The Eyre Affair (Thursday Next 1)

“I’m cloth now, Sis!” he exclaimed. “You can’t go around bashing the clergy!”

I stared at him for a moment.

“Well, if I can’t bash you,” I told him, “what can I do?”

“We at the GSD are very big on hugs, Sis.”

So we hugged, there in front of Anton’s memorial, me and my loopy brother Joffy, whom I had never hugged in my life.

“Any news on Brainbox and the Fatarse?” he asked.

“If you mean Mycroft and Polly, no.”

“Loosen up, Sis. Mycroft is a Brainbox and Polly, well, she does have a fat arse.”

“The answer’s still no. Mind you, she and Mum have put on a bit of weight, haven’t they?”

“A bit? I should say. Tesco’s should open a superstore just for the pair of them.”

“Does the GSD encourage such blatant personal attacks?” I asked.

Joffy shrugged.

“Sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn’t,” he answered. “That’s the beauty of the Global Standard Deity—it’s whatever you want it to be. And besides, you’re family so it doesn’t count.”

I looked around at the well-kept building and graveyard.

“How’s it all going?”

“Pretty well, thanks. Good cross section of religions and even a few Neanderthals, which is quite a coup. Mind you, attendances have almost tripled since I converted the vestry into a casino and introduced naked greasy-pole dancing on Tuesdays.”

“You’re joking!”

“Yes, of course I am, Doofus.”

“You little shit!” I laughed. “I am going to break your nose again!”

“Before you do, do you want a cup of tea?”

I thanked him and we walked toward the vicarage.

“How’s your arm?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” I replied. Then, since I was eager to try to keep up with his irreverence, I added: “I played this joke on the doctor in London. I said to him when he rebuilt the muscles in my arm, ‘Do you think I’ll be able to play the violin?’ and he said: ‘Of course!’ and then I said: ‘That’s good, I couldn’t before!’ ”

Joffy stared at me blank-faced.

“SpecOps Christmas parties must be a riot, Sis. You should get out more. That’s probably the worst joke I’ve ever heard.”

Joffy could be infuriating at times, but he probably had a point—although I wasn’t going to let him know it. So I said instead:

“Bollocks to you, then.”

That did make him laugh.

“You were always so serious, Sis. Ever since you were a little girl. I remember you sitting in the living room staring at the News at Ten, soaking in every fact and asking Dad and the Brainbox a million questions—Hello, Mrs. Higgins!”

We had just met an old lady coming through the lichgate carrying a bunch of flowers.