“Yes,” I said. Not thinking it was funny at all. Strange yes, and quite probably downright disturbing. But at least that answered one fear. They hadn’t gone bang in an antimatter explosion.
Wayne number two held his hand out. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. “I’m Wayne.
I shook his hand. “Hello, Wayne.”
Just then Arthur appeared behind the bar. “What can I get you, sir?” he asked.
“A pint of my usual please, Arthur.”
“Arthur?” he said. “Nobody here called Arthur. Sorry, what’s your usual?”
“Of course,” I said and pointed to the Old Grumbler pump. “I’ll have a pint of that one please.”
“Coming right up, sir.” He pulled the pump with the care of a master engineer. “You met my boys then?”
“Yes,” I said.
““This is Mister Faulkener, dad,” said Wayne number one. “Like I told you. The fellow down Flora’s old place. I did his door for him.”
“Oh, right,” said the barman whose name I no longer knew. “I remember you told me that. Doors it was, yes.” He paused momentarily to let the head settle on the beer.
“You got your Alcohol Indemnity Card?” he asked me as he finished pouring the beer.
“Um, er... no, sorry.”
“You’ll have to sign a temporary one then,” he said pulling a form from under the counter and handing it to me.
I started to read it. ‘I the undersigned party of the first instance being desirous to engage in the purchase of alcohol for possible consumption do hereby ...’ it went on for several incomprehensible paragraphs. I finally gleaned the intent of the document was a waiver absolving the landlord from all responsibility regarding my actions after having consumed alcohol provided by him. Including, but not limited to, having sex with totally unsuitable partners it seems. I signed the form and gave it back to him.
He placed the beer on the bar. “There you go,” he said.
I suddenly recalled Arthur telling me that when he’d changed the pub name to the Camelot the locals took to calling him Arthur although that wasn’t his name. Albert, that was it. He’d been Albert.
“Thank you, Albert,” I said.
Albert looked quizzical as if he should recognise me now I knew his name. “That’ll be four euros twenty,” he said.
“Four euros twenty,” I repeated, patting my pockets as if that would magically conjure euros out of nowhere. I pulled a ten pound note out of my pocket and placed it on the bar. “Sorry, I’ve only got this. Is this any good?”
Albert looked at the note. “That’s the third one of those I’ve seen this week! Somebody found a secret stash or something? Like I said to the lady, you’ll need to take it to the bank to change it. They stopped being legal over ten years ago.”
“Oh, sorry.” I had a quick think and remembered I had a pile of euros left over from my last holiday. They were in a drawer somewhere. “If you can hang on, I’ll just pop home and get the money.” I headed to the door, just as I slipped out I realised Albert had followed me out.
“Hang on,” he said. “Did you say you knew that man in there? The one that looks like my Wayne?”
“Yes,” I said, confusion growing.
“Only I think he’s a bit of a nutter.” Albert looked over his shoulder as if in fear of being overheard. “He turned up here the other day saying as how he was my boy Wayne.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “I thought they were brothers?”
“Wayne and me just played along with it. Felt sorry for him. But he’s been hanging around for a few days now and we’re worried in case he’s one of those stalkers.”
Light dawned. “I see. Yes I’ve met him before, he’s a sort of odd job man. Harmless, but I think he’s... I think he’s sort of lost.”
“Do you think you can get him to move on?” Albert almost pleaded. “No need to pay for your drink. Have another if you like.”
It was a persuasive move on Albert’s part and I followed him back into the bar. The Old Grumbler went down smoothly and another appeared seamlessly in its place.
“I tell you what, Wayne,” I said to my Wayne. “If you come back with me now you can pick your bits up straight away.”
Wayne hesitated then “You still got my drill? Only I was wondering where that had gone.”
Wayne and I finished our drinks and headed back to Tinker's Cottage. I led the way round to the patio doors and into the lounge. Wayne tested the lock on the door.
“That seems alright. If it gives you any trouble you just call me,” he said.
I collected his drill and a couple of other tools he’d left behind then guided him out of the front door. If I’d got this right, he was going to be very confused when he found himself back where he belonged. Hopefully he’d put it down to another case of the Al Zymers.
After he’d gone I sat at the kitchen table. My body tingled as the adrenaline settled and I thought through the events of the last couple of hours. The important thing was to make sure I went in and out through the same door. A crashing noise from the library snagged my attention. I picked up the pick axe that still lay on the kitchen floor and cautiously followed the noise. I pushed the library door quietly and saw a figure with his back to, he was dragging my books off the shelves and dumping them on the floor.
“What are you doing?” I yelled. The man jumped then turned to face me, a copy of The Colour of Magic still in his hand. It was Eric Three Four Nine.
“I have to get my wife,” he said.
“How did you get in?
“The door was open. I did knock.”
“Your wife is not in my bookshelf or in some imaginary cellar.” I waved the pickaxe towards the door, it was heavy and unwieldy. “Out!” I shouted, trying my best to look frightening.
He succumbed to my fierce face and slipped out through the front door. I closed it shut after him and tugged at it to make sure it was firm. I was going to have to invest in some serious ironmongery for these doors.
I returned my attention to the doors and decided that if I was to avoid accidently disappearing into the wrong place, I would need to keep track of what goes where. I could do a map. I’m a fantasy writer, maps are our mainstay. But first I would label each doorway. I decided to call my universe number one and go from there. I soon had Post It notes on each door and window. The front door said ‘1’ and the patio doors ‘2’ and so on with each reality I’d noticed. I finished with the landing window which I labelled ‘6’ and placed the Post It notes back on the desk, wondering as I did so how many more I’d find. I looked out of the window at the oak tree that sat defiantly in the middle of the field in Universe Six. There was something about that tree that drew me. I’d have to find a way of getting there. I had a ladder in the garage, if I put that up, I could climb out of the window and explore. I was feeling pleased with my new found sense of adventure so no point in wasting it.
I dragged the ladder out of the garage and propped it up against the back wall just under the landing window then went back inside and upstairs again. I swung the window open and climbed on the desk to clamber out of the window. I stalled as I looked out. No ladder. Idiot, I scolded myself. Of course, it wouldn’t be there, the ladder was in Universe One, out of the front door and I was looking at Universe Six. Okay, I would need to put the ladder out of the window from here if I wanted to use it there.
I brought the ladder into the house, destroying one vase of flowers and a light fitting on the way. In its collapsed state I should just about be able to manoeuvre the ladder across the desk and through the window.
Everything went fine until I found myself kneeling on the desk, hanging on to the top of the ladder that now dangled outside and trying to unclip the catch that would let it extend to the ground. I nearly had my fingers on the catch when I lost my grip and the ladder crashed to the ground outside. It was only when I went back outside to retrieve it to try again that I realised for the second time the level of my stupidi
ty. No ladder. Damn! The ladder was now in the garden of Universe Six and with no way of retrieving it. I would need to be more careful with my things in future. I now had a selection of universes in which to lose my possessions.
I heard a knock on the door and prepared myself for the next stage of lunacy as I went to open it. I was pleasantly surprised to find Saphie there.
“Oh,” I said, looking at my watch. “I didn’t realise it was that time.”
“I told you I’d come over after I closed.”
We went through to the kitchen and I put a kettle on the Rayburn. “See,” I said. “Getting the hang of this thing. Tea?”
“Thank you.” Saphie opened and shut the kitchen door a couple of times. “I still can’t quite get my head round this. What’s this sticky note for?
“Oh, that, I needed a way of remembering what door goes where. Post It notes seemed like a sensible quick fix until I can get round to drawing a map.”
“So, how did your adventuring go?”
I gave her the highlights of my brief sojourn into Universe ‘2’
“Euros?” she said when I’d finished. “That’s interesting. So in that universe we join the euro. I wonder how that worked out? Now, what about your agent, Tania?”
“Oh, yes. She’s okay.” I poured the tea into the Witchblade mug for her. “I think. Probably.”
“You haven’t the faintest idea, have you?”
A knocking at the kitchen door rescued me. “I’ll just get that,” I said and tentatively opened it.
“Hi!” said Richard Branson.
I stepped back in surprise and he walked in. “Look who it is,” I said to Saphie.
“It’s... It is you, isn’t it?”
“That depends on who you think I am,” Richard Branson said.
“You’re Richard Branson?” Saphie said.
“That’s good. Then Richard Branson it is then. I take it I’m famous?”
We reassured him he was famous and he asked to be let out of the front door.
After he’d gone we finished our tea and chatted about doors, leylines and alternate universes.
“So, that makes one David Beckham, one Stephen Fry, a pair of queens and an assortment of nobodies.” I counted on my fingers.
“Why do they want to come through to the other universes?” Saphie asked.
“I haven’t the faintest idea, but it does seem odd that most of them are famous.”
“Let’s go explore!” Saphie’s eyes sparkled with adventure. “I’d like to see the place where they use euros.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I stalled. “It’s not that great. Much the same really. And we might get stuck or something, like on Stargate Atlantis. They went through a wormhole and couldn’t get back. Million light years or something. We shouldn’t really mess with these things.”
“I’ll buy you a drink in the King’s Head?”
Saphie had learnt my buttons very quickly and pressed them astutely. “I’ll fetch the euros I had left over from holiday,” I said.
Chapter Eleven
For an early Monday evening, The Kings Head was already busier than I’d ever seen it as The Camelot. Albert recognised me and pulled a pint of Old Grumbler as I approached the bar. As the froth settled he turned to Saphie. “What’ll it be, my dear?”
“Just a glass of tonic with a slice of lemon, please.” She obviously noticed my expression. “I’m driving. I don’t drink anything at all when I drive.”
I admired her discipline. I also admired her figure which showed as a slight silhouette through the white cheesecloth dress she wore.
“That’ll be five euros twenty-five,” Albert said as he rang the drinks through the till.
I pulled my holiday money from my pocket and put a ten euro note on the bar. Albert picked it up and studied it.
“You got anything else? Only I’m not sure these are still legal.”
“What?” I’d only brought them back from Spain a couple of months ago. I picked through my handful of notes. “How about this?” I put a twenty down.
Albert looked at it with the same disdain he’d shown the first. “Where’d you get these? You raided your grandmother’s piggybank?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“They ain’t got the president’s head on them, that’s what. Thought all the old ones had been pulled out of circulation.”
“The president?”
“President Blair. Where’ve you been? Outer Mongolia?”
“President Blair?” I felt stupid just repeating his words but it was all my mouth would do.
He opened the till and pulled out a ten euro note. “There,” he said as he placed it next to mine. “All notes are supposed to have the President of Europe on them now.”
I stopped myself before I repeated ‘President of Europe’ and picked up the note he’d put down. It did indeed show the face of the President of Europe. President Blair. President Cherie Blair, first president and Primus of Greater Europe.
“Oh,” I said
“Hell, I suppose I can take them,” Albert took the notes off the counter then gave me my change. “What can they do? Send me on another awareness course?”
We carried our drinks over to a table near the fireplace.
“That’s a thing, isn’t it?” Saphie said as we sat down. “President Cherie Blair. Who’d have thought?”
I glanced around the pub. It all seemed much the same as my world. A couple of middle-aged women supped their tea and at the next table three men in their twenties were locked in animated conversation. A flat screen television hung from the wall showing muted news footage of a storm somewhere that had palm trees. Or more correctly, judging by the video, used to have palm trees.
“You see,” I said. “All normal, nothing to see here. And I’m sure Tania’s perfectly alright.”
“So you are worried about Tania then?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Yes you did. You said you were sure she’s alright. People only ever say that when they’re worrying about somebody.”
“Well, it’s not easy getting an agent these days. One should try to hang on to them. She’ll be at her sister’s in Cornwall by now anyway.” I finished the beer, it didn’t seem to have worked so I headed to the bar for a replacement. I returned to the table hoping Saphie had forgotten about Tania. She hadn’t.
“But what if she hasn’t got a sister in Cornwall?” Saphie continued as if she hadn’t even noticed my trip to the bar.
“What? Of course she’s got a sister in Cornwall. That’s what she said. Why would she tell me she was going to visit her sister in Cornwall if she hasn’t got one? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“I mean in this universe. Universe Two, as your sticky note calls it. She might not have a sister here, then what’s she going to do?”
“I’m sure she’s perfectly alright.”
Saphie realised I’d assigned Tania to the ‘Don’t Look Too Closely’ box for the time being and picked the menu from its holder. “Seems quite nice food if you’re peckish?”
We studied the menu together. It offered a more normal pub selection than that of The Camelot. No attempts at Arthur’s Speciality Menus, just a good selection of burgers, pizzas, pies a couple of roasts and fish and chips.
“I think I’ll have the fish and chips,” I said. “What do you fancy?”
She gave me that odd look with which I was becoming familiar, even if I didn’t understand it. “I’m going for a veggie burger with salad I think.”
I took the menu to the bar and waited a moment while Albert served a young man who looked remarkably like Robbie Williams. After the man left the bar Albert turned to me.
“Do you know who he is? Only he kept asking me to guess who he was. Hadn’t the faintest idea. Very strange.”
“Looked a bit like Robbie Williams.” I noticed Albert’s blank expression and continued, “The singer? Let Me Entertain You?”
“Who’s that then? Is
he on the television?”
I decided to avoid what could be a difficult explanation and settled for, “I think he was once.”
Albert noticed me clutching the menu. “You wanting to order?”
“Yes, can I have—”
“Hang on, need to get you to sign a food request waiver. I’m guessing you haven’t got your Edibles Indemnity Cards?”
“Err, no. Sorry.” I patted my pockets to indicate I really should have my Edibles Indemnity Card but that I had simply forgotten it this time.
He placed a clipboard on the counter. “Both to sign here... here...” He turned the page. “And here.”
I took the form back to Saphie and we attempted to decipher the legalese that smothered two sheets of perfectly innocent A4.
‘The party of the first part hereby warrants they are free from allergies including but not restricted to nuts, milk, cheese...’ the list of potential allergens seemed to include every food type known and a few I’d never even heard of, let alone contemplated putting anywhere near my mouth. The next page dealt with ensuring we understood that food was often served hot and that due care is to be exercised when either eating it, touching it or just spilling it all over ourselves. I skipped to the final page that absolved the purveyor of the foodstuffs from all responsibility of any weight gained either directly or indirectly as a result of coming into contact with said purveyor’s aforementioned foodstuffs.
Feeling my life seeping away, I signed the form, turned it to Saphie for her signature and returned to the bar to place the order.
When I came back to the table Saphie was busy chatting with a middle-aged woman at the next table. I strained to hear what they were saying but the general hubbub made it impossible. Eventually Saphie turned back to me.
“What was all that about?” I asked.
“I was finding out a bit more about this place.”
“You can’t do that! They’ll think we’re escaped lunatics or something. We need to be low key.”
“You worry too much.” She reached across the table and gave my hand a little squeeze. “Did you know the Queen has moved to Germany?”
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