‘I didn’t quite catch it,’ said Phil.
‘I did,’ said Gimlet Martin. ‘It was something about you having the price of a round hidden in your boot, wasn’t it, Omally?’
‘Not even close,’ said John. ‘It was, in fact, the Big Answer.’
‘The Big Answer,’ said Phil. ‘I’ve had that from the wife. It’s “no” mostly.’
‘It’s bigger than that,’ said Omally. ‘This is the Big Answer.’
‘It’s “yes” then,’ said Gimlet Martin. ‘No answer could be bigger than “yes”. Although some could be a lot more complicated.’
‘This one is very straightforward,’ said Omally, ‘although it may take a little time to interpret correctly.’
‘Oh, one of those, is it?’ said Phil. ‘Then it will probably turn out to be the instructions for the erection of flat-pack kitchen units. An uncle of mine had a go at those once, he ended up eating his own foot. I don’t think that was in the instructions. I think he just went—’
‘To Margate?’ asked Gimlet Martin. ‘I was told that Margate was good for arthritis, so I went there and I got it.’
‘The Big Answer,’ went Omally in a big voice, ‘from he who speaks behind the eyes, between the ears, beneath the tongue—’
‘Under the clock?’ Phil suggested.
‘All around my hat?’ said Gimlet.
Omally raised a glass which had been refilled during time-out. ‘To Goth and Mebob, and to Bah-Reah,’ he toasted, ‘and to the Big Answer.’
‘And to Arsenal Football Club,’ said Phil.
‘And Ruby Keeler,’ said Gimlet. ‘Whose legs went all the way up to her bum.’
The three drank.
‘I feel that the gods will be favouring me shortly,’ said Omally.
‘Crocks of gold, or a touch of immortality?’ Phil asked.
‘Or possibly three wishes of the Aladdin persuasion,’ said Gimlet. ‘An Irish uncle of mine was offered three wishes by a Genie he freed from a Persian matchbox. He asked for a bottle of Guinness which would never run dry, much after the manner of the now legendary cornucopia. After taking a couple of swigs and seeing that the Guinness had not gone down at all, he used up his two other wishes. “Give us two more of these wonderful bottles,” he said.’
‘Very droll,’ said Omally. ‘I am stating that my gods will be favouring me with the interpretation of the Big Answer. It is the Big Answer to all the world’s problems. It will bring peace and love and happiness to every man, woman and child on the planet.’
‘Will they be favouring you before closing time?’ asked Gimlet Martin. ‘As you may care to get a round in to celebrate.’
Omally shook his head. ‘Not nearly so soon, I’m afraid. We are now in the year 1966. I suspect that it will take at least thirty years for me to correctly interpret the Big Answer.
‘Well that is a Big surprise,’ said Gimlet Martin.
‘Talking of Big,’ said Derby Phil, ‘I had an uncle who lived in India. He used to circumcise elephants for a living. The pay wasn’t too good, but the tips were enormous.’
Omally rose from his chair. ‘Enough,’ he cried. ‘Enough of such trivial talk.’ And his eyes flashed fire and his face shone like burnished bronze. ‘Something is occurring. Something phenomenal. A great change will come over the earth. There will be signs and wonders in the heavens, there will be peace and joy and love.’
His two fellow finalists looked up at John in some awe.
‘I am pulling out of this contest,’ said Omally. ‘I have no use for a trophy and a fifty-pound prize. I must dedicate myself instead to the Big Answer.’
And that was the particular lie that won John Omally the much coveted Silver Tongue Trophy and the even more coveted fifty pound prize.
But what if he wasn’t lying?
22
NEXT MORNING
‘Oh no!’ cried Barry, loudly in my head. ‘Oh no, chief. Look at them all.’
And I was looking, down from the window of my room at Hotel Jericho, the smoke-stained window, cracked and pitted. Looking down upon the folk who thronged the Street below. Very happy they looked. Very very happy. They were smiling, each and every one.
‘You caused this to happen, chief.’
‘What, caused all these people to smile like this? Are you sure, Barry? I mean if I’d done it, surely a tree would have fallen on me by now, or a rogue satellite crashed through the ceiling.’
‘You made it happen, chief. You put the idea of the Big Answer into that Omally’s head and then gave him thirty years to figure out how to work it.’
‘Am I really that clever, Barry?’
‘That bl**dy devious, yes.’
‘But I don’t see what you’re complaining about. Look at all the smiling faces. The street is carpeted with them.’
And it was ‘carpeted’, well that’s what it looked like from where I was standing.
‘Bad, bad, bad,’ went Barry. ‘Very bad indeed.’
‘Sounds like sour grapes to me,’ I said. ‘Just because I managed to pull it off without your help, or your hindrance.’
‘You call that, pulling it off? Look at them, chief, look at them, what have you done to them?’
‘Given them their freedom, Barry. The Big Answer in my opinion is to give people their freedom. Unshackle them from everyday tedium, allow them to blossom into their true selves. Offer them love and peace and happiness. Pretty damn cosmic, eh, Barry?’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Come on, let’s go down and mingle, I could do with some breakfast. Let’s see how the Brave New World is shaping up.’
It was a jolly nice day for a brave new world. A big smiley sun in the sky. Dear little clouds scudding by. And no doubt Blue Birds of Happiness nestling on the telegraph wire, if not on the dry-cleaner’s roof. The kind of day that might inspire poets to verse, in fact.
I shinned down the scaffolding
Supporting the hotel,
I stretched and joined the smilers
Who were looking very well.
‘How goes it?’ I asked a passer-by.
‘Splendid,’ came the firm reply.
‘Happy then?’ I asked another.
‘Sure am friend, each man’s my brother.’
‘Sheer poetry,’ I said to Barry.
‘It doesn’t scan, chief, it’s all over the place.’
‘Hush, you cynic. Let’s do breakfast.’
I didn’t really know the eating houses in this town. Come to think of it, I didn’t even know the name of this town. It was just a town with a hotel, Hotel Jericho, and I had been drawn here by the magnet of my dream. Or the fishing-line of fate. Or the dog lead of destiny. Or even the silk scarf of serendipity. The last two of which can be a lot of fun, so I’m told, if you know what to do with them. I tried a café called The Plume, but it wasn’t open. One a little further up the street was, it was called the Tengo Na Minchia Tanta. I pushed upon the door and went inside. I was feeling great. Really great. I felt my old self again, the old self that had wanted to be a private eye. I’d almost forgotten about that old self. I was glad to have him back. The thought of having him back made me smile.
I parked my butt on a chromium stool before the counter and smiled at the guy behind it. A tall guy with sandy hair. The tall guy’s name was Sandy, but how was I to know?
‘A cup of coffee, please,’ I smiled. ‘And a buttered bap.’
The tall guy smiled in ready response. ‘You’re welcome to the coffee, friend, but I have no baps today.’
‘A crusty roll then please.’
‘No rolls.’
‘Then I’ll just have a slice of Hovis.’
‘Sadly no.’
‘Croissant?’
‘No croissants.’
‘Wheatbread? Flapjack? Waffle? Muffin? Crumpet?’
The tall guy shook his head.
‘Bath bun? Patty? Pasty? Oat cake? Scone? Shortbread? Gingerbread? Doughnut? Profiterole?’
&
nbsp; He shook his head once more. ‘You sure know your pastries, fella,’ he said.
‘Listen,’ I told him, ‘in my business, knowing your pastries can mean the difference between being as fat as a butcher’s dog or thin as a wino’s whippet, if you know what I mean, and I’m sure that you do.’
‘I haven’t the foggiest,’ said Sandy. ‘But as long as you’re happy.’
‘Any hot-cross buns?’ I enquired.
‘None, I’m afraid the bakers haven’t delivered today. They phoned to say that as the sun was shining, they’d decided to hit the beach instead.’
‘Nice day for it,’ I said. ‘Just the coffee then.’
‘You’ll have to take it black I’m afraid. The lads from the dairy went with them. They’re having a volley ball tournament, I think.’
I smiled at the tall guy and he smiled back, we introduced ourselves and he poured me a black coffee.
I sipped at it. ‘It’s rather cold,’ I said.
‘It’s last night’s,’ said Sandy, with a smile. ‘My waitress always makes the fresh coffee, but she phoned in today to say—’
‘That she thought she’d hit the beach?’
‘I’d go myself, but I prefer it here. I get a real pleasure from giving my customers just what they want.’
‘Nice sentiment. Do you have any sugar at all?’
‘I did have, but I threw it all away this morning. Call it a whim if you will, but too much sugar is bad for your health and I wouldn’t want to feel that I had in any way contributed to another soul’s ill health by supplying them with sugar.’
‘I’ve heard the same said of coffee,’ I suggested.
‘Yes, you’re quite right.’ Sandy snatched the cup from my hand and poured its cold contents into the sink. ‘How thoughtless of me, sir, allow me to apologize.’
‘That’s quite all right. Do you have anything else on the premises that I might eat or drink?’
‘Well I do, but I can’t be sure now whether any of it’s safe. I mean the fried stuff, that can give you heart disease and too many carbohydrates, that’s tantamount to administering poison. I’m going to have to review all my stock, sir. Thank you for drawing my attention to the dangers.’
‘Could I have one of those bars of chocolate you have behind the counter then?’
‘Oh my Lord no, sir! You might come out in a rash. I’d never forgive myself.’
‘Fair enough.’ I smiled at Sandy. ‘Then I suppose I’d better be off.’
‘And take care crossing the road, sir. Perhaps I’ll see you later, down at the beach.’
‘Perhaps. Goodbye.’
I stood outside the Tengo Na Minchia Tanta, stretching and smiling.
‘What are you smiling about, chief?’ asked Barry. ‘That clod just talked you out of your breakfast.’
‘He was doing the right thing, Barry. He was caring for his customers.’
‘He’ll care them all to death at that rate.’
‘No he won’t. He will see to their dietary needs. People do eat things that are far too unhealthy. All that’s going to change now. Change from the ground up.’
‘You had that written into your BIG ANSWER, did you, chief?’
‘Caring, Love, Peace, Honesty and above all Freedom.’
‘No mention of breakfast in there, I suppose?’
I smiled and patted my belly. It felt a bit hollow. ‘We eat far too much,’ I told Barry. ‘In future I shall scrub around breakfast. Just take a five-mile jog instead.’
‘A five-mile jog? Chief, you’ve never jogged in your life. You get a nose-bleed running for a bus.’
‘Time to shape up then. Look after your body and it will look after you.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’
‘I think I might become a vegetarian.’
‘Please, chief, you are talking to a sprout here.’
‘No offence meant, Barry.’
‘None taken, chief.’
‘Isn’t it just great to be alive?’
‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
I took a stroll about the town. Most of the shops had ‘closed for the day’ signs up and I noticed that the roads were very crowded with cars. I also noticed that most of the occupants wore shorts and Hawaiian shirts, and the children in the backs carried beach balls and body boards.
A perfect day to hit the beach.
I wondered if I should join them.
‘Bar snacks,’ said Barry.
‘Pardon me?’
‘Pub grub, as in breakfast.’
‘Well, I am a tad peckish as it happens.’
‘Here’s a pub, chief. What’s it called? Ah, Fangio’s Bar. Now how about that?’
‘How about that indeed.’ And I entered Fangio’s Bar with a smile.
And the first thing that caught my laughing eyes was the décor. It hadn’t changed a bit. It was still the same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched—
‘Can I help you, sir?’ asked the barman. And it was him. Fangio. Standing there and smiling.
‘Am I glad to see you,’ I said.
‘I don’t know, sir, are you?’
‘Fangio, it’s me. And it’s you.’ And he hadn’t aged by a single day. By thirty years yes, by a single day, no. He was the same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched—
‘Can it really be you?’ Fangio looked me up and down like a thirteenth-floor elevator and tipped me the kind of wink that accidentally buys you contraceptives in a chemist, when you’re asking for a packet of aspirins.
‘My old brown dog,’ said Fangio. ‘It is you. The same old clapped-out, run-down, knackered-up, wretched—’
‘Any chance,’ I asked him as I parked my behind upon a stool that hadn’t known such joy for more than thirty years, ‘any chance of a drink?’
‘Certainly, sir, what would you care for?’
‘What exactly do you have?’
Fangio made a thoughtful (though still smiling) face. He stroked at his chins, ran his tongue about his lips, then across his nose and all around his eyebrows. ‘What exactly would you like?’ he asked.
‘How about a bottle of Bud?’
‘Right out of Bud, I’m afraid.’
‘Lager?’
‘No.’
‘Bitter?’
‘No.’
‘Stop me if I get to one,’ I said. ‘Draught beer? Bottled beer? Stout? Brown ale? Cider? Scrumpy? Porter? Punch? Bourbon? Scotch? Irish? Highball? Brandy?’
‘What was the last one?’
‘Brandy.’
‘No, the one before that.’
‘Highball.’
‘Oh, I thought you said something else. Carry on.’
‘I’m not getting close yet, eh?’
‘Go on to wines,’ said Fangio. ‘Do wines.’
‘OK. Red wine? White wine? Rosé? Fortified wine? Sparkling wine? Spumante? Madeira? Port? Claret? Hock? Champagne?’
‘Champagne,’ said Fangio.
‘You have champagne?’
‘No, but I love champagne, don’t you?’
‘Oh yeah, champagne’s wonderful. Now where was I? Sherry? Burgundy? Chianti? Rezina?’
‘You sure know your potables, sir.’
‘Listen,’ I said, ‘in my business, knowing your potables can mean the difference between humming a tune to that old devil moon and shouting “spam” at a spaniel, if you know what I mean and I’m sure that you do.’
‘My lips are sealed,’ said Fangio. ‘Do you want to go on to cocktails now?’
‘Listen,’ I said once more, ‘I’ll take whatever you have.’
‘Would you care for a Horse’s Neck?’
‘Is that a cocktail?’
‘No, it’s a horse’s neck. It’s not proving as popular as the chewing fat used to.’
‘Bring me a large slice and a glass of water.’
Fangio placed a meat cleaver upon the counter. ‘Would you mind helping yourself?’ he asked. ‘The horse is out the back in the paddock.
’
We both laughed at this. What a wag that Fangio, what a shame the way he met his end.
‘Now don’t start that again,’ he said. And we laughed again. I’d forgotten just how much I enjoyed being a private eye, standing about in bars, drinking and talking a lot of old toot.
‘I hate to keep harping on,’ I told Fangio, ‘but would there be any chance of a drink, do you think?’
‘Certainly, sir, what would you like?’
‘I’d like a bottle of Bud.’
‘Coming right up.’
‘But you said—’
‘Don’t take any notice of anything I say, sir. I’ve never been the same since I was shot in the brain at the Somme.’
‘You were never at the Somme, were you?’
‘Did I say, the Somme, sir? I meant of course that I once had my head shut in a fridge door. Student’s rag week I think it was, or National Trust demonstrators.’
Fangio served the beer and I drank it back with relish.
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a bit of horse’s neck to go with that relish?’ asked the fat boy. ‘Or perhaps a buttered bap.’
‘Yes please.’
‘That’s a shame, because—’
‘Never mind, I’ll stick with the beer.’ I smiled at Fangio and he smiled right back. ‘I see you’ve got a TV behind the bar,’ I said. ‘Would it be all right if we had it on?’
‘With the greatest of pleasure, sir. My heart’s desire is to please my customers, mind you—’
‘What?’
‘Well, I had it on earlier and there was only a test card with the words
THE STATION REGRETS THAT ALL ITS PRESENTERS HAVE GONE TO THE BEACH.
NORMAL SERVICE WILL BE RESUMED AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.’
‘Then let’s see if it has.’
‘Let’s do that, sir.’ Fangio switched on the TV then came around the bar and sat down beside me. The screen cleared to display the smiling face of a male presenter, with a crowded beach in the background. And then pulled back.
‘Isn’t that Jack Black?’ I said. ‘Used to present World of the Weird?’
‘Still does,’ said Fangio.
‘So why is he wearing a dress?’