Something rotten

I went upstairs, where Hamlet and Emma were arguing. She seemed to be saying that her 'dear Admiral' needed her more than anything, and Hamlet said that she should come and live with him at Elsinore and 'to hell with Ophelia'. Emma replied that this really wasn't practical and then Hamlet made an extremely long and intractable speech which I think meant that nothing in the real world was simple or slick and he lamented the day he ever left his play, and that he was sure Ophelia had discussed country matters with Horatio when his back was turned. Then Emma got confused and thought he was impugning her Horatio, and when he explained that it was his friend Horatio she changed her mind and said she would come with him to Elsinore, but then Hamlet thought perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all and he made another long speech until even Emma got bored and she crept downstairs for a beer and returned before he'd even noticed she had gone. After a while he just talked himself to a standstill without having made any decision � which was just as well as there wasn't a play for him to return to.

I was just pondering whether finding a cloned Shakespeare was actually going to be possible when I heard a tiny wail. I went back downstairs to find Friday blinking at me from the door to the living room, looking tousled and a little sleepy.

'Sleep well, little man?'

'Sunt in culpa qui officia deserunt mollit,' he replied, which I took to mean: 'I have slept very well and now require a snack to see me through the next two hours.'

I walked back into the kitchen, something niggling away at my mind. Something that Mum had said. Something that Stiggins had said. Or maybe Emma? I made Friday a chocolate-spread sandwich, which he proceeded to smear about his face.

'I think you'll find I have just the colour for you,' said my mother, finding a shade of grey varnish that suited Melanie's black fur. 'Goodness � what strong nails!'

'I don't dig as much as I used to,' replied Melanie with an air of nostalgia. Trafford doesn't like it. He thinks it makes the neighbours talk.'

My heart missed a beat and I shouted out, quite spontaneously:

'AHHHHHHHHH!'

My mother jumped, painted a line of nail varnish up Melanie's hand and upset the bottle on to her polka-dot dress.

'Look what you've made me do!' she scolded. Melanie didn't look very happy either.

'Posh, Murray Posh, Daisy Posh, Daisy Mutlar � why did you . . . mention Daisy Mutlar a few minutes ago?'

'Well, because I thought you'd be annoyed she was still around.'

Daisy Mutlar, it must be understood, was someone whom Landen nearly married during our ten-year enforced separation. But that wasn't important. What was important was that without Landen there had never been any Daisy. And if Daisy was around, then Landen must be too�

I looked down at my hand. On my ring finger was ... a ring. A wedding ring. I pulled it forward to the knuckle to reveal a white ridge. It looked as though it had always been there. And if it had�

'Where's Landen now?'

'At his house, I should imagine,' said my mother. 'Are you staying here for supper?'

'Then . . . he's not eradicated?'

She looked confused.

'Good Lord no!'

I narrowed my eyes.

'Then I didn't ever go to Eradications Anonymous?'

'Of course not, darling. You know that myself and Mrs Beatty are the only people who ever attend � and Mrs Beatty is only there to comfort me. What on earth are you talking about? And come back! Where do you�'

I opened the door and was two paces down the garden path when I remembered I had left Friday behind, so went back to get him, found he had got chocolate down his front despite the bib, put his sweatshirt on over his T-shirt, found he had gllbbed down the front of it, got a clean one, changed his nappy and ... no socks.

'What are you doing, darling?' asked my mother as 1 rummaged in the laundry basket.

'It's Landen,' I babbled excitedly, 'he was eradicated and now he's back and it's as though he'd never gone and I want him to meet Friday but Friday is way, way too sticky right now to meet his father.'

'Eradicated? Landen? When?' asked my mother incredulously. 'Are you sure?'

'Isn't that the point about eradication?' I replied, having found six socks, none of them matching. 'No one ever knows. It might surprise you to know that Eradications Anonymous once had forty or more attendees. When I came there were less than ten. You did a wonderful job, Mother. They'd all be really grateful � if only they could remember.'

'Oh!' said my mother in a rare moment of complete clarity. 'Then . . . when eradicatees are brought back it is as if they had never gone. Ergo: the past automatically rewrites itself to take into account the non-eradication.'

'Well, yes � more or less.'

I slipped some odd socks on Friday's feet � he didn't help matters by splaying his toes � then found his shoes, one of which was under the sofa and the other right on top of the bookcase � Melanie had been climbing on the furniture, after all. I found a brush and tidied his hair, trying desperately to get an annoying crusty bit that smelt suspiciously of baked beans to lie flat. It didn't and I gave up, then washed his face, which he didn't like one bit. I was eventually on my way out of the door when I saw myself in the mirror and dashed back upstairs. I plonked Friday on the bed, put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt and tried to do something � anything � with my short hair.

'What do you think?' I asked Friday, who was now sitting on the dressing table staring at me.

'Aliquippa ex consequat.'

'I hope that means: "you look adorable, Mum".'

'Mollit anim est laborum.'

I pulled on my jacket, walked out of my room, came back to brush my teeth and fetch Friday's polar bear, then was out the door again, telling Mum that I might not be back that night.

My heart was still racing as I walked outside, ignoring the journalists, and popped Friday in the passenger seat of the Speedster, put down the hood � might as well arrive in style � and strapped him in. I inserted the key in the ignition and then�

'Don't drive, Mum.'

Friday spoke. I was speechless for a second, hand poised on the ignition.

'Friday?' I said. 'You're talking�?'

And then my heart grew cold. He was looking at me with the most serious look I had ever seen on a two-year-old before or since. And I knew the reason why. Cindy. It was the day of the second assassination attempt. In all the excitement I had completely forgotten. I slowly and very carefully took my hands off the key and left it where it was, trafficators blinking, oil and battery warning lights burning. I carefully unstrapped Friday, then, not wanting to open any of the doors, I climbed carefully out of the open top and took him with me. It was a close call.

'Thanks, baby, I owe you � but why did you wait until now to say anything?'

He didn't answer �just put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them innocently.

'Strong silent type, eh? Come on, wonder-boy, let's call SO-14.'

The police closed the road and the bomb squad arrived twenty minutes later, much to the excitement of the journalists and TV crews. They went live to the networks almost immediately, linking the bomb squad with my new job as the Mallets' manager, filling up any gaps in the story with speculation or, in one case, colourful invention.

The four pounds of explosives had been connected to the starter motor relay. One more second and Friday and I would have been knocking on the pearly gates. I was jumping up and down with impatience by the time I had given a statement. I didn't tell them this was the second of three assassination attempts, nor did I tell them there would be another attempt at the end of the week. But I wrote it on my hand so I wouldn't forget.