I don’t know, mate, but it’s down to you. They talk about the shrinks, the minders, the trickcyclists … And Clint had always feared such an investigation: he wondered what else they’d find … But you can’t go any further, not down this road. You’ve got to open your head, and let them in.
‘Absolutely glorious weather,’ said Heaf. ‘Today, London will be hotter than Dubai. What we’ll have here is a café society. Like on the Continent.’
Clint said, ‘The big news climatewise, they’re saying, is the Ice Age. Which is coming up. After uh, ten thousand years of decent weather, muck out the igloo, boys, and hunker down for ninety millennia of frostbite.’
‘… Then maybe global warming isn’t such a bad thing after all!’
‘Yeah, they’re saying — yeah: but if you wet your pants at the beginning of a blizzard, it won’t keep you warm for very long. You’re obviously in a brilliant mood, Chief?’
‘Well. Yes, well, it’s true. I can’t be unhappy today.’
Everyone turned to the masterscreen. This was showing the four-second loop of the Princess. Each man present had watched it a couple of hundred times; and the room fell silent as they watched it yet again. The first second: supine in the white bath, the Princess is rhythmically spooning water on to her throat with her left hand. The second second: she pauses, as if to listen; the splashing, the lapping of the water — this has ceased. The third second: she sits up suddenly. The fourth second: she turns her head to the right as her body rotates through ninety degrees, causing the water to slide and swirl across her cocked hip. Then black.
‘For us, that’s a licence to print money,’ said Mackelyne. ‘If the gagging order holds. They can download it themselves but it’s not the same. Our wankers’ll want something to keep — to cherish. And that’s what we’ll give them.’
‘Hold your fire, Mack.’ Heaf joined his hands behind the back of his neck and said conversationally, ‘Donna Strange opened an abortion clinic in Belfast — today at noon … There were protestors, of course, and it was covered on local TV. Donna looked radiant.’
Supermaniam said, ‘What about the black eye and the split lip?’
‘No trace of either.’ Heaf added brightly, ‘We can always claim she put makeup on it.’
‘What, makeup on the makeup?’ said Clint. ‘I can see why you’re not bothered, Chief. After all, April Fool’s Day is only three and a half months off. We can say we jumped the gun.’
Heaf guffawed with his head thrown back. He reached across the table for a tasselled folder, saying, ‘From Tulkinghorn, Summerson and Nice, no less. It seems that we are now faced with the legal question of whether our photocaptions constitute a uh, “an incitement to masturbation”.’ He held up a clipping between finger and thumb. ‘“Does Steffi give you a stiffi? Roll your sleeve up, son, and get to work!” Or the following, from your Blinkie Bob Video Review, Clint. “You’ll be needing a box of tissues for this one (make that a mansize!). And I don’t mean it’s a weepie.”’
‘Tulkinghorn, Summerson and Nice,’ said Clint. ‘Don’t they represent the Walthamstow Wanker?’
‘They do. You see, the “erotic material” being consulted at the public baths on that fateful day was nothing other than the Morning Lark. So the Walthamstow Wanker …’
‘Is a wanker! You’re doing my bonce in here, Chief. Tell you what. Can I have a month’s holiday starting tomorrow?’
‘Course you can, dear boy. The thing is, none of this matters, journalistically, because everyone pretends we’re not a newspaper. Well all that is about to change.’
Heaf stood. They waited.
‘I’m late, I’m late,’ he sang, ‘for a very important date …’
‘Where at, Chief?’
‘At Number Ten Downing Street. By order of the King.’
‘… They’ll gag you. They’ll gag you, Chief.’
‘Maybe they will, maybe they will. Uh, what did we have in mind for tomorrow?’
Supermaniam unfurled the mockup. It said: ‘Souvenir Issue * The Little Princess Frame By Frame * FUTURE Q. OF E. GANGF**KED ON CAMERA??’
‘Mm. Await my call. That may need some toning down.’
‘If you feel strongly about it, Chief,’ said Clint, ‘we’ll add another question mark.’
It came through when he was back at his workstation and talking to the travel people, Virtually There. It said:
fl@ e, 49 m@tock est8, n7
dear clint: @ last — the dex r clearing! he’s not a gr8 hint-taker, orl&o, & he hasn’t noticed i’ve stopped talking 2 him. but he has noticed i’ve stopped making his t. ‘y don’t u make my t any more?’ & i say, ‘you can make your own bloody t!’ but he’s as obstin8 as a mule. th@’s the word 4 him: asi9. he still wants 6 every nite, but i’ve got a new str@agem: not washing. let’s c how long he can st& the s10ch! … a whole new future is opening up 4 me now. a new 2morrow, clint. my thoughts & hopes r turning 2wards some1 else — some1 not a 1,000 miles from where u st&, my v dear friend. on our first d8, whenever th@ may b, if we feel like a cuddle, y the 1 not! but th@ doesn’t have 2 lead 2 anything but sleep, & in the morning i’ll make the t! still, i think it’s a good thing 4 u 2 take a journey 2 distant 1&s — 2 reflect, 2 ponder, 2 rumin8. i shall be w8ing here 4 u — like a nun, a noviti8, ready 2 become a bride of X! well, dear 1, i kiss your h&s. fare 4th, & find the lite! k8.
So on his last Sunday before jetting off, Clint drove to N7: just to reconnoitre, and maybe catch a glimpse. Trapped in traffic on Parkway, and gazing out, he noticed a smart-looking woman whom he thought you’d call fanciable, despite the doublepram she wielded. As he watched, she pulled up short, came round in front of the two nippers — and crouched, in earnest interchange. Shit: if he’d been in a normal car, instead of the Avenger, he’d have been able to see right up her skirt. Clint moved on.
‘Start again. He what?’ said Russia Meo.
‘He hugged me too hard,’ said Billie.
‘Start again. Where was Imaculada?’
‘In the kitchen with Baba. I went out to the shed where Daddy was and we saw the fox on the roof.’
‘You saw the fox through the skylight? Through the glass? And then?’
‘I couldn’t breathe. Daddy hugged me too hard.’
* * *
February 14 (12.25 p.m.): 101 Heavy
The man in 2A returned to his seat. The woman in 2B, Reynolds Traynor, said,
‘Why do you keep doing that? Don’t look so stricken. You’re making me nervous.’
‘It’s just a precaution.’
‘Relax. Have a drink. Flying’s safe. It’s safer than walking.’
‘Depends how you figure it. Per passenger-mile — right. But if you figure it per journey, it’s about the same as motorcycling.’
‘… When you grope your way up and down the cabin — why do you keep doing that?’
‘It’s so I can get to the emergency doors with my eyes shut. In case of smoke. Only I’d be doing it on my knees. More oxygen. Avoid the flashover. Twenty-two per cent of aviation fatalities are caused by fire.’
‘Really.’
‘Second only to blunt trauma.’
Flight Engineer Hal Ward: Ah, that’s better. I am a whole new hombre … If, as they say, you can judge the health of a carrier by the age of the flight attendants, then you’re in okay shape.
First Officer Nick Chopko: That’s because they’re all dead by the time they’re thirty-five. This is CigAir, pal.