Doughnut Page 31

  “Theo, pull yourself together and get a grip, for God’s sake,” Max said irritably. “Have you seen what it says on the TV?”

  No words. Theo just nodded.

  “It’s awful. We can’t just stay here. This place is a dump.”

  Nod. Manic grin.

  “That’s totally unreasonable. We can’t be expected to hang around in this shithole for the rest of eternity. That’s just stupid. I’d rather be dead.”

  “Door.”

  A patch of the opposite wall glowed blue, and the outline of a doorframe appeared, as though sketched in by a vast unseen Rolf Harris.

  “I didn’t mean it literally, you idiot,” Max said irritably, and the door vanished. Theo whimpered and buried his head in his hands. “That’s charming, by the way. Absolutely charming. You should be glad I wasn’t killed outright.”

  “Why?”

  Max ignored him. “Oh hell,” he said. Then he dropped on to the sofa and put his feet up. “This is all your fault, by the way.”

  “My—?”

  “Of course. If you hadn’t blown up the VVLHC and trashed those poor people’s planet, they would’ve have thrown us off the edge.”

  “But I didn’t,” Theo yelled. “I blew up our VVLHC in our universe. What happened back there was nothing to do with—”

  Max shook his head sadly. “And you call yourself a physicist,” he said. “Clearly, when the collider blew, it had quantum repercussions throughout the multiverse. All of which,” he added helpfully, “are your fault too. I don’t know, Theo, you always were such a careless bugger.”

  “Not my fault. Not!”

  “Screaming and yelling won’t make you right,” Max said gently. “When you look at it calmly and dispassionately, it’s obvious that when you blew up the VVLHC, you caused a fundamental rift in the fabric of, Theo, what are you doing with that cushion? Ouch. That hurt.”

  Theo threw the cushion on the floor, dropped back into the armchair and buried his head in his hands. He wanted to sulk, but sulking requires a fairly intensive level of concentration, and what Max had just said about the VVLHC kept coming back to him, like the taste of a frankfurter. A fundamental rift. Of course Max was using terms whose meaning he didn’t really understand. He might have been Pieter’s student for a while, but he’d never done any work; most of what he actually knew about quantum physics had most likely been gleaned from mid-afternoon reruns of Star Trek. Even so. A fundamental rift –

  “It said something about gourmet cuisine,” Max said after a while. “I’m hungry.”

  “What?”

  “Gourmet cuisine,” Max repeated. “You seen a kitchen anywhere?”

  Theo looked up. “No. Maybe it’s slipped down the back of the sofa.”

  Max mimed an exaggerated laugh. “If there’s no kitchen,” he said, “presumably there’s some sort of room service.”

  “In hell?” Theo grinned wildly at him. “You think you can ring through to Reception and a demon with horns sticking out of his head’ll come running with a toasted sandwich on the end of his pitchfork?”

  Max frowned. “You’re overstating it a bit there, aren’t you? This isn’t hell exactly.”

  “It is from where I’m sitting.”

  “I bet you,” Max went on, “that around here somewhere – ah, here we go.” He pounced like a swooping osprey and brandished a TV remote. “Now then.” He pointed it at the TV set and methodically pressed all the buttons in turn. Eventually, a menu appeared on the screen.

  “Guest Services,” he said. “That’ll be it. Right, let’s see.”

  Theo looked at the screen, as Max scrolled down a list until he came to Food & Drink:

  If you entered the Clubhouse via the LastChance facility, we regret that you are not permitted to access the Food & Drink facility. This is because you are a split second away from death and therefore do not need to eat or drink. Instead, why not enjoy the wide range of entertainment and leisure activities on offer in the Fun N Games locker, situated behind the sofa?

  “Bastards,” Max growled. “I’m starving.”

  Theo laughed out loud. Eternity, with nothing to eat, and Max. It just got better and better. “You’re closest,” he said. “Find this locker thing.”

  “I don’t want entertainment and leisure activities,” Max said furiously, “I want food.”

  “What you want,” Theo started to say, then thought better of it. “The locker,” he said. “Now.”

  Grumbling, Max slid off the sofa and investigated. “There’s a shoebox,” he said. “That’s all.”

  “That must be it, then. What’s inside?” Pause. “This can’t be it.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  Max stood up, holding a small rectangular box. “All we’ve got in here are some kids’ games,” he said. “Pack of cards. Ludo. Snakes and fucking ladders. Happy Families.”

  “That’s appropriate.”

  “That,” Max said forcefully, “is not my idea of a wide range of entertainment and leisure activities.”

  Theo could see his point. “You sure there’s nothing else?”

  “Yes. No, I tell a lie. There’s also a ball of wool and two knitting needles.”

  “Ah. That makes all the difference.”

  “It’s junk,” Max snarled, throwing the box on the sofa. “Sorry, but I refuse to spend eternity playing Ludo.” He grabbed the remote and pressed some more buttons. “Surely there’s at last something to watch. Yes, here we are. Options, that looks good. History Channel, boring. Home Improvement Channel. Well, it could do with it. Arts and Literature Channel, you must be kidding. Ah. Adult Channel, now you’re talking. Oh.”

  To access any channel, first insert your credit card in the slot and key in your PIN.

  “Don’t look at me,” Theo said. “They cancelled all my cards when I lost all my money.”

  “And I’m legally dead. Wonderful.” Max dropped the remote on the floor and collapsed on to the sofa. “No TV, no entertainments, no food. This is a nightmare.”

  Theo breathed in deeply and counted to ten. It didn’t work. It never had. “Max.”

  “What?”

  “You know something?”

  “What?”

  Theo smiled sweetly. “You,” he said, “are an arsehole.”

  It was as if he’d suddenly started speaking Portuguese. Max simply didn’t get it. “Huh?”

  “Arsehole,” Theo repeated clearly. “You’re horrible. You’re the most pathetic excuse for a human being it’s ever been my misfortune to meet. You’re selfish, thoughtless, arrogant, inconsiderate, totally self-centred and quite unbearably annoying. You don’t give a damn about how much trouble you cause for other people. You’re feckless, shiftless and no damn good. And your feet smell.”

  “They do not.”

  “Your feet,” Theo repeated sternly, “smell.”

  Max hesitated. “All right, maybe they do, a bit. But all that other stuff—”

  “Perfectly true.”

  Long silence. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “Am I really all those things you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a moment of absolute stillness, such as hasn’t ever happened since the beginning of the universe. Then Max said, “Really? You’re not just saying it because you’re pissed off?”

  “No, Max. I meant every word. Every word was true.”

  “Oh.”

  Max was frowning. He looked rather like a scientist on the verge of making a revolutionary new discovery, something so original and out-of-the-box that the words to describe or define it don’t exist yet. “I never realised,” he said. “Nobody ever said anything before.”

  “Well, they wouldn’t,” Theo said kindly. “It’s so obvious, they assumed you knew. It’s like, when you go to Egypt, you don’t grab the locals by the arm and point and go, ‘Look! A pyramid!’ ”

  “But people like me.”

  Theo nodded. “True,�
�� he said. “For a short while. Then they get to know you. Then the fact that you seemed pleasant enough at first glance only makes it worse.”

  “I’m popular.”

  “People were trying to kill you,” Theo reminded him. “That’s why you had to disappear.”

  “Yes, but only because I’d stolen their money.” “People can be so unreasonable.”

  “Not,” Max said severely, “because I’m a basically unpleasant person. You do see the distinction.”

  “Don’t wriggle, Max. You’re a toad. Accept it. If we’re going to have to stay cooped up in here for ever and ever and ever, it’s vitally important that you acknowledge the fact that you’re a shit.”

  “Would you go that far?”

  “Actually, that’s not far enough. You’re a complete shit. You’re what shit shits. Don’t argue,” Theo added firmly. “Just say, Yes, Theo. Can you do that?”

  “Look—”

  “Yes, Theo.”

  An agonised look spread over Max’s face; somewhere between the torment of self-realisation and toothache. He opened and closed his mouth three times. Then he said, “Yes, Theo.”

  “What?”

  “Yes, Theo.”

  “Sorry, didn’t quite catch that. Say again?”

  “Yes, Theo.”

  Theo smiled beautifully. “Thank you,” he said. “You know what,” he added, leaning back in his chair and resting his head on the headrest, “it’s almost worth it, being stuck here and all, just to hear you say that.”

  Max looked at him. “Really?”

  Theo nodded. “It means I don’t have to hate you any more.”

  “Hate. Rather a strong word, isn’t it?”

  “In context, no.”

  “Ah. But you don’t, any more.”

  “No.”

  The silence that followed combined the golden glow of peace and joy with the toe-curling embarrassment that always happens when men talk about their feelings. It lasted five seconds, which was plenty long enough. Then Max said, “How about playing snakes and ladders?”

  “Love to.”

  “Fine. I’ll be blue.”

  “No. I’ll be blue.”

  Max opened his mouth, then stopped. “Sure,” he said. “You be blue. You want to go first?”

  “You can go first, Max.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  They played snakes and ladders. Then they played Ludo. They found that, if they cooperated instead of trying to win, they could stretch the game out for a very long time. Neither of them had a watch, there was no clock, and no window to indicate whether it was day or night outside (Theo had a shrewd idea there was no outside), but Theo eventually calculated, by counting seconds while feeling his own pulse, that the average game took nineteen hours, twelve minutes. When the score stood at 16 games to Theo, 16 games to Max and 378 games drawn (snakes and ladders), 29 games to Theo, 28 games to Max and 1,775 games drawn (Ludo), Theo said, “You know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’m bored with this. Let’s do something else.”

  “What?”

  “Let’s escape.”

  Max looked at him. “The only way out of here is through the D-O-O-R in the wall,” he said. “You know, the one that appears when you say the D word. I don’t really think you want to go there.”

  Theo shook his head. “The only way out we’ve been told about,” he said.

  “Theo.” Max made a noise like a tree being ripped out by its roots. “You’re talking about sneaking out of death, right?”

  “If you want to look at it in those terms, yes.”

  “Theo.” Max leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Over the last few days—”

  “Six years.”

  “Huh?”

  “Six years. That’s how long we’ve been here.”

  Max went very pale, but went on, “Over the six years we’ve been here, I’ve come to value the bond that’s grown up between us, so the last thing I’d want to do is jeopardise our rapprochement by speaking out of turn.”

  “Same here, Max.”

  “Splendid. So, would it be all right if I just said something off the record and totally without prejudice?”

  “Sure.”

  “And if you don’t like it, you won’t be offended or anything?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You’re an idiot, Theo. You’re a complete moron.”

  Theo nodded slowly. “I’m not offended,” he said.

  “Good. Look, you may be a top-flight physicist and all that crap, but when it comes to sneaking out, compared to me, you’re nothing. A novice. A sneaking-out virgin. I’ve snuck out of everywhere over the years – bedrooms, hotels without paying, countries ten minutes ahead of the cops. You name it, I’ve got out of it, in my underwear, by the skin of my teeth. If there was a Nobel prize for last-minute absconding, I’d be climbing out the bathroom window with it tucked under my arm. And I’m here to tell you—”

  “Max.”

  “Death,” Max said firmly, “is the one thing you can’t sneak out of. There are no kitchens, there is no fire escape. This place here, it’s not somewhere you can sneak out from, it’s where you sneak out to. This is the walk-in closet in Death’s bedroom, Theo. Now that we’re here, we’re here. Face it. There’s no escape.”

  “Max.”

  Max gave him a furious glare. “What?”

  “There’s a door.”

  “There is now that you’ve said the D word. “

  “No,” Theo said quietly. “Another one. Look.”

  He pointed. Side by side in the wall were two doorways. One of them glowed blue. The other one was just a door; white, rectangular, panelled and fitted with a plain wooden doorknob.

  “There,” Theo said. “See?”

  “That wasn’t there before.”

  “Correct.” Theo stood up, but didn’t move towards the door-infested wall. “The other one only showed up when I said there’s a—”

  “Shh. Don’t say that.”

  “Get a grip, Max, it’s already here. It’ll go away in a second. There,” he added, as it faded away, leaving nothing behind except a blur on the retina and a faint scent of primroses. “But the new one’s still there, look.”

  “Keep well away,” Max said nervously. “We don’t know anything about it.”

  “Don’t be so feeble,” Theo said. “It could be our way out of here.” He studied it and frowned. “Or it could just be somewhere to put coats and stuff. We just don’t know.”

  “We haven’t got any coats. Or any stuff, come to that.”

  “It could be a pantry. You know, food.”

  That was a word that hadn’t been spoken for quite some time. At the sound of it Max twitched slightly, like an old fish that’s been hooked and thrown back half a dozen times, but still can’t quite resist the implausibly dangling worm. “No reason to think it’s that.”

  “No reason to think it isn’t.”

  But Max only shook his head. “I’m not going through that,” he said. “Not unless it’s guaranteed a hundred per cent safe. Whoever designed this place has got a seriously warped mind.”

  Theo sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll go.”

  “What, and leave me here on my own for the rest of eternity? Over my dead body.”

  “Actually, I’m not sure that’s even possible in here. Look, if you’re afraid of getting left, come with me.”

  “No. It’s dangerous.”

  “Max, for crying out loud. It’s a d—”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Flat piece of wood with hinges and a handle. What is there to be afraid of?”

  “Gosh,” Max said, “let’s see, now. There’s death, and serious injury, and not-so-serious-but-still-nasty injury, and perpetual imprisonment, and the annihilation of the soul, everlasting damnation, let’s not forget that—”

  “Max. You haven’t suddenly gone and got religion, have you?”

 
“It’s an infinite multiverse,” Max snapped. “Who knows what’s out there? In an infinite multiverse, it’s pretty much inevitable that somewhere there’s a universe that was created in seven days by an old man with a long white beard and outmoded views on extramarital sex. If the stuff they made me read in school is anything to go by, I really don’t want to end up there, thank you ever so much.” He shrank back into the angle of the sofa, as if it was a snail’s shell. “The more I think about it, the happier I am here. I mean, we’ve got light, heat, furniture, games. Each other,” he added, just a fraction of a second too late. “What more could anybody ask, really?”

  “Max.”

  “No. Forget it. I’m not going.”

  “Look.”

  The doorknob was turning. Max whimpered and grabbed a cushion. The door creaked, swung slowly forward, then abruptly vanished. In its place, sitting on the floor, was a jar of pickled walnuts.

  “Oh,” Theo said.

  Max peered out over the top of the cushion. “Has it gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s that?”

  Theo peered. “Pickled walnuts.”

  “Food?”

  “In a sense.” Theo frowned. “No, stay there. I need to think.”

  “It’s all right, I’ll save you some.” Max was on his feet, heading for the jar.

  “Max.”

  “Theo, I’m hungry.”

  “Sit down. I think I know…” Theo tailed off. It sort of made sense, except that it was the kind of sense that had no trace of logic about it whatsoever. “Oh come on,” he said suddenly. “It can’t be. That’s just silly.”

  Max stared at him in agony. “Theo, what are you talking about?”

  “That.” He waved towards the jar. “I mean, yes, it fits. But it’s so childish. And it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “What?”

  Theo let go the deep breath he’d been holding in. “Think about it,” he said wearily. “What’s the oldest, feeblest joke in the world?”

  Max frowned. “Why did the chicken cross the road?” “The other one.” “When is a—Oh.”

  “Precisely. When is a door—” The wall started to glow blue. “Not a door.”

  “When it’s a—”