Lost in a Good Book (Thursday Next 2)

The phone rang and I picked it up.

'It's Miles,' said a voice that sounded like a hundred push-ups in under three minutes.

'Who?'

'Miles.'

'Aaah!' I said in shock. Miles. Miles Hawke, the owner of the boxer shorts and the tasteless sports jacket.

'Thursday? You okay?'

'Me? Fine. Fine. Completely fine. Couldn't be finer. How are you?'

'Do you want me to come round? You sound kinda odd.'

'No!' I answered a little too sharply. 'I mean, no thanks – I mean we saw each other only, um—'

'Two weeks ago?'

'Yes. And I'm very busy. God, how busy I am. Never been busier. That's me. Busy as a busy thing—'

'I heard you went up against Flanker. I was concerned.'

'Did you and I ever—'

I couldn't say it but I needed to know.

'Did you and I ever what?'

'Did you and I—'

Think, think.

'Did you and I ever … visit the mammoth migrations?'

Damn and blast!

'The migrations? No. Should we have? Are you sure you're okay?'

I started to panic – and that was daft, given the circumstances. When facing people like Hades I didn't panic at all.

'Yes – I mean no. Oops, there's the doorbell. Must be my cab.'

'A cab? What happened to your car?'

'A pizza. A cab delivering a pizza. Got to go!'

And before he could protest I had put the phone down.

I slapped my forehead with the palm of my hand and muttered:

'Idiot … idiot … idiot!'

I then ran around the flat like a lunatic, closing all the curtains and switching off the lights in case Miles decided to pop round to see me. I sat in the dark listening to Pickwick walking into the furniture for a bit before deciding I was being a twit and elected to go to bed with a copy of Robinson Crusoe.

I fetched a torch from the kitchen, undressed in the dark and climbed into bed, rolled around a bit on the unfamiliar mattress and then started to read the book, somehow hoping to repeat the sort of semi-success I had enjoyed with The Flopsy Bunnies. I read of Crusoe's shipwreck, his arrival on the island, and skipped the dull religious philosophising. I stopped for a moment and looked around my bedroom to see whether anything was happening. It wasn't, the only changes in the room were the lights of cars sweeping around my bedroom as they turned out of the road opposite. I heard Pickwick plock-plocking to herself, and returned to my book. I was more tired than I thought and, as I read, I lapsed into slumber.

I dreamt I was on an island somewhere, hot and dry, the palms languid in the slight breeze, the sky a deep blue, the sunlight pure and clear. I trod barefoot in the surf, the water cooling my feet as I walked. There was a wrecked ship, all broken masts and tangled rigging, resting on the reef a hundred yards from the shore. As I watched I could see a naked man climb aboard the ship, rummage on the deck, pull on a pair of trousers and disappear below. After waiting a moment or two, and not seeing him again, I walked farther along the beach, where I found Landen sitting under a palm tree gazing at me with a smile on his face.