The Well Of Lost Plots Part 35

'I'm sorry, Thursday. Havisham was one of the best; we all thought the world of her.'

I thanked him.

'You might be interested in these copies of reports from Text Grand Central.'

'What are they?'

He placed them on the table in front of me.

'They are the UltraWord reports written by Perkins, Deane and Miss Havisham. They all give it the thumbs-up. If Perkins was was murdered, it wasn't because of UltraWord.' murdered, it wasn't because of UltraWord.'

'The Ultimate Reading Experience?'

'Looks like it. A modern system like this needs people like you to police it, Next. I want you to consider a permanent post here inside fiction.'

I looked up at him. This seemed to me like rather a good idea. After all, there was no one waiting for me back at Swindon.

'Sounds good, Tweed. Can I sleep on it?'

He smiled.

'Take as long as you want.'

I went back to Mary's flying boat and read over what Miss Havisham had done with her final scene in Great Expectations Great Expectations. A professional to the last, she had enacted her own death with a sensitivity and fallibility that I had never seen her exhibit in life. I found a bottle of wine, poured myself a large gla.s.s and drank it gratefully. Oddly I thought there was a reason why perhaps I shouldn't shouldn't be drinking, but couldn't think what it was. I looked at my hand where there had been a name written that morning. Havisham had instructed me to scrub it out, and I had but even so I was intrigued and tried to figure out from the small marks still visible what had been written there. be drinking, but couldn't think what it was. I looked at my hand where there had been a name written that morning. Havisham had instructed me to scrub it out, and I had but even so I was intrigued and tried to figure out from the small marks still visible what had been written there.

'Lisbon,' I muttered. 'Why would I write "Lisbon" on my hand?'

I shrugged. The delicate red was a welcome friend and I poured another gla.s.s. I pulled out the UltraWord copy of The Little Prince The Little Prince that Havisham had given me and opened the cover. There was an odd smell of melons about the book and the paper felt like a sort of thin plastic, the letters a harsh black against the milky-white pages. The text glowed in the dim light of the kitchen and, intrigued, I took the book into the darkness of the utility cupboard, where the text was still as clear as day. I returned to my place at the table and tried the that Havisham had given me and opened the cover. There was an odd smell of melons about the book and the paper felt like a sort of thin plastic, the letters a harsh black against the milky-white pages. The text glowed in the dim light of the kitchen and, intrigued, I took the book into the darkness of the utility cupboard, where the text was still as clear as day. I returned to my place at the table and tried the read sensitive read sensitive preferences page, the words changing from red to blue as I read them, then back again as I reread them. In this manner I turned the PageGlow feature on and off, and then played with the levels of the background and music tracks. preferences page, the words changing from red to blue as I read them, then back again as I reread them. In this manner I turned the PageGlow feature on and off, and then played with the levels of the background and music tracks.

I started to read the book, and as the first words entered my head a huge panoply of new emotions opened up. As I read the sequence in the desert I could hear the sound of the wind over the dunes and even the heat and taste of the scorched sands. The voice of the narrator was different to that of the prince, and no dialogue tags were needed to differentiate them. It was, as Libris had a.s.serted, an extraordinary piece of technology. I shut the book, leaned back on my chair and closed my eyes.

There was a tap at the door.

I bade my visitor enter. It was Arnold.

'h.e.l.lo!' he said. 'Can I come in?'

'Make yourself at home,' I replied. 'Drink?'

'Thank you.'

He sat down and smiled at me. I'd never really noticed it before but he was quite handsome.

'Where's everyone else?' he asked, looking around.

'Out somewhere,' I replied, waving a hand in the direction of the boat and feeling a bit dizzy. 'Lola's probably under her latest beau, Randolph is doubtless complaining to someone about it and I've no idea where Gran is. Have a drink?'

'You've already poured one.'

'So I have. What brings you here, Arnie?'

'Just pa.s.sing. How are things at work?'

's.h.i.+t. Miss Havisham is dying and something is wrong I just don't know what.'

'I've heard Outlanders sometimes go through a period of "imagination freefall" when they start trying to create plot lines out of nothing. You'll settle down to it, I shouldn't worry. Congratulations, by the way,'

he added. 'I read about your appointment in the paper.'

I held up my gla.s.s in salute, and we both drank.

'So what's the deal with you and Mary?' I asked.

'Over for a long time. She thinks I'm a loser and-'

'Tells you to go to h.e.l.l. Yes, I've heard. What about Lola? Have you slept with her yet?'

'No!'

'You must be the only bloke in Caversham Heights Caversham Heights who hasn't,' I declared. 'Do you want another drink?' who hasn't,' I declared. 'Do you want another drink?'

'Okay. What about you?' he asked. 'Tell me about your husband in the Outland.'

'I don't have a husband,' I told him, 'never did.'

'You told me-'

'Probably one of those "push off" comments we girls sometimes use. There was this guy named Snood in the ChronoGuard but that was a long time ago. He suffered a time aggre-ge-ga-gation.'

'A what?'

'He got old before his time. He died.'

I felt confused all of a sudden and looked at the winegla.s.s and the half-empty bottle of wine.

'What's the matter, Thursday?'

'Oh nothing. You know when you suddenly have a memory of something and you don't know why a sort of flashback of flashback?'

He smiled.

'I don't have many memories, Thursday, I'm a Generic. I could have had a backstory but I wasn't considered important enough.'

'Is that a cat? I mean, is that a fact? Well, I just thought about the White Horse in Uffington back home.

Soft warm gra.s.sland and blue skies, warm sun on my face. Why would I have done that?'

'I have no idea. Don't you think you've had enough to drink?'

'I'm fine,' I told him. 'Right as rain. Never better. What's it like being a Generic?'

'It's not bad,' he replied, taking another swig of wine. 'Promotion to a better or new part is always there if you are diligent enough and hang out at the Character Exchange. I miss having a family that must be good.'

'My mum is a hoot,' I told him, 'and Dad doesn't exist he's a time-travelling knight errant don't laugh and I have two brothers. They both live in Swindon. One's a priest and the other-'

'Is what?'

I felt confused again. It was probably the wine. I looked at my hand.

'I don't know what he does. We haven't spoken in years.'

There was another flashback, this time of the Crimea.

'This bottle's empty,' I muttered, trying to pour it.

'You have to take the cork out first,' observed Arnold. 'Allow me.'

He fumbled with the corkscrew and drew the cork after a lot of effort. I think he was drunk. Some people have no restraint.

'What do you think of the Well?' he asked.

'It's all right,' I replied. 'Life here is pretty good for an Outlander. No bills to pay, the weather is always good and, best of all, no Goliath, SpecOps or my mother's cooking.'

'SpecOps can cook?'

I giggled stupidly and so did he. Within a few seconds we had both collapsed in hysterics. I hadn't laughed like this for ages.

The laughter stopped.

'What were we giggling about?' asked Arnold.

'I don't know.'

And we collapsed in hysterics again.

I recovered and took another swig of wine.

'Do you dance?'

Arnie looked startled for a moment.

'Of course.'

I took him by the hand and led him through into the living room, found a record and put it on the turntable. I placed my hands on his shoulders and he placed his hands on my waist. It felt odd and somehow wrong but I was past caring. I had lost a good friend that day and deserved a little unwinding.

The music began and we swayed to the rhythm. I had danced a lot in the past, which must have been with Filbert, I suppose.

'You dance well for someone with one leg, Arnie.'

'I have two legs, Thursday.'

And we burst out laughing again. I steadied myself on him and he steadied himself on the sofa. Pickwick looked on and ruffled her feathers in disgust.

'Do you have a girl in the Well, Arnie?'

'n.o.body,' he said slowly, and I moved my cheek against his, found his mouth and kissed him, very gently and without ceremony. He began to pull away then stopped and returned the kiss. It felt dangerously welcome; I didn't know why I had been single for so long. I wondered whether Arnie would stay the night.

He stopped kissing me and took a step back.

'Thursday, this is all wrong wrong.'

'What could be wrong?' I asked, staring at him unsteadily. 'Do you want to come and see my bedroom? It has a great view of the ceiling.'

I stumbled slightly and held the back of the sofa.

'What are you staring at?' I asked Pickwick, who was glaring at me.

'My head's thumping,' muttered Arnold.

'So's mine,' I replied.

Arnold c.o.c.ked his head and listened.

'It's not our heads it's the door.'

'The door of perception,' I noted, 'of heaven and h.e.l.l.'

He opened the door and a very old woman dressed in blue gingham walked in. I started to giggle but stopped when she strode up to me and took away my winegla.s.s.

'How many gla.s.ses have you had?'

'Two?' I replied, leaning against the table for support.

'Bottles,' corrected Arnie.

'Crates,' I added, giggling, although nothing actually seemed that funny all of a sudden. 'Listen here, Gingham Woman,' I added, wagging my finger, 'give me my gla.s.s back.'

'What about the baby?' she demanded, staring at me dangerously.

'What baby? Who's having a baby? Arnie, are you having a baby?'

'It's worse than I thought,' she muttered. 'Do the names Aornis and Landen mean anything to you?'

'Not a thing,' I replied, 'but I'll drink to them, if you want. h.e.l.lo, Randolph.'

Randolph and Lola had arrived at the doorstep and were staring at me in shock.

'What?' I asked them. 'Have I grown another head or something?'