inheritance, mysterious as it might have been, proving to have no monetary value, and so she needed a job. And she discovered a rather old and faded and doggy-eared postcard in the corner of the newsagent’s window and she applied for the job.
So we gave it to her.
And as I still didn’t have a girlfriend, I was rather happy to see Lola again and decided that it had to be fate and we probably would be settling down and having children.
But it was nineteen sixty-seven, and so marriage wasn’t something that anyone spoke about much. Because it was now the Summer of Love and free love was the order of the day.
And I was hoping very much to get some of that free love, because I hadn’t had any of it at all, thus far.
And as Lola returned to my life someone else did also, and this someone arrived with an invitation to partake in as much free love as I fancied.
And this someone was Mr Ishmael.
I didn’t recognise him at first. He wore a kaftan and had grown his hair long. And he now favoured a beard. Not everyone could carry that off convincingly, but Mr Ishmael did. No matter what he wore, he looked perfect in it. He had style, Mr Ishmael, plenty of it.
And in truth I had almost forgotten about him and about The Sumerian Kynges. I felt that I had grown up and put behind me childish things. So Mr Ishmael’s return did come as something of a surprise.
And once I recognised him, I said things such as, ‘This is a surprise.’
‘Not to me,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘How is business?’
‘Booming,’ I said. ‘Andy has even now been called away to rescue a child from a well.’
‘Nice work if you can get it,’ said Mr Ishmael.
‘And what of you?’ I asked.
‘I continue with my quest. My life is ever fraught with danger.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘don’t get me wrong, but mine rarely is nowadays and I’d like to keep it that way. This is nineteen sixty-seven, the Summer of Love – sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Ishmael, ‘and that does come as something of a surprise to me. I had expected the sixties to be more sober, with people eschewing loud music, strong ales and strange drugs. And adopting the cockney work ethic.’
I cleared my throat. ‘Well, there’s just no telling.’ I said. ‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘The time has come,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘Indeed, the time is now.’
‘Very interesting,’ I said. ‘But what do you mean by this?’
‘Your time,’ said himself. ‘Yours and The Sumerian Kynges’.’
‘There are no Sumerian Kynges,’ I told Mr Ishmael. ‘Toby works in an estate agents’ now. Rob, who you sacked, is an advertising copywriter, Neil is something or other in radio and I am a full-time private detective.’
‘Yes indeed,’ said Mr Ishmael, and he nodded. ‘But the time has come and indeed the time is now. And I must fulfil my promise to you all – to whit, fame and fortune. It is time for The Sumerian Kynges to once more take to the stage.’
‘But what is the point?’ I asked Mr Ishmael. ‘You are in some kind of battle with the forces of evil. But what does this have to do with rock ’n’ roll? I never understood why zombies stole our equipment, nor all that other equipment also. What did they want with it? What was the point? And what is the point of you trying to put the band back together? What is in it for you?’
‘So many questions,’ said Mr Ishmael.
‘I have had plenty of time to compose them.’
‘And I will answer them all in time.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ I said, ‘but not to me. Because in all truth, I have no further interest in any of it. I don’t want to be in The Sumerian Kynges again. We were rubbish anyway.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Mr Ishmael.
‘No problem, don’t worry.’
‘No,’ said Mr Ishmael. ‘I am so sorry that I apparently made it sound like a request. The Sumerian Kynges will reform. They will reform because I say they will reform. You signed the contract, in your blood.’
‘I really don’t give a monkey’s about that,’ I said. ‘Sue me for breach of contract if you wish.’
‘There will be fame and fortune in it for you, as I promised.’
‘I’m really not interested. I have a good job here. It started out rather weird, but it’s all quite normal now and that’s the way I like it. If I throw my lot in with you again there’s no telling where it might lead. But I’ll just bet that it will lead me into weirdness and trouble. And I don’t want any. So, thank you, no.’
‘No?’ And Mr Ishmael fairly bristled. I never saw him bristle often – it took an extreme situation for him to exhibit even mild bristling, but he fairly bristled right at this moment. Fairly bristled did he.
‘I am not impressed by such bristling,’ I told him. Although secretly I was most impressed.
‘You will telephone your ex-band members and arrange a meeting,’ Mr Ishmael told me.
I shook my head. ‘I won’t.’
‘You will and you will do it now.’
‘Or what?’
And thinking back I really wish I hadn’t said that. Because in a flash, Mr Ishmael showed me what. And it involved a flash. A flash of very bright light. Again.
And what happened within the glare of this very bright light I have no wish to go into here. Nor anywhere.
But suffice it to say, I made that telephone call.
And I arranged a meeting of the former members of The Sumerian Kynges. And there must have been something about the degree of urgency and desperation in my voice that made those former members agree to attend that meeting.
And that meeting truly sealed our fates.
And changed our lives for ever.
30
Nothing is ever straightforward.
And even the simplest things have a habit of becoming complicated.
For instance, I thought at the time, when I was running the private detective agency with my brother, that I was, at least, master of my own destiny. That I was making my own rules and living by them. And then Mr Ishmael returned to my life, bringing complications to my simplicity. It was only later that I came to realise that the period of my life spent working with Andy was nothing more than a rehearsal. A honing of techniques. That Mr Ishmael had been watching me all along, monitoring my progress until he felt I was ready to serve him once again. To aid him in his Quest.
So I had not been master of my own destiny at all, rather a pawn in a game I did not understand. And I have to tell you that Mr Ishmael had frightened me badly and could no longer be seen as a benevolent figure. He was a tyrant and he was someone to be feared.
But what he had in store for The Sumerian Kynges I could only guess. And when I met up with the former members and thanked them for responding to my telephone calls, they informed me that Mr Ishmael had already contacted them and made it brutally clear that they had no choice in the matter either. So they were expecting my call. Or perhaps a better word was, dreading.
We met up in the Wimpy Bar. Which made it quite like the good old days.
‘It’s quite like the good old days!’ I said to Neil and Rob and Toby, too, and I smiled them some encouragement.
‘It is not like the good old days,’ said Neil. ‘In fact I am not altogether sure that there ever were any good old days.’ Neil hadn’t changed much. He still had the goatee, but he no longer wore a school uniform, preferring instead a rather smart and modish suit.
‘I think we should just run,’ said Toby. Who wore a suit of equal modishness.
‘What?’ I asked of him.
