‘A democratically elected Council—’ she began.

‘I’d like to raise a few points concerning that,’ said Mr Atterbury. ‘There are certain things about this sale which I should like to see more clearly explained in a democratic way.’

‘I’ve had a good look round the cemetery,’ said Johnny, plunging on. ‘I’ve been . . . doing a project. I’ve walked round it a lot. It’s full of stuff. It doesn’t matter that no one in there is really famous. They were famous here. They lived and got on with things and died. They were people. It’s wrong to think that the past is something that’s just gone. It’s still there. It’s just that you’ve gone past. If you drive through a town, it’s still there in the rear-view mirror. Time is a road, but it doesn’t roll up behind you. Things aren’t over just because they’re past. Do you see that?’

People told one another that it was getting chilly for the time of year. Little points of coldness drifted around the town.

Screen K at the Blackbury Odeon was showing a 24-hour, non-stop Halloween Special, but people kept coming out. It was too cold in there, they said. And it was creepy. Armpit, the manager, who was one of Wobbler’s mortal enemies, and who looked like two men in one dinner jacket, said it was supposed to be creepy. They said not that creepy. There were voices that you didn’t exactly hear, and they – well, you kept getting the impression that people were sitting right beh— Well, let’s go and get a burger. Somewhere brightly-lit.

Pretty soon there was hardly anyone in there at all except Mrs Tachyon, who’d bought a ticket because it was somewhere in the warm, and spent most of the time asleep.

‘Elm Street? Elm Street? Wasn’t there an Elm Street down by Beech Lane?’

‘I don’t think it was this one. I don’t remember this sort of thing going on.’

She didn’t mind the voices at all.

‘Freddie. Now that’s a NICE name.’

They were company, in a way.

‘And that’s a nice jumper.’

And a lot of people had left popcorn and things behind in their hurry to get out.

‘But I don’t think THAT’S very nice.’

The next film was Ghostbusters, followed by Wednesday of the Living Dead.

It seemed to Mrs Tachyon that the voices, which didn’t exist anyway, had gone very quiet.

Everyone was staring at Johnny now.

‘And . . . and,’ said Johnny, ‘. . . if we forget about them, we’re just a lot of people living in . . . in buildings. We need them to tell us who we are. They built this city. They did all the daft human things that turn a lot of buildings into a place for people. It’s wrong to throw all that away.’

The chairman shuffled the papers in front of her.

‘Nevertheless [close], we have to deal with the [open!] present day,’ she said brusquely. ‘The dead are no longer here and I am afraid they do not vote.’