Engleby. Part 8

'Where were you between one and two a.m.?'

'In bed.'

'Can you prove that?'

'There was no one with me, if that's what you mean. I got back about twelve-fifteen. I rang the bell at the porters' lodge. The porter might remember letting me in.'

'So what time had you left the party then?'

'About twelve, I suppose.'

'So you did stay quite quite a long time at the party, then.' a long time at the party, then.'

'No, I got there late. After the pub. I really didn't hang around there.'

The pauses were now becoming more frequent and rather tense. There was a lot of body, a lot of clothes a lot of cubic footage of police officer in my room.

Cannon fired his Ronson again. I noticed that although he was on his fourth cigarette, he still hadn't offered me one. I would have said no anyway, in case it made me look nervous.

'Do you have a girlfriend, Mr Engleby?' It was Cannon.

'Well, there was Jennifer.'

'I thought Robin Wilson was her boyfriend.'

'It depends what you mean by that word.'

Cannon began to speak, but Peck held up his hand. Another treacly silence.

Eventually, Peck said softly, 'Michael, are you being quite honest with us? We've talked to a lot of other people, you know.'

I said nothing.

'Do you have girlfriends at home?' said Peck.

'Some. No one special.'

'You see, what people have been telling us is that you prefer boys.'

I laughed. It was such a relief of tension. I couldn't stop laughing for about a minute, and I noticed them looking at one another and signalling.

'All right,' said Peck. 'I just want you to remember, Michael, that we're looking for a lovely girl, someone people were very fond of. If you remember anything it doesn't matter how small anything that might help us, I want you to ring this number.' He handed me a card.

'If there's anything you suddenly "remember",' said Cannon. 'Anything you feel you'd like to share. Sometimes it's hard to bottle things up...'

'We're all on the same side,' said Peck. 'We're all trying to find Jennifer.'

'Sure,' I said.

I thought of saying 'Now if you'll excuse me', which is what the person in my position says in every detective story ever written for page, stage or screen. It's a law. They can't not.

But when I looked round their faces, I had a feeling that they wouldn't get the joke.

I just waited for them to gather up their stuff and thunder off downstairs.

Then I cleared up Cannon's mucky ashtray and threw the dog-ends in the pantry bin, where, after, a moment's thought, I threw the unopened Rich Tea as well.

I felt badly in need of a real smoke and thought of going to get my stuff back from Stellings. Then I thought I'd better leave it for a bit in case there was a sudden knock at the door and Peck stuck his head sound, saying, 'sorry, just one more thing...'

But perhaps he hadn't seen that film either, because after an hour or so it was still quiet. Then I went to the drinks cupboard and opened a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label I had duffel-bagged from the Arthur Cooper's on Sidney Street while the manager popped out the back for a moment.

I did it properly in a clean gla.s.s with ice from the fridge on the half-landing and a couple of inches of cold Malvern water. I lit a Dunhill King Size, drew the curtains and put on the first side of Goodbye Yellow Brick Road Goodbye Yellow Brick Road by Elton John. by Elton John.

I sat back in the armchair and watched the smoke rise up to the paper lantern-shade round the central bulb that hung from the ceiling. The instrumental 'Funeral for a Friend' gave way to 'Loves Lies Bleeding'.

I thought of Hannah/Jennifer walking off into the mist towards Maid's Causeway.

At the end of side one, I refilled my gla.s.s, flipped the record over, turned out all the lights, lit another cigarette and crashed back into the chair.

That sway of the hips modest, not exaggerated, just necessitated by her frame. Slim, straight back, clean, fair hair pushed back, just touching the shoulders of the coat. Her step: light, but unafraid.

That flair for living.

Then into the darkness, the singer's voice: 'When are you gonna come down? When are you going to land?'

Sensational tune.

Five.

I was walking up Sidney Street yesterday and this beggar came towards me. He was only about twenty-five.

'All right,' he said, 'I'm talking to you and let's get that straight from the start. Don't let's do that thing where you pretend you haven't seen me, OK? Don't look the other way and hurry on as though you didn't hear. Is that clear?'

Dear G.o.d, a facetious beggar. A postgrad wino. I didn't feel like giving him money. I felt like taking taking his money like elbowing him in the teeth, clearing out his pockets and selling off his dog for dog meat. his money like elbowing him in the teeth, clearing out his pockets and selling off his dog for dog meat.

There's an alley down the side of Christ's Pieces. It's called Milton's Walk, after the poet, who presumably used it on his way to and from his college. 'The Lady of Christ's' is what the other boys in college called him at the time, though I don't know why; it's not as though they were even considering co-res in 1628. At the other end is King Street, which may have been more than a pub run in Milton's day. Cemented along the top of the wall on the right of the alley as you go down are bits of broken bottle to stop you climbing into Christ's garden (Gethsemane?). Below are graffiti. But they don't say 'Rovers For Ever', 'THFC Skins' or 'I love Tracy'; they say things like 'Life is not a Rehearsal' or 'All Things Must Pa.s.s'. Sometimes it's wearing to live amid such ba.n.a.lity.

I'm worried about my mother. She's had a hysterectomy and hasn't been able to go back to work at the Waverley hotel. Julie says she hasn't got out of bed for a week. I'm not sure what I'd do if she didn't have any income, as my father's pension from the paper mill barely keeps her in tea bags. I'm going to have to stop this life and get out to work.

We're nearly at the end of term, and that means I've got only one term left. Most people are anxious about their final exams, but I'm not. Waynflete has more or less told me I need only turn up to get a first and Woodrow has fixed me some sort of interview in the last week of April.

The situation with Jennifer Arkland has become clearer. Officially, the 'missing person' case remains open. The police files are still growing as, day by day, further interviews are made with people who knew her less well with casual acquaintances, boys who met her once at tea, girls who twice played volleyball against her on a Tuesday afternoon. So the ripples spread further from the point of impact, until, presumably, they'll vanish.

Robin Wilson is under psychiatric supervision at the hospital in Fulbourn, formerly the county pauper lunatic asylum. The fifth time that Peck and Cannon did him over was apparently too much for him to take, and now he spends more time in group therapy than in lectures.

Unofficially, Jennifer's parents, friends and college have been told by police to a.s.sume that she's dead.

The college held a service yesterday in its 1880s chapel.

I have the printed order of service on my desk in front of me as I write. 'Jennifer Rose Arkland (b. 10 January, 1953): Service of Hope. 3 March, 1974.'

Although the organisers tried to keep the valedictory note out of it, there were two talks on Jennifer that inevitably sounded like eulogies. Anne talked about Jennifer the Student, and a girl from Lymington called Susan Something spoke about Jennifer the Schoolgirl.

This Susan person had what I took to be a New Forest accent. She was funny about Jen's sporting expertise at school. She was apparently quite good at hockey and lacrosse but didn't like the divided skirt, or the gymslips, or whatever. (Girls are always bitter about the frumpy games clothes they were made to wear at school, though it's not as if any boys were watching.) She was good at swimming, but hated being cold. So she ended up playing tennis because when she was eleven she admired Maria Bueno and liked her clothes. I'd always understood Miss Bueno was a lesbian, but this didn't seem to spoil people's appreciation of the joke, and I suppose there was something funny about the idea of this girl turning her back on the games she was good at so she could zoom about the tennis court in a white dress. Susan was also funny about Jennifer's attempts to sing in tune and her refusal to be excluded from the school choir. 'singing was perhaps the only activity where her sense of humour failed her.'

Was. Though I think Susan would have defended her use of the word on the grounds that the school days were in the past.

Anne's picture of Jennifer was more austere. No gym skirts, no tennis. 'A clear-thinking and idealistic woman' was Anne's phrase. 'No doubt, she is destined for a serious career. She will do something where she can make a difference.'

No 'was' for Anne. She squarely inhabited the present tense. Anne's talk was also well delivered until she came towards the end and tried to address Jennifer personally. Then her voice wavered. Then it broke. She clung to the edge of the pulpit, sobbing, while the candles were reflected in the green Pugin tiles behind her.

The college chaplain, a birdlike man whose hands came out beneath his white surplice like claws, climbed up and half-guided, half-carried her back to earth.

I wondered how Anne had got to know Jen so well and care about her so much so quickly. I mean, they were just student pals, weren't they?

As I went past the National Westminster in St Andrew's Street this afternoon I remembered it was Friday. I looked at my watch: twenty past three. I'd forgotten to withdraw money and this meant I would be broke until the bank reopened on Monday at ten. This happens surprisingly often. Cashless weekends mean a blizzard of small debts (I owe Stellings 50p) unless you can persuade a barman to cash a cheque for you. I'm not on speaking, let alone money-lending, terms with the tranny in the Bradford. Since Stellings has anyway gone to London, I'll have to go into the jungle atmosphere of the cellar bar in Caius and help myself from a wallet in the heap of coats. I used to find cash flow easier to manage in the communal living of Chatfield with its open doors and empty changing rooms. I suppose I could just duffel some gin from Arthur Cooper's and use chits to eat in hall, but I still need cash for cigarettes. Also, Robin Trower's playing at the Tech on Sat.u.r.day and I'll have to buy a ticket.

I've stopped going to History lectures. I've found that since Jen's disappearance I'm not that interested in the past.

And Waynflete was getting edgy about my low attendance rate at some obligatory experiments. I'm specialising in genetics for Part Two, but there are still some lab boxes to be ticked. Thank G.o.d I'm through with the 'Maths for Biologists' course, which was harder than it sounds and heavy on homework.

My final exams are going to be on 2021 May and I'll have four weeks' vacation, starting 15 March, in which to revise. I suppose I'll have to go back to Reading because they've started using undergrad rooms for conferences when we're not here, so K. Jones, West Midlands Division (Sales) will be sleeping in my bed. I used to have a deal with the senior tutor that I could stay over the vac pretty much free, but they won't do that any more.

What am I going to do tonight? I've got to get out. I can feel a headache starting. I'll take the car and drive somewhere. Maybe that place the Tickell Arms with the crazy landlord and the Wagner tapes. He hates women so much he makes them pay for the paper at the bar before they use the toilet.

First, I'm going down to the half-landing for a read from my favourite book.

S SAt.u.r.dAY 12 J 12 JAN Train drivers' strike meant had to come back by car. Term starts Tue, but Dad only free at weekend, so three days early. Love being early, can enjoy place with no work to do and time to sort things out, e.g. stock up on food and get Train drivers' strike meant had to come back by car. Term starts Tue, but Dad only free at weekend, so three days early. Love being early, can enjoy place with no work to do and time to sort things out, e.g. stock up on food and get boiler boiler working. Had to be Sat as Sunday is Dad's tennis over-forties doubles semi-finals day. Journey took ages as we could not exceed 50 mph speed limit (new E. Heath law to save petrol). But as usual Dad was v nice about it in the end. As we got nearer and nearer he became more and more solicitous. 'Now, Jen-Jen, have you got all you need? Do you want to stop at Boots?' Pretty sure 'Boots' is euphemism for Pill. 'Don't worry, Dad, everything's fine.' I don't know if he thinks am virg. int. Can't bear even to imagine how upset he would be. So do not think about it at all. (Almost.) working. Had to be Sat as Sunday is Dad's tennis over-forties doubles semi-finals day. Journey took ages as we could not exceed 50 mph speed limit (new E. Heath law to save petrol). But as usual Dad was v nice about it in the end. As we got nearer and nearer he became more and more solicitous. 'Now, Jen-Jen, have you got all you need? Do you want to stop at Boots?' Pretty sure 'Boots' is euphemism for Pill. 'Don't worry, Dad, everything's fine.' I don't know if he thinks am virg. int. Can't bear even to imagine how upset he would be. So do not think about it at all. (Almost.) But did good stock-up at Sainsbury's, rice, spag, tea, tins, stock cubes, long-term stuff and dear Dad paid all. All seemed much better between him and M, which is a great relief. Tilly tells me she pretty sure he has dumped b.i.t.c.h at work. (T very knowing for 16-yr-old.) But did good stock-up at Sainsbury's, rice, spag, tea, tins, stock cubes, long-term stuff and dear Dad paid all. All seemed much better between him and M, which is a great relief. Tilly tells me she pretty sure he has dumped b.i.t.c.h at work. (T very knowing for 16-yr-old.) Gail Martin still clearly has hots for D but he treats her with distance bordering on disdain. Clearly excites G even further. Gail Martin still clearly has hots for D but he treats her with distance bordering on disdain. Clearly excites G even further. Xmas was great in the end. Robin came down afterwards. We all went skating at Southampton rink. R very polite to M and D, though noticed quiet scrutiny from D. Not sure he really approves, but nothing I can do. Still keen on R and all going well. Don't know what will happen in June, but that still seems a long way off. Jill in Homerton apparently became Xmas was great in the end. Robin came down afterwards. We all went skating at Southampton rink. R very polite to M and D, though noticed quiet scrutiny from D. Not sure he really approves, but nothing I can do. Still keen on R and all going well. Don't know what will happen in June, but that still seems a long way off. Jill in Homerton apparently became engaged engaged over Xmas! Will I ever feel that grown up? over Xmas! Will I ever feel that grown up? Alone in house tonight. Slightly creepy atmosphere. For first time v much wish had TV. Went for drink alone in typical tiny pub with coal fire and jukebox. Had two halves beer and got kebab with mountain of raw onion later on Mill Road. Not v good start diet/healthwise, but bicycled vigorously home to compensate. Alone in house tonight. Slightly creepy atmosphere. For first time v much wish had TV. Went for drink alone in typical tiny pub with coal fire and jukebox. Had two halves beer and got kebab with mountain of raw onion later on Mill Road. Not v good start diet/healthwise, but bicycled vigorously home to compensate. Had left gas fire on while out, so bedroom lovely and warm while rest of house arctic. V tempting to sleep late tmw, but lot to do so dutifully set alarm for 8. Hope Catty will drop in. Had left gas fire on while out, so bedroom lovely and warm while rest of house arctic. V tempting to sleep late tmw, but lot to do so dutifully set alarm for 8. Hope Catty will drop in. I am looking forwd to this term. Life v settled viz. house, Robin, work (know what necessary), friends, projects but also enough variables to keep gloss on it. Leaving aside June and End of Era, still so much unpredictable to be had from friends and their lives, and parties and meetings etc. Feel v lucky and I am looking forwd to this term. Life v settled viz. house, Robin, work (know what necessary), friends, projects but also enough variables to keep gloss on it. Leaving aside June and End of Era, still so much unpredictable to be had from friends and their lives, and parties and meetings etc. Feel v lucky and not that cold not that cold . Goodnight Dad. Thank you for everything. Sleep well back in Lym. x . Goodnight Dad. Thank you for everything. Sleep well back in Lym. x M MONDAY 14 J 14 JAN Rang phone people to reconnect. First appntmt not for Rang phone people to reconnect. First appntmt not for three weeks three weeks... Anne says have to pretend to be pregnant ergo needing emergency line to get anyone to help. Train strike, coal strike, power strike. V hard to get anything done. Train strike, coal strike, power strike. V hard to get anything done. Catty no show at first but looked in later and I gave him milk. He a bit stand-offish. Perhaps punis.h.i.+ng me for absence. Catty no show at first but looked in later and I gave him milk. He a bit stand-offish. Perhaps punis.h.i.+ng me for absence. As I was crossing St Andrew's Street, saw Charlie from Emma. He invited me for tea. I like him, but he's very nervous. Wonder if gay? What wrong with all these boys that only fancy each other? Mind you, not sure about C. Many heteros wear eyeliner Roxy/Bowie fas.h.i.+on thing. Some look good, though not as good as B. Ferry or B. Eno. As I was crossing St Andrew's Street, saw Charlie from Emma. He invited me for tea. I like him, but he's very nervous. Wonder if gay? What wrong with all these boys that only fancy each other? Mind you, not sure about C. Many heteros wear eyeliner Roxy/Bowie fas.h.i.+on thing. Some look good, though not as good as B. Ferry or B. Eno. Went to Sidgwick, got full lecture schedule and borrowed books from fac lib. Didn't see anyone. Had cornish pasty and orange-and-lemonade at Mill for lunch. Mike (!) from Tipperary was at the bar. Never discovered what actual college he from, therefore known only as 'Mike from Tip' or 'Irish Mike' as though he not at uni at all but emerged from Emerald Isle. Robin unkindly calls him 'Prufrock'. Managed to finish lunch and slip out without being seen. M looked as though in for long Guinness afternoon. Where does he get his money from? Dope, I suppose, of which he always has a h.e.l.l of a lot. Went to Sidgwick, got full lecture schedule and borrowed books from fac lib. Didn't see anyone. Had cornish pasty and orange-and-lemonade at Mill for lunch. Mike (!) from Tipperary was at the bar. Never discovered what actual college he from, therefore known only as 'Mike from Tip' or 'Irish Mike' as though he not at uni at all but emerged from Emerald Isle. Robin unkindly calls him 'Prufrock'. Managed to finish lunch and slip out without being seen. M looked as though in for long Guinness afternoon. Where does he get his money from? Dope, I suppose, of which he always has a h.e.l.l of a lot. Beautiful day. River sparkling in cold winter sun. Wheeled bike through Queens' just for pleasure of looking at. Can't wait for everyone to be back. Went and bought food for welcome dinner tonight for Anne, Moll and Nick (I think). Also litre of Sainsbury's Moroccan red. Beautiful day. River sparkling in cold winter sun. Wheeled bike through Queens' just for pleasure of looking at. Can't wait for everyone to be back. Went and bought food for welcome dinner tonight for Anne, Moll and Nick (I think). Also litre of Sainsbury's Moroccan red. Had tea with Charlie in Emma Old Court overlooking paddock with ducks. He played some v heavy band on stereo. Offered to lend it to me. Declined. Nice rooms, though, large with two bedrooms. Myles came back from vac in Leeds. V funny about. Had tea with Charlie in Emma Old Court overlooking paddock with ducks. He played some v heavy band on stereo. Offered to lend it to me. Declined. Nice rooms, though, large with two bedrooms. Myles came back from vac in Leeds. V funny about. Something unstable and vulnerable about Charlie. Donnish joke about his room number involving Auden play t.i.tle, Something unstable and vulnerable about Charlie. Donnish joke about his room number involving Auden play t.i.tle, The Ascent of F6 The Ascent of F6. Sense he not happy at all, though smiles a lot. What will happen to all these people? Previous generations did great things in politics, diplomacy, medicine, industry, 'the arts' became great and good as though by natural progression, birthright. What will happen to all these people? Previous generations did great things in politics, diplomacy, medicine, industry, 'the arts' became great and good as though by natural progression, birthright. All people I know resolute that they will do All people I know resolute that they will do no such thing no such thing. No one will have 'nine to five' job. Can't imagine anyone I know here appearing on television in 20 years' time to offer expert view on anything. Just not cut out for it. I wonder why. Drugs? Partly, but we're not all out of it all the time. A generation thing, I suppose. We are a lost gen. (Rather than lost Jen, ha, ha.) Before us, the hippies; after us, perhaps keen people in suit and tie who will go straight to work in Con Party research and American banks. Poor us, lost souls. Maybe from ashes, one or two prophets or meteors? S. Forres in films? Him apart, wipeout. Hannah maybe, cd be head of Oxfam or something. Doubt she will make it as an actress between you and me, dear D... I wonder why. Drugs? Partly, but we're not all out of it all the time. A generation thing, I suppose. We are a lost gen. (Rather than lost Jen, ha, ha.) Before us, the hippies; after us, perhaps keen people in suit and tie who will go straight to work in Con Party research and American banks. Poor us, lost souls. Maybe from ashes, one or two prophets or meteors? S. Forres in films? Him apart, wipeout. Hannah maybe, cd be head of Oxfam or something. Doubt she will make it as an actress between you and me, dear D... Here are my resolutions for 1974, a little late: Here are my resolutions for 1974, a little late: 1. Work six hours each day in organised way. Not drive self stupidly. Not be downcast if don't get youknowwhat. Not end of w; in fact probably blessing in d.

2. Settle on subject of long essay for finals. Irish Q? By end of Jan latest.

3. Close watch on Robin situation.

4. No other men, no slip-ups.

5. Not lose temp with Nick for non-payment of rent, noncontrib to kitty etc.

6. Go at least four soc mtngs per term, even tho no longer sec.

7. Telephone home at least once a week, if line mended.

8. Give up smoking cigs completely. Dope only on Sat eves.

9. Volleyball or similar at least 2x per week.

10. Go to Well Woman drop-in clinic asap. 10. Go to Well Woman drop-in clinic asap. (Bit of a fraud, number ten, as already have appnt on Fri, but couldn't think of anything else, but fewer than ten looked too pleased with self ). (Bit of a fraud, number ten, as already have appnt on Fri, but couldn't think of anything else, but fewer than ten looked too pleased with self ). Oh, I know. Get part in another film (pref without taking clothes off...) Apparently when Nick explained feminist political slant of rape scene to his father, he (father) said: 'For, or against?' Oh, I know. Get part in another film (pref without taking clothes off...) Apparently when Nick explained feminist political slant of rape scene to his father, he (father) said: 'For, or against?' Now must go and cook dinner. Now must go and cook dinner.

What can it be like to live like that?

In Jen's defence, I suppose you'd have to say that it was an unusually arid time of year and there was no one else about. The best diarists sound vacuous when nothing happens.

I put the diary back behind the cistern, safe from Mrs Lumbago's short reach. I had a bath and listened to The Archers The Archers (still too much of that Ulster barmaid) and then got in the car. (still too much of that Ulster barmaid) and then got in the car.

I drove fast in the Ely direction and followed signposts anywhere, thinking about Jennifer's father. My father never owned a car, but if he had I doubt whether he would have driven me back to university in it. He wasn't interested in education, perhaps because it had done nothing for him.

My father was in the North Atlantic convoys in the War. He never talked to me about it, except once, when he'd had too much to drink at the social club that served the paper mill. He wasn't much of a drinker, but his friend Ted Green had introduced him to a drink he liked called a 'mother-in-law' (stout and bitter) and he must have had half a dozen to judge by the state he was in. Six pints is a lot of beer if you're not used to it, not much if you are. He wasn't.

I was only about eight so I don't remember much of what he said, but I was left with a sort of overall impression. The s.h.i.+ps were grey and everything was hard. Even in the place where you slept there was this steel bulkhead full of rivets just above your face. Though the waters of the sea were cold, it could be stuffy and imprisoning in your windowless quarters with the smell of the other able seamen and their feet. You heard the sound of the great engines turning and smelled the oil. The food was regular and hot but lacking taste, repet.i.tive as the weeks went on at sea. The watches were interminably long and cold. You looked eternity in the eye, where time stopped moving on the waves. There was trade in polo necks and leather waistcoats. Much of the convoy was lost to sight in the mists so you often couldn't see the s.h.i.+ps you were protecting. On the bridge they knew; by the ping of radar, the squawk of radio, they kept tabs on their charges those vulnerable milch cows, the priceless laden females in the rolling herd. You longed for landfall, anywhere, somewhere there might be colour, something more than the grey of steel, the gunmetal grey of waves, the navy blue of uniform, the thin grey of mist.

A British merchantman was holed and sinking. My father's s.h.i.+p, Peerless Peerless, changed course to give chase to a German frigate they had no chance of catching. They were fearful of U-boats. The big guns fired and the noise was unearthly in the boundless mist. When they got back alongside the merchantman they found that many of the crew were in a blazing oil slick on the water, dying of cold, dying by fire.

My father shook his head when he came to this part, I remember. He seemed galvanised. I'd never seen him more alive. He was outraged by what he recalled, thinking the Germans had deliberately set the sea on fire to burn their enemy.

He stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, swaying a little on his feet, jabbing his finger at me.

Although I knew it had been a bad experience, I felt envious of him for what he'd seen. Maybe he was a little proud of it too, though he couldn't explain why. He couldn't share or offload any of that stuff. He didn't have the words for it, he just didn't know them or couldn't put them in the right order, and his failure seemed to make him angry.

It may have been that night that he first beat me. Just from a fury of frustration. I don't think he was 'damaged' merely inarticulate. He had to get this thing off his back, he had to show people, show himself, how bad it had been. So breaking some taboo beating a nearby child was a simple way of showing that he knew what life was like like beyond limits. beyond limits.

At least, that would be the smart 'psychological' explanation. In 'psychology', there is cause and effect. Everything is made to connect, as though there were Newtonian laws not only of celestial motion, but also of human motivation. For instance, Law One: All actions attract other actions in inverse proportion to the square of the distance between them.

Personally, I think my father was just a) not a very nice man; and b) drunk.

Then he got a taste for it. Not because the 'taste' was the inverse shape, therefore the natural expression of, the 'trauma'. No. But because he enjoyed it.

That's life. Christ, what else can you expect? The human being is genetically 98 per cent identical to the chimpanzee. The human being is genetically 50 per cent identical to the banana banana. Of the genes that make us up, the vast majority 'junk' genes do nothing at all. They're just hitching a ride.

h.o.m.o sapiens, according to current evolutionary theory, exists princ.i.p.ally as a container for inactive bacteria which have been successful in the struggle for survival.

Laws of Newtonian elegance can't apply to human behaviour. Bananas aren't motivated by 'cause and effect'. Ask one.

I got up early and readied the 1100 for a drive: oil, water, air, expensive petrol from the garage in Jesus Lane. I was in Reading by late morning and went to see my mother at the Waverley. She was able to offer me something called an 'open sandwich' a halved slice of French bread with s.h.i.+ny ham, cottage cheese and pineapple on the house. We had it in the lounge bar, where self-conscious businessmen ordered gin and tonic and food whose name was given in French, which neither they nor the waitress understood, while ersatz music fizzed from a wall-mounted speaker. My mother ate nothing herself, though she drank a tomato juice. She looked thin and tired. I gave her ten pounds I'd taken from a coat in the corridor outside the toilets, and I could tell it made a difference.

I needed some music to listen to in the car, so I went to the shopping centre and slipped a ca.s.sette of Madman Across the Water Madman Across the Water by Elton John into my coat pocket, then conscientiously bought a disc-cleaning cloth at the till. I couldn't face going back to Clock Court and all that, to a town without Jen, so I drove west on the M4, listening to 'Tiny Dancer', which Stellings had tipped me off about. He also rated 'Come Down in Time' from by Elton John into my coat pocket, then conscientiously bought a disc-cleaning cloth at the till. I couldn't face going back to Clock Court and all that, to a town without Jen, so I drove west on the M4, listening to 'Tiny Dancer', which Stellings had tipped me off about. He also rated 'Come Down in Time' from Tumbleweed Connection Tumbleweed Connection, but thought it spoiled by 'silly vocal phrasing'. 'silly': not much of a critical term, is it? But it's only pop music.

I drove on through 'Levon' and 'Razor Face'. My direction? Anywhere. Because one is always nearer by not keeping still. At Newbury, I remembered Jen's mother, left the motorway and skirted the town, wondering which bit she had, in the newspaper's words, 'hailed from'. Is that hail as in stones, I wonder, or as in fellow-well-met? The ring road took me to the south, over the Hamps.h.i.+re border (Newbury was, to be fair to the reporter, pretty close to Hamps.h.i.+re just not in in it), where I followed signs for Winchester. I kept driving. In Romsey I bought a map which told me, as I was fairly certain anyway, that I was almost in Jennifer country. it), where I followed signs for Winchester. I kept driving. In Romsey I bought a map which told me, as I was fairly certain anyway, that I was almost in Jennifer country.

Soon it was dark and I was in the high street of a town called Lyndhurst with a vast timbered hotel, the Crown, to my right. I drove beneath the arch into a car park. The desk girl was reluctant, puzzled by my lack of luggage, but could scarcely claim that such a barracks was full. They wouldn't bring dinner to the room, so I had to have the oxtail soup and some sort of meat pie with carrots at a solitary table in the dining room. The beer was keg fizz, so I got my reserve bottle of Johnnie Walker from the car and drank in my room till I fell asleep.

It was only a few miles to travel the next morning. In Brockenhurst I bought a toothbrush and paste and cleaned my teeth in the toilet of a cafe. The landscape became gorse-covered, the soil looked peaty and was dense with bracken. There was a hamlet called Goose Green. The wayside inns had facetious tourist come-ons. I went under a railway bridge and came into Lymington.

What did I expect? I hadn't pictured it clearly, except for one thing: it would be the town version of herself. The buildings would be Arkland-shaped, the streets would be redolent of Jennifer. It would breathe her presence.