The Grin of the Dark

FORTY - MET

As I remind myself yet again that I shouldn't phone Natalie while she's driving, a taxi draws up in front of the university. 'Where you going, chum?' the driver calls.

'Just waiting for somebody, thanks.'

'Sure it's not me?'

I'm sure of very little, not even of the expression on his loose roundish face. Is some kind of smile lurking within his plump pale lips? Any number of people in cars and on buses have appeared to be ready with mirth. No doubt I look out of place, and many of them will have been celebrating or preparing to celebrate. The thought isn't as reassuring as it should be, at least if I take some of the notions in Lane's archive as more than jokes rather than utter nonsense. 'My partner is picking me up,' I say louder than I meant to.

Either his grin is about to surface or he's making an effort to contain it as he shouts 'Aren't you Mr Milton?'

'That's right, I'm not.' My nerves render my voice aggressive, and I try to make amends by saying 'I've not a sonnet to my name.'

'A Mr Milton said he'd be out here.'

'Well, I haven't seen him and I'm emphatically not him. Nor he.' As the driver continues to watch me without owning up to amusement, I can't be bothered to control my words. 'I could be Elmer Sitson if you like,' I say. 'Or Toni Smelser, or Elsie M. Snort.

We're all here.'

The driver shows his teeth in a grimace as contradictory as a clown's. 'Better watch where you're looking for company,' he says and drives deeper into Manchester.

I've no idea what the encounter was about or why it took place at all, but I disliked the way his face quivered like a slack balloon as the taxi moved off. I stare raw-eyed both ways along the road, but none of the drivers that grin at me out of the dark is Natalie. I'm willing a distant glimmer to be her white Punto when my mobile invites me to remember. As soon as I answer it Mark says 'Is that you, Simon?'

'I can't imagine who else it would be.'

'Where are you?'

'In front of the university.'

'So are we.'

I peer about until my eyes sting, but there isn't a single white car to be seen. 'You must be at the other front,' I joke and laugh as well. 'I'm on Oxford Road.'

'So are we.'

I shut my eyes for fear that the image of my surroundings will vanish to reveal somewhere else. 'Are you parked?' I manage to ask.

'We're in front of the door. Can't you see us? I'm waving, look.'

I risk a blink and see nothing at all. My vision is as blank as the inside of a screen with no power. I squeeze my eyes shut and force them open, and succeed in seeing the latest parade of merry faces in the dimness, but no sign of Natalie's car. 'If you're not moving,' I say through my shivering teeth, 'can I have a word with your mother?'

'I am moving. Look, I am more.' As I clench my teeth in an effort to control them and my mind, which feels as if it's finally about to overload, Mark says 'Oh, you mean the car. Simon wants to speak to you.'

'Simon,' Natalie says with patience so dramatic I hope it's directed at Mark. 'You're in the university, yes? Whenever you're ready we're outside.'

'I'm not insside, nno.' My jaws are playing at castanets again. 'I'm outtside the mmain enttrance.'

She's silent, and I'm afraid she has given up on me until she says 'I know you need to catch up on yourself after your travels. Do you think you might not be in Manchester?'

'That's riddiccullous.' The words aren't worth the struggle, because I'm no longer addressing the phone but flourishing it at a taxi on the far side of the road. I almost topple over my luggage in a slapstick bid to ensure that the driver notices me. The taxi executes a screeching turn surely too fast for the icy road. I retreat for fear it may mount the kerb, but it halts alongside. 'Want me after all?' the driver shouts.

It's the same man. My entire body quakes with my struggles to control my voice. 'I'm ssorry to ttroubble you,' I call. 'Would you mmind telling me exacttly where I am?'

'In a bad way, aren't you, chum? Been having too much fun? Didn't know who you are and now you don't know where.'

'I know both. It's someone else that doesn't.' I brandish the phone and jab a finger at it, almost cutting Natalie off. 'My partner says she's waiting in front of the university. I don't see her, do you?'

'Which one?'

He can't mean which partner, but the question still disorients me. Could Mark's directions from the Internet have done the same to his mother? 'Natalie,' I say and take an apprehensive breath. 'Are you certain you're in Manchester?'

'I'm looking straight at the name on the front of the building. There isn't much wrong with my driving or Mark's navigation either. Now, Simon, if you've finished whatever you're doing...'

I wave the phone as I call 'She's insisting she's at Manchester University.'

'Which one?'

I feel as if the conversation has backed up, and his unintelligible grin doesn't help. 'Manchester, England,' I say through whatever rictus is baring my teeth. 'The world. Space. The ccosmos.'

'There's two.'

The throbbing of my brittle head makes my vision gutter. 'Two Manchesters in England?' I ask, if I'm not pleading.

'Two universities. This and the Met up the road.'

I lower the mobile, which I've been holding aloft like a feeble torch. 'You'll laugh. Turns out – '

'I heard. Which way are you?'

While Natalie hasn't accepted my offer of amusement, the taxi driver seems to have. His face is wobbling with silent jollity, which spreads pallor around his mouth and up his cheeks. I try to ignore this while I ask 'Which way does she need to come?'

As he points ahead, I refuse to believe that his gloved fingertip squashes more than twice the width of the finger against the windscreen. 'Drive out of town,' I advise Natalie and pocket the mobile as my teeth start chattering again. 'Thanks for your assassistance.'

The taxi performs a turn so violent that the driver seems in danger of leaving his face behind. The light from a streetlamp catches the number plate, which appears to be blank, more like a rectangular display of teeth. As the taxi speeds into the distance I grip the handle of my case with all my strength. I feel as if I'm holding onto the sight of the road while I battle to regain control of my thoughts. I'm afraid that when I greet Natalie and Mark my words may spurt forth as nonsense, the kind I've been reading too much of, not to mention the sort to which I was reduced in the deconsecrated chapel. Neither my jaw nor the rest of me has finished shivering when the Punto draws up on the far side of the road.

All too soon a gap in the traffic lets me drag my suitcase to the car. 'Well, that was an adventure,' Natalie says. 'Let's hope it's our last for a while.'

'I sick on that.'

Is this how it sounds? She gives me an uncertain blink as she opens the boot. 'Do you want to sit in front with mum?' Mark calls.

'Whoever's navigating should,' says Natalie.

'I'll spay in the back with nobody's mind. I made those.'

Presumably she hears me proposing to doze in the back if nobody minds. Mark can scarcely wait for me to buckle up before he asks 'What did you find out about him?'

'Een ugh.' I don't mean this as a rebuke, but the mirror shows me how his eyes flicker. 'Tall crater,' I mumble and let my eyelids droop, and feel as if I'm being carried into blankness. The prospect isn't blank for long; I might almost be watching some form of creation. I can see the notes Lane made on the way to becoming Tubby Thackeray, but now they're inscribed on a single scroll. However many of them are little more than nonsense, there's no question that they were in the handwriting I saw in the margins of Surréalistes Malgré Eux, a connection that strikes me as so meaningless I can only laugh. 'What's funny?' someone says, and then they're gone.