Blast From the Past (32 page)

Then, like a Roman general of old, Jack fell upon his sword. He raised his gun to his head and pulled the trigger. As his body fell towards her Polly tried to scream but found that she had no voice. All that she could do as he came to rest on the floor before her was silently mouth his name.

57

NIBS AND HER
husband had made an uneasy peace. She would stand by him, even lie for him, and in return he had promised that this sordid little affair would be his last. He tried to kiss her to say thank you but she was not yet ready for that.

They had just ordered coffee when a knock came at the door.

‘I said we weren’t to be disturbed,’ Nibs’ husband said as his principal private secretary entered the room.

‘I’m extremely sorry, Mr President, but the State Department felt that you should know this. I’m afraid that we have bad news from London. General Jack Kent seems to have shot himself. It looks like some kind of sex thing. He was in the apartment of an Englishwoman. Another man is dead also. We have no further details at present.’

The president and the first lady were horrified. They had both known Jack quite well. Nibs in particular knew Courtney Kent and could only imagine how she was feeling.

‘I’ll call Courtney,’ she said and left the president with his aides.

‘Jack Kent of all people,’ the great commander said. ‘We were going to propose him for chairman of the joint chiefs.’

The president was truly sorry to hear the news, but he was a politician and already he could see that from a personal point of view there was an upside to this tragedy. Jack’s suicide would be enormously newsworthy, particularly if it did turn out that there was a sexual angle to the case. Anything that diverted attention from the president’s own problems was to be welcomed.

‘In the meantime there are practical considerations,’ the president added. ‘This is going to hit the army hard. We need to fill this gap and quickly, and, for Christ’s sake, can we please try to find a clean pair of hands.’

A few days later, to his utter shock and abject terror, General Schultz, Jack’s blundering, indecisive colleague, whose anonymous career had shadowed Jack’s for so many years, was appointed chairman of the joint chiefs. He had turned out to be the only senior officer in the armed forces who had never done anything that anybody considered suspect. The reason for this being, of course, that General Schultz had never done anything.

Two years later Schultz’s name would be spoken of as a potential presidential candidate for exactly the same reason.

‘It isn’t a case of who’s most qualified these days,’ the Washington powerbrokers had wearily to admit. ‘It’s a case of who’s least likely to be disqualified.’

58

DESPITE THE DREADFUL
memories of that violent night, Polly decided to stay on in her flat. At first she had intended to move. The image of the Bug’s corpse bleeding on her floor was not a pleasant one, but in the end she decided that the Bug had not managed to drive her out while he was alive and she was not going to let him do so now that he was dead. Besides, there was the memory of Jack to consider. He had died in that flat, and despite the awfulness of what he had planned Polly wanted to be the keeper of that memory.

Over the weeks that followed the night of Jack’s return Polly tried to come to terms with what had happened to her. It was not an easy thing to do. Three men had died, and although she knew that none of their deaths was her fault she could not help but feel in some way responsible. The milkman weighed particularly upon Polly’s mind. He had died at the hands of a man who was obsessed with her. Even now Polly was the classic stalker’s victim, feeling guilty, taking the blame. Polly was in truth no more connected to or responsible for Peter’s madness than had been the poor milkman, but she felt that she was. She wrote to the milkman’s
family
saying how sorry she felt for what had happened and they wrote a polite but unfriendly letter back. She also wrote to the Bug’s mother, expressing her sympathy and thanking her for alerting the police when she did. Peter’s mother did not reply.

Then there was Jack, for whose memory there was to be no private grieving. His death and his past with Polly were now public property. What had remained so intensely private for so many years was now worldwide news. Both the American and British media bore down upon Stoke Newington like an invading army. The British were particularly excited; it is not often that a story comes along that is front-page in the US but has a genuine British connection. Polly could have made a fortune but instead she resolutely turned down every request for an interview. It all came out anyway. The press even tracked down Ziggy, who was living in a teepee in Anglesey. He told them what little he could remember in exchange for seven pints of cider and an ounce of rolling tobacco. In the end, of course, the furore died down, and the ringing and knocking at Polly’s door became less and less frequent until finally it stopped altogether and Polly was left alone.

Not surprisingly, Polly did not recover easily from the horror of that night. She often found herself weeping. Though fine at work, when she got home at night the sadness returned and she would lie on her bed and cry. Of course, she knew that in one spectacular way her life was better than it had been for years: the Bug was dead and he would never harm her again. But Jack
was
also dead and before he had died he had killed their love. The memory of his betrayal, which had haunted her for so long, was now made tiny by his second and more terrible rejection. He had tried to sacrifice her for his ambition and when he had failed he had sacrificed himself. Polly’s love for him and his love for Polly had not been enough to save him and now she was truly alone.

She was alone on the evening when the phone rang.

Polly never picked up the phone directly. Despite the fact that she no longer felt in any danger she always let the answerphone stand as a barrier between her and callers. If nothing else it shielded her from having conversations with Telecom sales staff about their various incomprehensible discount schemes.

‘Hello,’ said Polly’s voice. ‘There’s no one here to take your call at the moment, but please leave a message after the tone. Thank you.’

Then Polly heard Jack.

She had been midway through a slice of toast, but her jaw froze in horror as those soft mellow American tones emanated from the machine.

‘Hullo, this is a message for Polly. Polly Slade.’

Except it wasn’t Jack. It was only nearly Jack. This voice was a little deeper, sleepier, almost.

‘Look, you don’t know me, Polly, but I know you, a little, at least I think I do. My name’s Harry, Harry Kent. I’m Jack’s brother. I found your number among his effects …’

Harry was not in London when he called, he was in
his
little home and workshop in Iowa, alone, like Polly. They talked for a very long time, and when the time came to hang up they found that they both had more that they wished to say. Harry asked if Polly felt it would be appropriate for him to come and visit her in London when he had finished the kitchen dresser on which he was currently working. Polly said that she felt it would be.

A week or so after that Polly was sitting alone in her flat, wondering why she felt so nervous, when the expected buzz came. Harry was at the door. She let him in and waited for him to climb the stairs. She was wearing her nicest dress.

Even through the little spyhole in her door Polly recognized Harry immediately. He was like Jack but different, thinner, she thought, leaner, and his hair was longer. Polly opened the door. The eyes were just the same; that same sardonic twinkle. He smiled. She knew that smile also. It was not the same as Jack’s, but similar. Perhaps Polly was fooling herself, but it seemed to her that it was kinder. She stepped back into her flat and let him in.

THE END

About the Author

Ben Elton
is one of our most provocative and entertaining writers, author of thirteen internationally bestselling novels. His multi-award-winning TV credits include
The Young Ones
,
Blackadder
and
The Thin Blue Line
. His stage hits include the Olivier Award-winner
Popcorn
and the global phenomenon
We Will Rock You
.

He met his wife Sophie in 1986 while touring Australia as a stand-up comedian. They have three children and call both Britain and Australia home.

Also by Ben Elton

STARK

GRIDLOCK

THIS OTHER EDEN

POPCORN

INCONCEIVABLE

DEAD FAMOUS

HIGH SOCIETY

PAST MORTEM

THE FIRST CASUALTY

CHART THROB

BLIND FAITH

MELTDOWN

TWO BROTHERS

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BLAST FROM THE PAST
A BLACK SWAN BOOK: 9780552998338
Version 1.0 Epub ISBN: 9781448167531

Originally published in Great Britain by Bantam Press, a division of Transworld Publishers
Bantam Press edition published 1998
Black Swan edition published 1999

Copyright © Ben Elton 1998

Ben Elton has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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