THEAKER’S 38
61
LLANDUDNO
“You,” said the vision. “And this is surely your Creatorene.” “Do what?” breathed Mog. “And we have your scribe in happy keeping. He awaits, with much else. Much, much else.” “Creator?” repeated Keith. Mog had a vision of her father stuck where he was, immovable from hereon, only his lips free to summon that one word, over and over. “What’s this Creator business?” She tagged on a smile, a little late to mellow the question. “Yeah, he creates, but if you look in Yellow Pages he comes under… oh, don’t mind me”—for the vision was beckoning languidly to Keith. With a foref inger, Mog lowered the shapely arm. “Sorry, ’scuse me,” she said, “but could we get something clear? See Dad’s hand—the left one, third f inger? Now, all right, it’s not shining much, well it wouldn’t, seeing as we seem to be in the middle of the night and Dad’s work is a bit rough on precious metals. But that thing there, left hand, third f inger, that’s a ring, and back where we come from it means—even if things are tricky… well, rubbish, really—it still means—” Commotion shut her mouth and flung Keith towards them. From behind him came a sound like polystyrene being folded in on itself, tighter and tighter. “Oh, great,” cried Mog. “So that’s my phone gone, and my bag, and the Mercuries.” She rounded on the vision. “It wasn’t scrap, you know, he could’ve got something for it.” At Keith’s feet, the van was now a small white cube, tyres embedded in its sides. He stepped aside as, bending, the vision scooped it up and stroked it against a patch of her reluctant costume, at which it vanished. Mog glared at her: “How we going to get home?” “With me,” smiled the vision. “Now.” ***
“She’ll wrap it round a lamp-post.” This observation made, Mr Bannerman drew his wife to him as, from the side of their bungalow, they watched Donna reversing at speed, pulling hard round and screeching left onto Pembroke Rise. He half-expected the back-draft to swing their gates like saloon doors. “Something’s going on,” said Mrs Bannerman, “again. You should have heard her yesterday afternoon.” “What?” “Up in her bedroom. Window was closed but she was going the game.” She made a drinking motion. “That was part of it, I’ll bet.” “She looked half-cut now.” Mrs Bannerman frowned. “Keith gave me a mobile number. Where did I pop that?” “You think that’s wise?” Her husband’s question, repeated, followed her indoors.