He perked up when he heard this.
'This gets better and better! When I tell Ophelia, she'll flip — if she hasn't already.'
'Perhaps,' I said thoughtfully, 'you'd better see the Olivier version instead. Come on, we've work to do.'
'—their currents turn awry, And lose the name of action.'
The Will-Speak Hamlet stopped clicking and whirring and sat silent once more, waiting for the next florin.
5
Ham(let) and Cheese
'SEVEN WONDERS OF SWINDON' NAMING BUREAUCRACY UNVEILED
After five years of careful consideration, Swindon City Council has unveiled the naming procedure for the city's much-vaunted 'Seven Wonders' tourism plan. The twenty-seven-point procedure is the most costly and complicated piece of bureaucracy the city has ever devised and might even be included is one of the wonders itself. The plan will be undertaken by the Swindon Special Committee for Wonders which will consider applications prepared by the Seven Wonders Working Party from MX separate name selection subcommittees. Once chosen, the Wonders will be further scrutinized by eight different oversight committees, before being adopted. The byzantine and needlessly expensive system is already tipped to win the coveted 'Red Tape' award from Bureaucracy Today.
I drove to the car park above the Brunel Centre and bought a pay-and-display ticket, noting how they had almost tripled in price since I was here last. I looked in my purse. I had fifteen pounds, three shillings and an old Skyrail ticket.
'Short of cash?' asked Hamlet as we walked down the stairs to the street-level concourse.
'Let's just say I'm very "receipt rich" at present.' Money had never been a problem in the BookWorld. All the details of life were taken care of by something called 'Narrative Assumption'. A reader would assume you had gone shopping, or gone to the toilet, or brushed your hair, so a writer never needed to outline it — which was just as well, really. I'd forgotten all about the real-world trivialities, but I was actually quite enjoying them, in a mind-dulling sort of way.
'It says here,' said Hamlet, who had been reading the newspaper, 'that Denmark invaded England and put hundreds of innocent English citizens to death without trial!'
'It was the Vikings in 786, Hamlet. I hardly think that warrants the headline: "Bloodthirsty Danes Go on Rampage". Besides, at the time they were no more Danish than we were English.'
'So we're not the historical enemies of England?'
'Not at all.'
'And eating rollmop herrings won't lead to erectile dysfunction?'
'No. And keep your voice down. All these people are real, not D-7 generic crowd types. Out here, you only exist in a play.'
'Okay,' he said, stopping at an electronics shop and staring at the TVs. 'Who's she?'
'Lola Vavoom. An actress.'
'Really? Has she ever played Ophelia?'
'Many times.'
'Was she better than Helena Bonham Carter?'
'Both good — just different.'
'Different? What do you mean?'
'They both brought different things to the role.'
Hamlet laughed.
'I think you're confusing the matter, Thursday. Ophelia is just Ophelia.'
'Not out here. Listen, I'm just going to see how bad my overdraft is.'
'How you Outlanders complicate matters!' he murmured. 'If we were in a book right now you'd be accosted by a solicitor who tells you a wealthy aunt has died and left you lots of money — and then we'd just start the next chapter with you in London making your way to Kaine's office disguised as a cleaning woman.'
'Excuse me—!' said a suited gentleman who looked suspiciously like a solicitor. 'But are you Thursday Next?'
I glanced nervously at Hamlet.
'Perhaps.'
'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mr Wentworth of Wentworth, Wentworth and Wentworth, Solicitors. I'm the second Wentworth, if you're interested.'
'And?'
'And . . . I wonder if I could have your autograph? I followed your Jane Eyre escapade with a great deal of interest.'
I breathed a sigh of relief and signed his autograph book. Mr Wentworth thanked me and hurried off.
'You had me worried for a moment there,' said Hamlet. 'I thought I was meant to be the fictitious one.'
I smiled. 'You are, and don't you forget it.'
'Twenty-two thousand pounds?' I said to the cashier. 'Are you sure?'
The cashier looked at me with unblinking eyes, then at Hamlet, who was standing over me a bit indelicately.
'Quite sure. Twenty-two thousand, three hundred and eight pounds and four shillings three pence ha'penny — overdrawn,' she added, in case I had missed it. 'Your landlord sued you for dodo-related tenancy violations and won five thousand pounds. Since you weren't here we upped your credit limit when he demanded payment. Then we raised the limit again to pay for the additional interest.'
'How very thoughtful of you.'
'Thank you. Goliath First National Friendly always aim to please.'
'Are you sure you wouldn't rather go with the "wealthy aunt" scenario?' asked Hamlet, being no help at all.
'No. Shhh.'
'We haven't had a single deposit from you for nearly two and a half years,' continued the bank clerk.
'I've been away.'
'Prison?'
'No. So the rest of my overdraft is—?'
'Interest on the money we lent you, interest on the interest we lent you, letters asking for money that we know you haven't got, letters asking for an address that we knew wouldn't reach you, letters asking whether you got the letters we knew you hadn't received, further letters asking for a response because we have an odd sense of humour — you know how it all adds up! Can we expect a cheque in the near future?'
'Not really. Um — any chance of raising my credit limit?'
The cashier arched an eyebrow.
'I can get you an appointment to see the manager. Do you have an address to which we can send expensive letters demanding money?'
I gave them Muni's address and made an appointment to see the manager. We walked past the statue of Brunel and the Booktastic shop, which I noted was still open, despite several closing-down sales — one of which I had witnessed with Miss Havisham.
Miss Havisham. How I had missed her guidance in my first few months heading Jurisfiction. With her I might have avoided that whole stupid sock episode in Lake Wobegon Days.
'Okay, I give up,' said Hamlet quite suddenly. 'How does it all turn out?'
'How does what all turn out?'
He spread his arms out wide.
'All this. You, your husband, Miss Hamilton, the small dodo, that Superhoop thing and the big company — what's it called again?'
'Goliath?'
'Right. How does it all turn out?'
'I haven't the slightest idea. Out here our lives are pretty much an unknown quantity.'
Hamlet seemed shocked by the concept.
'How do you live here not knowing what the future might bring?'
'That's part of the fun. The pleasure of anticipation.'
'There is no pleasure in anticipation,' said Hamlet glumly. 'Except perhaps,' he added, 'in killing that old fool Polonius.'
'My point exactly,' I replied. 'Where you come from events are preordained and everything that happens to you has some sort of relevance farther on in the story.'
'It's clear you haven't read Hamlet for a— LOOK OUT!'
Hamlet pushed me out of the way as a small steamroller — of the size that works on sidewalks and paths — bore rapidly down on us and crashed past into the window of the shop we had been standing outside. The roller stopped amongst a large display of electrical goods, the rear wheels still rotating.