Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'Good morning,' said Hamlet without smiling. 'Any more bad language in front of the good Lady Hamilton and I'll take you outside and with a bare bodkin your quietus make.'

'What did the prince say?' asked St Zvlkx.

'Yes,' said Joffy, 'what did he say?'

'It's Courier Bold,' I told him, 'the traditional language of the BookWorld. He said that he would be failing in his duty as a gentleman if he allowed Zvlkx to show any disrespect to Lady Hamilton.'

'What did your sister say?' asked St Zvlkx. 'She said that if you insult Hamlet's bird again your nose will be two foot wide across your face.'

'Oh.'

'Well,' said my mother, 'this is turning out to be a very pleasant morning!'

'In that case,' said Joffy, sensing the time was just right, 'could St Zvlkx stay here until midday? I've got to give a sermon to the Sisters of Eternal Punctuality at ten and if I'm late they throw their prayer books at me.'

'No can do, o son my son,' said my mother, flipping the bacon. 'Why not take St Zvlkx with you? I'm sure the nuns will be impressed by his piety.'

'Did someone mention nuns?' asked St Zvlkx, looking around eagerly.

'How you got to be a saint I have no idea,' chided Joffy. 'Another peep out of you and I'll personally kick your bulgar arse all the way back to the thirteenth century.'

St Zvlkx shrugged, wolfed down his bacon and eggs with his hands and then burped loudly. Friday did the same and collapsed into a fit of giggles.

They all left soon after. Joffy wouldn't look after Friday and Zvlkx certainly couldn't, so there was nothing for it. As soon as Mum had found her hat, coat and keys and gone out, I rushed upstairs, dressed, then read myself into Bradshaw Defies the Kaiser to ask Melanie whether she would look after Friday until teatime. Mum had said she would be out the whole day, and since Hamlet already knew that Melanie was a gorilla and neither Emma nor Bismarck could exactly complain since they were long-dead historical figures themselves, I thought it a safe bet. It was against regulations, but with Hamlet and the world facing an uncertain future, I was past caring.

Melanie happily agreed, and once she had changed into a yellow polka-dot dress I brought her out of the BookWorld to my mother's front room, which she thought very smart, especially the festoon curtains. She was pulling the cord to watch the curtains rise and fall when Emma walked in.

'Lady Hamilton,' I announced, 'this is Melanie Bradshaw.'

Mel put out a large hand and Emma shook it nervously, as though expecting Melanie to bite her or something.

'H-how do you do?' she stammered. 'I've never been introduced to a monkey before.'

'Ape,' corrected Melanie helpfully. 'Monkeys generally have tails, are truly arboreal and belong to the families Hylobatidae, cebidae and Cercopithecidae. You and I and all the Great Apes are Pongidae. I'm a gorilla. Well, strictly speaking I'm a mountain gorilla – Gorilla gorilla beringei – which live on the slopes of the Virunga volcanoes – we used to call it British East Africa but I'm not sure what it is now. Have you ever been there?'

'No.'

'Charming place. That's where Trafford – my husband – and I met. He was with his gun bearers hacking his way through the undergrowth during the backstory to Bradshaw Hunts Big Game (Collins, 1878, 4/6d, illustrated) and he slipped from the path and fell twenty feet into the ravine below where I was taking a bath.'

She picked Friday up in her massive arms and he chortled with delight.

'Well, I was most dreadfully embarrassed. I mean, I was sitting there in the running water without a stitch on, but – and I'll always remember this – Trafford politely apologised and turned his back so I could nip into the bushes and get dressed. I came out to ask him if he might want directions back to civilisation – Africa was quite unexplored then, you know – and we got to chatting. Well, one thing led to another and before I knew it he had asked me out to dinner. We've been together ever since. Does that sound silly to you?'

Emma thought about how her relationship with Admiral Lord Nelson was lampooned mercilessly in the press.

'No, I think that sounds really quite romantic.'

'Right,' I said, clapping my hands, 'I'll be back at three. Don't go out and if anyone calls, get Hamlet or Emma to answer the door. Okay?'

'Certainly,' replied Melanie, 'don't go out, don't answer the door. Simple.'

'And no swinging on the curtains or lamp fixtures – they won't stand it.'

'Are you saying I'm a bit large?'

'Not at all,' I replied hastily, 'things are just different in the real world. There is lots of fruit in the bowl and fresh bananas in the refrigerator. Okay?'

'No problemo. Have a nice day.'