“So,” said John. “After I have let off the smoke bomb, you abseil down from the roof, in through the window into the computer room. We’ve synchronized watches and you have forty-five seconds. I back the van with the mattress on the roof up against the building, you come down on the paraglider and we’re away into the night.”

“And no flaw in this plan is immediately apparent to you?”

It was the next day. They were sitting on the concrete bench. The weather was nice, but nippy. The bench was still uncomfortable (although less so for Jim, who had brought a cushion).

“OK, you have fifty seconds,” said John.

“John, if I had an hour, or a day, or a week, I could never, ever, do this. You know how I am with electronic equipment. I would blow the place up. Anyway it’s a duff plan. Why don’t I let off the smoke bomb?”

“Because I thought of it.”

“No.” Jim shook his head. “This is another of your fast solutions, the ones that end up like Norman’s sweeties. All guggy.”

“A minute and a half,” said John. “Two minutes.”

“No, John. I’m not doing it. It’s a ludicrous idea.”

“But it’s worth millions. Millions of pounds for three minutes’ work.”

“John, I don’t know anything about computers. I never have and hopefully I never will. Nobody around here knows anything about computers.”

“Someone must.”

“Who then?”

John scratched at the stubble on his unshaven chin. “Norman might.”

“Yes well, Norman might. Didn’t he build his own once? Out of Meccano?”

“I think it was Lego. But he might. We could ask him.”

“Computers?” said Norman. “A piece of cake, computers. I built one out of Duplo once.”

“So you do know about computers?” John peered at the guggy contents of a sweetie jar. “You would know about this?” He held up the glittering computer disc.

“Certainly. Isn’t that one of those miniature LPs that you can spread strawberry jam on?”

“Who else do we know?” Jim asked.

“Not too many people,” said John from his side of the concrete bench (and seated now upon Jim’s cushion). “None, in fact.”

“Oh well, throw the thing away.”

“Not a bit of it. This is the big one, Jim. And I’m not going to let you back out again.”

“There’s nobody we know, that’s it.”

“Nobody you know about what?”

“Who said that?” asked Jim.

“I did.”

Jim turned round on the bench. Behind him stood a child of perhaps ten years of age. He was a golden child. All golden, golden hair. Golden eyes.

“My name is Cain,” said the golden child.

“Jim,” said Jim. “And this is…”

“John,” said the golden child. “John Omally.”

“How do you know that?” asked John.

“I don’t know. But I do.”

“Do you know about computers?”

“No, stop,” said Jim. “He’s a child.”

“Children are great at this stuff, Jim. Hackers and suchlike.”

“Hackers?”

“You really wouldn’t want to know.”

“I know about computers,” said Cain. “I have read all about them.”

“Would you know what to do with this?” John displayed the little disc.

“Of course.”

“How would you like to earn yourself some extra pocket money?”

“No!” Jim snatched away the disc. “He’s a child, John. Get a grip of yourself.”

“Where’s your brother?” John asked.

“Abel is in the library. He’s reading all about drag.”

“Drag?”

“Cross-dressing. We’re up to the Ds now. We’re reading the entire contents of the library.”

“Don’t you go to school?”

“What is school? We haven’t reached the Ss yet.”

“You must have done D for Dictionary,” said Jim.

“What do you want to do with the computer disc?” asked Cain.

“Put it into someone’s computer,” said John. “And turn it on, that’s all.”

“No,” said Jim. “Not a child.”

“You want to put it into Fred’s computer,” said the child.

“A mind-reader,” said John. “You can read people’s minds.”

“Some, not all. I cannot read the mind of my father.”

“What number am I thinking of?” asked Jim.

“Twenty-three,” said Cain.

“He’s right,” said Jim.

“Incredible,” said John.

“Sixty-nine,” said Cain.

“Pardon me?”

“Sixty-nine’s the number you’re thinking of”

“What a surprise,” said Jim. “But you couldn’t…”

“Predict the numbers on the National Lottery? No.”

“Shame,” said Jim. “But incredible, none the less. Can your brother do this?”

“Abel can do other things.”

“And Abel knows all about computers too?”

“Abel might not choose to help you. I will.”

“Why?” asked Jim.

“Because,” said Cain, “something wonderful is about to happen. I can feel it in the air. Can’t you?”

Jim stared into the eyes of Cain. The golden eyes blinked, became a pair of amber eyes. The amber eyes of Suzy. Those marvellous, wonderful, beautiful eyes, that made Jim ache inside.

“Give me the disc,” said Cain.

And Jim gave Cain the disc.

26

“Who is he?” Suzy asked, over her bowl of Dilli ka sang ghosht.

“I don’t know.” Jim pushed nan bread into his mouth. “But he can read minds and he said to me exactly what you said to me when we were on the canal bridge.”

“You’re going to see this through now, aren’t you?”

“Well, I have to, don’t I? I’m part of it.”

“You’re a very big part of it. But what changed your mind?”

“Just that. That I am a big part of it. That one of my ancestors murdered the monk. That I found the scrolls. All of it. I can’t walk away. I have to do it. I know that I do. But when it’s done – if it gets done, and I get out of it in one piece I am going to ask you that question.”

“I’ll be waiting for you when you do. And the answer will probably be yes.”

“Probably?”

“You have to ask it first. Do you want to come back to my flat after we’ve finished our meal?”

“For a cup of coffee?”

“Perhaps for more.”

“Perhaps?”

“Probably for more.”

“How could I refuse? But you remember what I told you.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“It does to me.”

“You matter, Jim.”

“I do?”

“You know you do.”

“Suzy.” Jim wiped crumbs from his chin.

“Yes, Jim?”

Jim took a very deep breath. “I’m in love with you,” he said.

Suzy smiled. That fascinating mouth, those marvellous, wonderful, beautiful eyes. “I love you too,” she said.

“No,” said John. “Oh, no Jim, no Jim, no Jim, no.”

They were in the Swan now.

Lunchtime of the next day.

“I couldn’t help it,” said Jim. “The time seemed right and it just came out. And she said she loved me too. She said, ‘I love you too,’ just like that. I got all knotted up in my throat then, and I knocked a bowl of Punjabi rajma right into her lap.”

“Very romantic.”

“Do you think so? She didn’t seem to think so.”

“And you went back to her flat?”

“We did, yes.”

“And what happened?”

“We had a cup of coffee. Two cups in fact.”

“And?”

“Biscuits,” said Jim.

“And?”

“Just biscuits.”

“Then you didn’t, you know…?”

“No, John, we didn’t.”

“Jim, you have got to pull yourself together. All this soppy stuff is all right in its place. But if you don’t do the business, you’ll lose the woman.”

“Do the business?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“There’s more to a relationship than that.”

“Yes, you’re right, there’s much more. But, in my opinion, doing the business is the best part.”

Jim sighed. “I’m gagging to do the business,” he said. “But the time has to be right. I want everything to be special.”

“Believe me, Jim, whenever you do the business, it’s special.”

“Like it was for you at my PARTY, do you mean?”

Omally finished his pint. “Same again?” he asked.

“So,” said Old Pete, “there’s this, er, this…”

“Irishman?” asked a lady in a straw hat.