AllFreeNovel
Share Us
'So I won't be in love with him?'
'I'm afraid not. You might have a small residual memory – feelings that you can't explain for someone you've never met.'
'Will I be confused?'
'Yes.'
He looked at me with an earnest expression. They all did. Even Lady Hamilton, who had been moving quietly towards the sherry, stopped and was staring at me. It was clear that making myself scarce was something I had to do But having zero recollection of Landen? I didn't really have to think very hard.
'No, Dad. Thanks, but no thanks.'
'I don't think you understand,' he intoned, using his paternal go-to-your-room-young-lady voice. 'In a year's time you can come back and everything will be as right as—'
'No. I'm not losing any more of Landen than I have already.'
I had an idea.
'Besides, I do have somewhere I can go.'
'Where?' enquired my father. 'Where could you possibly go that Lavoisier couldn't find you? Backward, forward, sideways, otherways – there isn't anywhere else!'
I smiled.
'You're wrong, Dad. There is somewhere. A place where no one will ever find me – not even you.'
'Sweetpea—!' he implored. 'It is imperative that you take this seriously! Where will you go?'
I replied slowly, 'I'll just lose myself in a good book.'
Despite their pleading I bade farewell to Mum, Dad and Lady Hamilton, crept out of the house and sped to my apartment on Joffy's motorbike I parked outside the front door in clear defiance of the Goliath and SpecOps agents who were still waiting for me. I ambled slowly in, it would take them twenty minutes or more to report to base and then get up the stairs and break down the door – and I really only needed to pack a few things. I still had my memories of Landen and they would sustain me until I got him back. Because I would get him back – but I needed time to rest and recuperate and bring our child into the world with the minimum of fuss, bother and interruptions. I packed four tins of Moggilicious cat food, two packets of Mintolas, a large jar of Marmite and two dozen AA batteries into a large holdall along with a few changes of clothing, a picture of my family and the copy of Jane Eyre with the bullet lodged in the cover. I placed a sleepy and confused Pickwick and her egg into the holdall and zipped up the bag so that only her head stuck out. I then sat and waited on a chair in front of the door with a copy of Great Expectations on my lap. I wasn't a natural book-jumper and without my travel book I was going to need the fear of capture to help catapult me through the boundaries of fiction.
I started to read at the first knock on the door and continued through the volley of shouts for me to open up, past the muffled thuds and the sound of splintered wood until finally, as the door fell in, I melted into the dingy interior of Great Expectations and Satis House.
Miss Havisham was slightly shocked when I explained what I needed, and even more shocked at the sight of Pickwick, but she consented to my request and cleared it with the Bellman – on the proviso that I'd continue with my training. I was hurriedly inducted into the Character Exchange Programme and given a secondary part in an unpublished book deep within the Well of Lost Plots – the woman I was replacing had for some time wanted to take a course in Drama at the Reading Academy of Dramatic Arts, so it suited her equally well. As I wandered down to Sub-basement six, Exchange Programme docket in hand made out to someone named Briggs, I felt more relaxed than I had for weeks. I found the correct book sandwiched between the first draft of an adventure in the Tasman seas and a vague notion of a comedy set in Bomber Command. I picked up the book, took it to one of the reading tables and quietly read myself into my new home.
I found myself on the banks of a reservoir somewhere in the Home Counties. It was summer and the air smelt warm and sweet after the wintry conditions back home. I was standing on a wooden jetty in front of a large and seemingly derelict flying boat, which rocked gently in the breeze, tugging on the mooring ropes. A woman had just stepped out of a door in the high-sided hull; she was holding a suitcase.
'Hello!' she shouted, running up and offering me a hand. 'I'm Mary. You must be Thursday. My goodness! What's that?'
'A dodo. Her name's Pickwick.'
'I thought they were extinct.'
'Not where I come from. Is this where I'm going to live?' I was pointing at the shabby flying boat dubiously.
'I know what you're thinking,' smiled Mary proudly. 'Isn't she just the most beautiful thing ever? Short Sunderland, built in 1943 but last flew in '54. I'm mid-way converting her to a houseboat but don't feel shy if you want to help out. Just keep the bilges pumped out and if you can run the number three engine once a month I'd be very grateful.'
'Er – okay,' I stammered.
'Good. I've left a rough précis of the story taped to the fridge but don't worry too much – since we're not published you can do pretty much what you want. Any problems, ask Captain Nemo who lives on the Nautilus two boats down, and don't worry, Jack might seem gruff to begin with but he has a heart of gold and if he asks you to drive his Austin Allegro, make sure you depress the clutch fully before changing gear. Did the Bellman supply you with all the necessary paperwork and fake IDs?'
I patted my pocket and she handed me a scrap of paper and a bunch of keys.
'Good. This is my Footnoterphone number in case of emergencies, these are the keys to the flying boat and my BMW. If someone named Arnold calls, tell him he had his chance and he blew it. Any questions?'
'I don't think so.'
She smiled.
