“Eddie!”

Eddie ignored the voice.

“Eddie! Eddie, it’s you.”

Eddie turned and Eddie stared and Eddie Bear said, “Jack.”

Jack stood behind the counter next to the golden-haired dolly. He wore a chef’s hat and jacket. And even to Eddie’s first glance, he wore them uncomfortably.

“Eddie,” said Jack. “It is you. It is.”

“It is,” said Eddie. “And it’s you.”

The kitchen of Nadine’s Diner was grim. But then such kitchens are always grim. Such kitchens are places of heat and conflict, with shouting chefs and stress and panic and lots of washing-up. There was lots of washing-up to do in this particular kitchen.

Eddie sat upon a grimy worktop surrounded by many unwashed pots and pans. A rat nibbled on something in a corner; a cockroach crossed the floor. Jack stepped on the cockroach and shooed away the rat.

“That’s Barry,” Jack told Eddie. “He’s sort of a pet.”

Eddie munched ruefully but gratefully on the burger Jack had fried for him.

Jack leaned on the crowded sink and wiped his hands on a quite unspeakable dishcloth. “I thought you were dead,” he said.

Eddie looked up from his munchings and wiped ketchup from his face with a greasy paw. He was very, very pleased to see his friend Jack.

Jack smiled at Eddie and Eddie saw that Jack hadn’t changed: he was still tall and spare and lithe of limb and young and pleasing to behold.

“I really thought you were dead. I heard what they did to you. I would have come to your rescue.”

“Would you?” Eddie asked.

“Well, no, actually,” said Jack. “Not at that particular time.”

“What?” Eddie spat out some burger bun. Jack wiped it from his apron.

“You weren’t exactly in my good books at that particular time,” said Jack. “You’re not exactly in them now.”

“Eh?” said Eddie.

“Edict Five,” said Jack, “the one about abolishing the monarchy. Your Edict Five. And me an honorary prince. Did you forget that?”

“I thought you’d gone off to the other world. The world of men. That’s where you told me you were going. To sort out the clockwork President.”

“Well,” said Jack, and he made an embarrassed face, “I was going to go, but the Toymaker had given me a castle to live in, and there was Jill …” Jack’s voice trailed off.

“I heard about Jill,” said Eddie, packing further burger into his mouth. “I’m sorry about that.”

“There’s no trusting women,” said Jack. “At least I’ve learned that whilst still young.”

“Don’t be too cynical,” said Eddie. “I know she hurt you, but that doesn’t mean that all women are bad. You’ll find the right one, and when you do she will make you happy every single day.”

“Yeah, right,” said Jack. “But let’s talk about you, Eddie. I am glad that you’re alive, truly I am, but your –”

“Hands?” said Eddie. “Eyes? The Toymaker took them away. He said that he blamed himself for what happened. That you shouldn’t tamper with nature, which was pretty hypocritical coming from him, as he created me. He said I should go and do what I was created for.”

“And you’re not keen?” Jack took up another cloth to wipe his hands upon, as the first cloth had made them ever dirtier.

“Was I ever?” Eddie asked. “I am a bear of superior intellect. I am a special bear.”

“You are certainly that.”

“Jack,” said Eddie, “how would you feel about teaming up again? The old team, you and me, back in business together.”

“The old team?” Jack laughed and his laughter was not pleasing to Eddie’s ears, especially to the one with the special tag in it. “The old team? How many times did I come close to being killed?”

Eddie shrugged.

“Nine times,” said Jack. “I counted.”

“You enjoyed the adventure. And we saved the city.”

“Yes, and I’d still be living grandly if it hadn’t been for you fouling it up with your Edict Five.”

“I was just trying to make things right.”

“You’re a very well-intentioned little bear.”

“Don’t patronise me, Jack. Never patronise me.”

Jack shook his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he said. “Look at the state of you. Sniff the smell of you. Go back into business together? What business?”

“If we build it, they will come,” said Eddie. “We have Bill’s office. Well, we will as soon as you have picked the lock and we can get inside. Then we’ll set up. We can call ourselves ‘Jack Investigations’ if you want.”

Jack shook his head. “And what will we investigate?”

“Crimes,” said Eddie.

“I thought the police investigated crimes. Those jolly red-faced laughing policemen. And Chief Inspector Bellis.”

“As if they care about what happens to the likes of us.”

“The likes of us?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s us, Eddie. You are a toy and I am a –”

“Meathead,” said Eddie. “I know.”

“Man,” said Jack.

“And so you are one of the privileged.” Eddie had finished his burger. But as he was still hungry, he made the face of one who was.

“I’ll fry you up another,” said Jack. “But, no offence, you know what I mean.”

“And you know that that was what I was trying to change. The injustice of the system. The way toys are treated as if they are nothing at all.”

“They are treated as if they are toys,” said Jack, applying himself once more to that Hellish piece of equipment known as a griddle. “No offence meant once more.”

“Toys have feelings, too,” said Eddie.

Jack turned from the grill and gazed upon Eddie. The two of them had been through a great deal together. They had indeed had adventures. They had indeed had a relationship that was based upon trust and deep friendship. A lad and a toy bear. Absurd? Maybe. But then, what isn’t?

“Eddie,” said Jack, “it really is truly good to see you once more.”

“Thanks,” said Eddie. “The same goes for me.”

“Eddie?” said Jack.

“Jack?” said Eddie.

“Would you mind very much if I were to give you a hug?”

“I would bite you right in the balls if you ever tried.”

“Thank goodness for that,” said Jack, “because you smell like shit.”

Jack really didn’t need that much persuading. He put up a spirited, if insincere, struggle, of course, citing the possibilities of promotion in the field of customer services and the pension plan and putting forward some unsupportable hypothesis that young women found griddle chefs sexy. But he really didn’t take that much persuading and, come ten of the morning clock, with Sam shining down encouragingly, Jack took what wages he felt he was owed from the cash register, plus a small bonus that he considered he deserved, and with it his leave of Nadine’s Diner.

“It’s spoon,” he told the crossword-solving dolly as he made his departure. “What the dish ran away with.”

“Does this mean you’re running away from me?” asked the dolly.

“Not a bit of it,” said Jack. “I’ll pick you up at eight. Take you to the pictures.”

Outside in the encouraging sunlight, Eddie said, “Jack, are you doing it with that dolly?”

“Well …” said Jack.

“Disgusting,” said Eddie. “You should be ashamed.”

“I am,” said Jack, “but I’m trying to work through it.”

“And succeeding by the look of it.”

Jack tried to make a guilty face.

“You’re a very bad boy,” said Eddie.

The building hadn’t changed at all, but then why should it have changed? It was a sturdy edifice, built in the vernacular style, Alphabet brick, with a tendency towards the occasional fiddly piece, which gave it that extra bit of character. Bill Winkie’s office was on the first floor above the garage, which might or might not still house his splendid automobile. Eddie did ploddings up the stairway. Jack did long-legged stridings.

“It feels a bit odd,” said Jack as he followed Eddie, who with difficulty had overtaken him, along the corridor that led past various offices towards the door that led to Bill’s, “being back here again.”