‘Well, I hope you don’t tell him that. Hopefully this whole experience will help him to see some sense.’
From where we stood I watched as Carol came out of the main door of the court building and began to work her way across the car-park, threading her way in between the parked cars. As I watched she gained the outer edge of the tarmac, moved on to the grass to avoid a gaggle of motorcycle couriers who were standing around their machines smoking, and headed off towards the main gates. I turned away from the window.
Jim came up to me, pulling off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. He was grinning broadly. He took in the group of us — Busner had now idled over — and launched into a rant.
‘Well, that fixed them. I thought about it and decided that what waiting had to be done could be done more profitably out here. I will go to prison eventually, but for the moment it’s more important that I improve my knowledge. For this opportunity I thank you all…’ He began to bow stiffly from the waist, but paused in mid-salaam, and looked round at us. ‘Where’s Carol, didn’t she come out with you?’
I glanced down into the car-park again. Carlos was looking up at me. His pink head was glowing faintly in the flat sunlight. A withered roll-up dribbled from his lip; his vinyl tabard rode up around his shoulders. I turned back to Jim. ‘Yeah, she was here Jim, but I think she got fed up with waiting.’
Footnotes
1 British Journal of Ephemera
2 British Journal of Ephemera
A Note on the Author
Will Self is the author of four collections of short stories (the first of which, The Quantity Theory of Insanity, won the 1992 Geoffrey Faber Memorial Award), five novels (of which How the Dead Live was shortlisted for the Whitbread Novel of the Year in 2002), and four non-fiction works. He is a regular broadcaster on television and radio and as a journalist a contributor to a plethora of publications. He lives in London with his wife and four children.