Part 35 (1/2)

'I'm sorry, Thursday. Havisham was one of the best; we all thought the world of her.'

I thanked him.

'You might be interested in these copies of reports from Text Grand Central.'

'What are they?'

He placed them on the table in front of me.

'They are the UltraWord reports written by Perkins, Deane and Miss Havisham. They all give it the thumbs-up. If Perkins was was murdered, it wasn't because of UltraWord.' murdered, it wasn't because of UltraWord.'

'The Ultimate Reading Experience?'

'Looks like it. A modern system like this needs people like you to police it, Next. I want you to consider a permanent post here inside fiction.'

I looked up at him. This seemed to me like rather a good idea. After all, there was no one waiting for me back at Swindon.

'Sounds good, Tweed. Can I sleep on it?'

He smiled.

'Take as long as you want.'

I went back to Mary's flying boat and read over what Miss Havisham had done with her final scene in Great Expectations Great Expectations. A professional to the last, she had enacted her own death with a sensitivity and fallibility that I had never seen her exhibit in life. I found a bottle of wine, poured myself a large gla.s.s and drank it gratefully. Oddly I thought there was a reason why perhaps I shouldn't shouldn't be drinking, but couldn't think what it was. I looked at my hand where there had been a name written that morning. Havisham had instructed me to scrub it out, and I had but even so I was intrigued and tried to figure out from the small marks still visible what had been written there. be drinking, but couldn't think what it was. I looked at my hand where there had been a name written that morning. Havisham had instructed me to scrub it out, and I had but even so I was intrigued and tried to figure out from the small marks still visible what had been written there.

'Lisbon,' I muttered. 'Why would I write ”Lisbon” on my hand?'

I shrugged. The delicate red was a welcome friend and I poured another gla.s.s. I pulled out the UltraWord copy of The Little Prince The Little Prince that Havisham had given me and opened the cover. There was an odd smell of melons about the book and the paper felt like a sort of thin plastic, the letters a harsh black against the milky-white pages. The text glowed in the dim light of the kitchen and, intrigued, I took the book into the darkness of the utility cupboard, where the text was still as clear as day. I returned to my place at the table and tried the that Havisham had given me and opened the cover. There was an odd smell of melons about the book and the paper felt like a sort of thin plastic, the letters a harsh black against the milky-white pages. The text glowed in the dim light of the kitchen and, intrigued, I took the book into the darkness of the utility cupboard, where the text was still as clear as day. I returned to my place at the table and tried the read sensitive read sensitive preferences page, the words changing from red to blue as I read them, then back again as I reread them. In this manner I turned the PageGlow feature on and off, and then played with the levels of the background and music tracks. preferences page, the words changing from red to blue as I read them, then back again as I reread them. In this manner I turned the PageGlow feature on and off, and then played with the levels of the background and music tracks.

I started to read the book, and as the first words entered my head a huge panoply of new emotions opened up. As I read the sequence in the desert I could hear the sound of the wind over the dunes and even the heat and taste of the scorched sands. The voice of the narrator was different to that of the prince, and no dialogue tags were needed to differentiate them. It was, as Libris had a.s.serted, an extraordinary piece of technology. I shut the book, leaned back on my chair and closed my eyes.

There was a tap at the door.

I bade my visitor enter. It was Arnold.

'h.e.l.lo!' he said. 'Can I come in?'

'Make yourself at home,' I replied. 'Drink?'

'Thank you.'

He sat down and smiled at me. I'd never really noticed it before but he was quite handsome.

'Where's everyone else?' he asked, looking around.

'Out somewhere,' I replied, waving a hand in the direction of the boat and feeling a bit dizzy. 'Lola's probably under her latest beau, Randolph is doubtless complaining to someone about it and I've no idea where Gran is. Have a drink?'

'You've already poured one.'

'So I have. What brings you here, Arnie?'

'Just pa.s.sing. How are things at work?'

's.h.i.+t. Miss Havisham is dying and something is wrong I just don't know what.'

'I've heard Outlanders sometimes go through a period of ”imagination freefall” when they start trying to create plot lines out of nothing. You'll settle down to it, I shouldn't worry. Congratulations, by the way,'

he added. 'I read about your appointment in the paper.'

I held up my gla.s.s in salute, and we both drank.

'So what's the deal with you and Mary?' I asked.

'Over for a long time. She thinks I'm a loser and-'

'Tells you to go to h.e.l.l. Yes, I've heard. What about Lola? Have you slept with her yet?'

'No!'

'You must be the only bloke in Caversham Heights Caversham Heights who hasn't,' I declared. 'Do you want another drink?' who hasn't,' I declared. 'Do you want another drink?'

'Okay. What about you?' he asked. 'Tell me about your husband in the Outland.'

'I don't have a husband,' I told him, 'never did.'

'You told me-'

'Probably one of those ”push off” comments we girls sometimes use. There was this guy named Snood in the ChronoGuard but that was a long time ago. He suffered a time aggre-ge-ga-gation.'

'A what?'

'He got old before his time. He died.'

I felt confused all of a sudden and looked at the winegla.s.s and the half-empty bottle of wine.

'What's the matter, Thursday?'

'Oh nothing. You know when you suddenly have a memory of something and you don't know why a sort of flashback of flashback?'

He smiled.

'I don't have many memories, Thursday, I'm a Generic. I could have had a backstory but I wasn't considered important enough.'

'Is that a cat? I mean, is that a fact? Well, I just thought about the White Horse in Uffington back home.

Soft warm gra.s.sland and blue skies, warm sun on my face. Why would I have done that?'

'I have no idea. Don't you think you've had enough to drink?'

'I'm fine,' I told him. 'Right as rain. Never better. What's it like being a Generic?'