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'Watch Name That Fruit! most likely. He says that soaps and quiz shows are the ideal way to fade out.'
'He's not far wrong,' added Landen. 'After a few years of 65 Walrus Street, death might become something of a welcome distraction.'
We heaved open the garden gate and greeted the dodos, who all had a bright pink ribbon tied round their necks for the occasion. I offered them a few marshmallows and they pecked and plocked greedily at the proffered gifts.
'Hello, Thursday!' said the prematurely grey-haired man who answered the door.
'Hello, Wilbur,' I said. 'How are you doing?'
Wilbur and Orville were Mycroft and Polly's only sons and were remarkable for … well, you'll see.
'I'm very well,' replied Wilbur, smiling benignly. 'Hello, Landen – I read your latest book. It was a big improvement on the last one, I must say.'
'You're very kind,' replied Landen drily.
'I was promoted, you know.'
He paused to allow us to murmur a congratulatory sound before continuing:
'Consolidated Useful Stuff always promote those within the company who show particular promise, and after ten years in pension fund management ConStuff felt I was ready to branch into something new and dynamic. I'm now Services Director at a subsidiary of theirs named MycroTech Developments.'
'But my goodness, what a coincidence!' said Landen. 'Isn't that Mycroft's company?'
'Coincidental,' replied Wilbur stoically, 'as you say. Mr Perkup – the CEO of MycroTech – told me it was solely due to my diligence; I—'
'Thursday, darling!' interrupted Gloria, Wilbur's wife. Formerly a Volescamper, she had married Wilbur under the misapprehension that a) he would be coming into a fortune and b) he was as intelligent as his father. She had been wrong – in a spectacular fashion – on both counts.
'Darling, you are looking simply divine – have you lost weight?'
'I have no idea, Gloria, but … you're looking different.'
And she was. Habitually dressed up to the nines in expensive clothes, hats, make-up and lashings of what-have-you, tonight she was attired in chinos and a shirt. She was wearing hardly any make-up and her hair, usually perfectly coiffured, was tied up in a ponytail with a black scrunchie.
'What do you think?' she asked, doing a twirl for us both.
'What happened to the five-hundred-pound dresses?' asked Landen. 'Bailiffs been in?'
'No, this is all the rage – and you should know, Thursday. The Female is promoting the Thursday Next look. This is very much "in" at present.'
'Ridiculous,' I told her 'If Bonzo the Wonder Hound had rescued Jane Eyre, would you all be wearing a studded collar and smelling each other's bottoms?'
'There is no need to be offensive,' replied Gloria haughtily as she looked me up and down. 'You should be honoured. Mind you, the December issue of The Female thinks that a brown leather flyer's jacket is more in keeping with "the look". Your black leather is a little bit passe, I'm afraid. And those shoes – hell's teeth!'
'Wait a moment!' I returned. 'How can you tell me that I don't have the Thursday Next look? I am Thursday Next!'
'Fashions evolve, Thursday – I've heard that next month's fashions will be marine invertebrates. You should enjoy it while you can.'
'Marine invertebrates?' echoed Landen. 'What happened to that squid-like jumper of your mum
's? We could be sitting on a fortune!'
'Can neither of you be serious?' asked Gloria disdainfully. 'If you're not in you're out, and where would you be then?'
'Out, I guess,' I replied. 'Land, what do you think?'
'Totally out, Thurs.'
We stared at her, half smiling, and she laughed. Gloria was a good sort once you broke down the barriers. Wilbur, seizing the chance to tell us more about his fascinating new job, carried on as soon as his wife stopped talking.
