By the fifth time we had driven the circuit between Junctions 16 and 17 without so much as a glimpse of anything other than bored motorists and a cow or two, I was beginning to wonder whether Spike really knew what he was doing.
'Spike?'
'Mmm?' he replied, concentrating on the empty field that he thought might contain the gateway to the dead.
'What
'I don't have the foggiest idea, but if the President can make his way in without dying, so can we. Are you sure you won't put Biffo on midhoop attack? He's wasted on defence. You could promote Johnno to striker and use Jambe and Snake to build up defence.'
'If I don't find another five players, it might not matter anyway,' I replied. 'I managed to get Alf Widdershaine out of retirement to coach, though. You used to play county croquet, didn't you?'
'No way, Thursday.'
'Oh, go on.'
'No.'
There was a long pause. I stared out of the window at the traffic and Spike concentrated on driving, every now and then looking expectantly into the fields by the side of the road. I could see this was going to be a long day, so it seemed as good a time as any to broach the subject of Cindy. I wasn't keen to kill her and Spike, I knew, would be less than happy to see her dead.
'So . . . when did you and Cindy tie the knot?'
'About eighteen months ago. Have you ever visited the realm of the dead?'
'Orpheus told me about the Greek version of it over coffee once — but only the highlights. Does she — er — have a job?'
'She's a librarian,' replied Spike, 'part time. I've been there a couple of times; it's not half as creepy as you'd have thought.'
'The library?'
'The abode of the dead. Orpheus would have paid the ferryman but, you know, that's just a scam. You can easily do it yourself; those inflatable boats from Argos work a treat.'
I tried to visualise Spike paddling his way to the underworld on a brightly coloured inflatable boat but quickly swept the image aside.
'So . . . which library does Cindy work in?'
'The one in Highclose. They have a creche so it's very convenient. I want to have another kid but Cindy's not sure. How's your husband, by the way — still eradicated?'
'Wavering between 'to be'' and 'not to be' at the moment.'
'So there's hope, then?'
'There is
'My sentiments entirely. Ever had a near death experience?'
'Yes,' I replied, recalling the time I was shot by a police marksman in an alternative future.
'What was it like?'
'Dark.'
'That sounds like a plain old common-or-garden death experience,' replied Spike cheerfully. 'I get them all the time. No, we need something a bit better than that. To pass over into the dark realm we need to just come within spitting distance of the grim reaper and hover there, tantalisingly just out of his reach.'
'And how are we going to achieve that?'
'Haven't a clue.'
He turned off the motorway at Junction 17 and took the slip road back on to the opposite carriageway to do another circuit.
'What did Cindy do before you were married?'
'She was a librarian then, too. She comes from a long line of dedicated Sicilian librarians — her brother is a librarian for the CIA.'
'The CIA?'
'Yes; he spends his time travelling the world — cataloguing their books, I presume.'
It seemed as though Cindy was wanting to tell him what she really did but couldn't pluck up the courage. The truth about her might easily shock him, so I thought I'd better plant a few seeds of doubt. If he could figure it all out himself, it would be a great deal less painful.
'Does it pay well, being a librarian?'
'Certainly does!' exclaimed Spike. 'Sometimes she is called away to do freelance contract work — emergency card-file indexing or something — and they pay her in used notes, too — in suitcases. Don't know how they manage it, but they do.'
I sighed and gave up.
We drove around twice more. Parks and the rest of the SO-6 spooks had long since got bored and driven off, and I was beginning to get a little tired of this myself.
'How long do we have to do this for?' I asked as we drove on to the Junction 16 roundabout for the seventh time, the sky darkening and small spots of rain appearing on the windscreen. Spike turned on the wipers, which squeaked in protest.
'Why? Am I keeping you from something?'
'I promised Mum she wouldn't have to look after Friday past five.'
'What are grannies for? Anyway, you're working.'
'Well, that's not the point, is it?' I answered. 'If I annoy her she may decide not to look after him again.'
'She should be grateful. My parents love looking after Betty, although Cindy doesn't have any — they were both shot by police marksmen while being librarians.'
'Doesn't that strike you as unusual?'
He shrugged.
'In my line of work, it's difficult to know what unusual is.'
'I know the feeling. Are you sure you don't want to play in the Superhoop?'
'I'd sooner attempt root canal work on a werewolf He pressed his foot hard on the accelerator and weaved around the traffic that was waiting to return to the westbound M4. 'I'm bored with all this. Death, drape your sable coat upon us!'
Spike's car shot forward and rapidly gathered speed down the slip road as a deluge of summer rain suddenly dumped on to the motorway, so heavy that even with the wipers on full speed it was difficult to see. Spike turned on the headlights and we joined the motorway at breakneck speed, passing through the spray of a juggernaut before pulling into the fast lane. I glanced at the speedometer. The needle was just touching ninety- five.
'Don't you think you'd better slow down?' I yelled, but Spike just grinned maniacally and overtook a car on the inside. We were going at almost a hundred when Spike pointed out of the window and yelled:
'Look!'
I gazed out of my window at the empty fields; there was nothing but a curtain of heavy rain falling from a leaden sky. As I stared I suddenly glimpsed a sliver of light as faint as a will-o'-the-wisp. It might have been anything, but to Spike's well-practised eye it was just what we'd been looking for — a chink in the dark curtain that separates the living from the dead.
'Here we go!' yelled Spike, and pulled the wheel hard over. The side of the M4 greeted us in a flash and I had just the faintest glimpse of the embankment, the white branches of the dead tree and rain swirling in the headlights before the wheels thumped hard on the drainage ditch and we left the road. There was a sudden smoothness as we were airborne and I braced myself for the heavy landing. It didn't happen. A moment later we were driving slowly into a motorway services in the dead of night. The rain had stopped and the inky-black sky had no stars. We had arrived.
