Robert Rankin - Nostradamus Ate My Hamster

“Will that stand up in court, do you suppose?”

“We’ve got to go back.”

“What?”

“Go back, try to explain, apologize, offer to make good.”

“ What?”

“ We must take the blame,” said Russell. “I know we must. We’ll say we were drunk and fighting. We’ll tell him we’ll pay for the damage.”

“Have you gone stark raving mad?”

“It’s the best way. If he’s called the police, I don’t want them bashing down my mum’s door at six in the morning.”

“But the bar’s wrecked, it could be thousands of pounds.”

“We could lie,” said Russell.

“What did you say?”

“I said we could lie.”

“You don’t know how to lie, Russell.”

“But you do, Morgan. You lie all the time.”

“That’s not true, I never lie. It’s Bobby Boy who tells all the lies, not me.”

“What about those mushrooms you say you’ve got growing in your shed, the ones that are the size of dustbin lids?”

“A slight exaggeration perhaps.”

“What about when you were late for work and you told Frank that terrorists had hijacked the bus?”

“Now that was true.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“No, you’re right.”

“So you should do the lying.”

“What am I going to say?”

“You’ll say that armed men burst into the bar to raid the place and that we fought them off.”

“Oh,” said Morgan. “Actually that’s quite a good lie, isn’t it?”

“Better than most of yours.”

“Paramilitaries,” said Morgan, warming to the idea. “With their faces blacked out, carrying General Electric mini-guns, and I fought them off single handed using certain martial arts techniques I learned from the lamas in Tibet.”

“Two big blokes in balaclava helmets,” said Russell. “With coshes and we both waded in, together .”

“We could come out of this as heroes.” Morgan rubbed his hands together. “Get in the newspapers and everything.”

“If we can stay out of court it will do for me.”

“Quite so.”

They trudged back. Trudging had become the order of the day really. Back they trudged.

There were no police cars outside The Ape of Thoth. All was very quiet. A young couple were just going in.

Russell and Morgan exchanged glances, steeled themselves, took deep breaths and entered the bar.

And then they just stared. They didn’t speak. They didn’t breathe. They just stared.

The bar was normal. All completely normal. No broken furniture. No smashed glasses, no shattered ashtrays. Chairs and tables just as they had been, the dartsboard on the wall, everything normal. Utterly, utterly normal.

Morgan let his breath out first. “What the fu –”

“ You!” Luis the landlord vaulted over the bar. “ How did you …? What did you …?”

“What?” went Morgan.

“I come back and all is well. Nothing is broken. How did you do that? How … how?”

“I …” went Morgan.

“What are you talking about?” Russell asked.

“What?” went Morgan.

“What?” went Luis.

“What are you talking about?”

“This place, all smashed up, I chased you.”

“You never chased us,” Russell said. “We’ve only just come in. This is the first time we’ve been in this evening.”

“What?” went Morgan.

“You bloody have, you bloody –”

“This man is clearly drunk,” said Russell. “Come, Morgan, we will drink elsewhere. Good night to you, landlord.”

“What … what?”

Russell hustled Morgan from the bar.

Outside Morgan went “What?” once more.

“Something’s happened,” Russell said. “Something big, somehow I knew the bar would be OK. Don’t ask me how, but I knew it.”

“When did you know it?”

“Just before we went back in. Something big is happening, Morgan, and we’re in it.”

“You can be in it, Russell, I don’t want to be. I’m just an ordinary bloke. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“But you always said –”

“Don’t worry about what I always said, I was probably lying. I don’t want any adventures, I want to go home for my tea.”

“You’re in it, Morgan, whatever it is.”

“No, no, no. Hurricanes in the bar, things appearing and disappearing. Wreckage becoming unwrecked. This isn’t my thing, I don’t get involved in that sort of stuff.”

“That sort of stuff?” Russell made a thoughtful face. “Like an adventure, do you mean? Like a real adventure?”

“There was nothing real about any of that.”

“She knew me. She knew my name, she called me Russell and she kissed me and she said, I love you.”

“I’m going home.”

“I’m not, I’m going to find out.”

“Look, call it quits. Whatever has happened, has now unhappened, maybe it was a black hole or something, but it’s over. We got away with it. Let’s go home.”

“It’s not over. It’s far from over. It’s only just beginning.”

“Well, you do it on your own.”

“Morgan, come on.”

“No.” Morgan put up his hands. “I don’t want to know about it, I’m going home. Goodbye, Russell.”

“Goodbye, Morgan.”

Morgan didn’t trudge this time, he stalked. Russell watched him as he shrank into the distance, presently to be lost in the shadow of the gasometer.

Russell stood a while. The sun was going down now beyond the great oaks on the Kew side of the Thames, shadows lengthened on the flowing waters. A heron circled in the rose-painted sky.

Russell reached into his poacher’s pocket and brought out the golden package. “We shall see,” he said, and, turning on his heel (for heroes always turn upon their heels and Russell might, just might, yet prove himself to be the stuff of which a hero is composed), he strode off (for heroes also stride), to seek whatever great things fate might hold in store for him.

Oh yes.

“It’s her evening off,” sneered the landlord of The Bricklayer’s Arms (the one who was not Neville). “Some bloke was chatting her up at lunch-time, Perrier drinker. I think he’s taken her to the pictures.”

“Are you sure?” asked Russell.

“Of course I’m bloody sure, he picked her up in his car half an hour ago. What’s it got to do with you anyway?”

“Nothing. Do you serve food?”

“Ask me if we serve crabs.”

“Why?”

“Just ask me.”

“All right, do you serve crabs?”

“We serve anyone, sir.” The landlord laughed heartily. Russell didn’t.

“That was a joke,” said the landlord.

“Most amusing,” said Russell. “Could I have a sandwich?”

“A crocodile sandwich? And make it snappy, eh?”

“How about ham?”

“Don’t know, never been there.” The landlord guffawed further.

“Is this some new innovation? You weren’t laughing too much at lunch-time.”

“Things were iffy at lunch-time, they’re sorted now.”

“I’m so pleased to hear it, a ham sandwich then, if I may.”

“Anything to drink? The best bitter’s very good.”

“A Perrier water, please.”

“Poof,” the landlord served a bottle and a glass, took the money and shouted Russell’s food order through the hatch to the kitchen.

Russell removed himself to a side table. The bar was filling, merry chit chat, raised voices, laughter. Russell took the golden package from his pocket and placed it on the table. What was in it, eh? She had said, “the programmer”. What was that, a remote control for the telly? Something more than a remote control, surely? Should he open it now? Take a look?