Something rotten by Jasper Fforde Page B

opposing the endless choice, end one’s heartache—”
    “Cousin Eddie!” I said sharply. “Cut it out!”
    “To froth, to sprinkle, perchance to drink, and in that—”
    “He’ll have a mocha with extra cream, please.”
    Hamlet stopped abruptly once the burden of decision was taken from him.
    “Sorry,” he said, rubbing his temples, “I don’t know what came over me. All of a sudden I had this overwhelming desire to talk for a very long time without actually doing anything. Is that normal?”
    “Not for me. I’ll have a latte, Mr. Cheese, ” I said, watching his reaction carefully.
    He still didn’t seem to recognize me. He rang up the cost and then started making the coffees.
    “Do you remember me?”
    He narrowed his eyes and stared at me carefully for a moment or two. “No.”
    “Thursday Next?”
    His face broke into a broad grin, and he put out a large hand for me to shake, welcoming me as an old workmate rather than a past nemesis. I faltered, then shook his hand slowly.
    “Miss Next! Where have you been? Prison?”
    “Away.”
    “Ah! But you’re well?”
    “I’m okay,” I said suspiciously, retrieving my hand. “How are you?”
    “Not bad!” he laughed, looking at me sideways for a moment and narrowing his eyes. “You’ve changed. What is it?”
    “Almost no hair?”
    “That’s it. We were looking for you everywhere. You spent almost eighteen months in the Goliath top ten most wanted—although you never made it to the number-one slot.”
    “I’m devastated.”
    “No one has ever spent ten months on the list,” carried on Cheese with a sort of dreamy, nostalgic look. “The next longest was three weeks. We looked everywhere for you!”
    “But you gave up?”
    “Goodness me, no,” replied Cheese. “Perseverance is what Goliath does best. There was a restructuring of corporate policy, and we were reallocated. ”
    “You mean fired.”
    “No one is ever fired from Goliath,” said Cheese in a shocked tone. “Cots to coffins. You’ve heard the adverts.”
    “So just moved on from bullying and terrifying and into lattes and mochas?”
    “Haven’t you heard?” said Cheese, frothing up some milk. “Goliath has moved its corporate image away from the ‘overbearing bully’ and more towards ‘peace, love and understanding.’ ”
    “I heard something about it last night,” I replied, “but you’ll forgive me if I’m not convinced.”
    “Forgive is what Goliath does best, Miss Next. Faith is a difficult commodity to imbue—and that’s why violent and ruthless bullies like me have to be reallocated. Our corporate seer, Sister Bettina, foresaw a necessity for us to change to a faith-based corporate-management system, but the rules concerning new religions are quite strict—we have to make changes to the corporation that are meaningful and genuine. That’s why the old Goliath Internal Security Service is now known as Goliath Is Seriously Sorry—you see, we even kept the old initials so we didn’t have to divert money away from good causes to buy new headed notepaper.”
    “Or have to change them back when this charade has been played out.”
    “You know,” said Cheese, waving a finger at me, “you always were just that teensy-weensy bit cynical. You should learn to be more trusting.”
    “Trusting. Right. And you think the public will believe this touchy-feely, good-Lord-we’re-sorry-forgive-us-please crap after four decades of rampant exploitation?”
    “Rampant exploitation?” echoed Cheese in a dismayed tone. “I don’t think so. ‘Proactive greater goodification’ was more what we had in mind—and it’s five decades, not four. Are you sure your cousin Eddie isn’t Danish?”
    “ Definitely not.”
    I thought about Brik Schitt-Hawse, the odious Goliath agent who’d had my husband eradicated in the first place. “What about Schitt-Hawse? Where does he work these days?”
    “I think he moved into some post in Goliathopolis. I really don’t move