… Johnny Depp. I’m not here to hurt anyone,’ said Rollo, lowering the point of his knife towards the floor, keeping his eyes fixed on Johnny’s. The music had stopped next door. ‘How could I do anything? Look around, there’s only one of me.’
‘Assassins don’t care what happens afterwards.’
‘If I wanted that, Johnny, then I’ve had plenty of chances.’
‘None of us knows anything about you, mate,’ said Johnny. ‘Pardon us for being careful. Pardon us for trying to protect her.’ I was pushing through the others towards them, and Johnny said, ‘Get back Mary Sue. No risks.’
‘I trust him,’ I said. You will think that some piece of me must surely have been thinking, ‘Please, oh please, let me be right about what I saw in Rollo’s eyes. Let me not have been bamboozled by them, because trustworthy eyes are hardly something I can take to the bank, so how can they possibly be something I will risk the world on?’ You will think that, but you will be wrong. I walked to Rollo, took his knife, then his hand, and then I pulled him over to a seat in the corner of the bar. Everyone was staring but I didn’t react to that. If Rollo was here, I reasoned, where he would know what kind of reaction he would get, it must be important. ‘What is it?’
He smiled, and squeezed my hand. His palms were dry, ever so slightly rough and completely comforting. Rollo looked like an ex-public school rugby player, with shiny brown shoes, neat jeans and crisp-collared short poking out from a blue and white round-neck sweater. This is not something I would usually find appealing, but it made Rollo look – it’s hard to put this in a way that doesn’t seem like faint praise, but you have to remember what a nightmare these two weeks had been in terms of trust and upheaval, and how this meant that certain things were unusually important to me – it made him look reliable. And then he said, ‘I’m here to say goodbye, Mary Sue.’
‘But…’
‘I’m sorry it has to be like this.’
‘But you said you were going to protect me.’
‘I will do everything I can, but we both know what’s happening tomorrow, and…’
‘How do you know? We only planned it today. Who are you?’
‘I’m someone you can trust,’ he said.
‘So,’ I said. ‘You think I won’t be coming back?’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘But…’
‘We don’t have to go on about this conversation. I am not, well, I do not normally talk about these things, but I love you Mary Sue. I have to say it, in case I never get the chance again. I want you to remember that whatever happens, or however you come to think of me in the future, if, well. Just if. We will see each other again before the end, but the circumstances will be difficult, and when that happens, you have to know that I have always loved you as well as I could, after my fashion, and everything I have done in all this has been because you are incredibly important to me. Does that make sense to you?’
‘Not much.’
‘No, I suppose it wouldn’t.’ The music had started again, but there was still a critical mass of people watching us intently. The mood of the room was changed. ‘When that moment comes, very soon, when you see me, you may have some choices to make. At that point, you must remember that I love you, and would do anything for you, and if I tell you to do something, you have to do it, even if it seems, well, whatever it seems might be the result. Do you think you will be able to do that?’
‘Yes,’ I said, and I knew I would, and I didn’t know why. Again, I know, I know, if I were reading this, alarm bells would be going off in my head. Don’t think I don’t realise it now. Don’t think I didn’t realise it then, on some very deep level. Rollo smiled at me, stood up, kissed me gently on the cheek, said goodbye and walked away without looking back. Sir Conn hurried over to replace him, Johnny Depp and Freddie Flintoff at his shoulder, and asked if I was alright, and what Rollo had said, and whether anyone needed to go after and detain him. Sir Conn was holding a gin and tonic. I took it from him, drained it and said, ‘He was saying goodbye, Sir Conn. Let’s go home. Tomorrow’s going to be a big day.’
***
Johnny Depp muttered something in the taxi home that came back to me later with particular vividness. He said, intending me to hear, I’m sure, ‘When that bastard broke in, and pulled the knife, where was David Tennant then? If he’s supposed to care about you so much?’
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Chapter 56: They Can Because They Think They Can
At midnight, Kylie took her turn on the decks and the dancefloor began to fill. By the time she started her second set at two, everyone was doing the sort of dancing where they think they are dancing brilliantly, and they might as well be because they are all as drunk as each other and who is made happier by the thought that everyone looks an idiot? I’d stopped hugging my friends by this point. At the start of the evening I did it every five minutes, and they hugged me back, holding me four-drinks-tight because knew that something serious was happening, even if they didn’t know what it was. But now, none of us wanted to be thinking of that, and we were all dancing with celebrities, except Katharine who’d been snogging David-Mitchell-the-novelist since soon after we arrived. ‘I thought he was married,’ I said worriedly to England cricket hero Freddie Flintoff at one point. ‘I hope she doesn’t…’
‘Don’t worry, love. Most angel marriages are best-mate-style long-term partnerships. David-Mitchell-the-novelist’s wife is actually a lesbian at the moment, but when they got married, civil partnerships didn’t properly exist, and it was better for tax.’
‘That was a very full answer, Freddie.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t want you to tell anyone this story later for some reason, and have people not understand that we angels are very moral, but that our situation with all the eternal regenerating means that sometimes, if you describe what we do, it sounds as if we are cheating on wives and partners and everything. That totally isn’t the case. Look, that’s David-Mitchell-the-novelist’s wife over there, dancing with brainy Mariella Frostrup.’
‘But brainy Mariella Frostrup surely isn’t…’
‘Hey, pet,’ said Freddie. ‘When you’ve been around forever, everyone’s a little bit everything.’
‘Okay,’ I said. A bit later, I was being twirled around the dancefloor by Sir Connaught Sampson-Samson, my surprisingly light-footed Head of Chambers. He was mouthing along to that Gilbert O’Sullivan song which keeps saying, ‘I’m a bad dog, baby,’ and I had a sudden, clear vision of how surreal all this was and, just like that, I had my first flash of proper terror about tomorrow, and Sir Conn saw it in my eyes and without saying another word, he whisked me off the back of the dancefloor and through a door which I had been assuming was a cupboard, but which was actually the entrance to a quiet little sub-bar called Pin Head Too.
‘Mary Sue,’ slurred Jeremy Clarkson lumbering into us clumsily. ‘Have you been told not to judge us? Have you? Have you been told that your puny earth morals do not bind us, because we are superbeings.’ Then he broke down giggling.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Freddie told me.’
‘Freddie Flintoff,’ said Jeremy Clarkson, ‘is the best bloke in the world. Best. Bloke. Inthe. World.’
‘He certainly…’
‘Don’t patronise me. You know all my being an arse stuff is just an act. This is my wife,’ he said, waving over a woman who was rolling her eyes. ‘You know that genuinely none of us would ever sleep with anyone except our wives if our wives didn’t allow it?’
‘Or vice versa,’ said Jeremy Clarkson’s wife.
‘You wouldn’t sleep with anyone else because I’ve got such a huge…’
‘Stop it, Jeremy!’
‘I can’t help it. I love being Jeremy Clarkson. He is the funnest person I’ve ever got to be! I was a mediaeval scribe once, not even one who got to do the pictures; and someone who counted weeds in an African lake; and an industrial spy in a pharmaceutical company in Germany, but during a boring bit of German history. I always play whatever part the Teacher needs, but God those ones were boring. I don’t think I’ve ever really got over the weed-counting. And do you know, the thing is now being Jeremy Clarkson is that I’ve genuinely got so I hate speed cameras! At the start, I couldn’t believe people were so touchy, because the cameras can only catch people who are breaking the law, etc., but now I really think there must be something bad going on with them if people agree with all my ranting so much.’ Then his drunk face went serious again. ‘But the key thing to remember is that none of us are love rats, not even David-Mitchell-the-novelist. He’s a great bloke, even though if you’re having a dinner party and need to invite a David Mitchell, I’d invite the other one, because he probably doesn’t spend the whole time crapping on about how he should be the main David Mitchell. But he’s not a love rat, ok?’
‘Why does everyone keep saying this,’ I asked. ‘It’s not as if I’m telling anyone else what you’re getting up to. It’s all so wild and fantastic that everyone would treat it as a joke, and if it’s legal issues we’re worrying about here, then surely that problem would already have been made as bad as it could be, since by now I’d have revealed about David Beckham being gay and a murderer.’
‘Oh,’ said Jeremy Clarkson. ‘Yeah. Totally.’ And then he looked at Sir Conn, and smiled like someone much, much older than he was supposed to be, and also much younger. He said, ‘You know what this is like tonight, don’t you?’ Sir Conn nodded. ‘You know what we need?’ Sir Conn nodded again, without saying anything, and Jeremy dived off to the bar. I thought he might be humouring Jeremy Clarkson, but then I saw that Sir Conn’s eyes were glistening, and so were Jeremy’s, as if they he were about to cry.
‘What is it, Sir Conn? What is this like?’
‘Near death, Mary Sue. When you’re near death, there’s no point in holding back, so you dance. But us, we regenerate. We dance, and some of us are brave, and that’s all very well, but when humans dance on the edge of their void, it really is a void. Jeremy and I once fought alongside some very brave men, and there were parties like this every night because… Well, humans are very inspiring, Mary Sue.’ Jeremy returned with two huge glasses of port. He handed one solemnly to Sir Conn, and the pair of them stood opposite each other, and the intensity with which the looked into each other’s eyes somehow created a bubble of quiet, and they straightened themselves tall, and they intoned together, ‘Aeberhardt, Blake, Boswell, Brinsdon, Burgoyne, Couston, Coward, Cox, Cunningham, Dolezal, Fulford, Haines, Howard-Williams, Jones, Lane, Lawson, MacGregor, Marek, Parrott, Pinkham, Plzak, Roden, Scott, Steere, Sutherland, Unwin, Vokes, Whelan. Nineteen Squadron, friends and brothers, fewest of the few, Possunt quia posse videntur.’ Then they slowly saluted, and they drank their huge glasses of port in great gulps with tears streaming down their faces, and tears were streaming down my face as well.
As my vision cleared, I saw Rollo Price at the door to the little sub-bar, looking at me. I barely had time to register his presence before he was knocked to the ground by Johnny Depp, and the two bounced back to their feet, knives held instinctively and suddenly in front of them.
‘Don’t worry, love. Most angel marriages are best-mate-style long-term partnerships. David-Mitchell-the-novelist’s wife is actually a lesbian at the moment, but when they got married, civil partnerships didn’t properly exist, and it was better for tax.’
‘That was a very full answer, Freddie.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t want you to tell anyone this story later for some reason, and have people not understand that we angels are very moral, but that our situation with all the eternal regenerating means that sometimes, if you describe what we do, it sounds as if we are cheating on wives and partners and everything. That totally isn’t the case. Look, that’s David-Mitchell-the-novelist’s wife over there, dancing with brainy Mariella Frostrup.’
‘But brainy Mariella Frostrup surely isn’t…’
‘Hey, pet,’ said Freddie. ‘When you’ve been around forever, everyone’s a little bit everything.’
‘Okay,’ I said. A bit later, I was being twirled around the dancefloor by Sir Connaught Sampson-Samson, my surprisingly light-footed Head of Chambers. He was mouthing along to that Gilbert O’Sullivan song which keeps saying, ‘I’m a bad dog, baby,’ and I had a sudden, clear vision of how surreal all this was and, just like that, I had my first flash of proper terror about tomorrow, and Sir Conn saw it in my eyes and without saying another word, he whisked me off the back of the dancefloor and through a door which I had been assuming was a cupboard, but which was actually the entrance to a quiet little sub-bar called Pin Head Too.
‘Mary Sue,’ slurred Jeremy Clarkson lumbering into us clumsily. ‘Have you been told not to judge us? Have you? Have you been told that your puny earth morals do not bind us, because we are superbeings.’ Then he broke down giggling.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Freddie told me.’
‘Freddie Flintoff,’ said Jeremy Clarkson, ‘is the best bloke in the world. Best. Bloke. Inthe. World.’
‘He certainly…’
‘Don’t patronise me. You know all my being an arse stuff is just an act. This is my wife,’ he said, waving over a woman who was rolling her eyes. ‘You know that genuinely none of us would ever sleep with anyone except our wives if our wives didn’t allow it?’
‘Or vice versa,’ said Jeremy Clarkson’s wife.
‘You wouldn’t sleep with anyone else because I’ve got such a huge…’
‘Stop it, Jeremy!’
‘I can’t help it. I love being Jeremy Clarkson. He is the funnest person I’ve ever got to be! I was a mediaeval scribe once, not even one who got to do the pictures; and someone who counted weeds in an African lake; and an industrial spy in a pharmaceutical company in Germany, but during a boring bit of German history. I always play whatever part the Teacher needs, but God those ones were boring. I don’t think I’ve ever really got over the weed-counting. And do you know, the thing is now being Jeremy Clarkson is that I’ve genuinely got so I hate speed cameras! At the start, I couldn’t believe people were so touchy, because the cameras can only catch people who are breaking the law, etc., but now I really think there must be something bad going on with them if people agree with all my ranting so much.’ Then his drunk face went serious again. ‘But the key thing to remember is that none of us are love rats, not even David-Mitchell-the-novelist. He’s a great bloke, even though if you’re having a dinner party and need to invite a David Mitchell, I’d invite the other one, because he probably doesn’t spend the whole time crapping on about how he should be the main David Mitchell. But he’s not a love rat, ok?’
‘Why does everyone keep saying this,’ I asked. ‘It’s not as if I’m telling anyone else what you’re getting up to. It’s all so wild and fantastic that everyone would treat it as a joke, and if it’s legal issues we’re worrying about here, then surely that problem would already have been made as bad as it could be, since by now I’d have revealed about David Beckham being gay and a murderer.’
‘Oh,’ said Jeremy Clarkson. ‘Yeah. Totally.’ And then he looked at Sir Conn, and smiled like someone much, much older than he was supposed to be, and also much younger. He said, ‘You know what this is like tonight, don’t you?’ Sir Conn nodded. ‘You know what we need?’ Sir Conn nodded again, without saying anything, and Jeremy dived off to the bar. I thought he might be humouring Jeremy Clarkson, but then I saw that Sir Conn’s eyes were glistening, and so were Jeremy’s, as if they he were about to cry.
‘What is it, Sir Conn? What is this like?’
‘Near death, Mary Sue. When you’re near death, there’s no point in holding back, so you dance. But us, we regenerate. We dance, and some of us are brave, and that’s all very well, but when humans dance on the edge of their void, it really is a void. Jeremy and I once fought alongside some very brave men, and there were parties like this every night because… Well, humans are very inspiring, Mary Sue.’ Jeremy returned with two huge glasses of port. He handed one solemnly to Sir Conn, and the pair of them stood opposite each other, and the intensity with which the looked into each other’s eyes somehow created a bubble of quiet, and they straightened themselves tall, and they intoned together, ‘Aeberhardt, Blake, Boswell, Brinsdon, Burgoyne, Couston, Coward, Cox, Cunningham, Dolezal, Fulford, Haines, Howard-Williams, Jones, Lane, Lawson, MacGregor, Marek, Parrott, Pinkham, Plzak, Roden, Scott, Steere, Sutherland, Unwin, Vokes, Whelan. Nineteen Squadron, friends and brothers, fewest of the few, Possunt quia posse videntur.’ Then they slowly saluted, and they drank their huge glasses of port in great gulps with tears streaming down their faces, and tears were streaming down my face as well.
As my vision cleared, I saw Rollo Price at the door to the little sub-bar, looking at me. I barely had time to register his presence before he was knocked to the ground by Johnny Depp, and the two bounced back to their feet, knives held instinctively and suddenly in front of them.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Chapter 55: Eat, Drink and Be Merry, for Tomorrow...
‘Are you okay, Mary Sue?’ called Johnny Depp, and I could hear that he was now running through the trees. I was stunned into silence staring in his direction, because I didn’t know how he would react to Miss Smallbone, or how I would explain her presence. I needn’t have worried. It can only have been a couple of seconds seconds, but when I turned back to the wall, she was gone. Johnny burst into view, gun in his hand.
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘There’s no one else.’
‘I thought I heard…’ He looked around and said angrily, ‘Why didn’t you reply? You know how important you are! You cannot wander off on your own, is that clear? You said you were going to the restroom.’
I’d almost forgotten my excuse for leaving the endless meeting. All the decisions were made in the first twenty minutes, and after that it was finicking over tiny details for hours and hours, mostly to do with what weapons we would take, and whether we should wear black or dark green. Although I would be a member of the party, I lack military experience on an extreme scale, and I couldn’t see what I was contributing. And also, Johnny Depp was in the room, looking at me, and I thought I might die tomorrow. (And also (II), part of the reason I was thinking of him like that was that it helped me put the twisted feelings I had for David Tennant out of my mind, and why I keep going on about these twisted feelings is beyond me, because I’m not twisted, and I would never do anything about them. Perhaps it’s the same reason that Miss Smallbone told me about Johnny Depp. Against the bright light of oblivion, it’s hard to resist baring your soul.) ‘Is the meeting over?’ I asked.
‘Er…’
‘Just some final details?’ I said. Johnny grinned. It would have been easier if he didn’t get my jokes.
‘Come on, Mary Sue. We’re almost done, I promise, and tomorrow we go to war, so…’
‘Yeah, yeah. We have to get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, we might all be about to die! Tonight we party!’
***
Once, on a work trip to New York, I learned that the cool bars there are ones you have to know about to find, because they look as if they are the toilets of crappy Japanese restaurants or they are through a bead curtain behind the counter of second-hand bookshops. It never even crossed my mind that London was full of similar places, and maybe it isn’t, but there’s one at least. After wolfing down the delicious barbecue Kylie Minogue had been preparing all afternoon, and drinking a beaker each of a drink called Admiral’s Flip with which Freddie Flintoff seemed to be obsessed and I could see why, the mood was festive. We jumped into taxis, and headed to Kilburn. I couldn’t believe there was somewhere to go out that I’d never heard of this close to my home, but Freddie just laughed. He was clearly the leader of the gang. Even Johnny Depp and David Tennant, who were alpha as they come, deferred to him without a second thought in the matter of having a good time.
Because it was, well, because this might be the last time, and the end of everything, and all that jazz, I’d been allowed to call my mates. Jen and the others were waiting outside Cookies & Cream, looking bewildered. I started introducing them to the angels, many of whom they recognised, of course. It was surreal, presenting Jeremy Clarkson and saying things like, ‘Morgan, Jeremy, Jeremy, Morgan,’ or hearing the words over my shoulder, ‘Sorry, we haven’t met, my name’s Kylie.’
The best moment was when I said to Jen and Katharine, ‘Jen and Katharine, this is David-Mitchell-the-novelist,’ and Jen went, ‘What?’ and David-Mitchell-the-novelist said, ‘Yes, I know. I cannot believe the bloody BBC! Even when we gave them the list of angels with it very clearly in stated in brackets that there were TWO Davids Mitchell, they STILL put a picture of David-Mitchell-the-comedian on the screen when they said my name. It drives me up the absolute bloody wall. I mean, I was…’
‘I agree,’ butted in Katharine. ‘It’s ridiculous. I mean, you were famous long before him! I LOVED Gostwritten. And you’re much better looking than he is…’ Jen and I looked at each other and edged away.
Opposite C & C was a furniture shop I must have walked past a hundred times over the years, piled high with ramshackle sofas with bad gilding. The shop entrance was obviously closed, but next to it was an inconspicuous door, with three buzzers. Freddie held his right index finger in the air with great ceremony (I think he might have had two Admiral’s Flips), and pressed the middle one, which was labelled ‘Pin Head’. The bar was not as tiny as I expected, and the dance floor was also perfectly respectable, which boded well. For now, though, the music was at a level we could talk over, and there were eight barmen crowded along the counter, so there was hardly any waiting. ‘This is amazing!’ said Jen, next to me. ‘Daiquiris? I literally do not care how much they cost!’
‘Don’t worry about that, old thing,’ said Sir Connaught Sampson-Samson. ‘I’ve put a million pounds behind the bar.’
‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘There’s no one else.’
‘I thought I heard…’ He looked around and said angrily, ‘Why didn’t you reply? You know how important you are! You cannot wander off on your own, is that clear? You said you were going to the restroom.’
I’d almost forgotten my excuse for leaving the endless meeting. All the decisions were made in the first twenty minutes, and after that it was finicking over tiny details for hours and hours, mostly to do with what weapons we would take, and whether we should wear black or dark green. Although I would be a member of the party, I lack military experience on an extreme scale, and I couldn’t see what I was contributing. And also, Johnny Depp was in the room, looking at me, and I thought I might die tomorrow. (And also (II), part of the reason I was thinking of him like that was that it helped me put the twisted feelings I had for David Tennant out of my mind, and why I keep going on about these twisted feelings is beyond me, because I’m not twisted, and I would never do anything about them. Perhaps it’s the same reason that Miss Smallbone told me about Johnny Depp. Against the bright light of oblivion, it’s hard to resist baring your soul.) ‘Is the meeting over?’ I asked.
‘Er…’
‘Just some final details?’ I said. Johnny grinned. It would have been easier if he didn’t get my jokes.
‘Come on, Mary Sue. We’re almost done, I promise, and tomorrow we go to war, so…’
‘Yeah, yeah. We have to get a good night’s sleep.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, we might all be about to die! Tonight we party!’
***
Once, on a work trip to New York, I learned that the cool bars there are ones you have to know about to find, because they look as if they are the toilets of crappy Japanese restaurants or they are through a bead curtain behind the counter of second-hand bookshops. It never even crossed my mind that London was full of similar places, and maybe it isn’t, but there’s one at least. After wolfing down the delicious barbecue Kylie Minogue had been preparing all afternoon, and drinking a beaker each of a drink called Admiral’s Flip with which Freddie Flintoff seemed to be obsessed and I could see why, the mood was festive. We jumped into taxis, and headed to Kilburn. I couldn’t believe there was somewhere to go out that I’d never heard of this close to my home, but Freddie just laughed. He was clearly the leader of the gang. Even Johnny Depp and David Tennant, who were alpha as they come, deferred to him without a second thought in the matter of having a good time.
Because it was, well, because this might be the last time, and the end of everything, and all that jazz, I’d been allowed to call my mates. Jen and the others were waiting outside Cookies & Cream, looking bewildered. I started introducing them to the angels, many of whom they recognised, of course. It was surreal, presenting Jeremy Clarkson and saying things like, ‘Morgan, Jeremy, Jeremy, Morgan,’ or hearing the words over my shoulder, ‘Sorry, we haven’t met, my name’s Kylie.’
The best moment was when I said to Jen and Katharine, ‘Jen and Katharine, this is David-Mitchell-the-novelist,’ and Jen went, ‘What?’ and David-Mitchell-the-novelist said, ‘Yes, I know. I cannot believe the bloody BBC! Even when we gave them the list of angels with it very clearly in stated in brackets that there were TWO Davids Mitchell, they STILL put a picture of David-Mitchell-the-comedian on the screen when they said my name. It drives me up the absolute bloody wall. I mean, I was…’
‘I agree,’ butted in Katharine. ‘It’s ridiculous. I mean, you were famous long before him! I LOVED Gostwritten. And you’re much better looking than he is…’ Jen and I looked at each other and edged away.
Opposite C & C was a furniture shop I must have walked past a hundred times over the years, piled high with ramshackle sofas with bad gilding. The shop entrance was obviously closed, but next to it was an inconspicuous door, with three buzzers. Freddie held his right index finger in the air with great ceremony (I think he might have had two Admiral’s Flips), and pressed the middle one, which was labelled ‘Pin Head’. The bar was not as tiny as I expected, and the dance floor was also perfectly respectable, which boded well. For now, though, the music was at a level we could talk over, and there were eight barmen crowded along the counter, so there was hardly any waiting. ‘This is amazing!’ said Jen, next to me. ‘Daiquiris? I literally do not care how much they cost!’
‘Don’t worry about that, old thing,’ said Sir Connaught Sampson-Samson. ‘I’ve put a million pounds behind the bar.’
Saturday, October 27, 2007
WEEKEND ELEVEN
Well, I estimate that next weekend will be the last break, and the story will be finished sometime in the week after that. I think I know how to get us to the denouement, and I have liked the end of this week, and the start of next week has got some really nice things in it, but I don't think I will have time to make them work as well as they might, since I have a busy day singing tomorrow. Still, there's that free extra hour stolen from summer, so never say die.
I know how to get us to the denouement - certain aspects of it are still up in the air. But, like I say, I have a WHOLE WEEK, so...
My top moment of this week was witnessing my two top readers (measured in the only available units: comments) meeting each other in a hot busy pub from which, to my certain knowledge, it is easy to have your computer stolen. My other top moment was the small collection of emails from more reticent top readers who didn't want to put their names in public or anything and were very nice about things. Big up them.
(I said at the start that it would be in the region of sixty chapters; it might be. It is a sign of my growing maturity that I will not force it to be sixty, if it needs to be sixty-one. I write to length and deadline. It is like a disease.)
I know how to get us to the denouement - certain aspects of it are still up in the air. But, like I say, I have a WHOLE WEEK, so...
My top moment of this week was witnessing my two top readers (measured in the only available units: comments) meeting each other in a hot busy pub from which, to my certain knowledge, it is easy to have your computer stolen. My other top moment was the small collection of emails from more reticent top readers who didn't want to put their names in public or anything and were very nice about things. Big up them.
(I said at the start that it would be in the region of sixty chapters; it might be. It is a sign of my growing maturity that I will not force it to be sixty, if it needs to be sixty-one. I write to length and deadline. It is like a disease.)
Friday, October 26, 2007
Chapter 54: Don't Go Breaking My Heart
I sat down next to the Teacher. The soft grass still held some of the day’s heat, but the brick wall against my back was starting to cool. Only the top of my head was warmed by the sun, and the garden was painted by Seurat. After what seemed like a long while, Miss Smallbone said quietly, ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’
I looked at her in surprise, hurt that she thought I might betray her confidence, and her eyes were pleading. I was struck suddenly by how young she looked, and although I knew her youth was illusory, the illusion gave me a moment of perspective. ‘You don’t have any friends, do you?’
‘I’m…’ she began. Then she said, ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘How long have you loved, er, I don’t know what to call him.’
‘Call him Johnny. And I’ve loved him forever. Or as near as makes no difference.’
‘Does he know?’
‘Of course not,’ the Teacher said fiercely. ‘It wouldn’t, I mean, he’s in love with Vanessa. I’ve always known it.’
‘Always?’
‘Always. There have been… No. No, he has always loved her, and I have always known it.’
She hung her head, hands folded again in her lap. Sometimes, you know somebody doesn’t want to speak to you, but sometimes you know they are desperate to be forced. I said, ‘Really? Over thousands of generation, you’ve never tried, or said anything? Not at all?’ The flush rose up her neck, stronger this time, and I carried on, ‘Now is your chance to talk to a friend you can trust. You might not get another one.’ So she told me her story.
***
‘I have tried,’ said Miss Smallbone, in a voice that in a normal person would not have sounded emotional, but which I knew by now was the highest pitch of drama she would let herself express. ‘And I knew it was madness, I always knew. It’s just, oh!’ Instead of thudding her hands into the grass by her side, she held them still for a moment and then smoothed a non-existent crease from the front of her skirt. ‘It’s been so long! When I was very young, and we were still on our home planet, I fell in love with who you call Johnny Depp. But he loved Vanessa, who is wonderful. I wanted to kill myself then, and many times after, but it was only when got here that I…’
‘What?’
‘No. I didn’t kill myself because there was a war, and it would have been selfish to waste a life that our side could use somehow, and so I entered the military and found, I was surprised, that I possessed certain aptitudes. Perhaps my aptitude was not caring about death. Later, only a very few of us survived the destruction and exile, and fewer still who had been trained as I had been. I watched unseen at the beginning, wary of traitors, thinking it would be the easiest time for the enemy to infiltrate us. When I discovered that Johnny was another I was elated, but then I knew she had survived also, and I realised I could not bear the proximity of being known. The details of how I became the Teacher, and how I have maintained the illusion of continuity through the changing generations, need not concern us here. I thought it would pass, but it never did.’
‘You said you tried?’
‘Sixty million years is a long time, Miss Park. There were periods of less activity from the demons, and there were periods when I was weak. There are episodes of which I am ashamed.’
‘You don’t have to…’
‘I know.’ Miss Smallbone’s voice was small and clear, nothing so fragile or ringing as crystal, and certainly not dull. It was metal, sharp not jagged. ‘As you well know, Johnny is not continent when he and Vanessa are not of an age. For thousands of years I did nothing about this, although it was difficult.’
‘But?’
‘Tens of thousands of years, Miss Park. I am not proud of the things I did, but I understand myself. And I have paid for it, many times.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I, there were times when, more than that was necessary, I put Vanessa in the way of danger.’ She said it so calmly that it barely registered until I realised she was looking for my look of horror, and then I was horrified.
‘You…’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I knew she would regenerate, of course, but more than once, I split her from her one true love for my selfish purposes.’ Now I was close enough to the metal to hear its jagged edges. Nothing is ever smooth close up. Her neck was dark and her eyes shone. ‘I understand what you must think, and it was shameful, but… I can’t apologise to him, and so I’m apologising to you.’
‘What happened?’
‘I pretended to be… I can barely say this Miss Park,’ and now the metal was both jagged and brittle. ‘I know Johnny’s tastes. I waited until I looked like … what he would like, and then I, well. Then I was with him.’
‘What was it like?’
‘You know what it was like. I’d watched him often enough, seen the effect. It is not experience, your husband had as much experience, I don’t know what it is that he has. It made it worse, because I knew he didn’t care.’
‘Really?’
‘I knew he cared something for the person I was pretending to be, but I knew also what he was holding back, and that he would hate me if he knew what I truly was. I would have known if he ever forgot Vanessa, ever stopped waiting for her, and he never did or will.’
I stood up, and looked through the trees towards the house. ‘How often did you kill yourself?’ I asked.
She looked into my face, saw there was no point. ‘Many times. I am weak, Mary Sue, self-indulgent like a teenager, throwing myself off a cliff so it can be a few more years before the ache is strong again. Is that what you want me to say?’
‘No. It’s just…’
‘It’s true.’
‘And Johnny never knew?’ I asked. ‘I know he never knew WHO you were, but did he never even knew WHAT you were?’
‘I am very good at hiding the eternal part of myself, Miss Park. I have to be.’ I reached to hold her hand but she shook me off. A tear was in the corner of her eye. ‘Millions of years, Miss Park. Of course I TRIED. I tried everything. ‘She couldn’t stop herself, but she wouldn’t look at me. ‘There were other times, when Vanessa was waiting for him to be of an age, when I went to her, with her. I tried to learn what she did, what kept him so enthralled, and I tried to remember, and then later I tried the things she did, but of course I was not… And don’t think I didn’t know that this would never work. Of course I knew, but I had to try because it was either try or go mad. Though of course, it was madness anyway, and it harmed our cause. You cannot understand the humiliation that this was, or how humiliating it is to tell you.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘Like you said, there may not be another chance. And also, it pertains. I said you and Johnny would be a disaster because I know he likes it more with you than he liked it with me, and I was jealous. It was not because he is the Master.’ She was withdrawing, and her voice was smooth again. ‘I was jealous, that’s all. You see, Mary Sue, there really are very few stories, and mine is one of the most banal.’
‘No, Teacher …’
‘No, Mary Sue. Time does not dignify it, or excuse the things I’ve done. But I have paid. They have been together almost all this time, and the fractions I have stolen have only made things worse. I wish you will not sleep with him again, because he is not the one for you, but I know how hard he can be to resist.’
‘Mary Sue!’ shouted Johnny Depp from near the house. ‘Who are you talking to?’
I looked at her in surprise, hurt that she thought I might betray her confidence, and her eyes were pleading. I was struck suddenly by how young she looked, and although I knew her youth was illusory, the illusion gave me a moment of perspective. ‘You don’t have any friends, do you?’
‘I’m…’ she began. Then she said, ‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘How long have you loved, er, I don’t know what to call him.’
‘Call him Johnny. And I’ve loved him forever. Or as near as makes no difference.’
‘Does he know?’
‘Of course not,’ the Teacher said fiercely. ‘It wouldn’t, I mean, he’s in love with Vanessa. I’ve always known it.’
‘Always?’
‘Always. There have been… No. No, he has always loved her, and I have always known it.’
She hung her head, hands folded again in her lap. Sometimes, you know somebody doesn’t want to speak to you, but sometimes you know they are desperate to be forced. I said, ‘Really? Over thousands of generation, you’ve never tried, or said anything? Not at all?’ The flush rose up her neck, stronger this time, and I carried on, ‘Now is your chance to talk to a friend you can trust. You might not get another one.’ So she told me her story.
***
‘I have tried,’ said Miss Smallbone, in a voice that in a normal person would not have sounded emotional, but which I knew by now was the highest pitch of drama she would let herself express. ‘And I knew it was madness, I always knew. It’s just, oh!’ Instead of thudding her hands into the grass by her side, she held them still for a moment and then smoothed a non-existent crease from the front of her skirt. ‘It’s been so long! When I was very young, and we were still on our home planet, I fell in love with who you call Johnny Depp. But he loved Vanessa, who is wonderful. I wanted to kill myself then, and many times after, but it was only when got here that I…’
‘What?’
‘No. I didn’t kill myself because there was a war, and it would have been selfish to waste a life that our side could use somehow, and so I entered the military and found, I was surprised, that I possessed certain aptitudes. Perhaps my aptitude was not caring about death. Later, only a very few of us survived the destruction and exile, and fewer still who had been trained as I had been. I watched unseen at the beginning, wary of traitors, thinking it would be the easiest time for the enemy to infiltrate us. When I discovered that Johnny was another I was elated, but then I knew she had survived also, and I realised I could not bear the proximity of being known. The details of how I became the Teacher, and how I have maintained the illusion of continuity through the changing generations, need not concern us here. I thought it would pass, but it never did.’
‘You said you tried?’
‘Sixty million years is a long time, Miss Park. There were periods of less activity from the demons, and there were periods when I was weak. There are episodes of which I am ashamed.’
‘You don’t have to…’
‘I know.’ Miss Smallbone’s voice was small and clear, nothing so fragile or ringing as crystal, and certainly not dull. It was metal, sharp not jagged. ‘As you well know, Johnny is not continent when he and Vanessa are not of an age. For thousands of years I did nothing about this, although it was difficult.’
‘But?’
‘Tens of thousands of years, Miss Park. I am not proud of the things I did, but I understand myself. And I have paid for it, many times.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I, there were times when, more than that was necessary, I put Vanessa in the way of danger.’ She said it so calmly that it barely registered until I realised she was looking for my look of horror, and then I was horrified.
‘You…’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I knew she would regenerate, of course, but more than once, I split her from her one true love for my selfish purposes.’ Now I was close enough to the metal to hear its jagged edges. Nothing is ever smooth close up. Her neck was dark and her eyes shone. ‘I understand what you must think, and it was shameful, but… I can’t apologise to him, and so I’m apologising to you.’
‘What happened?’
‘I pretended to be… I can barely say this Miss Park,’ and now the metal was both jagged and brittle. ‘I know Johnny’s tastes. I waited until I looked like … what he would like, and then I, well. Then I was with him.’
‘What was it like?’
‘You know what it was like. I’d watched him often enough, seen the effect. It is not experience, your husband had as much experience, I don’t know what it is that he has. It made it worse, because I knew he didn’t care.’
‘Really?’
‘I knew he cared something for the person I was pretending to be, but I knew also what he was holding back, and that he would hate me if he knew what I truly was. I would have known if he ever forgot Vanessa, ever stopped waiting for her, and he never did or will.’
I stood up, and looked through the trees towards the house. ‘How often did you kill yourself?’ I asked.
She looked into my face, saw there was no point. ‘Many times. I am weak, Mary Sue, self-indulgent like a teenager, throwing myself off a cliff so it can be a few more years before the ache is strong again. Is that what you want me to say?’
‘No. It’s just…’
‘It’s true.’
‘And Johnny never knew?’ I asked. ‘I know he never knew WHO you were, but did he never even knew WHAT you were?’
‘I am very good at hiding the eternal part of myself, Miss Park. I have to be.’ I reached to hold her hand but she shook me off. A tear was in the corner of her eye. ‘Millions of years, Miss Park. Of course I TRIED. I tried everything. ‘She couldn’t stop herself, but she wouldn’t look at me. ‘There were other times, when Vanessa was waiting for him to be of an age, when I went to her, with her. I tried to learn what she did, what kept him so enthralled, and I tried to remember, and then later I tried the things she did, but of course I was not… And don’t think I didn’t know that this would never work. Of course I knew, but I had to try because it was either try or go mad. Though of course, it was madness anyway, and it harmed our cause. You cannot understand the humiliation that this was, or how humiliating it is to tell you.’
‘Why are you telling me?’
‘Like you said, there may not be another chance. And also, it pertains. I said you and Johnny would be a disaster because I know he likes it more with you than he liked it with me, and I was jealous. It was not because he is the Master.’ She was withdrawing, and her voice was smooth again. ‘I was jealous, that’s all. You see, Mary Sue, there really are very few stories, and mine is one of the most banal.’
‘No, Teacher …’
‘No, Mary Sue. Time does not dignify it, or excuse the things I’ve done. But I have paid. They have been together almost all this time, and the fractions I have stolen have only made things worse. I wish you will not sleep with him again, because he is not the one for you, but I know how hard he can be to resist.’
‘Mary Sue!’ shouted Johnny Depp from near the house. ‘Who are you talking to?’
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Chapter 53: The Orchard: Gold
I wandered through the orchard in the golden dusk. Sun dappled through the leaves but it was too low to reach over the buildings and down as far as the grass, which was mown but not freshly or obsessively, the tree trunks ringed with deeper grasses and some white flowers which my mum would be embarrassed I can’t name. The angels’ replacement London headquarters were in a mansion in one of those Mayfair terraces where, because you only walk up and down the streets, you don’t realise some of the houses back onto significant pieces of land. The front of the house was grand enough, though it was thinly camouflaged by a row of buzzers that made it look like flats, but inside and out the back, it was amazing. The orchard had officially been planted in an attempt to defeat prying eyes in the overlooking houses and flats, but really it was because everyone likes fruit.
I’d slipped out of the interminable conference indoors on the pretext of needing the loo, and I stepped outside for a moment, and I suddenly felt a million miles from the chaos I had sparked. The French government was enraged, obviously, but the French people were ominously sullen. Britain was more or less convinced, which wasn’t surprising given that le Pen tried to obliterate London. Around the world, the angelic revelations had been met with either incredulity or outright disbelief. But any huge mental shift takes time, and at least we’d convinced the jury and David Tennant was free. David Tennant, who hugged me at the verdict, and who I hugged back tight, and who looked at me with his crooked smile and shook his head ruefully. David Tennant, who felt like the other half of me, because he was half of me. David Tennant, my father, who was inside the house volunteering for a suicide mission so he could protect me. And Johnny Depp was in there too, who was, well, who was who he was. Johnny was why I came outside, really. Every time he spoke or looked at me, I forced my face into a mask, but I don’t suppose it worked. My feelings about him were very mixed, and when I say that I don’t mean it: my feelings about him weren’t serious, in the final analysis, but they were powerful, clear and simple, and I felt them whenever I saw him, even though I knew it wasn’t right or couldn’t last, but my head would overcome my feelings. I knew this was important because the Teacher had said…
‘Hello, Mary Sue,’ said Miss Smallbone. She was sitting quietly against the rude red-brick wall at the back of the orchard, her legs straight in front of her in a long, light lilac skirt that reached almost to her sensible, anonymous trainers. Her round face was tilted sideways, and just caught the lowest edge of bright sun as she looked up at me.
‘Teacher,’ I said.
‘You did well, I think. Or at least, David is free. And now we can get to the end of this.’
‘You look tired.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t a criticism, Teacher.’ I moved to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. It was hot late summer, and I wearing my small olive shorts and black vest. My friends say this makes me look like a commando, I say I wear it because it’s so comfortable, and we all know I actually where it because I’m half-Korean and slim, and it’s a really good look for me that also makes it look as if I’m not trying. The brick was warm and rough against the skin of my shoulders and arms, and I pressed my neck back into it, wanting the roughness against the bones of my spine, all the way to the skull. To get that, I had to tilt my chin into my chest, pushing till I had felt each vertebra touch against the brick. It took me some time, and then I sat down in front of Miss Smallbone. ‘Can we save my mother?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What about me? Will I survive?’
‘I don’t know. It took me too long to realise what the Master was planning. Forgive me. But all we can do is try.’ I nodded. ‘Tomorrow night, Mary Sue, as soon as the shadows fall. Are you sure you’re ready?’
‘Of course I’m not ready.’
‘Of course.’ She wasn’t chastened.
‘Why would it be so bad, me and Johnny Depp?’
‘I’ve told you it would be bad.’
‘Please, Teacher. If he isn’t the Master, and you swear he isn’t, then I can’t understand why it would be so dangerous? I know he doesn’t love me, but, I mean, I don’t love him either, it’s just… I mean, this is the end of the world! Surely there’s no harm in, I mean, I might die, and everything is basically a nightmare, and this was one thing which was amazing, even if, well, it’s just sex obviously, but…’ and I was looking at the Teacher’s face while I was saying this, and she was looking at her hands, and I understood. ‘You love Johnny Depp,’ I said.
She didn’t move, but the skin of her neck darkened.
I’d slipped out of the interminable conference indoors on the pretext of needing the loo, and I stepped outside for a moment, and I suddenly felt a million miles from the chaos I had sparked. The French government was enraged, obviously, but the French people were ominously sullen. Britain was more or less convinced, which wasn’t surprising given that le Pen tried to obliterate London. Around the world, the angelic revelations had been met with either incredulity or outright disbelief. But any huge mental shift takes time, and at least we’d convinced the jury and David Tennant was free. David Tennant, who hugged me at the verdict, and who I hugged back tight, and who looked at me with his crooked smile and shook his head ruefully. David Tennant, who felt like the other half of me, because he was half of me. David Tennant, my father, who was inside the house volunteering for a suicide mission so he could protect me. And Johnny Depp was in there too, who was, well, who was who he was. Johnny was why I came outside, really. Every time he spoke or looked at me, I forced my face into a mask, but I don’t suppose it worked. My feelings about him were very mixed, and when I say that I don’t mean it: my feelings about him weren’t serious, in the final analysis, but they were powerful, clear and simple, and I felt them whenever I saw him, even though I knew it wasn’t right or couldn’t last, but my head would overcome my feelings. I knew this was important because the Teacher had said…
‘Hello, Mary Sue,’ said Miss Smallbone. She was sitting quietly against the rude red-brick wall at the back of the orchard, her legs straight in front of her in a long, light lilac skirt that reached almost to her sensible, anonymous trainers. Her round face was tilted sideways, and just caught the lowest edge of bright sun as she looked up at me.
‘Teacher,’ I said.
‘You did well, I think. Or at least, David is free. And now we can get to the end of this.’
‘You look tired.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It wasn’t a criticism, Teacher.’ I moved to stand beside her, leaning against the wall. It was hot late summer, and I wearing my small olive shorts and black vest. My friends say this makes me look like a commando, I say I wear it because it’s so comfortable, and we all know I actually where it because I’m half-Korean and slim, and it’s a really good look for me that also makes it look as if I’m not trying. The brick was warm and rough against the skin of my shoulders and arms, and I pressed my neck back into it, wanting the roughness against the bones of my spine, all the way to the skull. To get that, I had to tilt my chin into my chest, pushing till I had felt each vertebra touch against the brick. It took me some time, and then I sat down in front of Miss Smallbone. ‘Can we save my mother?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘What about me? Will I survive?’
‘I don’t know. It took me too long to realise what the Master was planning. Forgive me. But all we can do is try.’ I nodded. ‘Tomorrow night, Mary Sue, as soon as the shadows fall. Are you sure you’re ready?’
‘Of course I’m not ready.’
‘Of course.’ She wasn’t chastened.
‘Why would it be so bad, me and Johnny Depp?’
‘I’ve told you it would be bad.’
‘Please, Teacher. If he isn’t the Master, and you swear he isn’t, then I can’t understand why it would be so dangerous? I know he doesn’t love me, but, I mean, I don’t love him either, it’s just… I mean, this is the end of the world! Surely there’s no harm in, I mean, I might die, and everything is basically a nightmare, and this was one thing which was amazing, even if, well, it’s just sex obviously, but…’ and I was looking at the Teacher’s face while I was saying this, and she was looking at her hands, and I understood. ‘You love Johnny Depp,’ I said.
She didn’t move, but the skin of her neck darkened.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Chapter 52: High Wire
At the very moment David Tennant revealed his magic sword to the courtroom, revealing to the demons that he and I were about to reveal the hidden truth that angels and demons walk amongst us, a crack team of undercover secret commando angels were breaking into the demons’ Paris headquarters, the address of which I’d found when I was scurrying furtively around their Master’s mansion trying not to be shot by R Kelly, David Beckham, et al. When it became clear to the Teacher that I was definitely going to reveal all in the courtroom, she had snapped into her usual brisk efficiency. ‘You will need proof, Miss Park. It will seem like madness. What proof do you propose to give?’
‘I expected you to be able to think of something.’
‘How rash of you.’
‘And yet I see you have an idea.’
‘Touche, Miss Park,’ and she gave a wintry smile. ‘The demons cleared out their London office in preparation for the bomb, but Paris will be occupied. To extract anything will be costly. Some will die, maybe many, but it is the last days, and I can see no other way.’
‘If…’
‘No, Miss Park. You are the Chosen One. This strategy of yours is naturally uncomfortable to me, after these millennia of secrecy, but it is what we have, for good or ill. You do your part, and I will do mine.’
***
Of the sixteen angels that broke into the Paris headquarters, only seven survived, but they escaped with plans, details, lists and more.
The world’s press had treated the previous day’s revelations as more or less a joke – an extraordinary claim in a soap opera celebrity trial that was distracting the world, ludicrously, from the sabre-rattling between military-law France and the rest of Europe. But then we started giving evidence on le Pen’s career, and the careers of other demons in the French armed forces. The prosecution said, ‘France is not on trial! This is irrelevant. All that is relevant is whether David Tennant killed Gavin Wishton.’
‘My client killed Gavin Wishton. I thought you had established that clearly?’
‘But…’
‘Your honour, as we established, Mr Tennant’s innocence rests on his claim that murder is a crime committed by humans. We must be allowed to prove to the court that no such crime was committed.’
‘This trial is a farce…’ began the judge.
‘Yes!’ said the prosecuting counsel. ‘The defence is…’
‘Hear me out! The evidence submitted for my consideration this morning should be seen and will be seen. I have been informed by the defence that the newspapers will be presented with it, but I have also been assured that this will not happen until it is seen in court. In light of this…’
‘We object most strongly! The jurisdiction of this court…’
‘You will not interrupt me again and remain in the room, counsel, is that clear?’ The prosecuting counsel sat mutinous. ‘This is my courtroom. Extraordinary times make certain demands, and while I am yet to be convinced, I am impressed by the defence’s restraint in not having forced my hand by feeding their tales to the press, and the defence’s clear desire to allow the jury to decide on the basis of evidence unmediated by public hysteria. I am perfectly sanguine about the possibility that what happens today may be overruled, but I will not stop the defence from presenting its case.’
The atmosphere was electric. The evidence we had gathered was absolutely convincing proof that le Pen was the product of a conspiracy which had also placed France under his military control. It also demonstrated that Vladimir Putin was part of the same conspiracy, which underpinned his shock decision to sign a non-aggression pact with France. But as the prosecution kept pointing out, it did NOT prove that the conspirators were timeless regenerating demons. ‘How can you stand here denying the humanity of David Tennant, who has been examined by a variety of medical experts over the course of his professional career, for insurance purposes, as we can demonstrate, and who has never once been told he cannot be insured because he is not human.’ My witnesses repeated what David had said about the sword. The science that allowed the angels and demons to blend with the world was sufficiently advanced that from our human perspective, it seemed like magic. The judge emphasised that the jury were only debating the merits of this case. If they thought David Tennant and Gavin Wishton were human, it must be murder. The jury nodded wisely.
We showed a video of the battle for Centrepoint, which claimed five lives, including brave Davina McCall. The jury were duly horrified. And then I called Boris Johnson to the stand. After all, our defence was all about theatre. ‘Are you an angel?’ I asked.
‘Of course I am, old thing. Always have been, always will be. Fight the good fight.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Afraid not. We lost access to the science of our ancestors when we arrived on this planet. This is not about proof. This is about reasonable doubt.’
‘Objection! It’s not Mr Johnson’s job to tell…’
‘Objection sustained.’
‘Your honour,’ I said. ‘All I have is enormous volumes of circumstantial evidence. I am convinced the jury will believe it, and I will keep presenting it as long as you allow me. May I please ask Mr Johnson some questions which will allow us to explain more quickly?’
‘On the condition that he does not try to do my job for me.’
Boris was funny, eloquent and charming. He gave details of his life as Churchill, including where to find a graffito in one of the toilets at Blenheim that showed a scratched picture of a black dog widdling on Hitler. He also handed over a key to a safe-deposit box where, as Churchill, he had deposited a diary of every crucial decision in World War II which had been based on work done secretly by the angels. It was a story of heroic sacrifice which paralleled rather than diminished the heroism of the known story. ‘We should perhaps have revealed ourselves many years ago, but secrecy became a habit, and we feared prejudice. We are so few, and we are the last of our kind. We only reveal ourselves now because le Pen and his monsters want to start a new war, and the world must know what it faces.’
As we knew when we started, fine points of law were nothing to do with the jury’s eventual decision. When Boris revealed that no nuclear weapons would work any more because the angels had disarmed them for fear that they might end up under demon control, as indeed had now happened, there was almost a cheer. From that moment, we knew we had won.
Of course, victory was only the beginning.
‘I expected you to be able to think of something.’
‘How rash of you.’
‘And yet I see you have an idea.’
‘Touche, Miss Park,’ and she gave a wintry smile. ‘The demons cleared out their London office in preparation for the bomb, but Paris will be occupied. To extract anything will be costly. Some will die, maybe many, but it is the last days, and I can see no other way.’
‘If…’
‘No, Miss Park. You are the Chosen One. This strategy of yours is naturally uncomfortable to me, after these millennia of secrecy, but it is what we have, for good or ill. You do your part, and I will do mine.’
***
Of the sixteen angels that broke into the Paris headquarters, only seven survived, but they escaped with plans, details, lists and more.
The world’s press had treated the previous day’s revelations as more or less a joke – an extraordinary claim in a soap opera celebrity trial that was distracting the world, ludicrously, from the sabre-rattling between military-law France and the rest of Europe. But then we started giving evidence on le Pen’s career, and the careers of other demons in the French armed forces. The prosecution said, ‘France is not on trial! This is irrelevant. All that is relevant is whether David Tennant killed Gavin Wishton.’
‘My client killed Gavin Wishton. I thought you had established that clearly?’
‘But…’
‘Your honour, as we established, Mr Tennant’s innocence rests on his claim that murder is a crime committed by humans. We must be allowed to prove to the court that no such crime was committed.’
‘This trial is a farce…’ began the judge.
‘Yes!’ said the prosecuting counsel. ‘The defence is…’
‘Hear me out! The evidence submitted for my consideration this morning should be seen and will be seen. I have been informed by the defence that the newspapers will be presented with it, but I have also been assured that this will not happen until it is seen in court. In light of this…’
‘We object most strongly! The jurisdiction of this court…’
‘You will not interrupt me again and remain in the room, counsel, is that clear?’ The prosecuting counsel sat mutinous. ‘This is my courtroom. Extraordinary times make certain demands, and while I am yet to be convinced, I am impressed by the defence’s restraint in not having forced my hand by feeding their tales to the press, and the defence’s clear desire to allow the jury to decide on the basis of evidence unmediated by public hysteria. I am perfectly sanguine about the possibility that what happens today may be overruled, but I will not stop the defence from presenting its case.’
The atmosphere was electric. The evidence we had gathered was absolutely convincing proof that le Pen was the product of a conspiracy which had also placed France under his military control. It also demonstrated that Vladimir Putin was part of the same conspiracy, which underpinned his shock decision to sign a non-aggression pact with France. But as the prosecution kept pointing out, it did NOT prove that the conspirators were timeless regenerating demons. ‘How can you stand here denying the humanity of David Tennant, who has been examined by a variety of medical experts over the course of his professional career, for insurance purposes, as we can demonstrate, and who has never once been told he cannot be insured because he is not human.’ My witnesses repeated what David had said about the sword. The science that allowed the angels and demons to blend with the world was sufficiently advanced that from our human perspective, it seemed like magic. The judge emphasised that the jury were only debating the merits of this case. If they thought David Tennant and Gavin Wishton were human, it must be murder. The jury nodded wisely.
We showed a video of the battle for Centrepoint, which claimed five lives, including brave Davina McCall. The jury were duly horrified. And then I called Boris Johnson to the stand. After all, our defence was all about theatre. ‘Are you an angel?’ I asked.
‘Of course I am, old thing. Always have been, always will be. Fight the good fight.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Afraid not. We lost access to the science of our ancestors when we arrived on this planet. This is not about proof. This is about reasonable doubt.’
‘Objection! It’s not Mr Johnson’s job to tell…’
‘Objection sustained.’
‘Your honour,’ I said. ‘All I have is enormous volumes of circumstantial evidence. I am convinced the jury will believe it, and I will keep presenting it as long as you allow me. May I please ask Mr Johnson some questions which will allow us to explain more quickly?’
‘On the condition that he does not try to do my job for me.’
Boris was funny, eloquent and charming. He gave details of his life as Churchill, including where to find a graffito in one of the toilets at Blenheim that showed a scratched picture of a black dog widdling on Hitler. He also handed over a key to a safe-deposit box where, as Churchill, he had deposited a diary of every crucial decision in World War II which had been based on work done secretly by the angels. It was a story of heroic sacrifice which paralleled rather than diminished the heroism of the known story. ‘We should perhaps have revealed ourselves many years ago, but secrecy became a habit, and we feared prejudice. We are so few, and we are the last of our kind. We only reveal ourselves now because le Pen and his monsters want to start a new war, and the world must know what it faces.’
As we knew when we started, fine points of law were nothing to do with the jury’s eventual decision. When Boris revealed that no nuclear weapons would work any more because the angels had disarmed them for fear that they might end up under demon control, as indeed had now happened, there was almost a cheer. From that moment, we knew we had won.
Of course, victory was only the beginning.
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