22

 

NEXT MORNING

 

‘OH NO!’ CRIED BARRY, LOUDLY IN MY HEAD. ‘OH NO, CHIEF. LOOK at them all.’

And I was looking, down from the window of my room at Hotel Jericho, the smoke-stained window, cracked and pitted. Looking down upon the folk who thronged the Street below. Very happy they looked. Very very happy. They were smiling, each and every one.

‘You caused this to happen, chief.’

‘What, caused all these people to smile like this? Are you sure, Barry? I mean if I’d done it, surely a tree would have fallen on me by now, or a rogue satellite crashed through the ceiling.’

‘You made it happen, chief. You put the idea of the Big Answer into that Omally’s head and then gave him thirty years to figure out how to work it.’

‘Am I really that clever, Barry?’

‘That bloody devious, yes.

‘But I don’t see what you’re complaining about. Look at all the smiling faces. The street is carpeted with them.’

And it was ‘carpeted’, well that’s what it looked like from where I was standing.

‘Bad, bad, bad,’ went Barry. ‘Very bad indeed.’

‘Sounds like sour grapes to me,’ I said. ‘Just because I managed to pull it off without your help, or your hindrance.’

‘You call that, pulling it off? Look at them, chief, look at them, what have you done to them?’

‘Given them their freedom, Barry. The Big Answer in my opinion is to give people their freedom. Unshackle them from everyday tedium, allow them to blossom into their true selves. Offer them love and peace and happiness. Pretty damn cosmic, eh, Barry?’

‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

‘Come on, let’s go down and mingle, I could do with some breakfast. Let’s see how the Brave New World is shaping up.’

It was a jolly nice day for a brave new world. A big smiley sun in the sky. Dear little clouds scudding by. And no doubt Blue Birds of Happiness nestling on the telegraph wire, if not on the dry-cleaner’s roof. The kind of day that might inspire poets to verse, in fact.

 

I shinned down the scaffolding

Supporting the hotel,

I stretched and joined the smilers

Who were looking very well.

 

‘How goes it?’ I asked a passer-by.

‘Splendid,’ came the firm reply.

‘Happy then?’ I asked another.

‘Sure am friend, each man’s my brother.’

 

‘Sheer poetry,’ I said to Barry.

‘It doesn’t scan, chief, it’s all over the place.’

‘Hush, you cynic. Let’s do breakfast.’

 

I didn’t really know the eating houses in this town. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know the name of this town. It was just a town with a hotel, Hotel Jericho, and I had been drawn here by the magnet of my dream. Or the fishing-line of fate. Or the dog lead of destiny. Or even the silk scarf of serendipity. The last two of which can be a lot of fun, so I’m told, if you know what to do with them. I tried a café called The Plume, but it wasn’t open. One a little further up the street was, it was called the Tengo Na Minchia Tanta. I pushed upon the door and went inside. I was feeling great. Really great. I felt my old self again, the old self that had wanted to be a private eye. I’d almost forgotten about that old self. I was glad to have him back. The thought of having him back made me smile.

I parked my butt on a chromium stool before the counter and smiled at the guy behind it. A tall guy with sandy hair. The tall guy’s name was Sandy, but how was I to know?

‘A cup of coffee, please,’ I smiled. ‘And a buttered bap.’ The tall guy smiled in ready response. ‘You’re welcome to the coffee, friend, but I have no baps today.’

‘A crusty roll then please.’

‘No rolls.’

‘Then I’ll just have a slice of Hovis.’

‘Sadly no.’

‘Croissant?’

‘No croissants.’

‘Wheatbread? Flapjack? Waffle? Muffin? Crumpet?’

The tall guy shook his head.

‘Bath bun? Patty? Pasty? Oat cake? Scone? Shortbread? Gingerbread? Doughnut? Profiterole?’

He shook his head once more. ‘You sure know your pastries, fella,’ he said.

‘Listen,’ I told him, ‘in my business, knowing your pastries can mean the difference between being as fat as a butcher’s dog or thin as a wino’s whippet, if you know what I mean, and I’m sure that you do.’

‘I haven’t the foggiest,’ said Sandy. ‘But as long as you’re happy.’

‘Any hot-cross buns?’ I enquired.

‘None, I’m afraid the bakers haven’t delivered today. They phoned to say that as the sun was shining, they’d decided to hit the beach instead.’

‘Nice day for it,’ I said. ‘Just the coffee then.’

‘You’ll have to take it black I’m afraid. The lads from the dairy went with them. They’re having a volley ball tournament, I think.’

I smiled at the tall guy and he smiled back, we introduced ourselves and he poured me a black coffee.

I sipped at it. ‘It’s rather cold,’ I said.

‘It’s last night’s,’ said Sandy, with a smile. ‘My waitress always makes the fresh coffee, but she phoned in today to say— ‘That she thought she’d hit the beach?’

‘I’d go myself, but I prefer it here. I get a real pleasure from giving my customers just what they want.’

‘Nice sentiment. Do you have any sugar at all?’

‘I did have, but I threw it all away this morning. Call it a whim if you will, but too much sugar is bad for your health and I wouldn’t want to feel that I had in any way contributed to another soul’s ill health by supplying them with sugar.

‘I’ve heard the same said of coffee,’ I suggested.

‘Yes, you’re quite right.’ Sandy snatched the cup from my hand and poured its cold contents into the sink. ‘How thoughtless of me, sir, allow me to apologize.’

‘That’s quite all right. Do you have anything else on the premises that I might eat or drink?’

‘Well I do, but I can’t be sure now whether any of it’s OK. I mean the fried stuff, that can give you heart disease and too many carbohydrates, that’s tantamount to administering poison. I’m going to have to review all my stock, sir. Thank you for drawing my attention to the dangers.’

‘Could I have one of those bars of chocolate you have behind the counter then?’

‘Oh my Lord no, sir! You might come out in a rash. I’d never forgive myself.’

‘Fair enough.’ I smiled at Sandy. ‘Then I suppose I’d better be off.’

‘And take care crossing the road, sir. Perhaps I’ll see you later, down at the beach.’

‘Perhaps. Goodbye.’

 

I stood outside the Tengo Na Minchia Tanta, stretching and smiling.

‘What are you smiling about, chief?’ asked Barry. ‘That clod just talked you out of your breakfast.’

‘He was doing the right thing, Barry. He was caring for his customers.’

‘He’ll care them all to death at that rate.’

‘No he won’t. He will see to their dietary needs. People do eat things that are far too unhealthy. All that’s going to change now. Change from the ground up.’

‘You had that written into your BIG ANSWER, did you, chief?’

‘Caring, Love, Peace, Honesty and above all Freedom. No mention of breakfast in there, I suppose?’

I smiled and patted my belly. It felt a bit hollow. ‘We eat far too much,’ I told Barry. ‘In future I shall scrub around breakfast. Just take a five-mile jog instead.’

‘A five-mile jog? Chief, you’ve never jogged in your life. You get a nose-bleed running for a bus.’

‘Time to shape up then. Look after your body and it will look after you.’

‘Oh dear, oh dear.’

‘I think I might become a vegetarian.’

‘Please, chief, you are talking to a sprout here.’

‘No offence meant, Barry.’

‘None taken, chief.’

‘Isn’t it just great to be alive?’ ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’

 

I took a stroll about the town. Most of the shops had ‘closed for the day’ signs up and I noticed that the roads were very crowded with cars. I also noticed that most of the occupants wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts, and the children in the backs carried beach balls and body boards.

A perfect day to hit the beach.

I wondered if I should join them. ‘Bar snacks,’ said Barry.

‘Pardon me?’

‘Pub grub, as in breakfast.’

‘Well, I am a tad peckish as it happens.’

‘Here’s a pub, chief. What’s it called? Ah, Fangio’s Bar. Now how about that?’

‘How about that indeed.’ And I entered Fangio’s Bar with a smile.

And the first thing that caught my laughing eyes was the décor. It hadn’t changed a bit. It was still the same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched— ‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the barman. And it was him. Fangio. Standing there and smiling. ‘Am I glad to see you,’ I said.

‘I don’t know, sir, are you?’

‘Fangio, it’s me. And it’s you.’ And he hadn’t aged by a single day. By thirty years yes, by a single day, no. He was the same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched— ‘Can it really be you?’ Fangio looked me up and down like a thirteenth-floor elevator and tipped me the kind of wink that accidentally buys you contraceptives in a chemist, when you’re asking for a packet of aspirins.

‘My old brown dog,’ said Fangio. ‘It is you. The same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched—’

‘Any chance,’ I asked him as I parked my behind upon a stool that hadn’t known such joy for more than thirty years, ‘any chance of a drink?’

‘Certainly, sir, what would you care for?’

‘What exactly do you have?’

Fangio made a thoughtful (though still smiling) face. He stroked at his chins, ran his tongue about his lips, then across his nose and all around his eyebrows. ‘What exactly would you like?’ he asked.

‘How about a bottle of Bud?’

‘Right out of Bud, I’m afraid.’

‘Lager?’

‘No.’

‘Bitter?’

‘No.’

‘Stop me if I get to one,’ I said. ‘Draught beer? Bottled beer? Stout? Brown ale? Cider? Scrumpy? Porter? Punch? Bourbon? Scotch? Irish? Highball? Brandy?’

‘What was the last one?’

‘Brandy.’

‘No, the one before that.’

‘Highball.’

‘Oh, I thought you said something else. Carry on.’

‘I’m not getting close yet, eh?’

‘Go on to wines,’ said Fangio. ‘Do wines.’

‘OK. Red wine? White wine? Rosé? Fortified wine? Sparkling wine? Spumante? Madeira? Port? Claret? Hock? Champagne?’

‘Champagne,’ said Fangio.

‘You have champagne?’

‘No, but I love champagne, don’t you?’

‘Oh yeah, champagne’s wonderful. Now where was I? Sherry? Burgundy? Chianti? Rezina?’

‘You sure know your potables, sir.’

‘Listen,’ I said, ‘in my business, knowing your potables can mean the difference between humming a tune to that old devil moon and shouting “spain” at a spaniel, if you know what I mean and I’m sure that you do.’

‘My lips are sealed,’ said Fangio. ‘Do you want to go on to cocktails now?’

‘Listen,’ I said once more, ‘I’ll take whatever you have.’

‘Would you care for a Horse’s Neck?’

‘Is that a cocktail?’

‘No, it’s a horse’s neck. It’s not proving as popular as the chewing fat used to.’

‘Bring me a large slice and a glass of water.’

Fangio placed a meat cleaver upon the counter. ‘Would you mind helping yourself?’ he asked. ‘The horse is out the back in the paddock.’

We both laughed at this. What a wag that Fangio, what a shame the way he met his end.

‘Now don’t start that again,’ he said. And we laughed again. I’d forgotten just how much I enjoyed being a private eye, standing about in bars, drinking and talking a lot of old toot.

‘I hate to keep harping on,’ I told Fangio, ‘but would there be any chance of a drink, do you think?’

‘Certainly, sir, what would you like?’

‘I’d like a bottle of Bud.’

‘Coming right up.’

‘But you said—’

‘Don’t take any notice of anything I say, sir. I’ve never been the same since I was shot in the brain at the Somme.’

‘You were never at the Somme, were you?’

‘Did I say, the Somme, sir? I meant of course that I once had my head shut in a fridge door. Student’s rag week I think it was, or National Trust demonstrators.

Fangio served the beer and I drank it back with relish. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a bit of horse’s neck to go with that relish?’ asked the fat boy. ‘Or perhaps a buttered-bap.’

‘Yes please.’

‘That’s a shame, because—’

‘Never mind, I’ll stick with the beer.’ I smiled at Fangio and he smiled right back. ‘I see you’ve got a TV behind the bar,’ I said. ‘Would it be all right if we had it on?’

‘With the greatest of pleasure, sir. My heart’s desire is to please my customers, mind you—’

‘What?’

‘Well, I had it on earlier and there was only a test card with the words THE STATION REGRETS THAT ALL ITS PRESENTERS HAVE GONE TO THE BEACH. NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’

‘Then let’s see if it has.’

‘Let’s do that, sir.’ Fangio switched on the TV then came around the bar and sat down beside me. The screen cleared to display the smiling face of a male presenter, with a crowded beach in the background. And then pulled back.

‘Isn’t that Jack Black?’ I said. ‘Used to present World of the Weird?’

‘Still does,’ said Fangio.

‘So why is he wearing a dress?’

Fangio shrugged. ‘I suppose he just felt like it today. I know I did.’

‘I see.’

‘And here I am at the beach,’ smiled Jack. ‘And what a wonderful day for it. The sun is shining, the sky is blue and the water is warm, warm, warm. And what a crowd we have here. Reports say that London is virtually empty, only one per cent of the working population actually having turned in at their places of employment today, and most of those folk who run their own businesses. As for the rest, they’re in for a swum.

‘And on the world front. It’s the same game. Folk taking to the beach and smiling. I’ve never seen so many happy people before. It’s just as if the whole world woke up today and said, “Let’s do it.” This is Jack Black, cross-dressed and proud of it, returning you to the studio.’

And then the test card came up on the screen.

‘What a very nice dress,’ said Fangio. ‘I wonder where he bought it. And what a wonderful day, would you care for another beer, on the house?’

‘I certainly would,’ I said, and I smiled as I said it. Fangio went around the bar to pop another bottle. ‘Come on, chief,’ said Barry, ‘you can’t sit around all day drinking. You’ve got to put all this right. The whole world’s taken the day off and it’s all your fault.’

‘The whole world is happy and smiling,’ I said. ‘And I’m proud of it.’

‘Me too,’ said Fangio.

‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t talking to you.

‘Oh no problems, you were talking to your sprout, I suppose.’

‘My what?’

‘Your Holy Guardian Sprout. I’ve got a radish, you know. Never even knew I did until this morning when it started talking to me. Robbie, his name is.’

‘Robbie the radish?’

‘Wotcha, Robbie,’ said Barry.

‘Hi, Barry,’ said Robbie.

‘Hang about,’ I said. ‘What is all this?’

‘The merciful arrival of the cavalry I hope, chief. As you’ve brought the world out on strike, let’s pray the Holy Guardians can persuade everyone to go back to work tomorrow.’

‘But that’s cheating. That isn’t free will. That’s not the freedom I wanted everyone to have.’

‘It’s all for the best, chief, really.’

‘Why, you sneaky little sod. You’ve been trying to persuade me to change everything back and while I’m saying no, your mates are trying to persuade everyone else. This is sabotage.’

‘Not really, chief. It’s just that you neglected to mention it in the small print of your BIG ANSWER.’

‘Well I won’t forget it next time.’

‘Next time, chief? What do you mean, next time?’

‘You wait and see.’ I began wishing very hard and doing strange things with my fingers.

‘No, chief, you can’t, you can’t, chief—’

‘Wanna bet?’