The Woman Who Died a Lot (Thursday Next 7)

There was silence for a moment.

“I’m in, too,” said Friday. “Sis?”

“Okay, fine,” said Tuesday. “She always made me laugh, the little scamp.”

“All righty,” said the Cleaning Lady. “Looks like I’m going to make that train to Whitby after all.”

She pulled a cell phone from her pocket and pressed a couple of buttons. “Remember that ten-seater tiltrotor that came down near Barnstaple two years ago due to a gearbox failure?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Jenny would have been on that, en route to visiting a pen pal in Liskeard.”

Landen and I looked at each other. I held his hand, and he blinked away a tear.

“Graham?” said the Cleaning Lady into the phone. “You were right. They’re going to keep her. Get onto the Falsification Department and tell them we need a memorial stone in Aldbourne Cemetery.”

She looked at me. “Jennifer Houson Parke-Laine-Next,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes, “1990 to 2002.”

“Under the yew,” added Landen. “The dappled shade during the summer will make it a peaceful spot.”

I gave out a choke of grief, and Landen got up to give me a hug. I had seen her not half an hour ago, and soon she would be gone forever. But we’d remember the good times, even if they’d never happened—or at least not to us.

“Don’t start blubbering, Mum,” said Friday wiping his eyes. “You’ll set us all off.”

But it was too late.

“All set,” said the Cleaning Lady, snapping the phone shut. “I’ll bid you good-bye. You might hear from me again, and if you do, you’ll do me a favor but never know why. We often need favors. Now,” she said, cracking her knuckles, “let’s put everything to rights.”

“Can I ask a question before we lose all this?” asked Landen.

“Of course.”

“Has something like this happened before? A daughter like Jenny, a family like us?”

“Many times.”

“And do they always opt to keep them?”

She smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Always.”

36.

Friday: Morning

The GSD has a fairly elastic set of rules, as it endeavors to cater to all faith tastes, from those who enjoy the dressing up and high theater to those who rarely, if ever, attend church. The GSD’s ten Bastions are the central pillars of the church, and it is prescribed that everyone undertake “at least four” of the Bastions every day. How one undertakes this is up to personal choice. The Third Bastion, “Pause and Consider,” can take less than a second or over an hour, depending upon taste. The Seventh Bastion, “Moment of Levity,” is often considered one of the most important.

David Twiglet, The Unification of Man

My eyes flickered open, and I rolled over. I was lying in bed and could feel Landen’s warm body beside me. I glanced at the clock. It was just past seven, and I’d not slept better for weeks. The room was dark, and outside I could hear the faint hooting of an immature tawny owl. Beyond this was the distant murmur of the M4, and as I stared into the darkness, I heard the distinctive hum of the induction motors as a Skyrail car moved through the village below, doubtless taking early risers into work. I looked across at Landen and put out an exploratory hand. He rolled over, placed his hand on my stomach, moved it up, then down—and was out of bed within about an eighth of a second with a shriek of alarm.

“What the . . . ?” I cried, and then realized. I didn’t know what a Tawny Owl would have sounded like, and I’d have to have superhuman hearing to detect the hum of a Skyrail a mile away. But then I wasn’t me. I lifted the sheets and had a look. Something was missing. I’d been replaced again.

“I thought I was feeling a little too good,” I said in a resigned manner, jumping out of bed and looking around the bedroom.

“You won’t find what you’re missing by looking around,” said Landen, rolling a sock onto his stump and reaching for his leg.

“I’m not looking for that,” I said, “I’m looking for me.”