Life Goes On (58 page)

Clegg accepted that we must leave, and got into the car. Ten years of adversity had made him easy-going, but Wayland was cantankerous: ‘How do you know he's gone to phone Moggerhanger?'

‘June will tell you.'

He stood there sourly. ‘I thought we were set for a party? Is this place too dull for your excitable temperament?'

I was at the wheel, and switched on. ‘I don't particularly like you, but I wouldn't like to see you kicked around so much that your girlfriend wouldn't recognise you. You won't be in a very good shape to write your article –'

‘Documentary.'

‘– if you stay here. On the other hand, you'll have some first class material. Take your choice.'

I was glad when he got in. The more we were, the safer I felt. I drove towards the stream, and as I turned a bend saw out of my mirror the glint of a car coming down the lane behind. I had slid so quickly under cover that he hadn't seen me. Or so I thought. I couldn't understand how they had got here so quickly, though there was no mystery when I worked it out. Delphick had gone up the hill two hours ago. Moggerhanger phoned Spleen Manor on hearing from him, then phoned Delphick back at the box and told him to wait so that he could guide the car from Spleen Manor down to Doggerel Bank. Otherwise they would never have found it. Moggerhanger was nothing if not quick of thought. The fact that he could put me to shame in the matter was one reason why he was where he was and why I was where I was.

The car went so fast over the stream at the bottom of the hill that a bow-wave hit trees and bushes on either side. I slurped up that half-paved track like a rally driver, bumping against roots and jerking into potholes. The way curved between trees which cut out the light, so I gave it the big beams. After a straight bit across a field, a solid five-barred gate blocked us from the road. Clegg jumped out with the agility of a much younger man, unravelled the chain, and dragged it open. ‘Get back in,' I shouted. He closed it, and looped the chain into place.

‘For God's sake, we're in a hurry. Let's go.'

‘What holds us up will hold them up,' he said as I drove off, ‘and I left that chain in a far more complicated knot than when I found it.'

The wind wasn't faster than me around those lanes. If I'd been in any seat but the driver's I'd have heaved my guts up. Twilight was coming on, an illuminated sheet of blue to the east, and a band of threatening vermilion to the west. I turned so much at the cool commands of Clegg's navigation that pale blue and bloody rays seemed in every direction at once. If the car had followed us up the hill we had already lost it. If it had chased us any distance I hoped the manoeuvres had curdled Ronald Delphick's innards. Not that I thought either he or his stomach were tender. In my view he was as tough as old iron, though he would need to be even harder if I caught up with him.

The direction was southerly. Clegg turned round. ‘They're still after us.'

‘Are you certain?'

Being in the lead, we had the harder job. All the other car had to do was look for the scintillating roses of our brake lights and stay locked on. All we had to do was pick out the twisting wink of their dazzlers to know they were still with us. Even Dismal was tense. If I'd been alone in the car I'd have used all my shoe leather on the pedal, but such bad driving would have been hard on the others. In meeting so few cars we could not confuse our pursuers and throw them off the trail. The way the car was sticking to us, even though some distance off, suggested that it was driven by Pindarry.

‘We can't edge so far west,' Clegg said, ‘or we'll be on the moors. But if we can hold them off for twenty miles we'll have a better chance.'

My brain was melting through lack of sleep. We went a mile without turning. Clegg's cool instructions to go left and then right brought the adrenalin back. ‘Do you feel like giving it the gun?'

‘If you two don't mind.'

‘I'm prepared for anything,' Wayland said eagerly.

‘In that case,' Clegg said, ‘I'm going to take you onto the main road for ten miles or so. Slow down a bit. You're going through a village.'

A pretty picture it was, fit for a tin of biscuits going to India. ‘If anyone gets pulled up for speeding,' Clegg said, ‘let it be them.'

I turned onto the main road and went southerly. The sweeping-brush of the pursuer's light swept the sky behind. ‘We'll never shift 'em.'

Clegg was so maddeningly calm I had an impulse – luckily fought off – to stop the car and fight it out with whoever was after us. ‘Don't despair, Michael. I can see from the map a manoeuvre which will drop them into limbo for good. We're coming to a railway bridge. That's it, we've just gone over it. Hard to feel the bump in a vehicle like this. Anyway, after a quarter of a mile – any minute now – there'll be a sharp turn to the right. It's only fifty yards or so after it. Then you angle ninety degrees onto a minor road to your left. We know it's there, but for the others it'll be concealed. Luckily, we're still on the large scale map. I wonder how many other lives the Ordnance Survey has saved? All right! NOW! Here's the right turn coming up.'

Headlights full on, dead keen and sweating, I swung, and barely missed a van, which hooted fit to burst. Then I turned left along a lane, and dipped every light I dared.

‘Very good. They didn't see us come down here. They'll go tootling on and a quarter of a mile beyond they'll find that the road forks, and whichever of those forks they take will be the wrong one, so they'll lose precious time. They've already lost us. Our troubles are over.'

Could I believe him? Funnily enough, I did. The straight lane went up and down, and into a village. I slowed, in appreciation of Clegg's tactical victory. Lanes branched left and right. The more the better. We were going east, wending and winding towards the Great North Road. The idea, Clegg said, being to avoid the conurbation of Harrogate. ‘You can go up to eighty on the main road without attracting attention, because it's a dual carriageway, besides which there's plenty of traffic. We can get into Leeds from the northeast.'

‘You're a talking map,' I said.

‘I think it's one of the least difficult problems I've ever had to solve.'

We had ditched our pursuers because he regarded our flight as a challenging kind of game. He'd also be a crack shot with a crossbow in an amusement arcade. ‘The only thing is,' I said, ‘we've got to have food and rest.'

‘To think we left all that food and drink with Delphick,' Wayland said.

‘After twenty miles,' Clegg said, ‘we'll find a place to eat.'

Though there was no frightening flashlight in the sky behind, I was still worried by the fact that, heading down the Great North Road, we would be spotted by another of Moggerhanger's cars that had been sent up a couple of hours ago to reinforce the one already despatched to Doggerel Bank. Any such car would have come up the M1 at a greater speed than could be made on the Great North Road. In two hours they would be passing Nottingham. In less than three they could certainly be where we then were. Whoever was not driving in the car would, as became the best of Moggerhanger's lads, be observing the traffic, even in the darkness, coming down the lane in the opposite direction. When I put these cogitations to Clegg, he thought them worth acting on, unless it was too late, although he added – and I saw him smile in my mirror – it almost never is. ‘It's only ever too late once in your life, and by then there's nothing you can do about it.'

‘One of these days I'll be laughing with my throat at one of your witticisms.'

To which he replied: ‘I sincerely hope not.'

Dismal began to howl. ‘We've got to stop, or it'll be all up with us. We can survive hunger, lack of sleep, even a shoot-out, but not Dismal being taken short.'

‘It's like having a baby in the car,' Wayland said.

‘Well,' I told him, ‘he's one of us.'

Dismal's snout gave an approving nudge. His distress wasn't immediate, but we'd had our warning, so at the next transport café I parked as far in the dark and behind other cars as I could get. ‘Shall we risk going inside?'

Clegg twitched his glasses and switched off the map-reading flashlight. ‘I think we can.'

We waited for Dismal to finish, and went into the usual place of scorching fat and soggy chips, which seemed like paradise. I bought forty fags, and pints of tea for us all – including Dismal. I ordered four plates of everything and a pile of bread and butter, as well as a dozen sweet cakes and more tea. Who knew where the next meal was coming from?

‘I believe we've done it,' Clegg said.

I was superstitious, every moment expecting Kenny Dukes to burst through the flimsy door, having learned so much from Dicky Bush that he'd end up drowning in hot fat and Mars Bars. ‘There's a long way to go yet.'

‘But where?' said Wayland.

‘How the fuck should I know?'

‘You must have some idea.'

I had never been a master of planning and forethought. I lived and acted by the minute, and had survived well enough up to now – I told myself – but I knew that if I was to go on living I must begin to see at least one move ahead in Moggerhanger's Great Game. But again, my innate nature, or whatever it was, took over. ‘We keep south on this fast road and go to my house at Upper Mayhem.'

‘Given up the Equilateral?'

‘For the time being.'

The owner came with our plates and mugs, covering the small table. Wayland ate a cake at one gulp. ‘Moggerhanger might be waiting for you.'

‘They've been and gone already.' My mouth was also full. ‘Maybe they never went. I flatter myself that they don't think I'm so daft as to go there. In any case, you'll be in no danger because I'm putting you out in Cambridge. You can make your own way to London.'

‘Suits me.' He sounded relieved.

‘When you get there, hide for a while.'

‘I'll be too busy.'

At Upper Mayhem I would collect the documentation on Moggerhanger's drug empire which Matthew Coppice had promised to send. Then I would get the boat to Holland via Harwich so that, being safe, I could nail Mog and Jack Lanthorn at my leisure.

‘Thanks for the excellent meal,' Clegg said. ‘It's good to stuff the old belly now and again.' He went out for the flask and got it filled at the counter.

‘Tell me, Cleggy,' I said when he sat down, ‘I don't know whether this is a stupid question, but do you think your life has been worthwhile?'

He took a long drink from his pint mug. ‘It's only a stupid question insofar as my life's far from ended. But if you mean to say
is
my life worthwhile, I can only answer that while a few days ago I wasn't convinced, at the moment I'm damned sure it is. Funny thing is, Michael, I've never asked myself that question, so I assume I've always thought my life was worthwhile. Right now I'm positively enjoying myself. What more do I want? I'm turned sixty, but I'm strong, healthy and free. What about you?'

‘If I didn't think my life was worthwhile I'd kill myself.' I dug Wayland in the ribs. ‘What do you think?'

He brushed a hand over his bald head, down to his short grey beard. ‘That question's too meaningful to play around with at this point in time. If I have a lucid moment before I kick the bucket I'll try to ask myself then, in the hope, I suppose, that there won't be time for an answer.'

Clegg smacked his hands together. ‘It's nice to have a man in the car who's really thought about it.'

He was serious, so I nodded. ‘You can say that again – but don't.'

At half past nine I drove south like a zombie, just on the right side of safety. My idea had been to cruise at fifty-five, but as soon as I saw a car or lorry in front my foot went down and I swung out to overtake at seventy or eighty. It was impossible to go slow to wherever I was going.

My mood oscillated from wanting to burst out singing, to an urge to throw the car at full speed against the concrete supports of a bridge or embankment. But I did neither, and we travelled in silence. Perhaps I was intoxicated, and kept alert by the amount of rage which I knew my zig-zag actions were generating in Moggerhanger and Lanthorn. I imagined them going up the wall with anxiety, indecision, fury and maybe even fear, a picture which brought a smile to my face – till I myself was no longer cramped by fear, fury, indecision and anxiety.

What positively cheered me was the pleasure of getting back to Upper Mayhem, even if it would only be safe to stay a few hours. I would warn Bill and Maria, and give them a comfortable lodging allowance from a packet of Moggerhanger's fivers so that they could play mummies and daddies somewhere else. I'd get there about one in the morning, pull Bill from his uxurious embrace, and have a talk about the way things had turned out at Buckshot Farm, until I fell asleep though my lips went on moving, and they had to carry me up to bed.

My head nodded at the wheel, and I saw four rear lights in front instead of two. Often there was only one, on English roads. I began to weave without realising, and passed so close to the car which I overtook – though my focusing faculties seemed more or less normal – that I must have scared the shit out of the driver. Dismal nudged my leg as if warning me to take care. ‘Go back to sleep. I can look after myself.'

‘What did you say?'

I nearly hit the verge, but it was Clegg who had spoken.

‘I thought you were asleep.'

‘Maybe I was, but I heard you say something.'

‘I was talking to Dismal.'

‘Pull in for ten minutes.'

‘I don't need to, Arthur.'

‘You remembered my first name?'

It pleased him. I imagined his smile. ‘It just came back to me.'

‘After all this time.' Another half mile went by. ‘Do as I say. Pull in at the next layby.'