Counter Culture

This story was originally part of my latest novel The Experience [to be published 2025]. It is one of five ‘outtakes’ that were originally threaded through the novel’s opening chapters. The job of these stories was to reflect or counter the nature of the narrative’s ‘reality’. Their style and viewpoint being contrary to that of the novel’s. It was eventually decided to remove them, simply to keep the continuity of The Experience’s particular style. Please feel free to comment.  – Tim Bragg

I woke after some vaguely disturbing dreams. I tried to hang onto them, to analyse them, but the more I tried, the more I left them behind. My wife was next to me. She turned around.

‘Are you awake Hannah?’ I asked.

Her eyes flashed open. ‘Hannah?’

Was I back in my dream. ‘Hannah?’ I asked, unsure of her reaction.

‘Who is Hannah?’ she asked.

I sat up in the bed, rubbed my eyes. ‘Hannah?’ I asked again.

She too sat up and stared at me. ‘Are you still dreaming?’

‘I don’t think so.’

She reached over and pinched me. I flinched. ‘You’re not dreaming,’ she said. Then she smiled. ‘I see,’ she said.

‘You see?’

‘Did you have any dreams?’

‘Yes.’

‘Think,’ she said.

‘Think? Of what?’

‘You’re not fully awake,’ she said. ‘You think I’m Hannah.’

I did think she was Hannah. Perhaps I was still in a lingering dream, that somehow touched my awakened state. But that didn’t explain why Hannah was behaving the way she was.

‘Sometimes you’re so strange. After all these years, you’d think I’d be used to you. Jim. Hello Jim, wake up. Wake up,’ she teased.

‘I am awake. And don’t call me Jim. You know I don’t like that.’

‘You do like that,’ she said.

‘Why are you acting so strange,’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

She seemed to grow a little more serious. ‘Think,’ she said.

‘I am thinking.’

‘This is crazy,’ she said. ‘You’re doing this to wind me up aren’t you? One of your games.’

‘Hannah?’

‘No, I am not Hannah. Who is Hannah?’

I got up and walked to the window and looked out. The trees in the distance were familiar. I wasn’t dreaming. But was I going insane? Is this how it begins? Why was she acting the way she was. Perhaps I was in a dream still – a lucid dream. I said to myself, ‘James, wake up, wake up.’ But I was awake.

‘Who is Hannah?’ she asked again.

I resisted replying that she was. What was I to do. I had to think. ‘This is crazy,’ I said.

‘You’re crazy.’

‘Why me? You don’t even know your own name.’

‘I know my name,’ she said. ‘You can’t even remember liking being called Jim. Have you been smoking?’ She became very serious. ‘Maybe it’s stress,’ she said.

‘This is utterly crazy,’ I said. ‘Are you doing this on purpose?’

She laughed. Then she stopped. ‘You need to see a doctor. Or if this is some great big wind up…or,’ she paused. ‘You’re not playing with me?’

‘Playing?’

She smiled. ‘Am I a character?’

I thought. This was an odd thing for her to say. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you creating? Are you trying out dialogue? You’ve done it before. You did it with your last book Which was years ago. But I remember that. I thought you were going mad then, remember?’

Was I creating? ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I really don’t know what’s going on here. I don’t like this. I don’t like how you’re behaving, if you’re trying to be funny, or clever, it’s not working.’

‘Are you trying to be clever?’ she asked. She got up and walked past me. ‘Who is Hannah?’ she asked.

I could feel the heat of her rage. She was holding herself back, but I could feel it. ‘I thought…’ I was going to say that I thought she was Hannah. But she was Hannah. I was questioning my own sanity.

I could hear her in the bathroom. I could feel the tension. I decided on another tack. Perhaps she was ill? She’d been under some tension, there was a lot going on. I got dressed quickly and went to the bathroom door, which she’d shut. I tapped. ‘Hannah?’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Please. I don’t understand what’s going on. We need to talk.’

‘I don’t want to talk with you,’ she said. And in case you forgot,’ she stressed, ‘it’s Jen. Jen! You remember now?’

‘Jen,’ I said out loud, confused.

‘Ah, now you remember. You just wanted to annoy me. First thing. Put me in a bad mood. Well you succeeded.’

Jen. That was odd. That was an odd name for her to have chosen. I was perplexed. The door burst open and she pushed past me.

‘Jen,’ I said.

‘Too late, you’ve managed to ruin the weekend already. Well done.’ She stamped down the stairs.

Jen. Interesting. She’d chosen the name of my heroine. From my novel. The novel that was fighting for its life. The novel that didn’t seem to go anywhere and I’d left Jen, Jenny in a predicament. Uncertain of which path to take. I’d lost control of the narrative. Perhaps Hannah had read the opening chapters. She didn’t normally. Normally she left me to get on with writing. Writers are admonished not to speak about their work. Write don’t tell.

In the kitchen she was making breakfast. As I entered she turned to me, ‘Make your own. There’s coffee on the table.’ I always drank tea in the morning. ‘Get Hannah to make your breakfast,’ she spat. I wanted to hold her. Whisper to her. But I was unsure. Unsure of everything. We sat in silence at the table in the living room. I sipped the coffee, it tasted dirty. Eventually I broke the deadened atmosphere. ‘Have you been reading my novel?’

‘Why?’

‘I just wondered.’

‘No,’ she said.

I sipped some more of the coffee, looked at her. I could see she was hurt. ‘The main character, well, one of them, is called Jen,’ I said. ‘Jennifer.’ I could feel her brittleness.

‘And?’

‘I think that’s…funny,’ I said.

‘Funny? So now you think my name is funny?’

‘No, no…obviously not,’ I said. ‘The fact that you think your name is Jen. Jennifer.’

‘I don’t like being called Jennifer,’ she said.

‘That’s the same as my character,’ I exclaimed.

‘Perhaps you made me up?’ she said. ‘Perhaps you’ve made everything up.’

‘No, no, don’t be…’ I was going to say ‘ridiculous’ but stopped myself. ‘I mean, it’s funny, a coincidence,’ I stressed. I looked at her. Did I know her? I thought I did. I mean I absolutely did and yet now she seemed more like a stranger. I changed tack. ‘Do you think I’m losing my marbles?’

Looking at me, I could see she wasn’t sure if I was being serious or not. ‘Well you can’t remember your own wife’s name. You think I’m named after a character in your novel. So. Quite possibly.’

‘Seriously, what if I’m, losing it? What if your name is Jen and I’m making it all up?’

‘That’s my name. And I was called Jen long before we met. My dad wanted to call me Rose and my mother Jennifer. That’s why I’m Jennifer Rose, and because my dad wasn’t too happy he’s always called me Jen.’

‘Have you told me this before?’

‘So many times you usually say…’ She stopped herself, realising that whatever I would normally say, I wasn’t saying now.

‘What do I usually say?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. She became solemn. ‘Jim. James. I think perhaps you need to speak with someone.’

‘Who?’

‘Just one of your friends, or perhaps…’

‘Perhaps what?’

‘One of your friends. What about Doug. He’s level-headed.’

‘Doug. So we agree I have a friend called Doug.’

She smiled. Stopped and became very still. ‘Jim,’ she said kindly, please, if this is some kind of joke, some novel plot you have going, some need to act things out in real life…please…’

‘It isn’t anything to do with any of my writing. But you know I write?’

‘Yes, yes of course.’

‘So I am a writer?’

‘Yes. Not very successful…’

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘Are we married?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘You’re called Jen’

‘Yes,’ she smiled, ‘do you remember now?’

I shook my head. ‘In my novel the heroine is called ‘Jen’.’

‘Yes, if you say so.

‘I have a friend called Doug?’

‘Yes.

‘And Colin?’

‘Yes, him too,’ she snarled slightly.

‘And Root?’

‘Root?’

‘Yes Root, you know he was my best friend, still is, but he’s in South America now.’

‘Root? Are you kidding me?’ she taunted. ‘What kind of name is ‘Root’?’

‘It’s what all the kids called him, call him…If he even exists!’ I got up and paced up and down the room. ‘Maybe this is you, Hannah, Jen, what-the-fuck-ever. Maybe it’s you gaslighting me. Yeah. Maybe so. You know Doug and Colin but you don’t recall Root. And – let’s get it out in the open – you know why he’s in South America? You had an affair with him. Remember that? Or have you casually forgotten that bit of life.? Like you can’t remember I don’t like being called Jim. Like you can’t even remember your own name. And, funnily enough, you think you’re called Jen. And you haven’t read my novel yet but you probably know that Jen has an affair in that too. Is there something you need to tell me Jennifer?’ I spit out in rage.

‘You’re fucking nuts,’ she said. ‘That’s it I’m done. Nuts. I’m out. Enough of this. I mean I should have listened to Kara…’

‘Kara? That bitch?!’

‘Ah, now it’s out. Now it is out. I thought as much. She said to me, don’t marry that man. He’s a bit, you know…’ she twisted her forefinger against the side of forehead.

‘What did she say?’

‘Spends too much time in his head…making things up. A contender for the funny-farm. You know, that kind of stuff Jim.’

‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ I said. ‘Hey, go ahead and twist the knife now you and Kara have it in my back. She was always a bitch, calling herself a feminist and manipulating all of you uni-pod friends…’

‘Uni-pod?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘You’ve lost it. You’ve lost it,’ she was shaking and could only repeat herself.

‘Lost what?’ I taunted.

‘You’re having a breakdown Jim. You’ve let all those words and ideas get in your head.’

‘That’s where they’re from, Hannah. Han-nah. That’s where they’re from. The ideas and thoughts come from my head. Least. Well…’ I wasn’t sure where all my thoughts and ideas came from. ‘I’m going out,’ I said. ‘Getting some air. You think I’m mad. Cuckoo. Ban-na-nas. Don’t you? Well I think you are, whatever your name is. Maybe I’m making you up right now.’

‘That is so fucking typical,’ she said. ‘Such a narcissist.’

‘You don’t even know what it means,’ I retorted.

‘Just get out,’ she said.

‘Try and stop me.’

I left the house and slammed the door. Outside the sun was shining. The postman came whistling down the lane, close to where the pub was. He smiled. Then we both heard a car revving up and Hannah, Jen, whoever she was – blasting down the lane. ‘She’ll kill someone,’ the postman said.

‘She’s upset.’

‘How’s the writing going?’ he asked me. ‘No large envelopes for you recently. Submitting online?’

‘I like the old-fashioned way,’ I said, thinking about Hannah.

‘I had a good idea for a story recently,’ the postman said.

‘Do you write?’ I asked. Glad of his company.

‘Not really,’ he answered, ‘but I do have ideas.’

‘Ideas?’

‘Yes, I had an idea this morning that really stuck with me.’

As a writer, even a writer whose wife was mad and who had run out on him, I was always listening out for ideas.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘The idea’s probably been done a million times before. But I imagined being in bed and not knowing who the woman lying in bed next to me was. And I don’t even know her name…’

‘Are you kidding me?” I asked.

‘You think it’s good?’ his eyes had lit up.

I brushed my hair back. ‘It could be interesting,’ I said.

‘One of those odd tales you hear,’ the postman continued.

‘Yes. Yes. Listen I have to go back inside and make a few calls. In private.’

‘I understand,’ he said.

I was deeply unsure of everything. And found myself doubting my own sanity. I wanted to be sick. Sick.

‘Oh, before you go,’ he said, ‘I have this letter for you. Great to get a letter isn’t it? They’re in vogue again. Means something.’ He handed me the letter which had exotic-looking stamps.

‘From Argentina,’ he confirmed. ‘Must be your daughter,’ he smiled.

‘Yes. Yes,’ I said. ‘Must be.’ I looked at the envelope. She was there in Argentina with my best friend. Well he was my best friend. ‘Thanks.’

He waved as he walked on over the road and down the lane.

I took the letter in. I ripped it open and read her words. I sat down and put my head in my hands.

Waking up in the bed I could see my wife next to me. I was half-dressed. I must have drunk to forget. Forget what? I’d had strange dreams and ideas were beginning to form. My wife turned to face me. ‘God you were drunk,’ she said. ‘Never seen you that drunk before James.’

‘Hannah?’ I asked in a soft but gruff voice.

‘What is it?’

I had thoughts come tumbling in but I felt bad and rolled onto my back. ‘Nothing,’ I said.

‘Nothing?’

‘No nothing. I feel rough. Why did I drink so much? It’s this life,’ I said, ‘this, I don’t know, this experience. Gets to me sometime.’

‘At least you’ve finished,’ she said.

‘Finished?’

‘Wow you really did drink a lot. Your novel. You finished the novel. At last.’

‘Jen?’ I asked seemingly out-of-the-blue.

‘She got her just rewards,’ she said. ‘I read the end. That bitch had it coming to her.’

I smiled. But I feel guilty,’ I said.

‘They’re not real.’

‘Who?’

‘The characters.’

‘Not real,’ I murmured. And I was out like a light.

Falling through the air I felt myriad images pulling me this way and that. Would it be like one of those dreams where you hit the bed with a bump – leaving your stomach behind and waking with a start? Or would I be gently held mid-air and slowly, slowly brought to the surface. Tranquil waters resting atop of the cushion of air. Maybe, but the waters were already very choppy.