Sex and Drugs and Sausage Rolls

20

As Soap had no idea what to expect, he was not particularly surprised when he found himself in yet another empty room. This one, however, differed from the last in that it retained all of its fixtures and fittings. This room had merely been emptied of people. Soap was all alone now in Omally’s dining room. It was cold and dark and somewhat eerie.

Moonlight sidled in through the French windows and fell upon the Crawford faces on the wall, which seemed to view Soap disapprovingly.

“Damn,” said Soap. “Not again.”

And then he fell backwards onto the floor.

Someone had obviously moved his chair, so it wasn’t there to greet his bum upon its future return.

Effing and blinding, as was now his habit, Soap struggled onto the vertical plane. It was not a matter of where am I now? It was a matter of when? The remains of the feast could be seen in the moonlight, so surely it was only a matter of hours.

Soap considered checking his watch. Soap scrubbed around that idea.

“Wooooooooooooooooo,” came a voice from a darkened corner. “Wooooooooo and woe.”

Small hairs rose all over Soap and his face took on a haunted expression. Which, although appropriate, didn’t help too much.

“Woe unto the house of Distant,” went the voice.

Soap stammered out a “Who’s there?”

“This is the ghost of Gunnersbury House.”

“Oh my,” went Soap, a-clutching at his heart. “Oh my, no, hold on there.”

“Hold on there?” asked the ghost.

“Hold on there, I know that voice. Pooley, is that you?”

“Of course it’s me,” said the ghost of Jim.

Soap clenched hard upon chattering teeth and sank down into the nearest chair. “Oh, Jim,” he said. “Oh, Jim.”

“It’s very good to see you, Soap,” said Pooley.

Soap squinted into the semi-darkness. “I can’t see you,” he said.

“I’m over here by the window. But I won’t come out of the shadows. You wouldn’t want to see what I look like now.”

“I’m so sorry, Jim. It’s awful.”

“It’s horrible,” said Jim. “Being a ghost. It’s cold and it’s lonely and you hear things in the night. Things that make noises beloooow.”

“Probably the dwarves,” said Soap, shaking away like a good’n.

“It’s not the dwarves,” said Jim. “And calm yourself down, Soap. It’s only me.”

“I’m sorry.” Soap shook and quivered. “I know it’s you, but you’re d—”

“Dead,” said Jim. “But we don’t use the ‘D’ word. Get yourself a drink and pull yourself together.”

Soap found an empty glass and a full bottle and set to correcting the imbalance.

“But what are you doing here?” he asked Jim. “I thought ghosts haunted the places where they, you know, ‘D’‘d.”

“You reach out,” said Jim. “At the moment of death. You reach out to your nearest. I reached out to John. He was here in Gunnersbury House, chatting with Lord Crawford about putting the Gandhis on. I reached out to here and this is where I’ve stayed. I’m stuck here. But John can’t hear or see me and although I’ve been able to put the wind up a few people you’re the first old friend who has the gift, as it were.”

Soap drank up and refilled his glass. “You shouldn’t be here, Jim,” he said. “You were a good man. You should have gone to the good place. It’s not right for you to still be here.”

“I can’t leave,” said Jim. “Not yet. Not until everything’s been put right. And my spirit cannot be at rest until the man who killed me is brought to justice.”

Soap’s teeth rattled against his wine glass.

“Sorry,” said Jim. “The afterlife can get a little gloomy.”

“I think you’re taking it all very well.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve come to terms with it now. For the first couple of years I raged about like a wild man. But it didn’t help.”

“I’ll sort it for you, Jim,” said Soap, “trust me, I will.”

“I rather hoped you’d say that. You know that you were right all along, don’t you? About history being changed while you were belooow? Branson on the banknotes and all that kind of business.”

“Oh yes,” said Soap, a-swigging. “I know.”

“But there’s still a lot of it that you don’t know and so I’m going to tell it to you now.”

And so Jim did. He told Soap the lot. About THE END and Dr Trillby and Geraldo and the fanboys from the future and how Wingarde had been saving rock stars’ lives because Jim had pulled off The Pooley. And Soap told Jim all that he knew and all that he’d been through and by the end of it all they both agreed that they seemed to know quite a lot about everything.

Which they almost did, of course.

“You must find Geraldo,” said Jim. “You’ve seen his photograph, so you know what he looks like. He said he’d go back in time and reverse everything that Wingarde had done. But he obviously hasn’t got round to it yet. He’s probably still going from concert to concert. But I’m sure he’ll turn up for this one and I’m sure that if you tell him what Wingarde’s up to now he’ll sort it all out.”

“Okay,” said Soap. “But listen, Jim. Everything points to Wingarde, you know. That he was the one who killed you. To clear the family name because you pulled off The Pooley.”

“I know,” said Jim. “But it doesn’t make any sense. He killed me because I pulled off The Pooley. But I never got to pull off The Pooley, because he killed me first. So if I never pulled off The Pooley, he would have had no reason to kill me in the first place.”

“Do you know what I think, Jim?” said Soap.

“No, Soap, what do you think?”

“I think time travel really complicates things.”

Jim looked at Soap.

But Soap didn’t look at Jim.

“Quite,” said Jim.

“And I’ll tell you something else.”

“Go on.”

“I have a score to settle with that Leo. He nicked my photos and took the credit for my journey to the centre of the Earth.”

“Well, you did nick his wristwatch first.”

“I didn’t nick it. It just fell into my hand.”

“Just leave it all to Geraldo, Soap. Let him sort it out.”

“All right. But that Wingarde must be brought to justice for what he did to you. And then you can rest easy in your grave and go to the good place.”

“Yes,” said Jim, “I’d like that very much.”

Soap stretched and yawned. “I’m really knackered,” he said. “I was knackered anyway. But now I reckon I’ve got the time traveller’s equivalent of jetlag.”

“That’s really tough,” said Jim, “because you’re not going to get much sleep.”

“I’ll have a lie-in tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t, Soap. This is the day after tomorrow. This is the day of the concert.”

(More big juggernaut action)

Over the hill and into the town

The juggernaut came roaring.

Into the sleepy hamlet where

The folk are warm and snoring.

Down the narrow shopping street,

Over the blind road-sweeper’s feet.

Cracking the tile with its exhaust heat

The juggernaut came roaring.

Onto the lanes where the farmers walk

The juggernaut came screaming

Past libraries where none may talk

And the out-of-work sit dreaming.

Over the cobbledy cobbledy way,

Ruining the blacksmith’s holiday.

Distracting the faithful as they pray,

The juggernaut came screaming.

The men aboard the lorries

Laugh as they drive along.

And don’t give a toss for simple folk

And can’t tell right from wrong.