‘Nettie!’ he screamed. ‘Quick! Youze gotter grout of here!’
‘Not on your life!’ exclaimed Nettie. ‘You think you can handle this better just cause you’re a man?’
‘No… no m not a man … That is… I’m a Blerontinian…’ The Journalist had started giggling. Now Leovinus started too.
‘Stop it!’ cried Nettie, trying to shake some sense into them. ‘How can you laugh? We’ve got to find the intelligence core! Where is it, Leovinus?’ But the more she shook them, the more the Yassaccan scent wafted up from her beautiful body and blew the minds of the two Blerontinians… and they laughed harder and harder until tears were rolling down their cheeks. The Journalist started to sing an old Blerontinian song about a lady acrobat and a news reporter, and then collapsed on the bed.
Finally Nettie gave up in disgust. She stormed out of the cell to find the desk sergeant. Perhaps he had Titania’s missing piece in safe custody.
The moment Nettie had gone, The Journalist made a valiant attempt to pull himself together. He managed to stop laughing, with partial success, and, as his head began to clear, he turned on Leovinus and shook him, until the old man regained his senses.
‘THINK!’ cried The Journalist. ‘Even if you’ve never done anything decent in the whole of your wretched life! Do it now! Remember where you threw the missing bit of Titania’s brain?’
This appeal could not have been more calculated to penetrate through to Leovinus’s great, though intoxicated, brain. ‘The central intelligence core, Titania’s cerebral artery… Where did I throw it?’
‘Yes! Dammit, man! Where did you throw it?’
‘Oh! I know! In the corner… over there… , The Great Man pointed to a corner of the cell. In a flash, The Journalist was there, scrabbling around behind the latrine bucket, and the next moment he suddenly stood up with a glowing silver shard in his hand.
But before he even had time to give a yell of triumph, Nettie appeared at the cell door. ‘We’re too late!’ she announced. ‘It appears my watch must have been wrong. According to the police station clock, it’s already midday.’ And even as she spoke, they heard the BBC’s pips from the Superintendent’s radio. The Starship Titanic would already be on its way to its graveyard in space.
30
Dan and Lucy had had a miserable time of it. They had traipsed around the Oxfordshire countryside with a growing feeling of helplessness. Nobody had seen any old man with a white beard. Nobody had heard of aliens arriving from outer space. Nobody wanted to know either. Such things didn’t happen in Oxfordshire.
Finally they retraced their steps to the hotel where they had all been staying. Here again they had drawn a blank. Yes, Nigel had checked out that day. No, he had not had anybody with him. No. No old man with a white beard had checked in. Nothing. Zero.
They sat over a miserable cup of coffee and Dan looked blankly at Lucy. She suddenly seemed so far away from him. Wasn’t that what she had always said about him? That he had seemed so far away? He tried to think of all the things that had made them feel dose in the past… and yet everything he thought of now appeared like a figment of his imagination. Like Lucy’s enthusiasm for turning the old rectory into a hotel… In a way, he thought, their whole relationship had probably come out of his imagination. He had dreamed the whole thing up and now he was waking up – nothing remained between them. Not even bitterness.
Lucy watched Dan brooding over his coffee and wondered if he would be all right. She felt guilty. She felt she’d let him down. But now she had discovered that there was a part of her that had been asleep, all the time she had been with Dan, she knew there was no turning back the clock. It was as if she herself had created the bond between them – a bond that protected her from other, stronger, more frightening feelings that she was capable of – but a bond that did not otherwise exist.