The thought of kicking his heels while his reality ticked second by second toward extinction made Alaric edgy. He opened the leather wallet and took out the gray pouch. It bore the number 36. What sort of reality might that be? But did it matter what sort, so long as it wasn’t this one? He put the pouch in his pocket, clipped the wallet to his belt, and went to the willow in the north garden. He counted down from five before taking the step past the trunk. The disorientation was so mild this time that he thought he might have imagined it, especially as the tree looked no different at all. But, remembering that it had looked the same in the reality with the Alsatian, he returned the pouch to the wallet and parted the leaves cautiously. The north garden looked just as it should but for one detail. To his left, just beyond the spread of the willow, stood a small tool-shed. There was no such shed at home.
He stepped clear of the tree. If the garden was this much like his, it seemed probable that a variation of his own family lived here. Naia’s reality? Could be. His heart thumped. If it was her reality, her mother would be here. The nights he’d dreamed of seeing her again!
He got a grip on himself. If there was an Alex here, and she recognized him, it would be as a boy chanced upon in the old cemetery last winter who bore a coincidental resemblance to her daughter. Beyond that she wouldn’t know him. But he would still like to see her, if only from a distance.
The hedge this side of the garage provided adequate cover from the windows of the house, but there would be no warning before someone came round it, as Kate had yesterday at home. He approached the hedge warily and was about to peer round it when he heard an oath some way behind him. He looked back in alarm and saw Aldous U waving frantically from the willow. In his non-waving hand he carried a large bunch of purple flowers.
Alaric retraced his steps. ‘It is you, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘Who the hell do you think it is?’ AU barked gruffly.
‘I mean who I saw yesterday.’
‘Again, who the hell do you think?’
‘You might have been this reality’s version.’
‘I’m both this reality’s version and the one you met yesterday.’
‘Oh, is this the Withern you plan to buy then?’
‘Hope to buy. That’s why I’ve come, to put in a bid. But they’ve already had a good offer, so I might have missed my chance.’ He slapped the wallet on Alaric’s belt. ‘I thought I made it clear that I don’t appreciate being robbed. Maybe my first assessment of you wasn’t so far out after all.’
‘I only borrowed it,’ Alaric said.
‘And how would you have got it back to me? By post? Well, never mind. Got to get you away from here.’
He put the flowers out of sight within the willow and led the way to the path along the north wall, concealed most of the way to the side gate by fruit trees and bushes. Out in the lane, he steered Alaric to the left.
‘If anyone appears and I tell you to go,’ he said, ‘you shoot off without a word, understand? And hide your face. No one must see you. No one, you hear?’
‘I hear, but – ’
‘Wait. Talk in a minute.’
The lane ended abruptly some yards short of the river, at which point a footpath veered off to the right, passing the bowling green and the municipal tennis courts, and wending casually through a small copse on its way to the marina bridge. A little way into the copse, AU hustled Alaric off the path, intent on putting trees between it and him in case anyone came along. They stopped just short of the bank – below which cruisers and houseboats were moored – near the corner where the tributary met the main river. There, Alaric demanded to know what this was all about.
‘It’s about you not being seen,’ Aldous U replied.
‘So you said. What you didn’t say was why.’
He didn’t say now either, but nodded toward the boats below the bank.
‘Your great-grandpa had a boat-yard there back in the thirties and forties.’
‘Not my great-grandpa,’ Alaric said.
‘There was an Alaric Eldon here too.’
‘Yes, well I’m more interested in today.’
‘I remember. Not big on history.’
‘Look, I need to know something.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘If my reality’s going to end.’
AU looked at him. ‘What makes you think I’d know?’
‘You’re more likely to than anyone else. Are there any… you know… signs to look for? Apart from the sky, I mean. The sky looks okay.’
‘What sort of signs?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you.’
AU returned his gaze to the boats. ‘The most common indication that a reality’s nearing its end is a glut of those “Acts of God” insurance folk decline to bet against. Flash floods, tidal waves, tsunamis, earthquakes, category-five hurricanes, that sort of thing.’
‘There are things like that on the news all the time,’ Alaric said.
‘Yes. In all realities. Most survive the worst of them – just.’
‘How do I know mine’s chances?’
‘Same way as anyone else. You wait and see.’
‘Oh, you’re a big help.’
‘I’m not all-knowing and I’m no fortune-teller,’ Aldous U said. ‘Any reality can snuff it at any time. And the end isn’t always dramatic. R43 feels like it’s gearing up to a pretty spectacular termination, but some realities can wink out without the slightest warning. Flourishing one minute, gone the next.’
‘Just as well that isn’t common knowledge,’ Alaric grunted.
‘Yes. Be a lot of very jittery people about if it were.’
For a minute Alaric said nothing; did nothing, but gaze at the moored boats. Then he said: ‘I’m getting these glimpses.’
‘Glimpses?’
‘I’m just sitting or standing there, or I open the door, and suddenly I’m looking at people or things that shouldn’t be there. The other day I saw your house.’
‘My house in R43?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, impromptu peeks into neighboring realities aren’t uncommon,’ AU said blandly.
‘They aren’t?’
‘They all occupy the same physical space, and every so often a fault occurs, briefly revealing a small part of one to another. Most go unnoticed because the majority of realities are so alike. Sometimes we glimpse buildings, sometimes bits of terrain, sometimes people. What do you think ghosts are?’
‘Ghosts?’
‘Spectral figures in corridors, at the end of the bed and so forth, they’re not malevolent phantoms, they’re individuals going about their lives in their realities – no less spooked, I expect, by reciprocal sightings of us in ours.’
‘What about the spirits of people who died a long time ago, seen in old houses, on staircases, at airfields and so on?’
AU waved a dismissive hand. ‘Links occasionally form between isolated pockets of realities set apart in time, so that odd scenes from one age play over and over in another, like looped film. A more interesting anomaly, to me anyway, is the displacement of objects. That’s always fascinated me. I suppose it’s happened to you?’
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘Small personal items – a keyring, say, a pencil sharpener, a spoon – they’re not where you thought they should be. Where are they?’
‘You tell me.’
‘They’re momentarily relocated to another reality. They usually bounce back in seconds or minutes, and we say, “But I looked there three times!”, then forget about it. But sometimes things don’t return. A shoe slips unnoticed from the foot of a sleeping child being wheeled along in a pushchair. A chance instant later, a fragment of that reality pulls apart and the shoe becomes tangible in a neighboring one, where a passer-by sees it on the ground and pops it on a wall in case the mother comes back looking for it. If she does, she doesn’t find it because the shoe’s been moved in the other reality, become part of it – even if there’s no correspon
ding child there to wear it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘So much for planning. I expected to have finished here by three. It’s not going to happen now.’
‘What happens at three?’ Alaric asked.
‘I’ve arranged to meet Naia at home.’
‘What for?’
‘Partly because we haven’t yet introduced ourselves. Well, we have, but not...’ He broke off. ‘How would you like to do me a favor as recompense for borrowing that pouch and satchel without permission?’
‘What sort of favor?’
‘Meet her for me.’
‘What, in your reality?’
‘Yes. Tell her I’m running late.’
‘Oh, I don’t know...’
‘Good. Give me the pouch.’
Alaric handed over the gray pouch and AU tipped out a handful of leaves, a couple of withered flowers, then turned it inside out and shook it thoroughly before substituting half the material from a number 43 pouch in the leather wallet attached to his belt.
‘Is that enough to get me there?’ Alaric asked.
‘Ample. I overcompensate. Stick it in your pocket, not the wallet, or you’ll go home instead in those clothes.’
They walked back to the garden, and the willow, under which AU detached a key from a ring on his belt.
‘This fits the padlock on my door. Meet Naia at the crossing point – if she’s not there, wait for her – and take her to the house. Tell her I won’t be long. And watch out for those lads.’
‘Did you catch the one who pissed on your plant?’ Alaric said.
‘No. Probably just as well too.’ He picked up the glorious bunch of flowers he’d bought specially from Señora Fariña’s exotic little shop in the Eynesford of Reality 326. ‘Either I’d have murdered him or he’d have murdered me. See you later!’
36: 43
Last night had been a slaughterhouse – in his dreams. In the depths of the forest, curled up against one of the ancient flights of steps that led nowhere, he’d ground Gus’s mean face into the earth, gouged his nasty little eyes out, beaten him to an oozing pulp. Over and over again he’d done this, with pleasure. The spirit of the dreams had stayed with him in the hours since, evolving into such a deep, dark anger that by early afternoon he had come to the conclusion that the only way to diffuse it was to eliminate the cause. He set off for Scarry’s so-called house. As he drew near, his foot struck a stone as big as his hand. He picked the stone up, and with it a vision of himself stepping into the arena: Gus starting toward him wearing that crazy grin of his, long arms dangling, ready to flip his fists up at the last, only to be thwarted by this stone, swung around from the hip: a great wide sweep that would end with the bastard’s skull cracking like an egg.
Eager for this very satisfying finale, Ric drew near to Scarry’s. But parting the leaves to assess the positions of those beyond, he found the one thing he hadn’t bargained for. The place was deserted.
Deprived of the reckoning he craved, the desire for it faded. He dropped the stone, retreated, and wandered aimlessly for a time, during which a more natural hunger replaced the need for violent retribution. When he came to the weird house, where the man lived, he stopped. He’d never been here alone before. Once, during the period when food was regularly left for them, he and Scarry and young Badger had found the man in his yard, cutting back tall weeds with a sickle. When the man saw them his jaw dropped and he just stared – at Ric, not the others. Ric might have asked what was so shocking about his face, but Scarry had whisked him and Badger away before words could be exchanged.
The man wasn’t there today. The padlock on the door proved that. Ric thought of the food that might lie beyond that door. Recalling Scarry’s failure to gain entry that other time, he was surprised, on going round the back, to find a window off the latch. Hoisting himself over the wall, he opened it further. He looked inside, weighed his courage, and climbed into shadows.
37: 39/43
Naia had returned to the willow in the north garden around two-twenty to see if there was a pouch there yet. There was, and again it bore the number 43, though this time the fabric was pale blue. With so much time still to wait she loosened the cord at the neck of the pouch and looked inside. Finding that it contained nothing but leaves, grass and earth, her first thought was that she was being toyed with and she very nearly tipped the contents out in anger – but resisted, pulled the cord tight once more, and shoved the pouch into her pocket out of harm’s way.
The idea that the phantom letter-writer was making a fool of her persisted, however, and rebellion set in. Wait till three just because he’d told her to? Ha! She went round the trunk, and, with thirty-seven minutes still to go, took the step which, in a single giddy moment, delivered her to the brooding, foul-smelling forest she’d left in such haste two days earlier. Rather than wait there for Aldous U, she decided to make her way to his house and startle him in his lair. She’d had enough of being manipulated. And just let those yobs try anything today! She snatched up a length of broken branch.
Anything!
Having some idea of the direction this time, she began picking her way through the forest. The journey was no easier than previously and she made many a false turn, but eventually reached the wall that enclosed the house, from where, to her great annoyance, she saw that the door was again padlocked. So much for marching along the path and banging on the door with the branch!
38: 43
It was just after half-past-two when Alaric returned to Reality 43. He was at once oppressed by the dreariness, the stench, the deathly silence, though the last of these was disturbed within a minute of his arrival by a distant drone that grew steadily more sonorous until a bumble bee the size of a child’s fist swerved around a tree and narrowly missed his head before careering unsteadily on its way, as though it had imbibed too much of its favorite tipple.
If he’d known that Naia was already in that reality, he too would have gone straight to Aldous U’s house, but he did not, and, wishing to be clear of the forest until he had to be there, he again made his way to the river. There on the bank, the light, though an improvement on the forest’s gloom, seemed even more jaded today, while the water smelt even more noxious. Obliged to put up with both the jaundiced light and the odor, he contented himself, while not being in any way content, with squatting on the bank and tossing pebbles onto lily-pads.
The minutes crawled.
39: 43
After so long away from civilization it felt strange to stand within fully-formed walls – even ones as unconventional as these – beneath a ceiling not composed of branches and leaves. Savoring the experience, Ric glimpsed, through a partially-open door, the fundamentals of a bathroom. He pushed the door back and saw a lavatory with a spherical bowl decorated with small pink flowers. The novelty of having access to a toilet after so long induced a desire to use it. He lifted the seat, which was of a spongy green material. There was no liquid in the bowl until he introduced some, wondering as he did so where the waste went. He was about to turn away, as he’d gotten used to doing from whatever tree or bush he’d used, when a couple of his mother’s insistences kicked in. He put the seat down and looked for some sort of flushing device. There didn’t seem to be one, but when he passed a hand across the manufacturer’s logo – a small amber shield bearing the legend J Harington & Son, Suppliers of Jakes since 1596 – he heard a small rumble beneath the seat, and when he looked the bowl was empty again. He would have washed his hands then – the end to a perfect visit – but he saw nothing resembling a tap, so one of his mother’s strict injunctions had to go by the by.
A rummage in the small kitchen area to one side of the main room turned up cans and packets of foodstuffs, all of which required cooking; but he cleared out a biscuit barrel, polished off the last of a stick of brittle French bread, and dipped into a packet of a cereal called Special T. There was a carton of goats’ milk, but he gave this a miss, taking the cereal packet with him on what he intended to be a quick inspection of the l
ast room – the bedroom – before taking his leave.
40: 43
Round the back of the house Naia found an open window. What an opportunity, she thought. When Aldous U returned, hopefully annoyed that she’d not been where he’d said at the hour he’d decreed, he would be even more disadvantaged to find her inside his house than if he’d merely opened the door to find her on the path. She dropped the branch she’d carried through the forest and hoisted herself over the ledge.
41: 43
With at least fifteen minutes to go, Alaric started along the bank, as he had on his previous visit. This time he had the key to the house. Maybe he would go in, poke about for a bit before taking the path through the forest to meet Naia at the crossing point. If he was a bit late, well, serve her right for running out on him last time. Oh, would she be surprised to find him swinging through the trees!
42: 43
The bedroom was just big enough to accommodate a single divan, a small side table, and a very modest selection of jackets, trousers and shirts on a rail. Ric was about to leave when he noticed two framed photos beside the bed. He bent to peer at them. One was of a small child holding a multi-colored plastic windmill, the other of an attractive woman in her thirties. It was the latter which brought a gasp. He dropped the cereal packet and picked up the photo. It wasn’t his mother, but the similarities were undeniable: the fair hair, the amused mouth, the large bright eyes. He was still getting over this when he heard movement in the adjoining room. He returned the picture to the table, careful not to make a sound.
43: 43
To Naia, it had the air of a temporary residence cobbled together by someone who cared little for comfort or the look of things; but apart from the way the rocks and boulders that made up the walls intruded into the room – and the several teetering stacks of books – it was all so much more ordinary than she might have expected of the domain of a mystery man from another reality. She quite liked two of the three rumpled rugs on the floor, which had an African look about them, but most of the other furnishings were very commonplace. Only two items caught her interest, both of them on the table under the main window. The first was a pouch like the one in her pocket, but a darker blue, with a tiny diamond pattern. Beside this there was a needle and thread and a small pair of scissors. The other thing of interest was the typewriter. The typewriter, obviously. Inspecting this battered relic, she was intrigued to see that the manufacturer’s name, in large yellow letters above the platen, was Underwood.
The Realities of Aldous U Page 41