Bleak Expectations (34 page)

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The quickest colony ever established took three minutes and was Burkina Fast-o.

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The famous Minute War of 1795, which, after a two-minute truce, was followed by the even shorter Thirty-second War.

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A porridge-like dish of coarsely ground corn. Not as delicious as it sounds, and it sounds horrible.

They hurled me into a prison cell and threw away the key. Then they realized that later that week they had to let me out of the cell to get hanged and also that in the meantime they’d need to put other prisoners in there with me, so they immediately started to look for it again.

My cell was grim, grimy and gruesome, but I cared not. For I had given up all hope. My vow to destroy Mr Benevolent was forgotten, for he had destroyed me first, his fiendishly fake plan having succeeded beyond his wildest dreams and my wildest nightmares. I was spiritually broken; and after a week I would be physically broken too.

But now I welcomed death, for either the priests were right and I would be reunited with Flora in Heaven, or the scientists were right and I would simply dissolve into blissful oblivion.

Either way, the pain would be gone.

While the guards continued their search for the key, I had the cell to myself. Huddled in the corner, I stared without seeing, and my mind wandered. It roamed around my happy childhood, so carefree and family-filled, the reverse of my now care-filled and family-free situation. I remembered the giddy laughter I had shared with Pippa and Poppy, laughter we would never share again, for Poppy had gone to the grave and, if Mr Benevolent had his way and married her, Pippa would probably never laugh or be happy again. I thought of my mother before the madness had taken her, the cuddles, the hugs, the kisses, the constant flow of unadulterated love and affection that had helped make my childhood so glorious. Paternal memories came next, of my father’s reassuring masculine presence that had made the world seem such a safe place when I was little, and of how his love had been less overt than Mama’s but had still always been there, like a background bass-line of devoted emotion, his long absences on business only so that he might provide a plentiful and joyous life for us; and I wept, thinking back to the time, moments before I had heard of his supposed death, when I had tripped over the family black cat, slid under a ladder, smashed a mirror, spilled a pile of horseshoes and broken the rabbit’s foot and four-leaved clover I had had on my person. Pippa had said then that all our luck would run out and I had scoffed; yet she had been right, for soon afterwards the uncomplicated joys of childhood had been washed away by a cruel, adult world, full of malice and misfortune.

Next I thought of Harry, dear Harry Biscuit, from whom I had parted on such bad terms, and I wished there was some way of telling him I hadn’t meant it, that he was the best friend I had ever had, the best friend any man could ever have, true, loyal, decent and just stupid enough never to doubt you, a friend who had helped me escape from that dread school, had aided me in all my trials and adventures since and had been the only comfort I had had in the wake of my wife’s death.

And that led me, of course, to Flora, dear, sweet, beautiful Flora, whose existence had brightened my life like a glorious sun, a sun, alas, destined to burn brightly but shortly – and she had burned so very, very brightly.

Everything and everyone I had ever loved was gone; and soon I would be too. I sat alone and wretched, holding the metaphorical cards that God had dealt me, a Benevolent-trumped hand that had brought only pain.

Thus I mused for the days before my execution.

Finally, my last night on earth arrived. The guards brought me my last meal, but I did not eat it, as I had already mentally consumed a bowl of Regret Soup, followed by a slice of Rueful Pie, and for pudding, Wish-it-had-all-been-different Crumble.

As darkness fell, I turned to the wall and attempted my last, bitter sleep.

But barely had I done so when I was disturbed by the guards arriving with another prisoner. They swung the door open and hurled the felon inside. He was a huge, wide mass of a man, and he landed with a mighty, bone-jarring thud and let out a yelp of pain.

‘Ow!’

It was an ‘ow’ I recognized, as familiar to me as one of my own.

‘Harry, is that you?’

‘Pip? Pip Bin?’

‘Yes, it is I, old friend.’

‘Hmmph. You are a friend to me no more as I remember.’

He turned huffily away from me; I was evidently still unforgiven. But I remembered how in the past days I had dreamed of setting matters right with him, and knew that even if God had treated me cruelly – and, oh, how He had! – at least now He had sent me this last chance to do a tiny bit of good with my remaining earthly time.

‘Harry, it is true, I was a bad friend to you. I did not value you as I ought to have done.’ He still did not look at me, though I sensed a stiffening in his body that indicated he was at least paying attention. ‘But know this: you are the finest friend I have ever had, and if you can find it in your heart to forgive me, it would cheer me greatly in my final hours.’

For a few seconds there came no response. But then: ‘No.’

I had had my hand stretched out towards him in hopeful anticipation of absolution and reconciliation, and at this single negative syllable it dropped, as did my spirits, which is really saying something, as they were already right down in the basement of my soul. Barely a second had passed, however, before I heard more cheering words.

‘Oh, all right, then. I forgive you.’ Bless Harry and his fickle swiftness of mood! ‘You are a friend to me some more again, Pip Bin.’

‘Harry, you do not know how glad I am to hear that!’

I offered my hand and he shook it, then enfolded me in a huge, affectionate embrace that reminded me of why it was good to be alive, which was a shame, what with death so imminent.

‘So how is it that you are in this vile place with me, old friend?’ I asked, keen to make the most of these last hours of human company.

‘Well, much as I hate to admit it, my vintage meat emporium was not a success.’

‘No, how could that be?’ I said unconvincingly. ‘What happened?’

‘I poisoned seventy-four people.’

This only surprised me in as much as the figure was so low. ‘So that is why you are here. For committing meat-slaughter.’

‘Not entirely. You see, I only set up the emporium because I wanted to be a success. To be famous. To stand out. Like you, Pip Bin.’

‘But, Harry—’

He put out a hand to stop me, actually pinching my lips shut with his fingers. ‘No, you must hear this. You and your Bin were my inspiration. To achieve something so amazing! Why, I was honoured to be your friend. And I thought my vintage meat idea would see me lauded and loaded as you were. When it failed, I knew I had to do something else impressive and unique. So I decided to make myself the best in the world at something and, to that end, set out to become the fastest man on earth!’

‘A noble if strange ambition. How did it go?’

‘Badly. It turns out I am very, very slow. So I changed my ambition again, but not by much, because I vowed to become the fattest man on earth. Only one letter’s difference, you see.’

‘And how did that go?’

‘Pretty well, actually. You may have noticed I’ve put on a few pounds . . .’

‘No, no . . .’ In truth, I had noticed. Indeed, when the guards had first brought him to the cell, I had thought him to be three prisoners with but one head, a sort of human reverse Cerberus. ‘I mean, you are looking . . . prosperous. Very . . . healthy. Rubenesque, even.’ I could suddenly think of no more polite euphemisms and snapped, ‘All right, fat! You’re looking massively fat! Fatty, fatty, fat-fat!’

I am not proud of my outburst but, after so many days of navel-gazing misery in my own company, I was simply glad to be able to talk to someone else, even if that talking ended up being incredibly rude.

‘Yes, it turns out I am really, really good at getting fat. I only have to look at a piece of cheese and I put on half a stone.’

By the size of him, Harry had clearly been looking at a lot of cheese.

‘Sadly, I was nowhere near the fattest man on earth. That is a man called “Big” Jeff All-lard.
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No matter how big I got, he was bigger. I needed to make one last effort to top him on the scales, but I didn’t have the money to buy enough food, so I . . .’ Here he paused, reddened and looked awkwardly at the floor. ‘I am ashamed to admit that I went to a food-lender.’
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‘Harry, no!’

‘I borrowed two geese and a big pie. When the time came to pay him back, I couldn’t. Because I’d eaten them. The interest was eight per cent, but I didn’t realize that was per second. It turned out that by the end of the week I owed him more geese than actually exist and a pie the size of the entire universe. Obviously I couldn’t pay, so he sued me and won, and with the seventy-four poisoned people taken into consideration as well, I was sentenced to be hanged and here we both are.’

This was a tragic fate, though I could not help thinking an utterly avoidable one.

‘Harry, you must not blame yourself,’ I lied, because it was so obviously his own daft fault. ‘At least we shall die with each other tomorrow. As friends.’

‘I suppose you could say it’s our last chance to hang out together!’ Harry tried to laugh, but it rapidly turned into a weepy bleat of sorrow, and I comforted him with another manly man-hug, sober and virtuously masculine.

‘Oh, that is so sweet . . .’

Our hug was interrupted by the oily tones of the man I hated more than anything in the world, more than spiders in baths, more than France, more than people not saying ‘thank you’ after I had held a door open for them, more even than salad:
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Mr Gently Benevolent.

‘What are you doing here?’ I broke off my Harry-hug as this most hated of figures appeared at the cell door.

‘Just popped round to say BBFE.’

‘BBFE?’

‘Bye-bye for ever. Oh, and to deliver this letter.’

He pushed an envelope through the bars. I recognized Pippa’s sisterly handwriting on the front and tore it open with fear in my heart.

Dearest brother Pip,

I heard about the court case against Mr Trashcan. What a horrid man he sounds! And for you to be condemned to death is so unjust. To set that injustice to rights, I therefore wrote to Mr Trashcan asking if there was anything I could do which would see him drop the charges with posterity and thereby free you.

He said there was.

Oh, Pip! I can hardly write this, but must. For he said if I agreed to marry him then he would ensure that you were freed.

In consequence, I have agreed to the marriage. So that you might be free. Doubtless it will be hideous, and every time his rough American hands come near my soft English bosom I shall shudder, and not in a good way, but if it saves you from death, it must be done.

Your ever-loving sister,

Pippa

The letter fell from my trembling fingers and fluttered to the floor – though given the gravity of the news it bore it should have plummeted.

‘But – but this cannot be!’

‘Oh, it can and will be. Tomorrow she will marry Mr Harlan J. Trashcan, and the instant the deed is done it’s wig off, beard begone and goodbye accent, and she will realize who she has truly married. Me. Your worst enemy. Shacked up with your sister. For ever! Nee-yah, ha, ha, ha!’

Truly his new laugh was a despicable thing, like being verbally shot, stabbed and punched simultaneously.

‘But at least I shall be free!’ It was a small comfort to me, but better than none.

‘No, you won’t. Because as she is saying, “I will,” you will be saying, “That rope’s awfully tight – eeeeurrrrfgggh.”’

‘So the deal you offered was false. You lied to her.’

‘Well, duh. Of course. Oh, and incidentally, just to rub it in, the marriage will take place in the church of St Wedding.’

‘You besmirch the place where Flora and I swore our love!’

‘Yes. Yes, I do. And one final thing . . . It’s always nice to die as a family, so you might as well have this. I have no further use for it.’

He beckoned to two guards who dragged a sorry-looking figure into sight: my mother. They opened the cell door and threw her in.

‘Ooh, is this the new linen cupboard? Hello, I’m Agnes the tablecloth. You must be a towel. How do you do?’ She offered me a mad hand and I shook it, glad to feel my mother’s touch, no matter how crazed; but it was not a long touch, for she now turned to Harry. ‘And goodness me, you must be the fattest bed-sheet I have ever seen!’

‘She will hang with you tomorrow.’ Benevolent’s eyes glistened with happy malice.

‘Why? What has she done to deserve such a fate?’

‘Nothing. I simply tired of her. Judge Hardthrasher condemned her to death as a favour. Right, well, that’s that. Enjoy being dead, Pip Bin. It’s not been a pleasure knowing you.’ He tipped his hat at me ironically and left.

But he had lit a fire within me, a fire I had thought long extinguished, and I now ran to the cell door and yelled after him, ‘Mr Benevolent! Mr Benevolent!’

He stopped and turned back to face me. ‘What? Do you have some pathetic last words of futile resistance?’

‘No. I just wanted to tell you something. By bringing my mother to be hanged and threatening to marry my sister you have made a huge mistake.’

‘Have I? Feels pretty right to me.’

‘You’re wrong. Because, for the first time in a long while, I have a reason to live. And that reason is to save them, save myself and then kill you, Benevolent. No force on earth can stop me, for my name is Pip Put-that-in-the Bin, husband to a murdered wife, son to a maddened mother, brother to a soon-to-be-defiled sister . . . and I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.’

The corridor outside the cell was only dimly lit, but I swear I saw Mr Benevolent’s face blanch at my words.

‘It’ll have to be the next, then, won’t it?’ he retorted, but though his words were bold, his tone was shaken, and I knew I had frightened him. I watched him leave with my spirits returned, my courage high and just one problem: I had not the first clue as to how to go about wreaking the vengeance I had promised.