her without falling in love.Mr Landen has no brain. But he does have a tub of margerine between his ears.These three facts are somehow related.
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Mr Landen Has No Brain
Stephen Walker
Voyager An Imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF
A Paperback Original 2001
Copyright © Stephen Walker 2001
Stephen Walker asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Source ISBN: 9780006483816
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2016 ISBN: 9780007400881 Version: 2015-12-14
For bunny rabbits.
Contents
Copyright
one
two
three
four
five
six
seven
eight
nine
ten
eleven
twelve
thirteen
fourteen
fifteen
sixteen
seventeen
eighteen
nineteen
twenty
twenty-one
twenty-two
twenty-three
twenty-four
twenty-five
twenty-six
twenty-seven
twenty-eight
twenty-nine
thirty
thirty-one
thirty-two
thirty-three
thirty-four
thirty-five
thirty-six
thirty-seven
thirty-eight
thirty-nine
forty
forty-one
forty-two
forty-three
forty-four
forty-five
forty-six
forty-seven
forty-eight
forty-nine
fifty
fifty-one
fifty-two
fifty-three
fifty-four
fifty-five
fifty-six
fifty-seven
fifty-eight
fifty-nine
sixty
sixty-one
sixty-two
sixty-three
Acknowledgements
About the Author
By Stephen Walker
About the Publisher
‘Quiver, female, for I am Lepus, master of the night, and soon you shall be my rumpy-pumpy boing-boing toy. Carrots. Carrots. Must have carrots.’ And the ‘master of the night’ crashed out of Teena Rama’s mobile home, leaving behind a huge, rabbit-shaped hole in the wall.
From where Sally Cooper stood, just inside the front doorway, she could hear him knocking wheelie bins over in his quest for carrots.
Across the room from her, Teena gazed out through the hole and watched his rampage. Still holding the shroud she’d had him hidden under before his grand unveiling, she enthused, ‘Is he the best boyfriend you’ve ever seen or what?’
Mobile home? Sally’d been in smaller mansions. ‘Teena, he’s a rabbit. He’s a seven foot, talking rabbit.’
‘A super-evolved talking rabbit,’ Teena corrected her.
‘He referred to me as “female”, called me his rumpy-pumpy boing-boing toy–’
‘Which some would find flattering.’
‘–and is more interested in carrots than in me. And you think that’s a great boyfriend?’
Teena rolled up the shroud and cast it aside. ‘His attitude leaves a little to be desired but whose boyfriend’s doesn’t?’
‘Yours, according to you.’
Teena raised a suggestive eyebrow. ‘Sadly not every woman can have a Man Who Does.’
‘Just how desperate do you think I am that I’d go out with a giant rabbit?’
‘At the risk of sounding insensitive, Sally, you must face facts.’
‘What facts?’
‘You’re not an attractive woman and can’t afford to be choosy.’
‘Piss off,’
Knuckles on hips, Teena gazed at the floor and smiled bitterly to herself. She was five foot ten, nineteen years old and – according to her – sex on legs. She was wearing cut-off-at-the-knee jeans, and a red vest cut just high enough to bare her pierced navel. If she had hair, Sally’d never seen it. It was hidden beneath the mass of starched polka dot rags that now hung half-obscuring her oh-so-lovely face. Teena said, ‘Well, how’s that for gratitude.’
‘Gratitude?’ Sally’s mind boggled.
Teena looked across at her. Her perfect left hand dragged the polka dot rags away from her perfect face and tucked them behind a perfect ear. ‘I slave away during my holiday, super-evolving life forms for you–’
‘Life forms? Plural?’
‘I also have a cockroach and a rubber plant I’d like you to meet.’
‘Good God.’
‘But you throw it all back in my face. Yes, as men go, they’re not that great, and in the rubber plant’s case it’s not all that male, but you have to appreciate that my techniques are not yet perfect. I’d love to create a Brad Pitt for you but I’m no goddess, I have my limitations. I did my best for you and that’s all that matters.’
‘Teena, for the last time, I’m happy as I am. I don’t want you trying to make me boyfriends.’
Teena rolled her eyes in a way that suggested disbelief.
‘You really want to help me?’ said Sally.
‘I only do these things for your benefit.’
