‘Don’t play games with me, Mr Knight, I heard you gasp from here. And that was just the starter, that’s nothing compared to what else I know.’
‘Mrs Lewis –’
‘I’ve got to go, I can hear him stirring. Meet me at the community singing at Castle Point tonight at 9.00.’
There was a pause.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘I was just waiting for you to say, “No police and no funny stuff”.’
‘I won’t rise to your bait. Bring ?15 and make sure you are not followed. Castle Point community singing, at the back.’ She hung up.
Calamity having divined that the call had taken me aback, stared at my face for clues.
‘Whose turn is it to make the tea?’ I asked.
Before she could answer there came the sound of singing from the stairwell, a strange mixture of giggling and wailing. A man appeared in the doorway, dressed – except for a white shirt – entirely in black. Black suit, black tie, black silk handkerchief peeping out of his jacket pocket, black pigskin gloves, black shoes. He carried a charcoal fedora with a black band and wore a black flower in his buttonhole. He also carried a folded newspaper. His face was old and wrinkled like a prune but surmounted by a perfectly smooth bald dome of a head which was entirely clear of wrinkles. It made him look ancient and alien like a goblin foetus. His eyes were piercing arctic blue and he smiled.
‘I’ve come about the car,’ he said.
Calamity and I glanced at each other.
He held out the newspaper. ‘Black 1947 Buick, one careful lady owner.’
‘Oh!’ said Calamity. ‘They put the advert in a week early. Oh no.’
The man looked up and around at the room. ‘Wow, a real private detective’s office. I wasn’t lucky enough to see one on my last visit to Earth. My sister was so disappointed.’ A tiny frown flitted across his face and a look of concentration formed. ‘But there is a feature, common to all such places, that is missing.’ He looked up and clicked his fingers. ‘The desk!’
I clicked my fingers too. ‘Why don’t you take a seat, Mr . . .’
‘Joe, my name’s Joe. With an H.’
‘Where does the H go?’
‘Where do they usually go?’
‘Usually they don’t go anywhere; most people spell Joe without an H.’
His face fell. ‘Really?’
‘It’s an old Earth custom.’
‘After the J is probably best,’ said Calamity.
‘After the J, yes, that sounds like a good place.’
‘Jhoe it is then,’ I said.
‘So you’ve come about the car,’ said Calamity.
‘Yes, can I see it now?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Calamity. ‘It’s still stuck at Customs.’
‘Oh, I see. Maybe in that case you can tell me the price; your newspaper advertisement failed to mention it.’
‘We were thinking of offers in the region of ?25,000 weren’t we, Louie?’
I avoided her gaze and stared instead at my shoes.
Jhoe looked surprised. ‘They’ve gone up. My last one was $126.42.’
‘That must have been some time ago,’ said Calamity.
‘Yes, it was. My first was in 1947, my second in 1965. I drove the length of Route 66, Chicago to LA. I remember all the Burma-Shave signs.’
‘That’s very good,’ said Calamity.
‘Yes, well, these cars are collectors’ items now,’ I said. ‘They command a premium price.’
‘Oh dear. This news ingroks me terribly.’ It was as if a light behind his cheeks had been switched off.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Calamity.
‘Perhaps we could trade,’ said Jhoe. ‘I could give you my hat.’
Calamity threw me a look of appeal.
‘Hats on Earth don’t generally fetch more than ?75,’ I said.
‘Oh, I see. On Noo they are worth more.’
‘So it’s a Noo hat? Why didn’t you say! On Earth a Noo hat generally goes for about a hundred.’
‘But not ?25,000,’ said Calamity. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘How are things on Noo these days?’
‘Much the same as ever, really,’ said Jhoe. He looked glum. ‘Still raining.’
‘Does it have to be a Buick?’ Calamity asked.
Jhoe seemed thrown by the question. He frowned.
‘I mean,’ she said hurriedly, ‘how would it be if you bought a car that . . . that wasn’t a black ’47 Buick?’
Jhoe looked baffled, like one of those hunter-gatherers who have no word for numbers greater than three when the TV interviewer asks what two and two make. He pulled his forearms close in front of his chest and hid his face behind his fists. ‘This question completely ingroks me,’ he said.
‘Please don’t be ingrokked,’ said Calamity.
‘Now look what you’ve done with your horseplay,’ I said. ‘She was just joking.’
Jhoe pulled his hands away. ‘Really?’
‘Of course!’ said Calamity.
‘I am relieved,’ said Jhoe. ‘Your bizarre question came close to expressing the thing which is not. And yet you seem such a lovely girl, I couldn’t believe you would say the thing which is not.’
Calamity looked pleased.
‘She used to skip school,’ I said, ‘but she never says the thing which is not.’
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ asked Calamity.
He gave her a querying look.
‘She means the hot infusion of oriental leaves, not the letter of the alphabet.’
Jhoe brightened. ‘A cup of tea.’
‘It’s made with water,’ added Calamity. She fetched a cup of water from the kitchenette and held it out. He looked at it in wonder. ‘I am honoured. You offer me the water ritual.’ He dipped the tip of his index finger on the surface and then licked his finger in solemn reverence. He looked at Calamity and she did the same. She brought the cup over to me and I followed suit.
‘Now we are water brothers,’ said Jhoe.
I left Calamity to give Jhoe a tour of Aberystwyth and help him send some postcards back to the folks on Noo. I decided to drive home for lunch at my caravan in Ynyslas and perhaps take a swim. The drizzle had stopped and the sky had become blue again with that hard mineral clarity of a spring sky after rain; the few white dots were those a fawn loses before the end of summer. As I left the office someone ran into me. It was Chastity, the girl I had last seen on the Prom casting admiring glances at Meici Jones. Not many girls had ever done that, just as not many had forsaken Shawbury for Clarach in the hope that it would be quieter. ‘I have to go and tell my aunt,’ she said in a breathless rush. ‘He’s bought me a handkerchief, can you believe it!’ She waved the handkerchief. It was a small, white cotton thing with some mauve and pale green stitching at each corner and the initial C. ‘Am I blushing? I’m blushing, aren’t I? Don’t deny it, I know I am.’
‘Maybe a little,’ I said.
