The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [383]
“There must be something we can do!”
Jack thought for a moment. “No, Thursday. It’s over. I’m calling it.”
“Hang on. What if we come in again, but instead of us both walking up the stairs, you start at the top, meet me coming up and explain what you have just found out. We jump straight from there to chapter eight and . . . you’re looking at me a bit oddly.”
“Mary—”
“Thursday.”
“Thursday. That would make chapter seven only a page long!”
“Better than nothing.”
“It won’t work.”
“Vonnegut does it all the time.”
He sighed. “Okay. Lead on, maestro.”
I smiled and we jumped back three pages.
Reading, Tuesday. It had been raining all night and the rain-washed streets reflected the dour sky. Mary was late and she met Jack walking down the stairway from an upstairs gymnasium, his feet ringing on the iron treads.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Mary, “I had a puncture. Did you meet up with your contact?”
“Y-es,” replied Jack. “Had you visited the gym—which you haven’t of course—you would have found it a lugubrious place that smells of sweat and dreams, where hopefuls try to spar their way out of Reading’s underclass.”
“Who were you seeing?” asked Mary as they walked back to her car.
“Mickey Finn, ex-boxer with scarred eyes and a tremor to match. He told me that Hawkins was involved with Davison’s master plan. There is talk of a big shipment coming in on the fifth and he also let slip that he was going to see Jethro—the importance of which I won’t understand until later.”
“Anything else?” asked Mary, looking thoughtful.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure you’re sure?”
“Er . . . No, wait. I’ve just remembered. There was this young kid there up for his first fight. It could make him. Mickey said he was the best he’d ever seen—he could be a contender.”
“Sounds like you had a busy morning,” said Mary, looking up at the gray sky.
“The busiest,” answered Jack, pulling up his jacket around his shoulders. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch.”
The chapter ended and Jack covered his face with his hands and groaned.
“I can’t believe I said ‘the importance of which I won’t understand until later.’ They’ll never buy it. It’s rubbish!”
“Listen,” I said, “stop fretting. It’ll be fine. We just have to hold the book together long enough to figure out a rescue plan.”
“What have we to lose?” replied Jack with a good measure of stoicism. “You get up to Jurisfiction and see what you can find out about the Book Inspectorate. I’ll hold a few auditions and try to rebuild the scene from memory.”
He paused.
“And, Thursday?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
I drove back to the flying boat. Having said I wasn’t going to get involved with any internal politics, I was surprised by how much of a kinship with Caversham Heights I was feeling. Admittedly, the book was pretty dreadful, but it was no worse than the average Farquitt—perhaps I felt this way because it was my home.
“Are we going shopping now?” asked Lola, who had been waiting for me. “I need something to wear for the BookWorld Awards the week after next.”
“Are you invited?”
“We all are,” she breathed excitedly. “It’s going to be quite an event!”
“It certainly will,” I said, going upstairs. Lola followed me and watched from my bed as I changed out of Mary’s clothes.
“You’re quite important at Jurisfiction, aren’t you?”
“Not really,” I replied, trying to do up my trouser button and realizing that it was tighter than normal. “Blast!” I said.
“What?”
“My trousers are too small.”
“Shrunk?”
“No . . .” I stared into the mirror. There was no doubt about it. I was starting to put on a small amount of girth. I stared at it this way and that and Lola did the same, trying to figure out what I was looking at.
Catalog shopping from the inside was a lot more fun than I had thought. Lola squeaked with delight