Grant Naylor Better Than Life

[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Page 104
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
beside him. He leaned in the window, accepted the fare and the tip from the
cabbie and climbed in. Lister was about to attempt to read out the backwards
address on his licence when the cab pulled off and began reversing through the
streets at high speed.
The driver knew where he was going, which, when Lister thought about it, made
some kind of sense. If everything was backwards, presumably, when they reached
their destination, Lister would have to tell the driver where he picked him
up.
His brain ached.
Suddenly, the cab stopped, caught up in traffic. Lister leant out of the
window to see what was causing the jam. Three fire engines pulled up outside a
ruined building. As the firemen uncoiled their hoses, the ruins began to
smoulder. The hoses sucked giant jets of water out of the smoking rubble, and
within minutes the ruins were a flaming orange inferno. When the blaze had
reached its peak, the firemen put away their hoses and drove off with sirens
blaring. The traffic began to shuffle past the fire. By the time Lister's cab
had passed it, the fire was almost out. Where the ruins had been, there now
stood a chic, new-looking office block.
Lister shook his head, and ducked back into the cab. There was a newspaper
jammed down the side of the bench seat. He dug it out, and opened it out to
the front page. Under the headline was a large photo of the blaze he'd just
witnessed. This wasn't helping his brain-ache. Finally, he realized it must be
an old newspaper, from the previous morning. In the backwards reality,
obviously, news was reported before it happened.
A thought struck him, and he turned to the seirautibo column. And there he
was: Retsil Divad. It took him a while to translate the accompanying text:
'David Lister, aged 61, joyfully brought to life on Thursday, the 21st, at
eleven-thirty p.m. (see personal column).'
Lister feverishly ripped through the pages, and found the personal column. He
traced his finger down the entries, and stopped when he found one that was
printed forwards.
'Dave Lister,' it said. 'Sure everything will become clear to you. This was
the only way. Obviously, can't be with you - everyone would get younger. Will
pick you up in thirty-six years. Be at Niagara Falls, by the souvenir shop, at
noon precisely. See you then. Good luck, from the
Red Dwarf crew.'
They'd done it again. They'd marooned him in some insane part of the universe,
expecting him to cope alone for the best part of forty years.
To do that once was bad enough. To do it twice - twice in consecutive
lifetimes - that was sheer bad manners.
Lister was a social animal. He hated being alone. Always had done.
He looked out of the cab window.
It was beginning to rain.
There should have been a saxophone playing a wistful, melancholy blues number.
The rain swirled up from the wet pavements and hurled itself into the scowling
clouds above.
Finally, the cab screeched to a start outside the address on the driving
licence. He was home, whatever that meant. The taxi door flung itself open,
and Lister climbed out.
He took the key from his wallet, walked up the path to the house and let
himself in.
It was a big house. Whatever he was destined to do for a living, it looked
like he was destined to do it pretty successfully. He walked into the first
reception room. Framed photographs jostled for position on the old stone
mantelpiece.
This was his life - the life he was about to lead in this strange reality in
which he was an interloper.
Something in one of the photographs caught his eye, and he scrutinized the
Page 105
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
others more closely.
Impossible.
It just wasn't possible. Not even with an IQ of twelve thousand.
But the evidence was there, in the photographs. Somehow, Holly had done it.
But how?
Lister would have to wait thirty-six years to find out the answer.
He turned and watched the lace curtains fluttering in the breeze through the
open french windows.
He crossed the room and stepped out into the garden.
At the end of the lawn an old woman in a wide-brimmed sun hat was clipping
away at the jasmine borders.
She looked up and saw him, and her face crinkled into her famous pinball
smile.
Thirty-six years. They would grow young together. They had a whole new past to
look forward to.
The old man's face crinkled into a smile of its own, and he started shuffling
down the garden towards her.
Page 106 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

Podobne