The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [490]
“So who is killing Nelson?”
“Well, it’s Nelson himself. Don’t ask me why. Now, what did you want to see me about?”
I had to think carefully. “Well . . . nothing, really. I met you three hours ago and you said we’d spoken, so I came here to find you, so then I suppose I should ask you to figure out who’s trying to kill me this morning, which you wouldn’t have been able to do if I hadn’t met you this morning, and I only met you this morning because I’ve just told you right now I might be assassinated. . . .”
Dad laughed. “It’s a bit like having a tumble dryer in your head, Sweetpea. Sometimes I don’t know whether I’m thening or nowing. But I’d better check this assassin out, just in case.”
“Yes,” I said, more confused than ever, “I suppose you should.”
9.
Eradications Anonymous
Goliath Backs Kaine and Whig Party
The Goliath Corporation yesterday renewed its support for Chancellor Kaine at a party to honor England’s leader. At a glittering dinner attended by over five hundred heads of commerce and governmental departments, Goliath pledged to continue its support of the Chancellor. In a reply speech, Mr. Kaine gratefully acknowledged their support and announced a package of measures designed to assist Goliath in the difficult yet highly desirable change to its faith-based corporate status, as well as funding for several ongoing weapons programs, details of which have been classified.
Article in The Toad, July 13, 1988
Hamlet and I arrived home to find a TV news crew from Swindon-5 waiting for me outside the house.
“Miss Next,” said the reporter. “Can you tell us where you’ve been these past two years?”
“No comment.”
“You can interview me,” said Hamlet, realizing he was something of a celebrity out here.
“And who are you?” asked the reporter, mystified.
I stared at him and his face fell.
I’m . . . I’m . . . her cousin Eddie.”
“Well, Cousin Eddie, can you tell us where Miss Next has been for the past two years?”
“No comment.”
And we walked up the garden path to the front door.
“Where have you been?” demanded my mother as we walked in the door.
“Sorry I’m late, Mum—how’s the little chap?”
“Tiring. He says that his aunt Mel is a gorilla who can peel bananas with her feet while hanging from the light fixtures.”
“He talked?”
Friday was using the time-honored international child signal to be picked up—raising his arms in the air—and when I did so, gave me a wet kiss and started to chatter away unintelligibly.
“Well, he didn’t exactly say as much,” admitted Mum, “but he drew me a picture of Aunt Mel, which is pretty conclusive.”
“Aunt Mel a gorilla?” I laughed, looking at the picture, which was unequivocally of . . . well, a gorilla. “Quite an imagination, hasn’t he?”
“I’d say. I found him standing on the sideboard ready to swing from the curtains. When I told him it wasn’t allowed, he pointed to the picture of Aunt Mel, which I took to mean that she used to let him.”
“Does she, now? I mean, did he, now?”
Pickwick walked in looking very disgruntled and wearing a bonnet made of cardboard and held together with sticky tape.
“Pickwick’s a very tolerant playmate,” said my mother, who was obviously not that skilled at reading dodo expressions.
“I really need to get him into a play group. Did you change his nappy?”
“Three times. It just goes straight through, doesn’t it?”
I sniffed at the leg of his dungarees. “Yup. Straight through.”
“Well, I’ve got my auto-body work group to attend to,” she said, putting on her hat and taking her handbag and welding goggles from the peg, “but you’d better sort out some more reliable child care, my dear. I can do the odd hour here and there, but not whole days—and I certainly