The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [271]
Fortunately, I did—and more fortunately still, it was one of the things that had survived the sideslip. I nodded excitedly.
“Good. Now, more important, do you know the make and model?”
“Hoover Electron 1000—no! 800 Deluxe—I think.”
“Think? You think? You’d better be sure, girl, or you and I will be nothing more than carved names on the Boojumorial! Now. Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said confidently. “Hoover Electron 800 Deluxe.”
She nodded, placed her hands on the tub icon and concentrated hard, teeth clenched and her face red with the effort. I took hold of her arm, and after a moment or two in which I could feel Miss Havisham shake with exertion, we had jumped out of the washing label and into the Hoover instructions.
“Don’tallow the drain hose to kink as this could stop the machine from emptying,” said a small man in a blue Hoover boiler suit standing next to a brand-new washing machine. We were standing in a sparkling clean washroom that was barely ten feet square. It had neither windows nor door—just a belfast sink, tiled floor, hot and cold inlet taps and a single plug on the wall. For furniture a bed was pushed against the corner, and next to it was a chair, table and cupboard.
“Doremember that to start a program you must pull out the program control knob. Sorry,” he said, “I’m being read at the moment. I’ll be with you in a sec. If you have selected white nylon, minimum iron, delicate or . . .”
“Thursday—!” said Miss Havisham, who suddenly seemed weak at the knees and whose face had turned the same color as her wedding dress. “That took quite some—”
I just managed to catch her as she collapsed; I gently laid her down on the small truckle bed.
“Miss Havisham? Are you okay?”
She patted my arm encouragingly, smiled and closed her eyes. I could see she was pleased with herself—even if the jump had worn her out.
I pulled the single blanket over her, sat on the edge of the low bed, pulled my hair tie out and rubbed my scalp. My trust in Havisham was implicit, but it was still a bit unnerving to be stuck in Hoover instructions.
“. . . until the drum starts to rotate. Your machine will emptyand spin to complete the program. . . . Hello!” said the man in the boiler suit. “The name’s Cullards—I don’t often get visitors!”
“Thursday Next,” I told him, shaking his hand. “This is Miss Havisham of Jurisfiction.”
“Goodness!” said Mr. Cullards, scratching his shiny bald head and smiling impishly. “Jurisfiction, eh? You are off the beaten track. The only visitor I’ve had was—excuse me— Control setting D: Whites economy, lightly soiled cotton or linen articles which are color-fast to boiling—was the time we had a new supplement regarding woolens—but that would have been six or seven months ago. Where does the time go?”
He seemed a cheerful enough chap. He thought for a moment and then said: “Would you like a cup of tea?”
I thanked him and he put the kettle on.
“So what’s the news?” asked Mr. Cullards, rinsing out his one and only cup. “Any idea when the new washing machines are due out?”
“I’m sorry,” I said, “I have no idea—”
“I’m about ready to move on to something a bit more modern. I started on vacuum cleaner instructions but was promoted to Hoovermatic T5004, then transferred to the Electron 800 after twin-tub obsolescence. They asked me to take care of the 1100 Deluxe, but I told them I’d sooner wait until the Logic 1300 came out.”
I looked around at the small room.
“Don’t you ever get bored?”
“Not at all!” said Cullards, pouring the hot water into the teapot. “Once I’ve put in my ten years I’m eligible to apply for work in all domestic appliance instructions: food mixers, liquidizers, microwaves—who knows, if I work really hard I could make it into television or wireless. That’s the future for an ambitious manual worker. Milk and sugar?”
“Please.”
He leaned closer.
“Management have this idea that only young ’uns should do Sound & Vision instructions, but they’re wrong. Most of the kids in VCR manuals barely do six months in Walkmans before they’re transferred. It’s little