Chapters (41)
- 1. Monday: Swindon
- 2. Monday: Phoebe Smalls
- 3. Monday: SpecOps
- 4. Monday: Shrink to Fit
- 5. Monday: Braxton Hicks
- 6. Monday: TJ-Maxx
- 7. Monday: Tuesday
- 8. Monday: Friday
- 9. Monday: The Madeupion
- 10. Monday: The Wingco
- 11. Monday: Evening
- 12. Tuesday: Library
- 13. Tuesday: Next Thursday
- 14. Tuesday: I’m Back
- 15. Tuesday: The Finis
- 16. Tuesday: Tuesday
- 17. Tuesday: The Sisterhood
- 18. Tuesday: Smalls
- 19. Tuesday: Home
- 20. Tuesday: The Destiny Aware
- 21. Wednesday: Library
- 22. Wednesday: Goliath
- 23. Wednesday: Adelphi
- 24. Wednesday: Blyton
- 25. Wednesday: Smite Solutions
- 26. Wednesday: Wroughton
- 27. Wednesday: Kemble Timepark
- 28. Wednesday: The Manchild
- 29. Wednesday: Dodo Buffer
- 30. Thursday: Budget
- 31. Thursday: Finisterre
- 32. Thursday: MadCon2004
- 33. Thursday: Gavin Watkins
- 34. Thursday: Evening
- 35. Thursday: Aornis
- 36. Friday: Morning
- 37. Friday: The Righteous Man
- 38. Friday: The Smiting
- 39. Friday: Destiny
- 40. Monday: End
- Acknowledgments
We took the car into Swindon and spoke to Highsmith, who was tidying up his allotment now that it was the end of the growing season. Only his speech gave us any clue to his disability—he’d been deaf for so long he had adapted almost perfectly. He was keen to assist us, especially when I told him I could get him Joffy’s autograph, but he was of little help.
“The last thing I remember was leaving Swindon with Aornis in the back of the van.”
“By motorway, to Land’s End?”
“Right. I think I remember turning off the M4 and onto the M5, but I couldn’t swear to it. Next thing I know, I’m sitting on a bench at Carlisle railway station five days later with forty thousand pounds in cash, eight kilos of bootleg Camembert in the car and a wife waiting for me in Wrexham.”
“You explained all this to SO-5?”
“Many times. Quinn was the same, only she ‘came to’ a day sooner then me, upside down in a Mercedes she’d bought for cash two hours previously. There was an iguana on the backseat, and the trunk was full of rabbits.”
I exchanged looks with Landen. One of Aornis’ little memory tricks was to make you think you were someone you weren’t, then send you off to cause mayhem on a five-day nonrecall bender. We thanked Highsmith, who told us that on the plus side he now had a very lovely wife and two-year-old daughter— and when no one claimed the cheese, he was allowed to keep it.
“That was a waste of a morning,” said Landen, once we had dropped into Yo! Toast for a coffee and a bowl of crusty toastettes.
“Perhaps,” I mused, thinking of the tattoo on my hand. I needed to ask Swindon’s lone tattooist at Image Ink if she knew why I’d had it done on me rather than Landen, but I wanted to do it on my own—he didn’t need to have a panic.
“I’m going to walk up to the library,” I said, “to have a look at my new office.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, no,” I said hurriedly. “I’d like to do this on my own. I won’t be long. New password?”
“How about me saying, ‘Nothing should disturb . . .’ and then you finish it by saying, ‘. . . that condor moment’?”
“Condor moment. Very random. Got it.”