Jasper Fforde - The Well of Lost Plots

'Has she been boring you, Mr Perkins?' called out Havisham.

'Not at all,' replied Perkins, giving me a wink. 'She has been a most attentive student.'

'Humph,' muttered Havisham. 'Hope springs eternal. Get in, girl, we're off!'

I paused. I had been driven by Miss Havisham once before, and that was in a car that I thought relatively safe. This beast of an automobile looked as though it could kill you twice before even reaching second gear.

'What are you waiting for, girl?' said Havisham impatiently. 'If I let the Special idle any longer we'll coke up the plugs. Besides, we need all the fuel to do the run.'

'The run?'

'Don't worry!' shouted Miss Havisham as she revved the engine. The car lurched sideways with the torque and a throaty growl filled the air. 'You won't be aboard when we do — I need you for other duties.'

I took a deep breath and climbed into the small two-seater body It looked newly converted and was little more than a racing car with a few frills tacked on to make it roadworthy. Miss Havisham depressed the clutch and wrestled with the gearshift for a moment The large sprockets took up the power with a slight tug; it felt like a thoroughbred racehorse which had just got the scent of a steeplechase.

'Where are we going?' I asked.

'Home!' answered Miss Havisham as she moved the hand throttle. The car leaped forward across the grassy courtyard and gathered speed.

'To Great Expectations ?' I asked as Miss Havisham steered in a broad circuit, fiddling with the levers in the centre of the massive steering wheel.

'Not my home,' she retorted, 'yours!'

With another deep growl and a lurch the car accelerated rapidly forward — but to where I was not sure; in front of us lay the broken drawbridge and stout stone walls of the castle.

'Fear not!' yelled Havisham above the roar of the engine. 'I'll read us into the Outland as simply as blinking!'

We gathered speed. I expected us to jump straight away, but we didn't. We carried on towards the heavy castle wall at a speed not wholly compatible with survival.

'Miss Havisham?' I asked, my voice tinged with fear.

'I'm just trying to think of the best words to get us there, girl!' she replied cheerfully.

'Stop!' I yelled as the point of no return came and went in a flash.

'Let me see …' muttered Havisham, thinking hard, the accelerator still wide open.

I covered my eyes. The car was running too fast for me to jump out and a collision seemed inevitable. I grasped the side of the car's body and tensed as Miss Havisham took herself, me and two tons of automobile through the barriers of fiction and into the real world. My world.

I opened my eyes again. Miss Havisham was studying a road map as the Higham Special swerved down the middle of the road. I grabbed the steering wheel as a milk float swerved into the hedge.

'I won't use the M4 in case the C of G get wind of it,' she said, looking around. 'We'll use the A419 — are we anywhere close?'

I recognised where we were instantly. Just north of Swindon outside a small town called Highworth.

'Continue round the roundabout and up the hill into the town,' I told her, adding: 'But it's not your right of way, remember.'

It was too late. To Miss Havisham, her way was the right way. The first car braked in time but the one behind it was not so lucky — it drove into the rear of the first with a crunch. I held on tightly as Miss Havisham accelerated rapidly away up the hill into Highworth. I was pressed into my seat and for a single moment, perched above two tons of bellowing machinery, I suddenly realised why Havisham liked this sort of thing — it was, in a word, exhilarating .

'I've only borrowed the Special from the count,' she explained. 'Parry Thomas will take delivery of it next week and aim to lift the speed record for himself. I've been working on a new mix of fuels; the A419 is straight and smooth — I should be able to do at least a ton eighty on that .'

'Turn right on to the B4019 at the Jesmond,' I told her, ' after the lights turn to greeeeeeen.'

The truck missed us by about six inches.

'What's that?'

'Nothing.'

'You know, Thursday, you should really loosen up and learn to enjoy life more — you can be such an old stick-in-the-mud.'

I lapsed into silence.

'And don't sulk,' added Miss Havisham. 'If there's something I can't abide, it's a sulky apprentice.'

We bowled down the road, nearly losing it on an 'S' bend, until miraculously we reached the main Swindon—Cirencester road. It was a no right turn but we did anyway, to a chorus of screeching tyres and angry car horns. Havisham accelerated off, and we had just approached the top of the hill when we came across a large 'diversion' sign blocking the road. Havisham thumped the steering wheel angrily.

'I don't believe it!' she bellowed.

'Road closed?' I queried, trying to hide my relief. 'Good — I mean, good- ness gracious, what a shame. Another time, eh?'

Havisham clunked the Special into first gear and we moved off round the sign and motored down the hill.

'It's him , I can sense it!' she growled. 'Trying to steal the speed record from under my very nose!'

'Who?' I asked.

As if in answer another racing car shot past us with a loud 'poop poop!'.

' Him ,' muttered Havisham as we pulled off the road next to a speed camera. 'A driver so bad he is a menace to himself and every sentient being on the highways.'

He must have been truly frightful for Havisham to notice. A few minutes later the other car returned and pulled up alongside.

'What ho, Havisham!' said the driver, taking the goggles from his bulging eyes and grinning broadly. 'Still using Count "Snaill" Zborowski's old slowpoke Special, eh?'

'Good afternoon, Mr Toad,' said Havisham. 'Does the Bellman know you're in the Outland?'

'Of course not!' yelled Mr Toad, laughing. 'And you're not going to tell him, old girl, because you're not meant to be here either!'

Havisham was silent and looked ahead, trying to ignore him.

'Is that a Liberty aero-engine under there?' asked Mr Toad, pointing at the Special's bonnet, which trembled and shook as the vast engine idled roughly to itself.

'Perhaps,' replied Havisham.

'Ha!' replied Toad with an infectious smile. 'I had a Rolls-Royce Merlin shoehorned into this old banger!'

I watched Miss Havisham with interest. She stared ahead but her eye twitched slightly when Mr Toad revved the car's engine. In the end, she could resist it no more and her curiosity got the better of her disdain.

'How does it go?' she asked, eyes gleaming.

'Like a rocket!' replied Mr Toad, jumping up and down in his excitement. 'Over a thousand horses to the back axle — makes your Higham Special look like a motor mower!'