“Why is that?” I gasped.
“Whoever’s chasing us will go to the left because it’s on the side of the heart. People don’t think when they’re in such a hurry. They followed the body and not their brain.”
“What if there’s more than one bod after us, and they can take both directions?”
“Then they’ve divided their forces. Just what we want. We’d give the poor bastard who chooses our way such a hammering when we jump on him from a doorway: fist at the throat, boot at the goolies, and a couple to the phizzog to remember us by when he comes back to life.”
“You think of everything.”
He even had the breath to laugh. “Michael, I learned to fight in Slaughterhouse Lane when I was five. The army only refined my style.”
We flagged a cab on the main drag, and in half an hour were joshing down the escalators of Tottenham Court Road station. At Liverpool Street Bill groaned with hunger, so I bought him cakes and sandwiches. With mouth still full he went to the bog and rubbed half a mile of toilet paper over his boots to get the whisky off. He washed his face and combed his hair, retied his tie and handkerchiefed bloodmarks from his face. Encouraging me to do the same, I did.
A train to the Fens left in ten minutes, and I couldn’t refrain from marvelling at our luck in getting away so clearly. “That was a job well done.”
“I’d like a bust up like that every week,” Bill said. “It would keep me in trim for life.” I faced the engine, fields flying by. Our boots and trousers still reeked of Moggerhanger’s whisky, and a few sharp glances from other passengers came our way, which was fine because, with our clothes torn in places as well, they thought we’d been to a wild party, so didn’t want to get too close. I was even wary of lighting up, in case we vanished in an orange flash like the bloke in Bleak House. “What I need from now on,” I said, “is an extended period of leisure, after all the running about in the last few weeks.”
“Better you than me,” Bill said. “Never a dull moment’s the ticket for me.”
“You aren’t still thinking about Runna-Runna, are you?”
He sighed. “A bit of nation building would have been so exciting and rewarding, so I have my regrets. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned in this life it’s that you can’t have everything.”
Which gave me reason to laugh. “I want to spend the summer sitting in a deckchair by my bit of railway line, reading novels and listening to the birds, with a trip to the bank now and again for a slice of the cash. I’ll have a fully furnished fur lined kennel built for Dismal, who deserves no less, and on rainy days we’ll sit together in the signal box admiring the view.” On one level, so het up was I, I didn’t see how I could ever be calm again, though realised that two or three days would rectify that. “There’s a hotplate in the signal box for frying eggs and making tea. I could play the hermit for weeks there if I wanted to.”
“And then what?” Bill bit into another sandwich. “Every good thing must come to an end. Storm after calm — you know the sort of thing — but I prefer storm all the time so that I know where I stand. Calm’s a worrying state to be in.”
“We’re different,” I said. “If storm comes, then let it, but I’ll be more able to face it after a stretch of peace. The longer calm goes on from now on, the better. Part of my life’s coming to an end now that we’ve put the lid on Moggerhanger.” I laughed, rather shakily perhaps, so that people standing turned to stare, even more convinced I’d been soaking whisky at the sort of party they’d only dreamed about. “I’ll never forget how that giant bottle broke up and flooded the room. You should have seen the look of horror on Moggerhanger’s clock.”
Bill’s hand, rubbing across his face, painted on a serious expression. “I didn’t want to deprive you of the pleasure, but I have to say that such an act isn’t in any training manual I’ve ever read. You overstepped the mark in dealing with that bottle. When I ordered you out you should have obeyed instantly, but I won’t put you on a charge, since we got away unscathed. I remember in Normandy going through a wood and seeing a hut with a padlock on the door. I thought there must be calvados inside, but because we were under fire we had to look in after the Gerries had gone. When we got to it I knew they must have seen it as well, so why hadn’t they gone inside for a drink? I told the lads to give it a few hundred rounds, and it went up like a real fireball. The fact is, I expect our recent bust up at you know where will get to the ears of the Green Toe Gang. Not only will Oscar have a good laugh, but he’ll want two chaps like you and me to join his organisation. He’ll pay well, commensurate with our expertise.”
“No,” I said.
“There you go again. When I’ve run through my fortune — I’ll be a gentleman in that, at least — I might ask Oscar for some gainful employment. I’ll have to, if I’m on my uppers. And you know I’ve never liked being idle. Even begging was only a means of survival till something better came along. And it always did, because hard work was bred into me as a kid.”
“Stop bellyaching. I’m not tempted. When I’m broke I’ll do something, but meanwhile I’ll stay idle till I get bored. In any case there’s running repairs to do in the house, and on the outside as well.”
We found a taxi at the station to take us the twenty-odd miles home. The driver, a small dark chap wearing a beany-like Moslem hat, sniffed us up and down as if wondering whether to take us, due to the odorous booze. “What’s bothering you, brother?” Bill said. “Our money’s good, so get going.”
We sat in the back. “After a high tea of sausages and eggs,” Bill said, “we’ll go and stock up at the supermarket. I noticed your freezer was getting a bit low when I last looked in, so we’ll need at least two trolleys.”
“A good plan,” I agreed. “I’ll pull in enough to last me and Clegg for a fortnight. We won’t even have to go out for a box of matches, unless you intend staying another day or two.”
“Michael, that would make little difference. You know I don’t eat enough to feed a fly. I say, what’s that smoke up ahead? It’s a bit early in the year for burning stubble.”
“Don’t know.” I was mulling happily on my forthcoming period of exquisite laziness, seeing myself taking Dismal on pleasant walks along the water channels, even across a few muddy fields. Sophie would call and we’d go out hand in hand, then come home to an especially big bed I’d installed in the signal box. If not Sophie, I’d inveigle Frances to share a uxurious weekend. Blaskin would drive up in his superannuated Bentley with Mabel, his car smelling strongly of leather so intensely it always made her want to throw up, especially at the way he drove. I’d bed and breakfast them and give them dinner, though for one night only in case, staying longer, they might murder each other.
The driver braked, barely able to swerve where the road widened, to let a fire engine drum by, so close that one of its screaming sirens threatened to detach and fall on us. “I expect some farmer’s dropped a kerosene lamp on a hay stack,” Bill said. “Look at the smoke, though, Michael.” He coughed, and gripped my arm. “I don’t think it smells of hay, either.”
At a corner in the lane I cried out so loud that our nervous driver barely avoided putting us into a ditch. The way ahead was blocked by fire engines.
“I’m afraid,” Bill said, “that your dreams of dolce fa niente will not be possible for the foreseeable future. Luckily, our gallant green goddess men, at the risk of their worthy lives, seem to be doing their best to stop it spreading to the signal box.”
I deteriorated in seconds to a lump of animated jelly, at the spectacle of the Spoils of Cullen going up in smoke. Leaping from the car, leaving Bill to pay for once, I was held back by a policeman. “It’s a listed building,” I shouted, as if the inane claim would be my passport to getting closer.