stranger?)
Chick snorted suddenly, looked at his watch and said, ‘That’s enough of that. Fish supper, anyone?’ and I realized who he reminded me of. Like the ghost of Christmas Future Chick was a picture of what Bob was going to be like in his middle age.
Chick started the engine and Terri assumed the tense position of a crash test dummy. We stopped at the first chip shop we came to and Professor Cousins said, ‘Oh my treat, please, it’s been such a lovely day out.’
‘Very good of you, Gabriel,’ Chick said, full of bonhomie at the sight of someone else’s wallet. ‘I’ll have an extra single fish in that case.’
‘As opposed to . . . a married fish?’ Professor Cousins said vaguely.
‘Ha bloody ha,’ Chick said, popping a whole pickled egg in his mouth.
I thought we would be on our way home now but as we neared the bridge Chick took a sudden turning and drove down into Newport-on-Tay and then parked the car again on the opposite side of the road from a driveway that curved away into a thick screen of laurel bushes. After a short while a car emerged from the driveway – the very same Hillman Imp as before, still being driven by the nondescript woman. Perhaps Chick was using some kind of sixth sense to follow her rather than simple powers of observation. The woman drove off in the direction of Wormit and another vehicle emerged from the driveway, a slow-moving hearse this time laden with a coffin. It was followed by a solitary car. Terri perked up considerably at the sight of the hearse.
‘Anyone you know?’ said Professor Cousins, giving an affectionate kind of nod in the direction of the coffin.
‘Not personally,’ Chick said impassively.
We drove off, slowly as if we were following the hearse, and I caught sight of a sign at the bottom of the driveway, The Anchorage – a home from home for the elderly , and told Professor Cousins that The Anchorage was currently home to Archie’s mother and he said, ‘Really? I never think of him as someone who has a mother.’
As we drove around the roundabout on the approach road to the bridge I saw a hooded figure by the side of the road, thumb stuck out into the rain.
‘There’s no room,’ Terri protested to Chick as he slowed down. The hooded hitchhiker ran towards the back door of the Cortina. He looked like one of those sinister figures from urban myths, the ones who end up killing everyone in the car and then drive off with a boot-load of bodies and pick up a pretty young girl who’s been ditched by her boyfriend and is looking for a ride home, blah, blah, blah. I was surprised that Chick, not overflowing with the milk of human kindness, had stopped but perhaps he recognized his younger more innocent self as the hitchhiker turned out to be none other than—
‘Bob!’ I exclaimed.
‘Put him in the boot,’ Terri said hastily to Chick, but to no avail as Bob was already squeezing himself in beside me, to the particular annoyance of the dog, who could see that there wasn’t enough room for this many bodies in a Cortina. The dog finally ended up sitting on Terri’s knee, although it would probably have been easier the other way round as the dog had a slightly larger volume.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I asked Bob.
‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said, unhelpfully, although it turned out that Bob had accidentally taken the wrong bus, believing himself to be on the way out to Balniddrie for a mellow afternoon in the country with Robin and had found himself instead in the more foreign reaches of Fife.
‘Transporter malfunction,’ he said, delving deep into the pocket of his greatcoat and discovering a Caramac bar.
We were nearly over the bridge, the Tay beneath us was the colour of wet slate. Dundee grew nearer and nearer and Professor Cousins sighed with satisfaction and said, ‘Well, what a day.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ Chick said.
The funeral-paced hearse easily got the lead on us as Chick was a man who
Chick snorted suddenly, looked at his watch and said, ‘That’s enough of that. Fish supper, anyone?’ and I realized who he reminded me of. Like the ghost of Christmas Future Chick was a picture of what Bob was going to be like in his middle age.
Chick started the engine and Terri assumed the tense position of a crash test dummy. We stopped at the first chip shop we came to and Professor Cousins said, ‘Oh my treat, please, it’s been such a lovely day out.’
‘Very good of you, Gabriel,’ Chick said, full of bonhomie at the sight of someone else’s wallet. ‘I’ll have an extra single fish in that case.’
‘As opposed to . . . a married fish?’ Professor Cousins said vaguely.
‘Ha bloody ha,’ Chick said, popping a whole pickled egg in his mouth.
I thought we would be on our way home now but as we neared the bridge Chick took a sudden turning and drove down into Newport-on-Tay and then parked the car again on the opposite side of the road from a driveway that curved away into a thick screen of laurel bushes. After a short while a car emerged from the driveway – the very same Hillman Imp as before, still being driven by the nondescript woman. Perhaps Chick was using some kind of sixth sense to follow her rather than simple powers of observation. The woman drove off in the direction of Wormit and another vehicle emerged from the driveway, a slow-moving hearse this time laden with a coffin. It was followed by a solitary car. Terri perked up considerably at the sight of the hearse.
‘Anyone you know?’ said Professor Cousins, giving an affectionate kind of nod in the direction of the coffin.
‘Not personally,’ Chick said impassively.
We drove off, slowly as if we were following the hearse, and I caught sight of a sign at the bottom of the driveway, The Anchorage – a home from home for the elderly , and told Professor Cousins that The Anchorage was currently home to Archie’s mother and he said, ‘Really? I never think of him as someone who has a mother.’
As we drove around the roundabout on the approach road to the bridge I saw a hooded figure by the side of the road, thumb stuck out into the rain.
‘There’s no room,’ Terri protested to Chick as he slowed down. The hooded hitchhiker ran towards the back door of the Cortina. He looked like one of those sinister figures from urban myths, the ones who end up killing everyone in the car and then drive off with a boot-load of bodies and pick up a pretty young girl who’s been ditched by her boyfriend and is looking for a ride home, blah, blah, blah. I was surprised that Chick, not overflowing with the milk of human kindness, had stopped but perhaps he recognized his younger more innocent self as the hitchhiker turned out to be none other than—
‘Bob!’ I exclaimed.
‘Put him in the boot,’ Terri said hastily to Chick, but to no avail as Bob was already squeezing himself in beside me, to the particular annoyance of the dog, who could see that there wasn’t enough room for this many bodies in a Cortina. The dog finally ended up sitting on Terri’s knee, although it would probably have been easier the other way round as the dog had a slightly larger volume.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I asked Bob.
‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said, unhelpfully, although it turned out that Bob had accidentally taken the wrong bus, believing himself to be on the way out to Balniddrie for a mellow afternoon in the country with Robin and had found himself instead in the more foreign reaches of Fife.
‘Transporter malfunction,’ he said, delving deep into the pocket of his greatcoat and discovering a Caramac bar.
We were nearly over the bridge, the Tay beneath us was the colour of wet slate. Dundee grew nearer and nearer and Professor Cousins sighed with satisfaction and said, ‘Well, what a day.’
‘It’s not over yet,’ Chick said.
The funeral-paced hearse easily got the lead on us as Chick was a man who
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