Mr Power
By the time Marian belatedly sidled on the bandwagon it
seemed like the world and his wife had been swept off their feet by the
enigmatic Mr Power. Even Doris at the WI, who had celebrated her 90th
birthday some years ago, was a card carrying advocate of his work. “You really
must read it, my dear. Turns out that even this old dog isn’t beyond learning a
few new tricks; whoever would have thought it?” Doris turned her gaze lovingly
towards the side of the room where her fourth husband was loudly snoring; his
nose hairs fluttering with each shallow breath like grass blowing in the wind
“Honestly; you wouldn’t believe how things are for me and
Ernie in the bedroom these days; I only wish that that Mr Power had been around
70 years ago!”
Marian raised an eyebrow but kept her scepticism to herself.
She’d learned by now that there was no point in so much as challenging the
converted; better to let them evangelise away whilst diverting her thoughts to
something else; say the latest plot twist in her favourite Scandinavian crime
drama or what she needed to pick up in this week’s big shop. As a small trail
of drool crept down Ernie’s chin and pooled in his jowls; Marian wondered
exactly how much benefit he could really be obtaining from Mr Power’s teaching.
For months it had seemed as if she couldn’t turn on the TV
or open a newspaper or magazine without that blasted book being mentioned.
She’d always like to think herself something of an intellectual; certainly not
the kind of person who was swept up by popular culture. Her daughter Penelope
had on multiple occasions accused her of being a snob, but Marian herself hated
that word, preferring the altogether more genteel ‘discerning’. In her experience if something was
wholeheartedly embraced by the masses that wasn’t generally an indication of
merit; more a suggestion that it was pitched at a level suitable for those with
the most rudimentary level of education.
The main point she had grasped around the phenomenon was
that although readers were encouraged to rhapsodise to their family and friends
about how great the book was, it was strictly forbidden to speak of the nature
of Mr Power’s philosophy or methods. There were a few key expressions that
she’d heard time and time again, but little beyond what sounded like new age
mumbo jumbo. Nonetheless as she went about her day to day business she found
herself studying the expressions and body language of everyone in sight; trying
to figure out who had ‘harnessed the power of their Sacred Spaces’. Julie in
the Post Office certainly had, a well thumbed copy permanently sat on the
counter so that she could ingest snippets in between dishing out pensions and
renewing tax discs. Marian had only gone into the branch to buy a book of
stamps, but it was a good fifteen minutes before she re-emerged into the
sunlight after making the schoolboy error of asking Julie if she was enjoying
the book. “Granted it’s dark;” Julie had whispered after ten minutes of
effectively saying yes in as many different ways as possible; “but don’t knock
it until you’ve tried it. I didn’t think
it was for me but I was so wrong. I didn’t feel comfortable with all that
‘restraint’ business at first; and as for the blindfolds; well I’d only come
across them at kids’ parties before. But once you’ve experienced that kind of
pleasure, believe me you won’t be able to go back to your old ways.”
On the day on which the headlines proclaimed that Mr Power’s
Bedroom Secrets was now the highest selling paperback of all time; Marian
decided that she’d been biting the bullet for long enough. Even though she knew
that she could obtain a copy for half the price in the supermarket; she made
her way to the only local independent bookshop that had managed to weather both
the recession and the exponential growth of certain internet retailers. She
slowly browsed the store, marvelling in the fact that this small room contained
more books than she would ever be able to read in her lifetime. It was a shame
that most of these works would never reach a wide audience; alas these days it
seemed that the majority of people preferred to pick up their reading material in
the same basket as bananas and loo rolls. It wouldn’t be so bad if the mass
merchants were peddling literary masterpieces; but a textbook for optimal
bedroom performance becoming the nation’s favourite talking point? So much for
traditional British reserve.
Eventually her path reached a small crowd of customers and
in the middle of them a table piled high with the volume that was currently
outselling everything else in the entire shop added together. Fingering the
cover of the infamous tome she felt in spite of herself a frisson of
excitement. She doubted that the eponymous Mr Power had been christened with
that moniker; however the unmistakable red and yellow cover probably wouldn’t
make the same impact if it were to bear the name of Smith, Jones or Brown.
“Go on, buy it;” urged a bearded man of undeterminable age,
who seemed to take the very fact that she was holding the book as reason enough
to lay his clammy hand on her arm. “It’ll change your life, honestly it will.
Since I opened that book I’ve never looked back; my partner even says it’s
taken 20 years off me! And it’s not just for the bedroom either; we’ve been at
it in the sitting room, on a flight to Alicante; why, I’ve even given it a go
in the office!”
Marian snatched her arm away. The man had exceptionally
hairy arms that reminded her of a baboon; she wondered whether his partner
actually liked the fact that he looked like he belonged in a zoo, or whether he
had some other qualities which compensated for it. His endorsement was almost
enough to make her flee the shop empty handed, but with the memory of her
daughter’s words echoing around her mind – “Don’t be a snob, mother” she
reluctantly walked to the sales counter and handed over her £8.99.
That night Marian retired early; carrying her brown paper
shopping bag upstairs whilst her husband watched Match of the Day. She slipped
into her best silk nightie and dimmed the lights, plumping up the pillows before
slipping under the polyester duvet. Time to see what all the fuss was about.
“This book will teach you to harness the power of your most
sacred space. Through a combination of techniques you will achieve the status
of master practitioner and your bedroom will become a temple devoted to the
most precious activity we can experience both as individuals or within a
couple; pure, uninterrupted sleep.”
Sleep? SLEEP? Marian laughed out loud. She’d been hoping for
athletics beneath the sheets, a few ideas to spice things up after a lifetime
of the monotony of monogamy. She felt like she’d been had, conned, but she
could hardly demand her money back for lack of sauce.
“John, are you coming up?” she shouted. “Fancy a cuddle?”
“Just watching the last match, love;” came the reply from
downstairs. “I’ll be up in five.”
Five minutes turned to fifteen but John was sure that Marian
wouldn’t mind; she could sit there in bed with a book for hours; reading had
always been her favourite pastime.
“Alright love?” he called out as he checked the doors and
turned off the sockets; but there was no response. Upon entering the bedroom he
found Marian laid on her back with her eyes closed and a blissful smile on her
face; and at her side was a copy of that book that everyone seemed to be
reading these days. He carefully picked it up, trying his hardest not to
disturb her, as Marian was a light sleeper at the best of times and it was most
unusual her to drift off without tossing and turning for hours. He climbed in
beside her and flicked off the light; a smile on his face. Cuddles could wait;
after twenty years of marriage to a fidgety insomniac, sleep, blessed uninterrupted
sleep, was the best bedroom activity in his book.
