Something rotten

'You one-legged piece of crap,' I said at last, smiling with the relief, 'you did no such thing!'

'Had you going, though, didn't I?' He grinned.

Now I was angry.

'What did you want to go and make that stupid joke for? You know I'm armed and unstable!'

'It's no more stupid than your dopey yarn about me being eradicated!'

'It's not a dopey yarn.'

'It is. If I had been eradicated, then there wouldn't be any little boy . . .'

His voice trailed off and suddenly all our remonstrations dissipated as Friday became the centre of attention. Landen looked at Friday and Friday looked at Landen. I looked at both of them in turn, then, taking his fingers out of his mouth, Friday said:

'Bum.'

'What did he say?'

'I'm not sure. Sounds like a word he picked up from St Zvlkx.'

Landen pressed Friday's nose.

'Beep,' said Landen.

'Bubbies,' said Friday.

'Eradicated, eh?'

'Yes.'

'That must be the most preposterous story I have ever heard in my life.'

'I have no argument with that.'

He paused.

'Which I guess makes it too weird not to be true.'

We moved towards each other at the same time and I bumped into his chin with my head. There was a crack as his teeth snapped together and he yelped in pain — I think he had bitten his tongue. It was as Hamlet said. Nothing is ever slick and simple in the real world. He hated it for that reason — and I loved it.

'What's so funny?' he demanded.

'Nothing,' I replied, 'it's just something Hamlet said.'

'Hamlet? Here?'

'No — at Mum's. He was having an affair with Emma Hamilton, whose boyfriend Admiral Nelson attempted to commit suicide.'

'By what means?'

'The French navy.'

'No . . . no,' said Landen, shaking his head. 'Let's just stick with one ludicrously preposterous story at a time. Listen, I'm an author and I can't think up the sort of cr— I mean nonsense you get yourself into.'

Friday managed to squeeze off one shoe despite the best efforts of my double knots and was now tugging at his sock.

'Handsome fellow, isn't he?' said Landen after a pause.

'He takes after his father.'

'Nah — his mother. Is his finger stuck permanently up his nose?'

'Most of the time. It's called "The Search". An amusing little pastime that has kept small children entertained since the dawn of time. Enough, Friday.'

He took his finger out with an almost audible 'pop' and handed Landen his polar bear.

'Ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip.'

'What did he say?'

'I don't know,' I replied, 'it's something called Lorem Ipsum — a sort of quasi-Latin that typesetters use to make up blocks of realistic-looking type.'

Landen raised an eyebrow.

'You're not joking, are you?'

'They use it a lot in the Well of Lost Plots.'

'The what?'

'It's a place where all fiction is—'

'Enough!' said Landen, clapping his hands together. 'We can't have you telling ridiculous stories here on the front step. Come on in and tell me them inside.'

I shook my head and stared at him.

'What?'

'My mother said Daisy Mutlar was back in town.'

'She has a job here, apparently.'

Really?' I asked suspiciously. 'How do you know?'

'She works for my publisher.'

'And you haven't been seeing her''

'Definitely not!'

'Cross your heart, hope to die?'

He held up his hand.

'Scout's honour.'

'Okay,' I said slowly, 'I believe you.'

I tapped my lips.

'I don't come inside until I get one right here.'

He smiled and took me in his arms. We kissed very tenderly and I shivered.

'Consequat est laborum,' said Friday, joining in with the hug.

We walked into the house and I put Friday on the floor. His sharp eyes scanned the house for anything he could pull on top of himself.

'Thursday?'

'Yes?'

'Let's just say for reasons of convenience that I was eradicated.'

'Yuh?'

'Then everything that happened since the last time we parted outside the SpecOps building didn't really happen?'

I hugged him tightly.

'It did happen, Land. It shouldn't have, but it did.'

'Then the pain I felt was real?'

'Yes. I felt it too.'

'Then I missed you getting bulgy — got any pictures, by the way?'

'I don't think so. But play your cards right and I may show you the stretch marks.'

'I can hardly wait.'

He kissed me again and stared at Friday while an inane grin spread across his face.

'Thursday?'

'What?'

'I have a son!'

I decided to correct him.

'No — we have a son!'

'Right. Well,' he said, rubbing his hands together, 'I suppose you'd better have some supper. Do you still like fish pie?'

There was a crash as Friday found a vase in the living room to knock over. So I mopped it up while apologising, and Landen said it was okay but shut the doors of his office anyway. He made us both supper and I caught up with what he was doing while he wasn't eradicated — if that makes any sense at all — and I told him about Mrs Tiggy-Winkle, wordstorms, Melanie and all the rest of it.

'So a grammasite is a parasitic life form that lives inside books?'

'Pretty much.'

'And if you don't find a cloned Shakespeare then we lose Hamlet?'

'Yup.'

'And the Superhoop is inextricably linked to the avoidance of a thermonuclear war?'

'It is. Can I move back in?'

'I kept the sock drawer just how you liked it.'

I smiled.

'Alphabetically, left to right?'

'No, rainbow, violet to the right — or was that how Daisy liked— Ah! Just kidding! You have no sense of— Ah! Stop it! Get off! No! Ow!'

But it was too late. I had pinned him to the floor and was attempting to tickle him. Friday sucked his fingers and looked on, disgusted, while Landen managed to get out of my hands, roll round and tickle me, which I didn't like at all. After a while we just collapsed into a silly giggling mess.

'So, Thursday,' he said as he helped me off the floor, 'are you going to spend the night?'

'No.'

'No?'

'No. I'm moving in and staying for ever.'

We put Friday to bed in the spare room and made up a sort of cot for him. He was quite happy sleeping almost anywhere as long as he had his polar bear with him. He'd stayed over at Melanie's house and once at Mrs Tiggy-Winkle's, which was warm and snug and smelt of moss, sticks and washing powder. He had even slept on Treasure Island during a visit there I made last year to sort out the Ben Gunn goat problem — Long John had talked him to sleep, something he was very good at.

'Now then,' said Landen as we went to our room, 'a man's needs are many—'

'Let me guess! You want me to rub your back?'

'Please. Right there in the small where you used to do it so well. I've really missed that.'

'Nothing else?'

'No, nothing. Why, did you have something in mind?'

I giggled as he pulled me closer. I breathed in his scent. I could remember pretty well what he looked like and how he sounded, but not his smell. That was something that was instantly recognisable as soon I pressed my face into the folds of his shirt, and it brought back memories of courting, and picnics, and passion.

'I like your short hair,' said Landen.

'Well, I don't,' I replied, 'and if you ruffle it once more like that I may feel inclined to poke you in the eye.'