Part 5 (1/2)

But now, in the harsh light of day, doubts crept in. Could the lure of s.e.x overcome his fear of danger? And what exactly were his prospects in that quarter? Agnes seemed to like him well enough, but how much was that? A little? A lot? Enough to have s.e.x with him on a train?

He imagined meeting her on the platform, imagined her red-eyed and fl.u.s.tered, imagined her face brightening at his arrival, imagined them alone in the small, old-fas.h.i.+oned compartment, the train half-empty. She would confess her unhappiness. In his mind, casual affection became suppressed pa.s.sion; she would admit lying awake all night, unable to sleep, burning with desire for... for...

He stopped at a corner, waited for the traffic to notice him, and crossed.

She'd be suddenly shy.

A bomb would... no!

He imagined himself masterful, seductive. She would look at him in a certain pleading way and at that moment no words would be necessary. Her mouth would soften and her eyes widen, and she would lift her hand to his cheek, and then he would kiss her, softly at first and then pa.s.sionately, harder than she might have expected from someone young and inexperienced like him, kiss her until she pulled away and begged, Justin, don't. But he wouldn't listen, and she wouldn't really want him to, and one thing would lead to another and then he would be pulling open the b.u.t.tons of her s.h.i.+rt, pus.h.i.+ng up her skirt, sliding his hand up between her thighs to feel the soft warm curve of her, her, you know.

He jostled a young woman, sending her mobile phone cras.h.i.+ng to the pavement. 'Excuse me,' he muttered as she glared at him. He hurried on, head down.

Agnes would look at him hungrily, moan in his arms, Oh G.o.d, Justin, stop, we can't, you're too young! but they would not stop. He could feel her lips on his ear, whispering in a voice strangely coa.r.s.e: Oooh, Justin, ram it to me hard WHACK.

And then he was on the ground, disorientated and half-conscious. For a moment he felt no pain at all, but a few seconds later it made its appearance, radiating outwards from his forehead, now so intense it made his stomach heave. He had to lie down to stop himself pitching headlong on the wildly spinning ground.

Oh G.o.d, he thought feebly, that voice!

A crowd began to gather. Boy whimpered and rested his muzzle in the crook of Justin's neck.

Justin thought: a sniper. I've been shot.

He struggled to a sitting position, feeling for the sticky wetness oozing from a bullet hole in his forehead. Someone's hands were behind him, on his shoulders, supporting him gently. He forced his eyes to focus, desperately sweeping the crowd for the hit man, the smoking gun tossed away in the gutter.

There was nothing. No blood. No bullet hole. No murder weapon. Nothing, except...

A lamp post.

He had walked into an iron lamp post. The impact had nearly knocked his face through the back of his head.

An old lady prodded him with her walking stick. 'What's the matter, moron, you blind?'

Behind Justin a younger girl, soft-featured and st.u.r.dy, with thick brown hair and the same eyes as Peter, supported him until he could sit up on his own. She stood for a moment, head slightly c.o.c.ked, listening to the silent whirr of confusion that emanated from his brain like a badly played song.

No wonder he walks into things, she thought.

Then she leant down, gave Boy a pat, smoothed her skirt over grazed, chubby knees and slipped into a pocket of the crowd. She wondered when their paths would cross again.

Back on the pavement, time slowed to a wow-wowing 15 rpm as Justin accepted the arm of a stocky middle-aged woman with a buggy, stood up shakily and, with his dog at his side, resumed his journey.

15.

At the station he described the incident to Agnes. She examined the lump on his head. 'You didn't just accidentally walk into a lamp post?'

'Yes, of course I did.' Justin was impatient. 'But it wasn't just me, I felt him, he was directing me. I heard his voice.'

'What did he say?'

Justin avoided her eyes. 'I don't remember. But it was horrible. Like he was jeering at me.'

'You sure it wasn't just some kid walking nearby?'

'You think I'm suffering from aural hallucinations?' His throbbing head made him cross.

'Don't put words in my mouth.'

The train pulled up to the platform with a screech.

'Come on,' she said. 'This is us.'

The train was too crowded for them to sit together and Justin felt relieved. It wasn't the moment for a seduction. Not with a purple lump the size of a baby's fist growing out of his forehead.

He gazed through the window at the desultory stretch of countryside that lay between Luton and London. From across the carriage he could hear the click click click of Agnes's camera.

I spy a Barratt House. I spy a mad cow. I spy a field full of pesticides. I spy a bird with a broken wing. I spy...

He spied a bedraggled old donkey standing motionless in a chewed-over held, its back swayed, its head drooping. To his horror, he felt his eyes fill with tears.

In the reflection of the window he could see a girl staring at him.

He turned to the seat diagonally across and glanced nervously at its occupant. She had short thick legs, a short thick torso, pale blonde hair and large pixie ears. She had unfolded a map of London and stretched it out on the huge rucksack that leant on her knee. She smiled at him.

'Excuse me,' she said to Justin in heavily accented English. 'Do you know how I will be finding Victoria Station?'

He took the map she offered and studied it carefully. He had no better idea how to get around London than she had, but felt a host's obligation to offer a.s.sistance.

'I'm afraid I don't know,' he said at last, handing it back.

'Maybe together we can be finding it, yes?' She looked up at him through pale, thin lashes.

'I'm with my friend,' Justin explained weakly, pointing at Agnes.

The girl craned her neck to get a look at the compet.i.tion. Agnes smiled encouragingly and photographed them both. The girl turned back to Justin, disappointed.

'Oh well. Next time maybe?'

Justin nodded as they pulled into the station. He jumped up and squeezed past the transfer pa.s.sengers with their huge suitcases, catching up with Agnes on the platform.

'So,' she said. 'Who's your girlfriend?'

'You mean Frodo?'

'Don't be cruel. She fancied you. It's working.'

'What's working?'