I have blogged about this before (see https://wordpress.com/post/brandonrobshaw.wordpress.com/1671) but since then, the phenomenon (the use of ‘100%’ to mean ‘Yes’) has really taken off. In fact it now means not just ‘Yes’, but ‘absolutely’, ‘OK’, ‘I agree’, ‘I’m listening’, ‘Uh-huh’ – any sort of affirmative utterance. As well as an affirmation it can be a noun, adverb or adjective. All of which is fine, of course, but the sheer extent of it is bewildering. Like most of you, I imagine, I’ve been watching The Traitors these last few weeks; and I’d say the phrase is uttered about once a minute. No contestant can go more than two sentences without using it. I’m not exactly objecting to this, but the popularity of this not-very-interesting expression seems a mystery to me. Can anyone explain?
I was in Paris for a few days recently. I went there to help my daughter Ros settle in; she’s going to the Sorbonne for a year to do an MSc in brain science. And she didn’t really need my help at all, but it was a pleasant jaunt, and for me a nostalgic one since I lived in Paris myself thirty-odd years ago. Anyway that’s all by way of preamble: this post was occasioned by Ros asking me, since demander is French for ask, what is French for demand? The answer is of course exiger. But it got me wondering why there’s a difference between ask and demand in English – the former meaning a neutral enquiry, the latter suggesting a refusal to take no for an answer. And I came up with a theory.
My theory, which is mine, goes like this. After the Norman Conquest, English royalty and aristocracy were French-speaking for about two centuries. And when those guys asked you for something, you’d better not say no. Therefore the word demand, neutral in the original French, became far from neutral in Norman England. But the Anglo-Saxon word ask retained its neutrality. So there you have it.
A la prochaine!
I enjoy the occasional immersion in English Golden Age detective fiction: the country houses, eccentric millionaires, doctors and vicars, bludgeons and untraceable poisons, alibis and impostures, Daimlers and Bentleys, Bright Young Things and h-dropping servants, rigid social codes just slightly tempered by a dawning of modernity – and the murmuring gentlemen detectives. Have you ever noticed that? How often the detectives murmur? Lord Peter Whimsey is a confirmed murmurer. So is Albert Campion. It seems to be a signifier of superiority. The true gentleman doesn’t need to raise his voice, and can indulge in ironic, understated detachment, even or especially when investigating murder. (Lower-class characters are more likely to bark or bluster, and if they did speak quietly, they wouldn’t be murmuring but mumbling or muttering.)
I recently read a story by HC Bailey, in an anthology of 1930s detective stories, Settling Scores, edited by Martin Edwards. The story was called ‘The Football Photograph’ and features Bailey’s facetious, drawling, doctor-detective Reggie Fortune; and Reggie is the King of the Murmurers. He makes Whimsy and Campion look as if their hearts are simply not in the murmuring game at all. In a story of just over 20 pages, Reggie Fortune murmurs no fewer than 26 times. Is that a record?
This blog is supposed to be about the English language, but I hope I’ll be excused for putting up a post about French instead today. It concerns the phrase ChatGPT which the French have imported into their language direct. The thing is, when you say ‘ChatGPT’ in a French accent, it sounds like ‘Chat, j’ai pété’ – which means ‘Cat, I’ve farted’.
That’s funny, isn’t it? The verb péter, by the way, literally means to crack, pop, or go off. It is related to the French word pétard, meaning bomb. To be hoist with your own pétard means to be blown up with your own bomb.
Last night I was cooking a chilli con carne, with the radio on in the kitchen. BBC 6 Music, where every third song is completely unlistenable, but I listen to it anyway. The news came on, and towards the end of the usual dreary bulletin about dreadful things happening all over the world, the announcer breezily said, ‘Tonight there will be a remarkable astrological event, as the Earth passes through the Perseid meteor shower…’
What? Sorry, what? Run that past me again? A remarkable what event?
‘Er… a remarkable… astrological event.’
‘But surely you mean astronomical?’
‘Er…’
It is hard to credit, but it seems that not only the BBC announcer but her whole production team do not know the difference between astronomical (relating to the science of astronomy) and astrological (relating to the mystic mumbo-jumbo of horoscopes). Come on, BBC. I mean, just come on. You’re our national state broadcaster and we pay your salaries. Please get these very basic things right.
Tonight, we’ll eat the chilli. Always better the next day.
I was driving along in my car the other day when that fantastic song, ‘Five Hundred Miles’ by the Proclaimers, came on the radio. Good God, that really is a grand and great song. Anyway, I was listening to the lyrics and was struck by the line ‘When I haver, I’m gonna be the one who’s havering to you.’
Haver. That’s an interesting word. In English English, it means to hesitate or vacillate – which would make no sense at all in that line But in Scottish English, haver has a different meaning. It means to talk nonsense. Which makes it rather a sweet line, I think, especially since it comes after ‘And when I get drunk, I’m gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you’.
I wonder how abrupt the transition between the two meanings is. Do they use the Scottish meaning in Berwick? Carlisle? What about Alnwick? Is there a region where both meanings are in use, creating confusion?
Sadly, I was not driving through the London Borough of Havering when the song came on.
I walked past a lavender-bush yesterday, and thought of the old song: ‘Lavender’s blues, dilly-dilly, lavender’s green…’ and I realised, for the first time, that the words are flat-out wrong. Lavender’s not blue and it’s not green. It’s purple. Pale purple. Call it mauve. I’ve been singing that song for over half a century and never noticed the inaccuracy. I wonder why the writer got the colours wrong? Perhaps it’s because, famously, nothing rhymes with purple.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘Looking for someone?’
Action Man turned at the sound of the woman’s voice. He saw a tall form shrouded from head to foot in a black burqa, with a narrow aperture for her eyes to peep through; but he couldn’t see her eyes, as she was wearing dark glasses.
‘Maybe I am,’ said Action Man. ‘Who wants to know?’
He had rushed wildly out of the restaurant in search of Hopalong and now found himself in a busy street market. Tourists haggled with men in fezzes and white robes over the prices of rugs and lamps and leather pouffes and straw camels. Other veiled women glided by, some with baskets on their heads. A man came past leading a donkey.
‘I can help you,’ said the woman in the veil. ‘Follow me.’ She had a soft, but decisive voice.
She turned smartly down a side alley. Action Man followed. They came to a door. The woman pressed some numbers on the entryphone and murmured something in Arabic; there was a discreet buzz and she pushed the door open with her fingertips. She led Action Man through into a cool, shaded courtyard. A fountain produced a pleasant, refreshing burble.
They sat down at a small table and a servant appeared with two glasses of mint tea.
‘OK,’ said Action Man. ‘What’s the game?’
The woman waited until the servant had gone. Then, in one swift movement, she swept the burqa off her head. Action Man saw a young European woman with blonde hair, a broad, candid brow and big blue eyes. It was rather a girlish face – good-looking, though not as pretty as Barbie. (Barbie -! At the thought of her, Action Man felt an unexpected internal jolt, like a not unpleasant electric shock.)
‘Don’t you know who I am?’ asked the woman.
It came to Action Man in a flash. He pointed a long, strong forefinger at her. ‘You’re Agent S.’
‘Ten out of ten,’ said Agent S. ‘And you’re looking for Hopalong, right?’
‘Right.’
‘He’s been abducted.’
‘By Kroll?’
‘By Kroll.’
‘But why -?’
‘To get information, of course. Kroll will torture him to find out what he knows.’
‘But – Hopalong doesn’t know anything! He’s an agent in the field, like me. He just follows orders.’
‘But Dr Kroll doesn’t know that. He’ll torture him anyway. He likes torturing people.’
Action Man clenched his jaw and fists. ‘We’ve got to rescue him!’
‘Yes. That’s your next mission, Action Man.’
‘OK. Where do I start?’
‘Hopalong’s been taken to a castle in a remote part of Scotland. You’ll fly there by helicopter and attempt to rescue him.’
‘I won’t just attempt it. I’ll do it!’ Action Man stood up. He picked up his sub-machine gun. Then he looked at Agent S curiously. ‘How do you know all this?’
‘It’s my job to know things. Let’s go. The helicopter’s waiting.’
‘Oh, Barbie!’
‘Oh, Ken!’
They were lying on the king-size bed in their de luxe suite in the Hotel de Luxe.
‘Were you frightened, Barbie?’
Barbie thought about this. She hadn’t been frightened, not really. Not with Action Man there to protect her. She remembered their kiss under the table and blushed. Of course she couldn’t tell Ken about that. She smiled back at him.
‘Of course I was frightened, Ken. But I knew you’d be back.’
‘Oh, Barbie…!’
They kissed. It wasn’t quite as dreamy as the kiss under the table, thought Barbie. But it was quite nice. She was used to the way Ken kissed, and liked it.
‘Hey, Barbie?’
‘Yes, Ken?’
‘How about we take our clothes off?’
‘Sure thing, Ken!’
She liked taking her clothes off, especially with Ken. It was one of their favourite pastimes. As she slipped her shimmering pink evening gown down to reveal her large, proud, conical breasts, she found herself wondering what Action Man looked like with no clothes on. Dreamy, she imagined. That great broad chest, those narrow hips…
‘Hey, Barbie! What you thinking about?’
‘Oh -! Nothing.’ She thrust Action Man from her mind and helped Ken off with his trousers.
They lay naked on the bed, limbs intertwined, until it was quite dark.
Midnight struck. Ken sat up.
‘Hey, Barbie?’
‘Yes, Ken?’
‘How about we go home tomorrow?’
‘Sure, if you say so, Ken.’
‘And let’s have a party, yeah? A massive party? And invite all the gang?’
‘Oh, yes, Ken! I’d love that!’
‘Cool!’
‘I’ll need a new outfit.’
‘Barbie, you can have all the new outfits you want.’
‘Oh, I love you Ken!’
‘Just one thing – we don’t invite that goon Action Man, OK? Or his stoopid pal Hopalong.’
Barbie smiled and successfully kept the regret out of her voice as she answered: ‘OK.’
He’d been in the air for eight hours now. From on high the helicopter lights had successively lit up the red sands of Egypt, the blue of the Mediterranean and the tip of Italy’s boot, the wide plains of France, the slate grey of the Channel and the green fields of England, and now he was skimming over the heather-clad hills of the Highlands. If he’d got his bearings right – and Action Man was never wrong about that sort of thing – the castle where Hopalong was being held was right up ahead. Yes – there it was: a towering, dark, sinister mass which looked as if it had been carved out of the rock of the hill on which it stood.
Action Man dipped, cut back on the throttle and gently, expertly landed amid the heather. The whirring of the rotor blades slowed and stopped. Action Man jumped down. He’d left himself with a walk of over a mile to the castle but that was the way he wanted it. A noisy chopper with searchlights on flying right up to the castle wouldn’t have left him much of an element of surprise.
He set off through the heather. Twenty minutes later, the castle was looming up before him, blotting out the stars. How to get in? Stealthily, Action Man made his way around the walls. After a complete circuit he could see no easy means of entering. The castle was surrounded by a deep moat – which appeared to be filled with mud, not water, so you couldn’t even swim across – and the drawbridge was up.
There was only one thing for it. Over the wall.
Action Man unfastened the grappling hook from his belt. He swung it round and round and hurled it the top of the crenellated wall. The hook bit and stuck. Good. OK, that was the easy bit. Now he had to follow it.
With a powerful spring Action Man leapt into the air, holding onto the rope. It swung him down towards the treacherous black mud – but even as he was swinging, Action Man was climbing as fast as he could. The end of the rope trailed in the mud and Action Man’s boots just grazed it – but his momentum carried him across to the base of the wall. He braced his feet against the wall and reverse-abseiled his way up.
Just as he was sitting astride the top of the wall, all the lights went on.
And then the sirens started up.
‘Damn!’ said Action Man.
Below him was a walkway. He dropped down onto it just as the bullets began to whine around him. He ran. Bullets spanged off the wall. Ahead was a tower. Action Man kicked the door open and ran down a spiral staircase.
There was a sound of running footsteps below. The next moment Action Man saw a crowd of uniformed guards piling up the stairs towards him. He was ready for them. A burst of his sub-machine gun and the two foremost guards fell backwards with flailing arms, skittling the ones behind them.
Action Man continued down warily, occasionally sending another burst of machine-gun fire round a corner. There was answering fire, but it ricocheted harmlessly off the stone walls.
Action Man was outnumbered, but that didn’t matter on this narrow stair; his enemies could only face him one at a time anyway. The trouble was, when he got to the bottom he’d be out in the open, and then the numbers would count for something. That must be why the guards were falling back, letting him come down; they’d be waiting for him at the bottom.
To his right he saw a window cut in the stone. It was a narrow, vertical slit without any glass. An empty courtyard lay some six metres below – quite a drop, but Action Man, an experienced parachutist, knew how to land. In any case he didn’t have much choice.
He squeezed through the narrow slit. He hung on by his fingertips, thus reducing the drop by over two metres: then let himself fall. He hit the ground and rolled to absorb the impact, rose to his feet – and found himself face to face with the same crowd of uniformed guards he’d met on the stair. For a moment, they stared at Action Man and he stared at them.
‘Er – I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve called this meeting,’ said Action Man.
As one, the guards raised their rifles and took aim. But Action Man was already on the move. He hit the dirt and rolled again; as he rolled, he got off a raking burst of machine-gun fire which dropped the foremost three guards. But of course he couldn’t win a shooting match out in the open against so many. He dived behind a pillar. In front of him was a metal door. He pushed. It opened. He dodged through, saw there was a key in the lock on the other side of the door and locked it behind him. A hail of bullets whanged into the door, but Action Man was already running down the corridor.
It was a long, stone passage lit by flickering torches mounted on the walls. Other torchlit passages branched off at intervals. As he ran, Action Man wondered where the hell he was going. How to find Hopalong in this maze of a place?
A sign on the wall supplied the answer. TORTURE CHAMBER THIS WAY, it said, with a helpful picture of a little hand pointing down a corridor off to the left.
Action Man ran along the corridor and down a steep flight of stone steps. At the bottom was a forbidding, iron-studded door. A plaque on it proclaimed: TORTURE CHAMBER – NO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Action Man under his breath. The door was locked but Action Man blasted the lock away with his sub-machine gun. The door swung open.
Action Man found himself in a dark chamber lit by a red glow. A heavy smell of blood and fire and shit hung in the air. On the wall hung cruel instruments of torture, glinting in the firelight. He saw a rack, an iron maiden, a chair with a steel spike protruding upwards from the seat. There didn’t seem to be anyone around.
Then Action Man heard a faint groan. He went forwards through an arch; and saw Hopalong.
‘Oh, my giddy aunt,’ said Action Man softly.
Hopalong was hanging in chains on the wall. He was stripped down to his dark blue underpants. His torso was bruised and scarred and burnt in a score of places.
But Action Man wasn’t looking at Hopalong’s torso. He was looking at his leg. Or rather he wasn’t.
Because it wasn’t there any more.
Nothing remained but a rounded, bulbous stump.
‘Action Man!’ said Hopalong hoarsely. ‘Am I glad to see you!’
‘Yes,’ said Action Man. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Well – I got my five minutes with Dr Kroll.’
‘Yes.’
‘My leg. He’s taken my leg.’
‘Yes.’
‘I – I guess I won’t be called Hopalong any more. You’ll have to call me Crawlalong now.’
‘No way, man! You’ll always be Hopalong!’
‘Thanks. Thanks, Action Man,’ said Hopalong huskily.
‘Come on. Let’s get you out of here.’ He put down his sub-machine gun, took a knife from his belt and began to prise Hopalong’s handcuffs open.
‘Hurry – Dr Kroll’s gone on his tea-break. He’ll be back any time now!’
‘Good,’ said Action Man grimly. ‘I’d like a word with him.’
‘Your wish,’ came a suave voice, ‘is granted.
Action Man spun round. A large, furry leopard was standing in the archway.
‘Do you like the costume? I do feel it’s rather me.’
‘Dr Kroll!’
‘At your service. Welcome to my underground torture chamber! So kind of you to drop in. You’ve saved me the trouble of fetching you.’
‘No, Kroll. I’m the one that’s fetching you. You’re coming with me to the International Police.’
‘In a rat’s ass, friend.’
There was a click, and two sets of shiny, razor-sharp, curved steel claws shot out from the leopard’s paws.
‘Better start to say your prayers, Action Man.’
‘OK,’ said Action Man. ‘Our Father, who art in Heav-’
On the last syllable he stepped forward and smashed Dr Kroll in his leopard’s muzzle with a right cross.
Kroll went flying backwards with the force of the blow. He bounced off the wall and hit the ground, but was on his feet immediately – the furry leopard’s costume must have saved him from the worst of the impact. He lunged at Action Man, swiping viciously with his claws. Action Man ducked, caught hold of Kroll’s arm and threw him over his shoulder. Kroll crashed down onto the rack and rolled off the other side. He found himself lying next to Action Man’s sub-machine gun; he grabbed it, but before he could take aim Action Man had kicked it from his hand.
Action Man grasped Kroll by his furry shoulders and hauled him to his feet. Kroll promptly kneed Action Man in the groin. Action Man doubled up in pain. Kroll slashed at his face with those razor-sharp claws – but Action Man, recovering quickly, jerked his head to one side and then caught Kroll with a full-on left hook to the jaw.
That was about it for Kroll. His head lolled, his body sagged and he would have fallen to the floor if Action Man hadn’t grabbed him by the shoulders again.
‘Now, let’s get that mask off and see who you really are.’
Action Man took hold of Kroll’s leopardskin ears and pulled.
There was a tearing sound. Action Man found himself holding two large spotted furry ears. Kroll, earless but free, turned tail and ran out of the door. He had had enough of tangling with Action Man.
‘After him!’ shouted Hopalong.
‘OK, OK.’
Hopalong was still attached to the wall by one manacle. Not caring to waste time prising it open, Action Man ripped it from the wall by brute force.
‘Put your arms round my neck.’
Pausing only to pick up the sub-machine gun, Action Man ran from the torture chamber with Hopalong round his neck.
They ran up the steps and pelted down the corridor. They just glimpsed Kroll’s tail whisking around the corner at the end.
‘We’re gaining!’ shouted Hopalong.
Round the corner they ran. A guard stepped out from a side passage and stood barring their way. Action Man decked him with a karate chop to the neck.
Kroll was disappearing through a door at the end. On the door was a sign reading EMERGENCY GETAWAY ROUTE.
Action Man burst through the door. They were in a subterranean garage with a tunnel leading upwards. Kroll was just climbing into the front seat of a jeep. He turned the ignition key and the engine roared into life.
‘Hang on!’ said Action Man.
He launched himself at the jeep and caught hold of the bumper just as the jeep accelerated away. He held on, his boots scraping against the ground. The jeep picked up speed. Still he hung on.
Ahead, the tunnel widened. Suddenly they emerged into cool air under a starry sky. The jeep bounced and jounced over the heathery hills and at last Action Man lost his grip. He and Hopalong rolled over and over in the heather in a six-limbed tangle. The jeep roared away over the moors.
‘Oh, no! He’s got away!’ moaned Hopalong.
‘Not yet he hasn’t. I’ve got a helicopter parked nearby. We can still catch him.’
Action Man picked up Hopalong once more and set off, running purposefully towards the spot where he had parked his helicopter. But they hadn’t got halfway when there was a sudden whirring noise, a blaze of light and they saw the helicopter rising into the sky with a big furry leopard at the controls.
‘He’s pinched my chopper!’ said Action Man.
‘At least we can take the jeep,’ said Hopalong.
But this turned out to be over-optimistic. When they reached the jeep, they saw that each tyre had been slashed to ribbons by two sets of razor-sharp steel claws. There was a note pinned to the steering wheel.
‘So long, suckers!’ it said.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Forty-love!’ called Nichelle as her serve zipped past Barbie.
‘Oh, nice serve!’ said Barbie. She didn’t mind being beaten at tennis. She’d never kidded herself she was any good at it. She did like the game, though. She enjoyed the sort of popping noise the ball made when you hit it, and the swishing sound the racket made when you missed. She liked the outfit, too. She was wearing a little pink and white tennis dress which showed off her long slender legs to their best advantage and offered a tantalising peep of her lacy white knickers. But what she most liked was the scoring system, the way you had to keep saying ‘Love’ all the time. Fifteen-love, thirty-love, forty-love, and then you started all over again and it was love-all. Love-all – that was a beautiful phrase. ‘Love’ was one of Barbie’s favourite words. It was funny how so many nice words began with L. Like life, and light, and luck, and laughter, and lunch and liberty and lollipop. And lips, of course. And legs.
Barbie was still trying to think of more nice L-words when Nichelle’s next service came zipping past her and that was the end of the game and set.
‘Want another one?’ asked Nichelle.
‘No thanks – I need a rest! Let’s sit down and have a soda.
They reclined on pink sunloungers on the terrace at the back of the big pink mansion, sipping cream soda through long straws from tall glasses.
‘How were Skipper and Shelley?’
Nichelle had looked after the children while Barbie and Ken were in Egypt.
‘They were fine, honey. They got up to mischief now and again – but they’re good kids. How was Egypt?’
‘Oh, it was dreamy. Hot, you know, and kinda sandy? And lots of real ancient stuff, like the pyramids and the Sphinx. And the guys were all like really brown and they had beautiful black moustaches.’
‘Sounds like my kinda place!’
There was a long, restful pause as they both lay there enjoying the sunshine and the cream soda. Barbie let her thoughts drift back to Egypt. It was funny, but it wasn’t really the heat or the sand or the pyramids or the Sphinx or the brown-skinned men with black moustaches that stuck in her mind. It was Action Man and the way he had rescued her from the smoke and kissed her under the table. She wondered if he’d managed to rescue his friend, and if she’d ever see him again.
‘We saw Action Man,’ she said; and as soon as she’d uttered the words she felt a sort of relief. That was what she really wanted to talk about. Obviously, she hadn’t been able to say a word to Ken about it.
‘Yeah? That guy who came round and beat up Ken?’
‘Well, Ken hit him first,’ said Barbie.
Nichelle looked at her shrewdly. ‘You like this guy, don’t you, honey?’
‘Well, I guess… I like him, sure, but there’s nothing… nothing going on, you know.’
‘Right.’
‘He saved me from the smoke.’
‘From the what?’
‘There was a smoke bomb in the restaurant. Action Man pulled me under the table. And he kissed me. You know, tongues and everything. It was dreamy.’
‘Right,’ said Nichelle. ‘But there’s nothing going on, right?’
‘No, I mean it was just a – just a one-off.’
Nichelle laughed. ‘If you say so, honey. And where was Ken?’
‘Oh, he was out of the room. He’d gone to the bathroom.’
‘And then the bomb went off?’
‘Yeah. Why, what are you saying?’
Nichelle shrugged. ‘Kinda strange, that’s all.’
Was it? Was it kinda strange? Was Nichelle suggesting that Ken had let off the smoke bomb? That was ridiculous. Barbie refused to even think about it. As if Ken would do a crazy thing like that! The bomb must have been the work of that horrid Dr Kroll, whoever he was.
‘Hey! Ken’s here!’ Skipper came running out onto the terrace with Shelley toddling along behind her. Ken appeared behind them. He was wearing denim cut-offs and an orange, green and yellow beach shirt with palm trees printed on it.
‘Hi girls!’ Ken gave Nichelle a brief kiss on the cheek and Barbie a slightly longer one. He sat on the terrace at their feet. ‘I sure could use one of those sodas.’
‘I’ll get it!’ Skipper sped to the kitchen with Shelley toddling after her.
‘Hey, Nichelle – did Barbie tell you about our party?’
‘No – we were talking about Egypt.’
‘Oh, Egypt, yeah – crazy place. Anyway, we’re having a party on Saturday. Gonna invite all the gang. Can you make it?’
‘Why sure! What sort of party?’
‘Well, we’ll have a few drinks and a barbecue and then we’ll have some dancing and then later, when the kids are in bed, we’ll all get naked and go skinny-dipping in the pool!’
‘Sounds like my kind of party!’ said Nichelle. Then she asked – rather mischievously, Barbie thought – ‘Is Action Man coming?’
‘No way!’ said Ken. ‘We don’t want that big galoot and his one-legged pal at our party. Ain’t that right, Barbie?’
‘That’s right,’ said Barbie. ‘He’s not coming.’ Her smile felt fixed to her face, plastic and insincere. She felt vaguely ill. Ken and Nichelle suddenly seemed unnaturally large, as though they’d floated nearer to her without her noticing. Then they seemed to dwindle away again, as though she was viewing them through the wrong end of a telescope. Everything around her – the pink mansion, the pink sunloungers, the blue swimming-pool and the blue sky – seemed like the mise-en-scene of some ghastly dream that she couldn’t wake up from. What was she doing here? The endless sunshine, the endless lazing around, the endless smiling small talk and the endless putting on and taking off of clothes – what was the point of it all? For a moment she thought she was going to vomit.
‘Here you are, Ken,’ said Skipper, arriving with Ken’s cream soda. She had a jug full of it in her other hand. ‘Anyone for a top-up? Nichelle? Barbie?’
‘Sure,’ said Barbie, holding out her glass and smiling.
They could see GI Joe far below, a small black compact shape sitting on a boulder. He didn’t wave or call when they appeared at the lip of the quarry, but Action Man knew from a tiny movement of GI Joe’s head that he’d seen them. He carried on sitting there with his legs apart and his elbows on his knees, waiting patiently for them to descend.
‘Quite a climb,’ said Hopalong.
‘Yeah. You OK?’
‘Sure.’ Hopalong tightened his grip around Action Man’s neck.
‘Let’s go.’
Action Man turned and swung his legs over the edge of the quarry, searching for a foothold. He found one, tested then cautiously trusted his weight to it, and began the descent. Hopalong hung on his back like a living rucksack. It was a difficult climb. Time and again Action Man had to grab for an emergency handhold or foothold as the chalky, brittle rock gave way. Loose stones rolled and bounced all the way to the bottom. Action Man was out of breath and sweating by the time he got there.
‘Thanks, Action Man.’
‘No problem.’
GI Joe half-raised a hand in casual greeting as they approached.
‘Hi guys.’
Action Man put Hopalong down. Hopalong hoisted himself onto a boulder and sat on top of it. Action Man sat down on another boulder.
‘That was some climb,’ he said. ‘Why’d you pick this place for a rendezvous?’
‘I like to keep you guys on your toes!’ said GI Joe. He began to laugh, then suddenly stopped. ‘Oh – sorry, Hopalong – I didn’t mean -’
‘It’s OK. Forget it. I’ve still got my arms, haven’t I?’
‘Right,’ said GI Joe. ‘Anyway, well done, you guys. You came close – you nearly had Kroll that time. Next time you’ll get him.’
‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Action Man. ‘Is agent S 100% positive that Kroll isn’t Ken? I mean, there seem to be some links.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like we came across Ken in Egypt when we were looking for Kroll there. Like he goes to the bathroom in the hotel and while he’s out of the room the smoke bomb goes off and Hopalong gets abducted.’
‘Yeah, but that couldn’t have been Ken,’ said Hopalong. ‘You saw him after I’d been taken.’
‘Sure, but he’s got people working for him. He could have delegated.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said GI Joe. ‘You saw Kroll in Scotland. You must know if it was Ken or not.’
‘He was wearing a leopard suit,’ said Hopalong. ‘We never saw his face.’
‘What about his voice?’
‘Not definitively identifiable. It was kinda muffled.’
‘Wait a minute,’ said Action Man slowly. ‘I was just thinking of something he said: “In a rat’s ass.” Ken uses that expression. I’ve heard him.’
‘But that expression’s in common usage,’ said GI Joe. ‘People say it all the time.’
‘Do they?’
‘Sure they do. “Go and clean out the toilets.” -”In a rat’s ass.” That sort of thing.’
‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Action Man. ‘I’ve never used that expression myself. What I’d like to know is, how can Agent S be so sure it isn’t Ken?’
‘Agent S isn’t often wrong,’ said GI Joe. ‘I think we can trust her information.’
‘I just think Ken needs checking out further.’
‘Fine. You can check him out in your own time. But the priority is the next mission.’
‘Which is?’
‘Agent S has intelligence that Dr Kroll is now hiding out in South America. We think we have him pinned down to the Amazon rainforest.’
‘Pretty big area,’ observed Action Man.
‘Sure. But you’ll get him.’
Action Man was silent for a few moments. He was thinking. It wasn’t often he stepped back and scrutinised the way he lived – in fact he’d never done it before – but it now occurred to him that there was something pretty strange about this ceaseless series of missions, chasing from one continent to another, constantly flying and climbing and swimming and running and fighting and firing guns and lobbing hand grenades, with never a pause for breath. Orders arrived mysteriously from on high and he carried them out; each mission segued into the next. It was all so… so unreflecting. There was no time for reflection. No time to ask ‘Why am I doing this?’ It had been that way ever since he could remember. But did it have to be like that? Did everyone live like that?
Barbie didn’t. Barbie’s lifestyle couldn’t be more different from his own. She wasn’t always rushing around. She knew how to relax. She had a gift for simply being, simply existing. Perhaps, thought Action Man, this made her more… more what? More developed than him… More rounded… More fulfilled… More of a real person…
‘Hey, Action Man!’ said GI Joe. ‘You look like you’re away with the fairies. Snap out of it!’
‘Sorry. I was just… thinking.’
GI Joe and Hopalong exchanged a surprised glance.
‘Thinking?’ echoed GI Joe.
‘What about?’ asked Hopalong.
‘Don’t you ever wonder what it’s all about? What the point of it all is?’
‘I know what the point of it is,’ said GI Joe. ‘It’s to stop Dr Kroll’s unethical activities. Period.’
‘We gotta nail the bastard,’ said Hopalong. ‘We gotta stop him selling arms and buying drugs from the Third World and turn him in to the International Police.’
‘Yeah, I know, but…’
Action Man left the sentence unfinished. He knew that GI Joe and Hopalong wouldn’t understand. Of course Kroll had to be stopped, but were they really going the right way about it? And if they ever did stop him, what then? What would they do next? Would some other evil criminal mastermind come along to take his place? Would there be more missions? Would the missions ever end?
‘The point is, we gotta carry out our missions,’ said GI Joe, as if he’d read Action Man’s thoughts. ‘Don’t think beyond that. Too much thinking has ruined many a good man. OK?’
‘OK!’ said Hopalong.
Action Man just gave a brief nod. There was no percentage in discussing it further; they didn’t understand him and that was that.
‘So, the next mission is, you parachute into the Amazon jungle and you come back with Kroll in your custody. OK?’
‘Right on!’ said Hopalong.
‘I guess I’ll need my parachute, then,’ said Action Man. He’d have to go back to Barbie’s place to get it. He felt his spirits lifting at the thought.
Has anyone else noticed this expression, ‘quite the’, creepingly becoming ubiquitous? Consider this from an interview with Kevin Rowland of Dexy’s in today’s Times. The interviewer says, of Rowland’s recent musical change of direction, ‘It’s quite the turnaround’. I could have picked a recent example from just about any other newspaper, magazine or blog, but I just happened to notice that one today. Why not the (to me more natural) ‘quite a turnaround’? What difference does the definite article make?
My theory is that it’s intended to make the writer sound arch, witty, knowing. It suggests a distanced, ironical stance. The implication seems to be that there’s a clear, defined category of (in this case) turnarounds, and the writer knows all about them, and knows what fits in that category and what doesn’t.
Do I like it? No, I don’t. It’s quite the annoyance.
Well, my Barbie chapter was not received with ecstasy, but a few people read it, and it received two comments on here, plus one private one, which were broadly positive, so I’ll chance another instalment. Or instalments, rather: I’m putting up two chapters. Feedback welcome.
CHAPTER 2
The Arctic wind moaned and howled and did its best to blow Action Man off the mountainside. It tore at his clothing. It hurled stinging flurries of snow against his face and goggles. But Action Man was undaunted. He clung on grimly, pressing himself against the icy rocks, searching for the tiniest handholds and footholds to exploit, drawing nearer to the summit inch by inch. At one point he glanced down and saw the sheer drop beneath him: five thousand metres of icy, near-vertical mountainside. If you fell from this height, you’d have plenty of time to think before you hit the bottom. Action Man didn’t look down again.
Up, up, up. The atmosphere was getting more and more rarefied. For every few metres advanced, Action Man had to stop and rest and gulp in great lungfuls of the thin, unsatisfying air. But the summit was in sight now. One more rocky overhang to negotiate and he’d be there. He dug his crampons into the ice; he swung his ice pick upwards, got a purchase, trusted his weight to it and heaved himself up. For a few seconds he was hanging out over the void, supported only by the bite of the ice pick and the strength of his arm. Then he dug his crampons in again and his other hand found a tiny ledge to grip. He was able at last to haul himself up and over. He flopped down on his belly, panting for breath. He was on a sort of plateau, a flattish section of snow-covered ground, the very roof of the mountain. It was not much bigger than a tennis court.
The wind dropped. The snow ceased. All around Action Man could see the giant forms of other mountains, silent and majestic. They looked almost close enough to touch, though the nearest were many miles away.
‘Hi. What kept you?’
GI Joe was sitting on a folding stool in front of his tent. Like Action Man, he wore climbing boots, white ski-pants, a white hooded anorak and snow goggles.
‘Hell of a place to meet,’ said Action Man. ‘Why did you choose it?’
‘Guess we’re not too likely to be overheard here.’
‘Guess you’re right,’ Action Man agreed. He sat down on the ground next to GI Joe. ‘Where’s Hopalong? Not coming?’
‘He should be along soon. It’ll take him a bit longer, what with only having one leg, of course.’
‘Of course.’
Action Man opened his back pack. ‘Want some Kendal Mint Cake?’
‘Sure.’
The two men chewed in thoughtful silence for a while. Then Action Man said: ‘That mix-up about Kroll…’
‘Yeah, sorry about that.’
‘What happened?’
‘Misinformation from Agent S. Not her fault. Kroll must have laid a false trail. Slipped her a false clue somehow. He’s a tricky customer.’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘Where did you end up?’
‘Big pink mansion. Chick called Barbie lives there.’
GI Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘Barbie? Not the Barbie?’
‘Dunno. Never heard of her before.’
‘Long blonde hair? Legs that go right up to her armpits?’
Action Man nodded.
‘I’d say you were in luck! She’s an international superstar, that chick.’
‘Yeah? What does she do?’
‘I think she’s a model of some kind.’
‘That figures.’
‘Quite a looker, isn’t she?’
Action Man shrugged. ‘I guess she was OK. I didn’t really notice. I was too busy trying to fight off her boyfriend.’
‘Trouble?’
‘Nothing I couldn’t handle.’
‘Hi guys!’
Hopalong’s head popped up at the edge of the plateau. He scrambled onto it, stood up and hopped on his one leg over the snow towards them. The other leg was missing from the thigh down. Apart from that, he could have been Action Man’s twin brother: the same handsome, square-jawed face, the same bulging biceps, even the same scar on his cheek.
‘Phew! What a climb.’
‘Have some Kendal mint cake.’
‘Thanks, Action Man.’
‘OK, listen up, guys,’ said GI Joe. ‘I’ve had some new intelligence from Agent S. About our friend Dr Kroll.’
Hopalong clenched his teeth and fists. ‘That evil bastard! Just give me five minutes alone with him, that’s all I ask.’
Action Man put his hand on Hopalong’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get him – and you can have your five minutes,’ he said reassuringly.
It was on a mission against Dr Kroll that Hopalong had lost his leg. Kroll had captured him and thrown him into a pit of crocodiles. Luckily, Hopalong had managed to escape. Well, most of him had. All except his right leg. Since then he’d vowed revenge on Kroll.
‘Well, we gotta find him first,’ said GI Joe. ‘But that’s looking a bit more promising now. The latest report is, he’s been sighted in Egypt. So what I suggest is – ‘
ROOARRR!
‘What the-?’ said all three men simultaneously. They all leapt to their feet – or foot, in Hopalong’s case – and grabbed their rifles. The noise was unearthly; deep, throaty, powerful, bloodcurdling: the sort of roar a lion might make if it were the size of an elephant.
‘What sort of animal could -?’ began GI Joe.
Action Man pointed. ‘That sort of animal.’
A huge, furry head with round ears loomed up before them. It was followed by a fat furry body and stumpy furry limbs.
‘It looks like a giant teddy bear!’ said Hopalong.
‘That’s no teddy bear,’ said GI Joe. ‘It’s the Great Man-Eating Arctic Beast!’
‘And I think it’s hungry,’ added Action Man, as the giant creature lumbered over the ice towards them.
Action Man raised his rifle and pumped shot after shot into the beast. His comrades followed suit. Bullets smashed into the Beast’s chest, its abdomen, its arms, its legs, its head. It snarled and recoiled at each hit, but then came on again. It was so massive, Action Man realised, that the chances of hitting a vital organ were virtually nil. It was far too well-armoured in fur and fat and muscle. It could absorb bullets all day without serious damage.
The Beast towered over them. With one sweep of its mighty paw, it sent GI Joe spinning through the air. His rifle flew from his hand and he landed on his head in the snow about ten metres away.
‘Holy shit!’ said GI Joe.
Now the Beast had turned its round, glassy, pitiless eyes in Hopalong’s direction. It lunged forward and grabbed him. It folded its enormous arms around him and squeezed him to its chest. Hopalong’s two arms and one leg thrashed about wildly, but he couldn’t free himself from the Beast’s terrible embrace.
Action Man leaped onto the creature’s back. Grabbing great handfuls of its fur, he pulled himself up until he was sitting astride its head. The Beast roared and shook its head from side to side, but Action Man was not dislodged. He held on to one of the Beast’s ears, swung himself round and, with all the force he could muster, planted his boot straight in its round, glassy eye. He hated doing it, even to a Great Man-Eating Arctic Beast. But there was no choice if he wanted to save Hopalong’s life.
The Beast howled in pain. It let Hopalong drop. Hopalong slumped to the ground and lay there gasping for breath.
The half-blinded Beast swiped at Action Man – Action Man dived clear and the Beast only succeeded in smashing itself in the other eye with its massive clawed paw. Now it was blind in both eyes.
But the Beast could still use its sense of smell. Its great head moved around as it tried to locate Action Man by his scent. It lumbered towards him, jaws slavering – bent on revenge on the man who had so cruelly blinded it. GI Joe had picked up his rifle again and was firing shots into the creature’s back. It took no notice. Action Man backed away. But soon there was nowhere to go. He was at the very edge of the plateau.
The Beast pounced.
With perfect timing, Action Man fell on his back and raised both legs. His feet caught the Beast in the belly and pushed. The Beast’s own momentum took it flying over Action Man’s head and over the edge of the edge of the plateau.
And down it fell. Past five thousand metres of near-vertical icy mountainside. They could hear it howling all the way down. Then there was a crash that seemed to shake the whole mountain. The howling stopped.
For a moment, the three men stood still, listening to the silence.
‘Holy shit!’ said GI Joe.
Hopalong hopped over to Action Man and held out his hand.
‘You saved my ass back there,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’
Action Man shook his hand. ‘You’d have done the same for me.’
‘Good work, Action Man,’ said GI Joe. ‘Way to go.’
Action Man shrugged. ‘It was nothing.’
‘OK, it was nothing,’ agreed GI Joe.
‘It was a bit more than nothing!’ protested Hopalong. ‘That was one hell of a monster Action Man dealt with back there.’
‘It was nothing compared to… the Destructor Robot,’ said GI Joe. A look of dark pain crossed his face as the memory came back to him. He was the only one of the three who had ever fought or even seen this fearsome metal monster. He’d been called in to deal with it when it was rampaging through the streets of New York. He’d fought it with all the strength and courage and cunning he possessed, and used every weapon he could lay his hands on; but the robot had smashed him, broken every bone in his body and left him for dead on the street. GI Joe was hospitalised for several months and when he finally came out, his nerve was shot. He wasn’t fit for combat duty any more, though once he had been among the bravest and toughest soldiers in active service anywhere in the world. They’d given him a desk job. He now organised missions for others, instead of carrying them out himself.
GI Joe shook his head violently, as though trying to get rid of the memories in it by centrifugal force. ‘So, what were we saying back there, before the interruption?’
‘You said Kroll was in Egypt,’ said Action Man.
‘Right. Well, we think he’s in Egypt. So what I suggest is, you two go there and look for him.’
‘Egypt’s kind of a big place,’ remarked Action Man.
‘Sure, I’m not saying it’ll be easy. You’ll have to ask around. Keep your eyes open. Remember, Dr Kroll is one of the richest men in the world thanks to his unethical activities. So look out for someone flashing a lot of cash. Look in the best hotels and restaurants. The person wearing the most expensive suits, driving the most expensive cars – that’s what you gotta look out for. A word of warning, though – Dr Kroll is a master of disguise. Anyone you meet, man or woman, young or old, black or white, could be him.’
‘Could be tricky,’ said Action Man.
‘There is one thing , though,’ said Hopalong. ‘He’s got a tattoo on his wrist. Of a skull and cross bones. I saw it just as he was throwing me into the – into the crocodile pit.’ Hopalong gave a grimace at the memory.
‘Which wrist?’
‘Left.’
‘Right. We’ll get him.’
‘Yeah,’ said Hopalong. ‘We’ll get the bastard.’
‘Will we liaise with Agent S there?’ asked Action Man. ‘And how will we recognise her?’ He had never met the shadowy Agent S before.
‘If she decides to contact you, she’ll make herself known,’ said GI Joe.
‘OK,’ said Action Man.
‘Have a good time in Egypt,’ said GI Joe. ‘Check out the pyramids while you’re there.’
CHAPTER 3
‘Waddya think of the pyramids, Barbie?’
‘Oh, they’re so cool, Ken! They’re so, like, triangular.’
‘Totally.’
‘And so old!’
‘Truly ancient, babe.’
Barbie and Ken were sitting in her funky little pink jeep. A pink awning over the top protected them from the fierce North African sun. Behind them was the noise and bustle of the mighty city of Cairo; ahead, the awesome forms of the pyramids rose up from the sand, casting long shadows that seemed to beckon to them.
‘Makes you feel kinda small,’ said Ken.
‘Yes,’ said Barbie. ‘Oh, Ken, let’s walk right up close to them. I wanna get a photo of you standing there with pyramids like looming up behind you.’
‘Sure thing, honey.’
They got down from the jeep and, hand in hand, walked towards the pyramids.
‘Oh, I love you so much, Ken.’
‘Love ya too, Barbie.’
They stopped. Ken put his arms round Barbie’s waist. She draped her arms over his shoulders. They kissed, passionately, as the hot North African sun beat down on their heads.
‘Oh, Ken – that was dreamy!’
‘Glad you liked it.’
‘Let me take your picture right here – and then when I look back at it, I’ll remember and I’ll think, that was just after Ken kissed me!’
‘OK, honey – shoot.’
Ken stood with his hands at his hips.
‘Smile, Ken.’
‘I am smiling.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Right, I’ll – no, wait a minute.’
‘What’s the matter, Barbie? Just take the goddamned photo.’
‘There’s some people in the background – they’ll spoil the shot. They’re walking towards us. One of them’s only got one leg. Poor man. And the other – oh, my goodness!’
‘What? What’s the matter?’
Ken turned round and looked behind him.
‘Jumping Jesus H Christ,’ he said softly.
‘Hi,’ said Action Man.
Barbie didn’t know what to say or do. Her heartbeat had accelerated and she felt a kind of wild energy running through her veins. She wanted to run and jump, turn cartwheels, act like a little kid in a playground. But she couldn’t do that. They’d think she’d gone crazy. Maybe she had.
‘Fancy running into you here,’ she said. Her voice came out cool and steady, to her surprise and relief.
‘Yeah,’ said Action Man. ‘Small world.’
‘We’re on holiday here,’ said Barbie.
Action Man nodded. ‘So are we.’
‘We’d better let you get on with it then,’ said Ken. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Oh, Ken!’ said Barbie. ‘There’s no need to be in such a hurry. We haven’t been introduced to Action Man’s friend yet.’
‘This is Hopalong,’ said Action Man.
Ken laughed. ‘Hopalong. Right. Well, why don’t you do just that, Hopalong? Just hop right along and leave us alone.’
‘Oh, Ken! There’s no need to be so rude!’
‘It’s all right,’ said Action Man. ‘ I know we didn’t start out too well, me and Ken. Let’s make peace, Ken. Here’s my hand.’
Ken stared at Action Man’s outstretched hand. ‘What the hell do you want me to do with that?’
‘Shake it, of course.’
‘Go on Ken!’ said Barbie. ‘Let bygones be bygones.’
Ken didn’t look as if he liked it much. But there wasn’t really much choice. He put his hand out and Action Man’s vice-like grip settled around it.
‘Jeez, you don’t have to squeeze it so hard!’
‘Sorry.’
Ken examined his hand to check that no bones were broken. Hopalong was holding out his hand, too.
‘No thanks, buddy. Once is enough.’
‘Where are you guys staying?’ asked Barbie.
‘We haven’t found a hotel yet,’ said Action Man. ‘Maybe you can help us. We’re looking for the most expensive hotel in town.’
‘We’re staying there!’ said Barbie. ‘It’s the Hotel de Luxe in Cairo. It’s just too gorgeous for words! You’d love it!’
‘Guess we’ll check in there, then.’
‘Oh, great.’ That was from Ken.
‘Maybe – you’d like to have dinner with us tonight?’
Ken turned and stared at her in disbelief. ‘What?’
‘Fine,’ said Action Man. ‘We’d like that a lot.’
‘I still don’t see why you did it,’ said Ken for the twentieth time. ‘I just don’t get it.’
‘Oh, Ken! I was just being friendly.’
They were sitting in the dining room of the Hotel de Luxe. Barbie was wearing a shimmering pink off-the-shoulder evening gown which displayed her ample cleavage. A string of pink pearls adorned her shapely neck and pink pearl earrings dangled from her dainty earlobes. Ken was dressed in faultless evening attire – black tuxedo and bow tie. There were plenty of other young, rich and beautiful people in the restaurant. But none looked quite so young, rich and beautiful as Barbie and Ken.
Potted palm trees decorated the room. Slowly revolving electric fans and glittering crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A pianist played cool jazz, a pleasant complement to the pleasant murmur of conversation. Waiters glided nimbly in and out of the potted palms like fish in an aquarium.
And then Action Man walked in, with Hopalong by his side.
Every head in the place turned to stare at them. Action Man walked with his usual confident swagger; Hopalong hopped with his usual confident hop. Both were dressed in combat fatigues and carried sub-machine guns. Their faces were still grimy from the desert sand and heat. Amid the elegant splendour of the Hotel de Luxe restaurant they looked as incongruous as a pair of piranhas in a goldfish pond.
‘Evening,’ said Action Man, plonking himself down in the chair next to Barbie.
‘Evening,’ said Hopalong, plonking himself down in the chair next to Ken.
There was a short silence. Then Ken said: ‘Is this some kinda joke?’
‘What?’
‘You can’t turn up to a classy place like this dressed like that! Barbie, help me out on this one.’
Barbie smiled at everybody while she considered the question. Of course it was an awful breach of good manners – just the sort of thing you might expect from Action Man. On the other hand, there was no denying he looked quite something in his combat fatigues. So strong, so virile. But was it just the clothes? Action Man would look cool in evening dress too, she could sense that. He’d look good in anything.
‘Maybe you should go up to your room and get changed,’ she said to Action Man. ‘I mean, it doesn’t bother me personally but, well, evening dress is expected here – and it’s so important to wear the correct costume at all times, don’t you agree?’
‘Not really.’
The waiter appeared. ‘Excuse me, sir, but we have a dress code here…’
Action Man fixed the waiter with a level gaze. ‘I’ll have the steak, please.’
‘Me too,’ said Hopalong.
The waiter seemed to be about to take the dispute further; but he looked into Action Man’s penetrating eyes and his nerve failed him.
‘Certainly, sir. Er – how would you like your steak?’
‘Rare. And don’t forget the chips. Plenty of them.’
Barbie and Ken ordered lobster thermidor. When the waiter had gone, Barbie said: ‘You left your parachute at my house, you know.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ve put it in the garage.’
‘Fine.’
‘Will you be coming back to pick it up? Or should I send it somewhere?’
‘Leave it where it is.’
‘Sure,’ said Barbie, feeling slightly piqued at his terse replies. She’d been sending him her most shattering smiles and he’d taken no notice whatsoever. He might be good-looking, but he didn’t have much in the way of small talk. She wondered whether he was a bit stupid. Perhaps she’d have more luck with Hopalong, who was equally, in fact indistinguishably good-looking.
‘What happened to your leg, Hopalong?’
‘A crocodile ate it.’
‘Oh no! How terrible for you!’
Hopalong shrugged. ‘I’ve got another one.’
The food arrived, and Action Man and Hopalong started noisily tucking into their steaks, while Barbie and Ken more decorously dismantled their lobsters.
‘So – how long have you guys been here?’ asked Barbie, after a few minutes of chewing had gone by.
‘Just got here.’
‘And how long are you staying?’
‘That depends.’
‘Are you on holiday?’
‘Not exactly.’
‘Are you working?’
‘You could say that.’
Barbie laughed. ‘Boy, are you ever a clam!’
Action Man didn’t know what she meant by this – of course he wasn’t a clam – so he didn’t answer. He was thinking hard. Although GI Joe said Agent S had been misled, and Dr Kroll had never been holed up at Barbie’s house, could he be certain about that? Maybe Agent S had been right in the first place and then somehow duped into thinking she was wrong. It was, to say the least, a coincidence that they’d run straight into Barbie and Ken on their first day in Egypt, when they’d come here to look for Dr Kroll. And Barbie and Ken were obviously wealthy. Barbie’s pink mansion with its blue swimming pool must have cost a fortune. How did she get to be so rich? Then there was the fact that ‘Ken’ and ‘Kroll’ both began with the letter K. That might mean nothing at all, of course, yet it seemed to fit in somehow…
Action Man finished his steak and pushed his plate aside. He looked straight across the table at Barbie.
‘What do you do?’ he demanded.
Barbie was a little thrown by the question. ‘Well, I… I don’t exactly do anything. I mean, I do a lot of things. I go shopping. I go dancing. I ride my horse. I go ice-skating. I go to barbecues and pool parties.’
‘But that’s not a job.’
‘No – but I have had jobs. I was a film director once.’
Action Man raised his eyebrows. ‘What film did you direct?’
‘I – I can’t remember. But I had a movie camera, and one of those clapperboard things, and I wore shades, and I had these, like, floral pattern shorts, and I had a little chair with “Director” written on the back.’
‘Sounds great.’
‘And I’ve been an ice-skater.’
‘Professional?’
‘Not exactly. I had a little pink flouncy skirt and some really neat pink skates, though. And another time I was a vet!’
‘A vet?’
‘Yes, and I wore a green uniform.’
‘Why did you give it up?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t – it wasn’t serious. It was more like kind of a hobby, I guess.’
‘Pretty funny hobby, being a vet,’ said Hopalong.
‘Let me ask you a straight question,’ said Action Man. ‘Where do you get all your money from?’
‘Ken gives it to me.’
Action Man and Hopalong swivelled their heads in Ken’s direction.
‘So,’ said Action Man, ‘how do you earn your money, Ken?’
‘None of your goddamned business.’
Hopalong pointed at Ken’s gold Rolex. ‘That’s a nice watch. You must be doing well to afford a watch like that.’
‘Yeah? Well, I work hard for my money, OK?’
‘What do you do?’
‘Like I said, it’s none of your goddamned business.’
‘I’d like to see that Rolex,’ said Hopalong.
‘You’ve seen it.’
‘I mean, I’d like to look at it properly. Could you take it off?’
Ken laughed. ‘Is this some kinda joke?’
‘It’s no joke,’ said Action Man. ‘Take the watch off.’ He had realised where Hopalong was coming from. He wanted to see if Ken had the skull and crossbones tattoo on his wrist that would identify him as Kroll. ‘Go on, take it off.’
‘In a rat’s ass I will!’ Ken stood up. ‘You guys are crazy. I’m going to the bathroom.’
And he stalked out of the dining room.
‘Touchy,’ commented Action Man.
Barbie decided she ought to spring to her boyfriend’s defence. She smiled disarmingly at Action Man and then said: ‘You can’t blame him, though, can you? I mean, why should he take his watch off?’
‘If he’s got nothing to hide, why shouldn’t he?’ Action Man thought this pretty well unanswerable. But whether Barbie would have come up with an answer to it he never found out, for at that moment something completely unexpected occurred.
There was a deafening explosion and a dense black cloud of smoke billowed out and filled the room with alarming speed. There was immediate pandemonium: screams, chairs being overturned, people coughing, spluttering, clutching their throats and collapsing to the floor.
Only Action Man kept his head. He snatched a napkin from the table and poured a jug of water over it. He clapped it to his mouth and dived under the table, where the overhanging tablecloth offered a partial protection from the noxious black smoke. He saw Barbie’s slender ankles twitching convulsively as she fought for breath. He grabbed her legs and pulled her under the table with him.
‘Here – take this’. He held his breath as he pressed the sodden napkin to her face. ‘Feel better?’
Barbie nodded. Action Man breathed through the napkin again, then handed it back to her. ‘Just breathe through that. It’ll keep out the worst of the smoke.’
‘What is it?’
‘Some sort of knock-out gas. Don’t worry, it’ll clear soon.’
Barbie smiled at him. He was so brave, so calm. And so handsome. She was looking deep into his penetrating eyes, and his penetrating eyes were staring straight back into her own deep blue ones – and suddenly, without either of them knowing who started it, their lips met, and their mouths opened, and their tongues collided and they were kissing passionately.
The second hand had swept its way round two complete circuits of the dial on Action Man’s shockproof waterproof unbreakable diver’s watch before they paused for breath.
‘Wow!’ said Barbie. ‘That was dreamy!’
‘Yeah. Well, I reckon that smoke should have cleared by now.’
Action Man stuck his head out from under the table. He saw a few lingering festoons of black smoke, but the air was mostly clear. Diners and waiters lay slumped over tables or on the ground. Other hotel staff had rushed in and were trying to revive them. There was the noise of a police siren approaching outside. Ken stood in the doorway, looking bewildered at the scene that met his eyes. He saw Barbie crawling out from under the table and rushed across.
‘Barbie – honey – you OK? I was in the bathroom and I heard this big, like, explosion -!’
‘Er – sure, I’m fine,’ said Barbie, smiling guiltily and casting a sidelong glance at Action Man. But Action Man wasn’t looking at her. He was looking round for Hopalong.
There was no sign of him. Hopalong had disappeared. Vanished like the smoke. And there wasn’t even a lingering festoon of him remaining.
Brandon Robshaw and the English Language 