Jasper Fforde - Lost in a Good Book

‘Sorry, Spike. I can’t. Not right now—I think I’ve had enough of the undead for a while. Tell me, am I still working at SO-27?’

‘Of course! Thursday? Are you in some sort of trouble?’

‘The worst sort,’ I said, showing him my empty ring finger. ‘Someone eradicated my husband.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ responded Spike. ‘My Uncle Bart was eradicated, but y’know, someone goofed, and they left some memories of him with my aunt. She lodged an appeal and had him reactualised a year later. Thing is, I never knew I ever had an uncle after he left, and never knew he had gone when he came back—I’ve only my aunt’s word that it ever happened at all. Does any of this make any sense to you?’

‘An hour ago it would have sounded insane. Right now it seems as clear as day.’

‘Hmm,’ grunted Spike, laying an affectionate hand on my shoulder. ‘You’ll get him back, don’t worry. Listen: I wish they’d sideslip all this vampire and werewolf crap and I could go and work at Sommeworld™ or something.’

‘Wouldn’t you miss it?’

‘Not for a second.’

I leaned against his car, SpecOps gossip a welcome distraction as I sought to calm my nerves.

‘Got a new partner yet?’ I asked him.

‘For this shit? You must be kidding—but there is some good news. Look at this.’

He pulled a photo from his breast pocket. It was of himself standing next to a very petite blonde girl who barely came up to his elbow.

‘Her name’s Cindy,’ he murmured affectionately. ‘A cracker—and smart too.’

‘I wish you both the best. How does she feel about all this vampire and werewolf stuff?’

‘Oh, she’s fine with all that—or at least she will be, when I tell her.’

His face fell.

‘Oh, craps. How can I tell her that I thrust sharpened stakes through the undead and hunt down werewolves like some sort of dog-catcher?’ He stopped and sighed, then asked, in a brighter tone: ‘You’re a woman, aren’t you?’

‘Last time I looked.’

‘Well, can’t you figure out some sort of a… I don’t know… strategy for me. I’d hate to lose this one as well.’

‘How long do they last when you tell them?’

‘Oh, they’re usually peachy about it,’ said Spike, laughing. ‘They hang about for, well, five, six, maybe more—’

‘Weeks?’ I asked. ‘Months?’

‘Seconds,’ replied Spike mournfully, ‘and those were the ones that really liked me.’

He sighed deeply.

‘I think you should tell her the truth. Girls don’t like being lied to—unless it’s about surprise holidays and rings and stuff.’

‘I thought you’d say something like that,’ replied Spike, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, ‘but the shock—!’

‘You don’t have to tell her outright. You could always scatter a few copies of Van Helsing’s Gazette around the house.’

‘Oh, I get it!’ replied Spike, thinking hard. ‘Sort of build her up to it—stakes and crucifixes in the garage—’

‘And you could drop werewolves into the conversation every now and then.’

‘It’s a great plan, Thurs,’ replied Spike happily. ‘I don’t want to lose Cindy—I’ve a family I want to start.’

‘...’

‘What’s the matter, Thurs? You look kind of shocked .’

The fear and panic that had only just diminished reasserted themselves. Did I still have Landen’s baby ? I muttered a short reply to Spike, jumped into my car and screeched off into town, startling a few Great Auks who were picking their way through a nearby garbage can.

I was heading for the doctor’s surgery on Shelley Street. Every shop I passed seemed to stock either prams or highchairs, toys or something else baby related, and all the toddlers and infants, heavily pregnant women and prams in Swindon seemed to be crowding the route—and all staring at me. I skidded to a halt outside the surgery. It was a double yellow line and a traffic warden looked at me greedily.

‘Hey!’ I said, pointing a finger at her. ‘Expectant mother. Don’t even think about it.’

I dashed in and found the nurse I’d seen the day before

‘I was in here yesterday,’ I blurted out. ‘Was I pregnant?’

She looked at me without even the least vestige of surprise. I guess she was used to this sort of thing.

‘Of course!’ she replied. ‘Confirmation is in the post. Are you okay?’

I sat down heavily on a chair. The sense of relief was indescribable. It looked as if I had more than just Landen’s memories—I had his child, too. I rubbed my face with my hands. I’d been in a lot of difficult and dangerous life-or-death situations both in the military and law enforcement—but nothing even comes close to the tribulations of emotion. I’d face Hades again twice rather than go through that little charade again.

‘Yes, yes,’ I assured her happily, ‘I really couldn’t be better!’

‘Good.’ The nurse beamed. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to know?’

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Where do I live?’

The shabby block of flats in the old town didn’t look like my sort of place but who knew what I might be doing without Landen. I trotted briskly up the stairs to the top landing and Flat 6. I took a deep breath, unlocked and opened the door. There was a brief scrabble of activity from the kitchen and Pickwick was there to greet me as usual, bearing a gift that turned out to be the torn cover off last month’s SpecOps 27 Gazette . I closed the door with my foot as I tickled her under the chin and looked cautiously about. I was relieved to discover that despite the shabby exterior my apartment was south facing, warm and quite comfortable. I couldn’t remember a thing about any of it, of course, but I was glad to see that Pickwick’s egg was still in residence. It seemed I painted a lot more without Landen about, and the walls were covered with half-finished canvases. There were several of Pickwick and the family which I could remember painting, and a few others that I couldn’t—but none, sadly, of Landen. I looked at the other canvases and wondered why several included images of amphibious aircraft. I sat on the sofa, and when Pickwick came up to nuzzle me I put my hand on her head.

‘Oh, Pickers,’ I murmured, ‘what shall we do?’

I sighed, tried to get Pickwick to stand on one leg with the promise of a marshmallow, failed, then made a cup of tea and something to eat before searching the rest of the apartment in an inquisitive sort of way. Most things were where I would expect to find them; there were more dresses in the closet than usual and I even found a few copies of The Femole stashed under the sofa. The fridge was well stocked with food, and it seemed in this non-Landen world that I was a vegetarian. There were a lot of things that I couldn’t remember ever having acquired, including a table light shaped like a pineapple, a large enamel sign advertising Dr Spongg’s Footcare Remedies and—slightly more worryingly—a size-twelve pair of socks in the laundry and some boxer shorts. I rummaged further and found two toothbrushes in the bathroom, a large Swindon Mallets jacket on the hook and several XXL-sized T-shirts with SpecOps 14 Swindon written on them. I called Bowden straight away.

‘Hello, Thursday,’ he said. ‘Have you heard? Professor Spoon has given his hundred per cent backing to Cardenio— I’ve never heard him actually laugh before!’

‘That’s good, that’s good,’ I said absently. ‘Listen, this might seem an odd question, but do I have a boyfriend?’

‘A what?’

‘A boyfriend. You know. A male friend I see on a regular basis for dinner and picnics and… thingy , y’know?’