The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [188]
I paced the room in a flurry of nerves. If I hadn’t introduced this Miles bloke to Mum, then it was quite likely he wasn’t that serious; yet if he did leave his gear here then it undoubtedly was. I had an idea and rummaged in the bedside table and found a packet of unopened condoms which were three years out of date. I breathed a sigh of relief. This did sound more like me—unless Miles brought his own, of course—but then if I had a bun in the oven, then finding them was immaterial, as we didn’t use them. Or perhaps the clothes weren’t Miles’s at all? And what about my memories? If they had survived, then surely Landen’s share in Junior-to-be had also survived. I sat down on the bed and pulled out my hair tie. I ran my fingers through my hair, flopped backwards, covered my face and groaned—long and loud.
11.
Granny Next
Young Thursday came that morning, as I knew she would. She had just lost Landen, as I had lost my own husband all those years ago. She had youth and hope on her side, and although she did not yet know it, she had plenty of what we call the Other Stuff. She would, I hoped, use it wisely. At the time not even her own father knew quite how important she was. More than Landen’s life would depend on her. All life would depend on her, from the lowliest paramecium to the most complex life form that would ever exist.
From papers discovered in ex–SpecOps agent Next’s effects
ITOOK PICKWICK to the park first thing in the morning. Perhaps it would be better to say that she took me—she was the one who knew the way. She played coyly with a few other dodos while I sat on a park bench. A crotchety old woman sat next to me and turned out to be Mrs. Scroggins, who lived directly below. She told me not to make so much noise in future, and then, without drawing breath, gave me a few extremely useful tips about smuggling pets in and out of the building. I picked up a copy of The Owl on the way home and was just crossing the road back to my apartment when a patrol car drew up beside me and the driver rolled down his window. It was Officer “Spike” Stoker of SpecOps-17—the Vampire and Werewolf Disposal Operation, or Suckers and Biters as they preferred to call themselves. I helped him out once on a vampire stakeout; dealing with the undead is not a huge barrel of fun, but I liked Spike a great deal.
“Hey, Thursday, word is you lipped Flanker.”
“Good news travels fast, doesn’t it? But he got the last laugh—I’m suspended.”
He switched off the engine and thought about this for a moment.
“If the shit hits the fan I can offer you some freelance staking for cash at Suckers and Biters; the minimum entry requirements have been reduced to ‘anyone mad enough to join me.’ ”
I sighed.
“Sorry, Spike. I can’t. Not right now. I’ve got husband troubles.”
“You’re married? When?”
“Exactly,” I said, showing him my empty ring finger. “ Someone eradicated my husband.”
Spike hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand.
“Bastards. I’m sorry to hear that, but listen, it’s not the end of the world. A few years back my uncle Bart was eradicated. Someone goofed and left some memories of him with my aunt. She lodged an appeal and had him reactualized a year later. Thing is, I never knew I had an uncle after he left, and never knew he had gone when he came back—I’ve only my aunt’s word that it ever happened at all. Does any of this make any sense to you?”
“Twenty-four hours ago it would have sounded insane. Right now it seems—stop that, Pickwick!—as clear as day.”
“Hmm,” murmured Spike. “You’ll get him back, don’t worry. Listen: I wish