The Eyre Affair_ A Novel - Jasper Fforde [535]
Article in The Toad, July 15, 1988
You did what?”
“Well, you did vanish without a trace—what was I meant to do?”
I couldn’t believe it. The little scumbag had sought solace in the arms of a miserable cow who wasn’t good enough to carry his bag, let alone be his wife. I stared at him, speechless. I think my mouth might even have dropped open at that point, and I was just wondering whether I should burst into tears, kill him with my bare hands, slam the door, scream, swear or all of the above at the same time when I noticed that Landen was doing that thing he does when he’s trying not to laugh.
“You one-legged piece of crap,” I said at last, smiling with relief, “you did no such thing!”
“Had you going though, didn’t I?” He grinned.
Now I was angry.
“What do you want to go and do that stupid joke for? You know I’m armed and unstable!”
“It’s no more stupid than your dopey yarn about me being eradicated!”
“It’s not a dopey yarn.”
“It is. If I had been eradicated, then there wouldn’t be any little boy. . . .”
His voice trailed off, and suddenly all our remonstrations vanished as Friday became the center of attention. Landen looked at Friday, and Friday looked at Landen. I looked at both of them in turn. Then, taking his fingers out of his mouth, Friday said:
“Bum.”
“What did he say?”
“I’m not sure. Sounds like a word he picked up from St. Zvlkx.”
Landen pressed Friday’s nose. “Beep,” said Landen.
“Bubbies,” said Friday.
“Eradicated, eh?”
“Yes.”
“That must be the most preposterous story I have ever heard in my life.”
“I have no argument with that.”
He paused. “Which I guess makes it too weird not to be true.”
We moved towards each other at the same time, and I bumped into his chin with my head. There was a crack as his teeth snapped together, and he yelped in pain—I think he had bitten his tongue. It was as Hamlet said. Nothing is ever slick and simple in the real world. He hated it for that reason—and I loved it.
“What’s so funny?” Landen demanded.
“Nothing,” I replied. “It’s just something Hamlet said.”
“Hamlet? Here?”
“No—at Mum’s. He was having an affair with Emma Hamilton, whose boyfriend, Admiral Nelson, seems to be trying to commit suicide.”
“By what means?”
“The French navy.”
“No . . . no,” said Landen, shaking his head. “Let’s just stick with one ludicrously preposterous story at a time. Listen, I’m an author and I can’t think up the sort of cr—I mean, nonsense you get yourself into.”
Friday managed to squeeze off one shoe despite the best attention of my double knots and was now tugging at his sock.
“Handsome fellow, isn’t he?” said Landen after a pause.
“He takes after his father.”
“Nah—his mother. Is his finger stuck permanently up his nose?”
“Most of the time. It’s called ‘The Search.’ An amusing little pastime that has kept small children amused since the dawn of time. Enough, Friday.”
He took his finger out with an almost audible pop and handed Landen his polar bear.
“Ullamco laboris nisi ut aliquip.”
“What did he say?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “It’s something called Lorem Ipsum—a sort of quasi Latin that typesetters use to make up blocks of realistic-looking type.”
Landen raised an eyebrow. “You’re not joking, are you?”
“They use it a lot in the Well of Lost Plots.”
“The what?”
“It’s a place where all fiction is—”
“Enough!” said Landen, clapping his hands together. “We can’t have you telling ridiculous stories here on the front step. Come on in and tell me them inside.”
I shook my head and stared at him.
“What?”
“My mother said Daisy Mutlar was back in town.”
“She has a job here, apparently.”
“Really?” I asked suspiciously. “How do you know?”
“She works for my publisher.”
“And you haven’t been seeing her?”
“Definitely not!”
“Cross your heart, hope to die?”
He held up his hand.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, “I believe you.” I tapped my lips. “I don’t come