The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [406]
“Kind of. I’ve heard Outlanders sometimes go through a period of ‘imagination free fall’ where they start trying to create plotlines out of nothing. You’ll settle down to it, I shouldn’t worry. Congratulations, by the way, I read about your appointment in the paper.”
I held up my glass 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 hell. Yes, I’ve heard. What about Lola? Have you slept with her yet?”
“No!”
“You must be the only bloke in Caversham Heights who hasn’t. Do you want another drink?”
“Okay.”
“What about you? Tell me about your husband in the Outland.”
“I don’t have a husband, 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. Agg-era. Aggreg—”
“A what?”
“He got old before his time. He died.”
I felt confused all of a sudden and looked at the wineglass 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?”
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 grassland 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. Right as rain. Never better. What’s it like being a Generic?”
“It’s not bad.” He took another swig of wine. “Promotion to a better or new part is always there if you are diligent enough and hang out at the Character Exchange. I miss having a family—that must be good.”
“My mum is a hoot, and Dad doesn’t exist—he’s a time-traveling knight-errant—don’t laugh—and I have two brothers. They both live in Swindon. One’s a priest and the other . . .”
“Is what?”
I felt confused again. It was probably the wine. I looked at my hand. “I don’t know what he does. We haven’t spoken in years.”
There was another flashback, this time of the Crimea.
“This bottle’s empty,” I muttered, trying to pour it.
“You have to take the cork out first. Allow me.”
Arnold fumbled with the corkscrew and drew the cork after a lot of effort. I think he was drunk. Some people have no restraint.
“What do you think of the Well?” he asked.
“It’s all right. Life here is pretty good for an Outlander. No bills to pay, the weather is always good and best of all—no Goliath, SpecOps or my mother’s cooking.”
“SpecOps can cook?”
I giggled stupidly and so did he. Within a few seconds we had both collapsed in hysterics. I hadn’t laughed like this for ages.
The laughter stopped.
“What were we giggling about?” asked Arnold.
“I don’t know.”
And we collapsed in hysterics again.
I recovered and took another swig of wine. “Do you dance?”
Arnie looked startled for a moment. “Of course.”
I took him by the hand and led him through into the living room, found a record and put it on the turntable. I placed my hands on his shoulders and he placed his hands on my waist. It felt odd and somehow wrong, but I was past caring. I had lost a good friend that day and deserved a little unwinding.
The music began and we swayed to the rhythm. I had danced a lot in the past, which must have been with Filbert Snood, I supposed.
“You dance well for someone with one leg, Arnie.”
“I have two legs, Thursday.”
And we burst out laughing again. I steadied myself on him and he steadied himself on the sofa. Pickwick looked on and ruffled her feathers in disgust.
“Do you have a girl in the Well, Arnie?”
“Nobody,” he said slowly, and I moved my cheek against his, found his mouth and kissed him, gently and without ceremony. He began to pull away, then stopped and returned the kiss. It felt