Headlights full on, dead keen and sweating, I swung, and barely missed a van, which hooted fit to burst. Then I turned left along a lane, and dipped every light I dared.
‘Very good. They didn’t see us come down here. They’ll go tootling on and a quarter of a mile beyond they’ll find that the road forks, and whichever of those forks they take will be the wrong one, so they’ll lose precious time. They’ve already lost us. Our troubles are over.’
Could I believe him? Funnily enough, I did. The straight lane went up and down, and into a village. I slowed, in appreciation of Clegg’s tactical victory. Lanes branched left and right. The more the better. We were going east, wending and winding towards the Great North Road. The idea, Clegg said, being to avoid the conurbation of Harrogate. ‘You can go up to eighty on the main road without attracting attention, because it’s a dual carriageway, besides which there’s plenty of traffic. We can get into Leeds from the northeast.’
‘You’re a talking map,’ I said.
‘I think it’s one of the least difficult problems I’ve ever had to solve.’
We had ditched our pursuers because he regarded our flight as a challenging kind of game. He’d also be a crack shot with a crossbow in an amusement arcade. ‘The only thing is,’ I said, ‘we’ve got to have food and rest.’
‘To think we left all that food and drink with Delphick,’ Wayland said.
‘After twenty miles,’ Clegg said, ‘we’ll find a place to eat.’
Though there was no frightening flashlight in the sky behind, I was still worried by the fact that, heading down the Great North Road, we would be spotted by another of Moggerhanger’s cars that had been sent up a couple of hours ago to reinforce the one already despatched to Doggerel Bank. Any such car would have come up the M1 at a greater speed than could be made on the Great North Road. In two hours they would be passing Nottingham. In less than three they could certainly be where we then were. Whoever was not driving in the car would, as became the best of Moggerhanger’s lads, be observing the traffic, even in the darkness, coming down the lane in the opposite direction. When I put these cogitations to Clegg, he thought them worth acting on, unless it was too late, although he added — and I saw him smile in my mirror — it almost never is. ‘It’s only ever too late once in your life, and by then there’s nothing you can do about it.’
‘One of these days I’ll be laughing with my throat at one of your witticisms.’
To which he replied: ‘I sincerely hope not.’
Dismal began to howl. ‘We’ve got to stop, or it’ll be all up with us. We can survive hunger, lack of sleep, even a shoot-out, but not Dismal being taken short.’
‘It’s like having a baby in the car,’ Wayland said.
‘Well,’ I told him, ‘he’s one of us.’
Dismal’s snout gave an approving nudge. His distress wasn’t immediate, but we’d had our warning, so at the next transport café I parked as far in the dark and behind other cars as I could get. ‘Shall we risk going inside?’
Clegg twitched his glasses and switched off the map-reading flashlight. ‘I think we can.’
We waited for Dismal to finish, and went into the usual place of scorching fat and soggy chips, which seemed like paradise. I bought forty fags, and pints of tea for us all — including Dismal. I ordered four plates of everything and a pile of bread and butter, as well as a dozen sweet cakes and more tea. Who knew where the next meal was coming from?
‘I believe we’ve done it,’ Clegg said.
I was superstitious, every moment expecting Kenny Dukes to burst through the flimsy door, having learned so much from Dicky Bush that he’d end up drowning in hot fat and Mars Bars. ‘There’s a long way to go yet.’
‘But where?’ said Wayland.
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘You must have some idea.’
I had never been a master of planning and forethought. I lived and acted by the minute, and had survived well enough up to now — I told myself — but I knew that if I was to go on living I must begin to see at least one move ahead in Moggerhanger’s Great Game. But again, my innate nature, or whatever it was, took over. ‘We keep south on this fast road and go to my house at Upper Mayhem.’
‘Given up the Equilateral?’
‘For the time being.’
The owner came with our plates and mugs, covering the small table. Wayland ate a cake at one gulp. ‘Moggerhanger might be waiting for you.’
‘They’ve been and gone already.’ My mouth was also full. ‘Maybe they never went. I flatter myself that they don’t think I’m so daft as to go there. In any case, you’ll be in no danger because I’m putting you out in Cambridge. You can make your own way to London.’
‘Suits me.’ He sounded relieved.
‘When you get there, hide for a while.’
‘I’ll be too busy.’
At Upper Mayhem I would collect the documentation on Moggerhanger’s drug empire which Matthew Coppice had promised to send. Then I would get the boat to Holland via Harwich so that, being safe, I could nail Mog and Jack Lanthorn at my leisure.
‘Thanks for the excellent meal,’ Clegg said. ‘It’s good to stuff the old belly now and again.’ He went out for the flask and got it filled at the counter.
‘Tell me, Cleggy,’ I said when he sat down, ‘I don’t know whether this is a stupid question, but do you think your life has been worthwhile?’
He took a long drink from his pint mug. ‘It’s only a stupid question insofar as my life’s far from ended. But if you mean to say is my life worthwhile, I can only answer that while a few days ago I wasn’t convinced, at the moment I’m damned sure it is. Funny thing is, Michael, I’ve never asked myself that question, so I assume I’ve always thought my life was worthwhile. Right now I’m positively enjoying myself. What more do I want? I’m turned sixty, but I’m strong, healthy and free. What about you?’
‘If I didn’t think my life was worthwhile I’d kill myself.’ I dug Wayland in the ribs. ‘What do you think?’
He brushed a hand over his bald head, down to his short grey beard. ‘That question’s too meaningful to play around with at this point in time. If I have a lucid moment before I kick the bucket I’ll try to ask myself then, in the hope, I suppose, that there won’t be time for an answer.’
Clegg smacked his hands together. ‘It’s nice to have a man in the car who’s really thought about it.’
He was serious, so I nodded. ‘You can say that again — but don’t.’
At half past nine I drove south like a zombie, just on the right side of safety. My idea had been to cruise at fifty-five, but as soon as I saw a car or lorry in front my foot went down and I swung out to overtake at seventy or eighty. It was impossible to go slow to wherever I was going.
My mood oscillated from wanting to burst out singing, to an urge to throw the car at full speed against the concrete supports of a bridge or embankment. But I did neither, and we travelled in silence. Perhaps I was intoxicated, and kept alert by the amount of rage which I knew my zig-zag actions were generating in Moggerhanger and Lanthorn. I imagined them going up the wall with anxiety, indecision, fury and maybe even fear, a picture which brought a smile to my face — till I myself was no longer cramped by fear, fury, indecision and anxiety.