I’ve always had to do Wayne’s fighting for him, ever since we were at primary school, and this had gone far enough and I grabbed Mr Friend’s shoulder and went to lay a punch right in the middle of that grinning mask.
And he raised his hand and I felt my fist hit an invisible wall which yielded like treacle, and he took off his mask and he said two words to me and then he reached across and took Wayne’s hand, very gently …
And then the power amp exploded because, like I said, Wayne wasn’t very good with connectors and the church hall had electrical wiring that dated back practically to 1800 or something, and then what with the decorations catching fire and everyone screaming and rushing about I didn’t really know much about anything until they brought me round in the car park with half my hair burned off and the hall going up like a firework
No. I don’t know why they haven’t found him either. Not so much as a tooth?
No. I don’t know where he is. No, I don’t think he owed anyone any money,
(But I think he’s got a new job. There’s a collector who’s got them all – Presley, Hendrix, Lennon, Holly – and he’s the only collector who’ll ever get a complete collection, anywhere. And Wayne wouldn’t pass up a chance like that. Wherever he is now, he’s taking them out of their jackets with incredible care and spinning them with love on the turntables of the night …)
Sorry. Talking to myself, there.
I’m just puzzled about one thing. Well, millions of things, actually, but just one thing right at the moment.
I can’t imagine why Mr Friend bothered to wear a mask.
Because he looked just the same underneath, idio – officer.
What did he say? Well, I daresay he comes to everyone in some sort of familiar way. Perhaps he just wanted to give me a hint. He said DRIVE SAFELY.
No. No, really I’ll walk home, thanks.
Yes. I’ll mind how I go.