Дэвид Митчелл - Utopia Avenue

Four sailors in uniform carry the coffin to the edge of the railing. A fifth plays The Last Post.

Cut to – underwater. The hull of the Salisbury floats above. The sun is an orb of dazzle. A coffin plunges through the roof of the surface. Fish dart away. Milly Wallace’s coffin sinks … sinks … sinks and settles on the ruckled seabed. The Salisbury ’s propellers churn and rumble. The vessel moves off, leaving strains of Saint-Saëns’ ‘Aquarium’ in its wake. Fish inspect this latest offering.

For the first time he can remember, Jasper’s eyes swell with tears. It is an alien, astonishing sensation. So this is how it feels.

Might Milly Wallace have a message? The coffin grows until its lid fills the screen. Jasper presses his ear against the wood …

Knock –

Knock knock knock –

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

Jasper’s up and running for the exit …

People fill the corridor, talking, flirting, drinking, smoking, arguing. Jasper’s gasping for breath. His heart’s thumping. The knocking didn’t follow Jasper up the steep Escher-like stairs, but the sense of a death sentence did. Knock Knock’s excavating himself and there’s nothing I can do about it. Brian Jones appears in a cape, beads and gold. ‘I’ve a bone to pick with you.’ His breath is yeasty and ill. ‘The lyrics in “The Prize”. I recognise a few lines. From that night in the Scotch.’

Jasper hauls his thoughts from Knock Knock to the ailing Stone. ‘It’s true. Some of them are yours. Thank you.’

‘The magic word.’ Brian Jones makes the sign of the cross. ‘I absolve you. See? I come up with tons of ideas for Mick and Keith but all I get from them is sarcasm. I ought to write songs, you know. Even Wyman’s got one on Satanic Travesties. That settles it. I begin. Tomorrow. Got any drugs?’

‘Lord de Zoet of Mayfair and King Brian of Cotchford Farm.’ Rod Dempsey, Dean’s drug dealer, sidles up. ‘Did I hear my favourite three words in the English language, or did my ears deceive me? “Got any drugs” was it?’

‘Rescue me, Sir Rodney of Gravesend,’ says Brian Jones. ‘I daren’t leave the house with so much as an aspirin nowadays.’

‘For you, my friend,’ Rod Dempsey slips a packet into Brian Jones’s waistcoat pocket, ‘the doctor is always in.’ He turns to Jasper. ‘Prellies, Mandy, Miss Mary J. Acid as pure as driven snow.’

‘Another time, maybe.’

‘Easy come easy go, that’s me. Brian, I’ll drop by yer crib next week to settle yer tab. It’s mounting up. Neither a borrower nor a lender be.’ Rod Dempsey winks and exits between bodies.

Dean arrives through the same gap. ‘Jasper. Mr Jones.’

‘Fellow jailbird.’ Brian Jones grips Dean’s shoulders. ‘I’ve had the most mind-blowing wheeze. Let’s you and me make a prison film! Mick’s doing one. Some gangster bollocks. Him and Anita get naked in a bath and Keith’s as jealous as hell. That’s what I call justice … Anyway, we’ll get Hershey to direct ours. We’ll call it The Unbreakables . What do you say?’

‘“How much dough?” and “Where do I sign?”’

‘“A ton of” and “In blood on the dotted line”.’

‘Then I’m in, Brian. One o’them Oscar statues’d look just the ticket on my nan’s piano.’

‘Perfect. I’ll speak with … with my people. I’m off to the little boy’s room to open my present from Dempsey. See you later.’

They watch him go. ‘As if he could put together a cheese sandwich,’ says Dean. ‘Let alone a film. Where’ve yer been hiding for the last three hours, flatmate? I thought you’d buggered off early.’

‘I fell asleep in the cinema.’

Dean gives him an odd look. ‘Yer’ve been to the cinema?’

‘There’s one in the cellar. Syd Barrett was there. I think.’

‘Syd’s here? There’s too many famous people at this party. It’s bloody ridiculous. Just bumped into Hendrix coming out o’ the bog.’

‘Is John Lennon still around?’

‘Thataway.’ Dean points down a crowded passageway of bookshelves. ‘With his Oriental lady, talking to someone who looks very like Judy Garland. Haven’t seen hide nor hair of Elf for a while. Levon’s mingling. Colm’s around somewhere. See yer at the flat if I don’t see yer later, or see yer at Fungus Hut tomorrow if I don’t see yer at the flat …’

‘Sure.’ Jasper doesn’t get far before his path is blocked by Amy Boxer, Dean’s ex-girlfriend and the Daily Mail ’s newest ace-reporter. ‘I would say, “Fancy meeting you here!” but, really, who isn’t here?’ Amy Boxer taps ash into a crystal bowl of pot-pourri. ‘Tony and Tiffany have played it very clever. I presume they’ve given you the whole “We’re making a rock ’n’ roll movie but should we cast actors, singers or both” schtick?’

‘“Schtick”?’ Jasper doesn’t know the word.

‘Jasper, sweetie, the Hersheys have lured London’s starriest to their Midsummer Ball, ensuring it’s both the event of the season and a mammoth pre-audition for a film that may –’ Amy Boxer presses in close to let Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon pass by ‘– or may not get made.’

‘I had no idea,’ says Jasper.

‘Which is why,’ Amy tugs Jasper’s tie like a bell-rope, ‘ ding-dong ding-dong , you’re adorable. You know, you still owe me for getting you all out of jail in Italy. What are your plans for paying me back? Ding-dong ding-dong ?’

The twilit sky is slate and mother-of-pearl. The floodlit swimming pool is afternoon blue. The marquee on the back lawn pulses with inner light, and a trumpet plus jazz-piano trio plays ‘Summertime’. Jasper drifts over to Griff, who’s surrounded by a huddle of models, actresses, intelligentsia and who-knows-who. ‘I couldn’t sleep. There was screaming from the next cell – all night long. It was in Italian, so I didn’t know exactly what were going down until the morning after. There, on my breakfast tray …’ Griff drops his voice to a hush, ‘plopped in my baked beans, was a human thumb. ’

Squeals of disgust. A voice asks in Jasper’s ear, ‘Now is that for real? Or is the cat’s imagination getting the better of him?’

Jasper turns to find curious eyes, framed by an Afro and a snakeskin top hat with a bright blue feather. I know you …

‘Chuffin’ Heck!’ Griff looks over. ‘It’s Jimi Hendrix!’

‘That’s your solo album, Jimi,’ says Keith Moon. ‘Right there: Chuffing Heck, It’s Jimi Hendrix! I’m calling mine Man on the Moon. Or does that sound too much like a gay porno mag?’

‘Utopia Avenue, I dig you cats.’ Jimi Hendrix shakes hands with Griff and Jasper. ‘Your album’s out there.’

Return a compliment , thinks Jasper. ‘ Axis is seminal.’

‘I can’t listen to it, man,’ says Jimi Hendrix. ‘The sound quality’s a fuck-up. I left the original master in a cab—’

‘Or Man in the Moon ?’ wonders the Who’s drummer. ‘Or is that even smuttier? Once you start, you can’t stop …’

‘So we used a crumpled copy of Noel’s. Chas had to iron out the tape. Literally. With an iron. Where do you cats record?’

‘Fungus Hut,’ says Jasper, ‘on Denmark Street.’

‘I know it. The Experience made our very first demo there.’

‘Or do I go with my first choice,’ says Keith Moon, ‘ Howling at the Moon? I’ll be on the cover – a hairy werewolf – howling …’

‘What’s your set-up on “Smithereens”?’ Jimi is asking Jasper. ‘I can’t work out if it’s a fuzz pedal.’