‘Only some old rubbish about the end of civilization as we know it being only a few hours away and the Secret Government of the World taking over the minute all the computers crash.’
‘Of course,’ said Norman. ‘That has to be it. The Doveston was always going on about the secret police being out to get him. It seems he was right. An interview with this woman should prove most instructive.’
‘She might not be too keen to tell us anything.’
‘There are ways,’ said Norman.
‘Oh, right. You mean we should torture it out of her. Good idea.’
‘No! That is not what I mean at all.’
‘What then?’
Norman preened at his lapels. ‘Leave this to the man in the peacock suit,’ said he.
I followed the man in the peacock suit back into the bail.
‘Oh look,’ said Norman, ‘It’s You’ll-lick-a-giant’s-one.’
‘Hold on,’ I said. ‘I’ll get this. You’ll-lick-a-giant’s-one? Don’t give me any clues. Yes, I’ve got it. You’ll-lick-a-giant’s-one. Ulrika Jonsson.’
‘No,’ said Norman. ‘It’s Kate Moss. I was just thinking out loud that time.’
Norman cranked up the Hartnell Home Happyfier a couple of notches, set his peacock suit on stun and swaggered off into the crowd, going, ‘Whoops,’ and ‘S’cuse me please,’ and ‘Mind your backs,’ and ‘Sorry, did I step on your foot?’
I snorted up a couple of lines from the head of a passing dwarf and determined that I would get right into the party spirit, no matter what. If I wasn’t on the immediate hit list, then at least I could enjoy myself I was the host of this bash after all, so I should be having a bloody good time. Let Norman sort it out.
I would party.
And so, with a hooter full of Charlie and a big fat smile on my face, I squeezed myself into the happy throng.
I grinned at Caprice, leered at a couple of Spice Girls, smiled warmly on Joanna Lumley (you have to remember my age), tipped the wink to Tom and Nicole, roundly iguored Hugh and Liz and stepped over a Blue Peter presenter.
And then I ran into Colin.
‘Having a good time?’ I asked him.
‘Damn right, old son,’ said Colin, slapping me upon the back and loosening several vertebrae. ‘How about you? Enjoying yourself?’
‘I am,’ I said. ‘And I’m determined that nothing will spoil this party for me.
‘Good on you,’ said Colin. ‘The last time I was at a party as good as this was back in ‘sixty-three. Someone blew up the host’s dog with dynamite. Oh how we laughed.’
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I have to mingle.’
‘Be happy,’ said Colin.
Actually I didn’t mingle. I just drifted about, listening in to other people’s conversations.
Have you ever noticed how, when you do that, the snippets of conversation you hear always begin with the words ‘so I said’?
‘... so I said to Val Parnell, “If my name doesn’t go above the jugglers, I will not appear. ‘
‘... so I said, “I don’t like the look of you, young man.” And he said, “Can I smell your armpits?” And I said, “Certainly not!” And he said, “Oh, it must be your feet then.”’
‘... so I said, “I’ll tell you my wife’s favourite sexual position. Next door, that’s what.”’
‘... so I said to the police that actually I didn’t know I’d been raped until the cheque bounced.’
‘... so I said, “I’ll meet you at that new naturist restaurant. You know the one, it’s called Eat Your Food Nude.”’
‘… so I said, there were these two sperms swimming along and one says to the other, “Are we at the fallopian tubes yet?” And the other one says, “No, we’re hardly past the tonsils.”’
‘… so I said, that’s because you don’t understand how the Secret Government of the World functions. Conventional governments think that they’ll be able to control the chaos caused by the Millennium Bug. But what they don’t know is that their own systems have been sabotaged. Agents of the Secret Government have been infiltrating them for years, pretending to solve the problem, whilst actually making it worse.
‘Revolution in any country is only three square meals away and when the infrastructure collapses and food no longer reaches the shop shelves, there will be a world crisis. And that’s when the Secret Government will take over. They’ve been planning it for years, because they know what’s going to happen. And you know what they say: “Tomorrow belongs to those who can see it coming.”’
Now, I paused quite abruptly when I caught this particular snippet. ‘Er, excuse me,’ I said, easing my way into the little knot of chatterers. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
The chap who’d been speaking eyed me suspiciously. Which I thought was a bit of a cheek, considering that it was my party. He was young and pale and drawn and rather spotty. He wore a ragged T-shirt with the words ‘FAST AND BULBOUS’ printed on the front, grubby old trainers and baggy old jeans. I did not recall greeting him at the door.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, in a manner that could only be described as surly.
‘I overheard what you were saying about the Secret Government.’
‘But I’ll bet you don’t believe it.’
‘On the contrary, I do. But what I’d like to know is where you got your information from.’
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m the host of this party.’
‘Oh shit. Then I suppose you’ll be throwing me out.’
‘Why would I want to do that?’
‘Because I just sneaked in through a hole in the fence.’
‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I don’t mind. I just want to know about the Secret Government. Who are you, by the way?’
‘I’m Danbury Collins.’
‘Not the Danbury Collins?’
‘The very same.’
I almost reached out to shake his hand. Almost.
For the benefit of any readers who are not acquainted with the name of Danbury Collins, allow me to explain that he is the famous psychic youth and masturbator, whose exploits, along with those of Sir John Rimmer and Dr Harney, are chronicled in the fantasy novels of P. P. Penrose.
And P. P. Penrose, as you all will know, was the author of the bestselling books of the twentieth century: the Lazlo Woodbine thrillers. Small world!
‘But what are you doing here?’ I asked the psychic youth.
‘I got a tip—off that something big was going to happen.’
‘And who tipped you off?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Was it Lazlo Woodbine?’
‘I’d rather not say.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘But just tell me one thing. Do you think the Secret Government murdered the Doveston?’
‘No I don’t,’ said Danbury.
‘Oh.’
‘Because I don’t believe that the Doveston’s dead.’
‘Trust me,’ I said. ‘I’ve seen the body. He is dead.’ ‘Seeing the body doesn’t mean anything. People saw Elvis’s body, but Elvis isn’t dead.’
‘I think you’ll find that Elvis is dead,’ I said.
‘Oh yeah? So who’s that over there chatting up the singing nun?’ ‘Chatting up who?’
‘Oh no, it’s Giant Haystacks. I think my eyesight’s going.’ I peered in the direction of his pointing. ‘Ah,’ I said. ‘Precisely,’ said Danbury. ‘When you’re really really famous, being dead doesn’t have to mean that you actually are dead. Not if you re in cahoots with the Secret Government. They can arrange anything. Elvis entered a parallel universe in order to save mankind from the Antichrist. I thought everybody knew that.’
‘Yeah, right,’ I said. ‘Then just tell me this. If you’re wrong about the Doveston and he really is dead, who do you think could have murdered him?’