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'He was – is – my half-brother,' said Schitt-Hawse slowly, 'and believe me, Ms Next, he wasn't working for Goliath when he became involved with Hades and the Plasma Rifle.'
'If he had been would you admit it?'
Schitt-Hawse scowled and said nothing. Braxton coughed politely and continued:
'And this is Mr Chesterman of the Brontë Federation.'
Chesterman blinked at me uncertainly. The changes I had wrought upon Jane Eyre had split the Federation. I hoped he was one of those who preferred the happier ending.
'Back there is Captain Marat of the ChronoGuard,' continued Braxton. Marat looked at me with interest. The ChronoGuard were the SpecOps division that took care of Anomalous Time Ripplation – my father was one or is one or would be one, depending on how you looked at it.
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'Have we met before?' I asked him.
'Not yet,' he replied.
'Well!' said Braxton, clapping his hands together. 'I think that's everyone. Next, I want you to pretend we're just not here.'
'Observers, yes?'
'Absolutely. I—'
Braxton was interrupted by a slight disturbance off-stage.
'The bastards!' yelled a high voice. 'If the Network dares to replace my Monday slot with reruns of Bonzo the Wonder Hound I'll sue them for every penny they have!'
A tall man of perhaps fifty-five had walked into the studio accompanied by a small group of assistants. He had handsome chiselled features and a luxuriant swirl of white hair that looked as though it had been carved from polystyrene. He wore an immaculately tailored suit and his fingers were heavily weighed down with gold jewellery. He stopped short when he saw us.
'Ah!' said Adrian Lush disdainfully. 'SpecOps!'
His entourage flustered around him with lots of energy but very little purpose. They seemed to hang on his every word and action and I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of relief that I wasn't in the entertainment business.
'I've had a lot to do with you people in the past,' explained Lush as he made himself comfortable on his trademark green sofa, something he clearly regarded as a territorial safe retreat. 'It was I that coined the phrase "SpecOops" for whenever you make a mistake – sorry, "operational unexpectation", isn't that what you like to call them?'
But Hicks ignored Lush's dig and introduced me as though I were his only daughter being offered up for marriage.
'Mr Lush, this is Special Operative Thursday Next.'
Lush jumped up and bounded over to shake me by the hand in an effusive and energetic manner. Flanker and the others sat down; they looked very small in the middle of the empty studio. They weren't going to leave and Lush wasn't going to ask them to – I knew that Goliath owned Network Toad and was beginning to doubt whether Lush had any control over this interview at all.
'Hello, Thursday!' said Lush excitedly. 'Welcome to my Monday show. It's the second-highest-rated show in England – my Wednesday show is the first!'
He laughed infectiously and I smiled uneasily.
'Then this will be your Thursday show,' I replied, eager to lighten the situation.
There was dead silence.
'Will you be doing that a lot?' asked Lush.
'Doing what?'
'Making jokes. You see … have a seat, darling. You see, I generally make the jokes on this show, and although it's perfectly okay for you to make jokes, if you do I'm going to have to pay someone to write funnier ones, and our budget, like Goliath's scruples, is on the small side of Leptonic.'
'Can I say something'!' said a voice from the small audience. It was Flanker, who carried on talking without waiting for a reply. 'SpecOps is a serious business and should be reflected as such in your interview. Next, I think you should let Mr Lush tell the jokes.'
'Is that all right?' asked Lush, beaming.
