“I’ll have to take Sandra. She can’t manage on her own.”
“We’ll take Sandra. It will be like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and the woman on the crossbar of the bike whose name no one can remember.”
“Why should anyone want to remember the name of a bike?” I asked.
“Was that some sad attempt at humour?”
“Possibly,” I said and I finished my pint. “So what you’re saying is that we pull off this huge Big One this weekend, then have it away on our toes to Rio.”
“If you’re up for it.”
“I am,” I said. “I’m absolutely up for it.”
“Good,” said Dave. “I’m so very glad that you said that.”
I shrugged. “Fine,” I said.
“No,” said Dave. “I mean that I’m very glad. Because, you see, you can’t go back to work at the telephone exchange, even if you want to. So I’m glad. All’s well that ends well, or, we hope, will end well, eh?”
“Hold on,” I said. “Slow down. What are you saying?”
“I was certain that you’d say yes,” said Dave. “Which is why I’m here.”
“Yes, I can see that you’re here. What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m here. I’m here now. At this minute, no one’s manning the bulb booth, nor will do ever again.”
“What do you mean?” I asked once more, but with a different emphasis.
“Ah,” said Dave, cupping a hand to his ear. “Listen.”
I listened and from the distance I heard the sound of bells. And sirens too, as well as bells.
“Fire engines,” I said.
“Yes,” said Dave. “The telephone exchange is on fire.”
“It is?” I said. “How do you know?”
Dave looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
“Oh,” I said.
Dave grinned at me. “And when I say it’s on fire,” he continued, “I mean it’s really on fire. Someone disabled the sprinkler system and emptied a whole load of petrol all over room 23. And barricaded the doors before crawling out of a back window. Oh, and really vandalized the bulb booth. Really badly. Nicked the bulb and everything.” Dave delved into his pocket and brought out the bulb in question. It was the XP103. “Souvenir for you,” he said.
I took the bulb. It felt really weird in my hands. Like some kind of symbol or something. Something that meant something, but didn’t, but still did, or something.
I put the bulb down on the table. “You torched the place,” I said slowly.
Dave just nodded and grinned some more.
“You torched the telephone exchange. But why did you do it? Why?”
“Well,” said Dave, “I don’t know about you, but I really don’t want to work there any more.”
I looked at Dave.
And Dave looked at me.
And then we both began to laugh.
21
I’ve never been a pyromaniac. The wanton destruction of property has always been anathema to me. But Dave and I did leave the Golden Dawn to wander down and watch the blaze.
And it was a very good blaze. Much better than the taxicab. The telephone exchange really went up.
Dave kind of skulked in the shadows. And that was all for the best, because in the midst of the conflagration, when people were coming and going and fire-fighters were making free with their hoses, Mr Holland appeared on the scene and came up to me all in tears.
“This is terrible,” wept Mr Holland.
“It’s a bit of a surprise,” I said. “But that’s life for you, always full of surprises.”
“But the bulbsman,” wept Mr Holland, “that nice new chap who does the night shift. He must surely have perished in the flames.”
“Sad,” I said. “That is sad. Oh, look at that.” Certain explosions came from the seventeenth floor and policemen told us to get back to a safe distance.
“Tragedy,” wailed Mr Holland. “This is a tragedy. Oh God, this is so terrible.”
“Terrible,” I agreed. “But life must go on, I suppose.”
“My life is finished.” Mr Holland sniff-sniff-sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “That exchange was my life.”
“That is very sad,” said I.
Tears ran down Mr Holland’s face. “I know I’ve been hard on you,” he snivelled. “I know you must at times have hated me.”
I listened to him but I didn’t nod, even though he was absolutely right.
“But the exchange was my life. Workers are just workers – they can always be replaced. There’s always more. But the exchange is everything.”
“Was everything,” I corrected him.
“Tragedy,” wailed Mr Holland some more. “My life is over. I wish I could depart this vale of tears.”
“Come with me,” I told him kindly. “Let’s go somewhere quiet and private and discuss this.”
And so, as one might an old incontinent dog that had been the beloved family pet but was now making too much mess on the duvet, I put Mr Holland out of his misery.
It was a very quiet alleyway and when I was done I turned to find Dave grinning at me.
“You certainly take pleasure in your work,” he said.
“He made me pee my pants the first day I worked at the exchange,” I said. “I don’t know why I waited so long.”
“Because you’re such a great humanitarian, probably.”
And Dave and I laughed again.
“I’ll hole up at your place tonight if that’s OK,” said Dave. “Then first thing tomorrow we do Mornington Crescent.”
Now, OK, I know what you’re going to think about what happened next. You’re going to think that it was wrong and immoral and downright wicked. But it wasn’t really.
OK, Dave and I went back to my place. We had had a few drinks and then we had a few more to celebrate the end of the telephone exchange. And I got Sandra’s head out of the fridge and put it back on that nice, nubile, shapely young body that Dave and I had acquired from Harry’s/Peter’s world-famous night club. And then we got to joking around a bit. And I don’t know who suggested it first – I don’t think I did, because I love Sandra, so maybe it was Dave – but one of us suggested that it might be fun to have a threesome. And if it wasn’t me, and I don’t think it was, then I was probably swayed by Dave, who said that it wouldn’t really be having a threesome with Sandra per se, because the body wasn’t Sandra’s anyway, so if I just stuck to the top end and he stuck to the bottom end, where would be the harm in it? And we could always get Sandra a new body if we really messed up this one. So where was the harm in it?
And I had had a few drinks. And Dave was my bestest friend. And I’d always wondered just what it might be like to do that kind of thing. And I’d read that the rich and famous did it all the time.
And so we did it.
And I really quite enjoyed it.
And I know that Dave enjoyed it. There was no doubt about that, because he wanted to do it again quite soon after and I was too tired, so he did it on his own. Which wasn’t the same. But as he let me watch, it sort of was.
I don’t know whether Sandra enjoyed it.
Because I didn’t ask her.
We all woke up at around ten o’clock in the morning. Because of all the banging on the front door. Dave went to see what was going on and he came back quite quickly. He only said four words to me, but they were enough.
“Police,” said Dave. “Back door. Run.”
I got Sandra up off the floor and we headed for the back door. We struggled off down the alleyway and made our escape.