Ben Elton - Blast From The Past

“Don’t be ridiculous, Polly. You’re not going to blow us up.”

“Why not? I’ve got a chance now to really make a difference. I spent years of my life protesting against the military and suddenly here I am with the opportunity to blow up a genuine four-star general. In a split second I could rid the world for ever of an agent of mass slaughter.”

“Plus one council worker,” Jack said, leaping on a salient point.

“Yeah, well maybe I don’t care about that, Jack. Didn’t you say that the only true morality was to remove yourself? To end one’s exploitative parasitic existence?” Polly was shaking. Jack wished she would take her hand from the bag.

“Besides,” she went on, “I’m going nowhere. I’ve got nothing and I’m not going to get anything. My life went wrong when I was seventeen, but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Jack, you fucking bastard. Well, now’s my chance to make it all right again. This bomb’s big enough to trash my flat completely. When I flip this switch we’ll be together again, for ever, our flesh will be as one. Entwined, mixed and blended, never to be parted, as I once dreamt it would be.”

Polly gently picked up the bag, one hand still inside it. Holding it to herself she advanced on Jack.

“You should have gone when I told you to, Jack. Now we fucking well go together.”

“Polly, please.”

“I’m sick of you and I’m sick of life. So fuck everything.”

“Polly, you can’t,” Jack pleaded as she stood over him.

Her face was drawn and weary, her upper lip was quivering, the arm inside the bag was shaking. Jack wondered if he could be quick enough to grab that arm.

“No, you’re right I can’t,” said Polly, “because actually this is a bag full of dirty knickers. Had you going, though, didn’t I, you bastard?”

Polly laughed, rather a hard laugh, and threw the bag back onto the bed. Jack had been completely thrown.

“But… the fertilizer…?” he said.

“I told you,” said Polly. “It’s for my windowbox. Don’t you remember, Jack? I’m into peace, that’s my life. I don’t approve of killing people. Even people like you. People who turn up in the middle of the night and try to break a girl’s heart a second time. Well, I’ve had enough now. It’s gone four in the morning. I’m up at seven thirty and this time you really do have to go.”

Still Jack did not move. “I’ll be gone soon, Polly. Very soon. But I have to finish saying what I came to say. I have to explain.”

“Jack, it’s over, gone, many years ago. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t mean explain what I did, Polly, but what I have to do.”

Outside, a police car turned into Polly’s street and drove slowly towards her house. Both the officers inside the car knew the man they were looking for, having often been called out by Polly in the past to deal with him. As they searched they agreed that it was a crying shame that a nice girl like Polly should be harassed in such a way, and they resolved to give Peter the fright of his life if they found him.

They did not find Peter, but they did notice that the light was burning in Polly’s flat. This struck them as strange, seeing as how it was only just after four in the morning. They concluded that either the milkman had woken her up again (they knew most things about Polly’s life by now) or Peter was about and had already been pestering her.

They decided to check that Polly was all right.

From his position in the hall Peter could see the silhouettes of the police officers through the window panels of the front door. He had retreated to the bottom of the house after his shock at nearly being discovered and had been sitting on the bottom stair considering how best he could attack the American. Seeing the shadows on the window, Peter thought that the game was up. The hated peaked caps outlined clearly by the streetlights surely meant his arrest. He was, after all, inside her house, caught redhanded. For a moment Peter thought about using his knife, but there was no way he was going to stab a policeman. There were a couple of bicycles leaning against the wall. Peter leaned forward and put his knife into the saddlebag of the nearest one. If they found him with that it would be prison for sure.

Upstairs in Polly’s flat the intercom buzzer went. Someone was at the front door.

Jack was on his feet in an instant. “It’s him. He’s back,” he said. “And this time he isn’t going to get away.”

“What do you mean?” said Polly “What’re you going to do?”

“I’m going to deal with him.”

The buzzer went again.

“You keep him talking,” Jack continued. He was at the door now. “I won’t be long.”

“No, Jack, I don’t want you to-”

The buzzer was insistent. Not for the first time that evening Polly was torn. So much of her wanted to let matters take their course. If Jack wanted to confront the Bug then why not let him? On the other hand, what if Jack got carried away? What if Jack killed him? The buzzer sounded again. Gingerly Polly picked up the receiver, half resolved to shouting a warning to her hated enemy below.

“Polly, it’s Constable Dewison,” the receiver said.

Jack stopped dead, his hand on the door. “Cops?” he hissed.

“Oh, hello, Frank,” said Polly. “This is a surprise.”

“We had a call from your admirer’s mum, Polly. She said he was hanging about. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about, but she did say that he had a knife. We just wanted to check that you were all right.”

Polly assured the officers that although the Bug had indeed been about earlier in the night she had heard nothing from him for an hour or so. Constable Dewison asked if she would like them to come up and take down the details of the harassment for an official complaint in the morning. Polly glanced at Jack. Somehow she felt that the presence of a four-star American general in dress uniform in her flat was a conversation that she did not wish to have.

“No, it’s all right, officer. I think I’d rather try and get some sleep.”

Downstairs in the hall Peter watched as the silhouettes of the policemen retreated. His relief at escaping arrest was entirely overshadowed by the fury that was consuming him. Peter had heard every word that the policemen had said. He could scarcely believe it! His own mother had grassed him up! She’d even told them about his knife! Peter’s blood boiled at her betrayal. Well, she’d regret it, that was for sure. Peter would deal with his mother later.

For now, however, he was still inside the house. Inside her house. Even the police hadn’t found him out! Surely this was a sign that fortune was on his side. Surely now he could do exactly as he liked.

Polly laughed. It seemed the only thing to do. “I wonder who’ll turn up next,” she said.

But Jack was not laughing. Quite the opposite, in fact. His face was like stone. The last thing he had expected was to find the police at the door. It reminded him as nothing else could of the vulnerability of his situation.

Polly caught the look on his face and stopped laughing. She remembered the last thing that Jack had said, before the police had called.

“Jack,” she said. “What did you mean before, about what you have to do?”

Jack could not look at her. “Did you ever hear about an army general named Joe Ralston?” he asked. “He was in the news a year or two back.”

Polly did not want another endless, pointless conversation. “Tell me what’s on your mind or bugger off.”

“I am telling you,” Jack said quietly. “Joe Ralston was all set to become the chairman of the US joint chiefs of staff. The most powerful soldier on earth. Employing about half a million people and spending an annual budget of trillions of dollars.”