The Well of Lost Plots

There was an excited knock at the door. It was Ibb. It had been looking more feminine all week and had even gone so far as to put on haughty airs all day Wednesday. Obb, on the other hand, had been insisting he was right about everything, knew everything, and had sulked when I proved it wrong, and we all knew where that was leading.

'Hello, Ibb,' I said, placing the sketch aside, 'how are you?'

Ibb replied by unzipping and opening the top of its overalls.

'Look!' she said excitedly, showing me her breasts.

'Congratulations,' I said slowly, still feeling a bit groggy. 'You're a her.'

'I know!' said Ibb, hardly able to contain her excitement. 'Do you want to see the rest?'

'No thanks,' I replied, 'I believe you.'

'Can I borrow a bra?' she asked, moving her shoulders up and down. 'These things aren't terribly comfortable.'

'I don't think mine would fit you,' I said hurriedly. 'You're a lot bigger than I am.'

'Oh,' she answered, slightly crestfallen, then added: 'How about a hair tie and a brush? I can't do a thing with this hair. Up, down � perhaps I should have it cut, and I so wish it were curly!'

'Ibb, it's fine, really.'

'Lola,' she said, correcting me, 'I want you to call me Lola from now on.'

'Very well, Lola,' I replied, 'sit on the bed.'

So Lola sat while I brushed her hair and she nattered on about a weight-loss idea she had had which seemed to revolve around weighing yourself with one foot on the scales and one on the floor. Using this idea, she told me, she could lose as much weight as she wanted and not give up cakes. Then she started talking about this great new thing she had discovered which was so much fun she thought she'd be doing it quite a lot � and she reckoned she'd have no trouble getting men to assist.

'Just be careful,' I told her. 'Think before you do what you do with who you do it.' It was advice my mother had given me.

'Oh yes,' Lola assured me, 'I'll be very careful � I'll always ask them their name first.'

When I had finished she stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, gave me a big hug and skipped out of the door. I dressed slowly and walked down to the kitchen.

Obb was sitting at the table painting a Napoleonic cavalry officer the height of a pen top. He was gazing intently at the miniature horseman and glowering with concentration. He had developed into a dark-haired and handsome man of at least six foot three over the past few days, with a deep voice and measured speech; he also looked about fifty. I suspected it was now a he but hoped he wouldn't try and demonstrate it in the same way that Lola had.

'Morning, Obb,' I said. 'Breakfast?'

He dropped the horseman on the floor.

'Now look what you've made me do!' he growled, adding: 'Toast, please, and coffee � and it's Randolph, not Obb.'

'Congratulations,' I told him, but he only grunted in reply, found the cavalry officer and carried on with his painting.

Lola bounced into the living room, saw Randolph and stopped for a moment to stare at her nails demurely, hoping he would turn to look at her. He didn't. So she stood closer and said:

'Good morning, Randolph.'

'�morning,' he grunted without looking up, 'how did you sleep?'

'Heavily.'

'Well, you would, 'wouldn't you?'

She missed the insult and carried on jabbering:

'Wouldn't yellow be prettier?'

Randolph stopped and stared at her.

'Blue is the colour of a Napoleonic cavalry officer, Lola. Yellow is the colour of custard � and bananas.'

She turned to me and pulled a face, mouthed 'Square' and then helped herself to coffee.

'Can we go shopping, then?' she asked me. 'If we are buying underwear we might as well get some make-up and some scent; we could try on clothes and generally do girl sort of things together � I could take you out to lunch and gossip a lot, we could have our hair done and then shop some more, talk about boyfriends and perhaps after that go to the gym.'

'It's not exactly my sort of thing,' I said slowly, trying to figure out what sort of book St Tabularasa's had thought Lola might be most suitable for. I couldn't remember the last time I had had a girl's day out � certainly not this decade. Most of my clothes came mail order when did I ever have time for shopping?

'Oh, go on!' said Lola. 'You could do with a day off. What were you doing yesterday?'

'Attending a course on bookjumping using the ISBN positioning system.'

'And the day before?'

'Practical lessons in using textual sieves as PageRunner capturing devices.'

'And before that?'

'Searching in vain for the minotaur.'

'Exactly why you need a break. We don't even have to leave the Well � the latest Grattan catalogue is still under construction. We can get in because I know someone who's got a part-time job justifying text. Please say yes. It means so much to me!'

I sighed.

'Well, all right � but after lunch. I've got to do my Mary Jones thing in Caversham Heights all morning.'

She jumped up and down and clapped her hands with joy. I had to smile at her childish exuberance.

'You might move up a size, too,' said Randolph.

She narrowed her eyes and turned to face him.

'And what do you mean by that?' she asked angrily.

'Exactly what I said.'

'That I'm fat?'

'You said it, not me,' replied Randolph, concentrating on his metal soldier.

She picked up a glass of water and poured it into his lap.

'What the hell did you do that for!' he spluttered, getting up and grabbing a tea towel.

'To teach you,' yelled Lola, wagging a finger at him, 'that you can't say whatever you want, to whoever you want!'

And she walked out.

'What did I say?' said Randolph in an exasperated tone. 'Did you see that? She did that for no reason at all!'

'I think you got off lightly,' I told him. 'I'd go and apologise if I were you.'

He thought about this for a few seconds, lowered his shoulders and went off to find Lola, who I could hear sobbing somewhere near the stern of the flying boat.

'Young love!' said a voice behind me. 'Eighteen years of emotions packed into a single week � it can't be easy, now, can it?'

'Gran!' I said, whirling round. 'When did you get back?'

'Just now,' she replied, removing her gingham hat and gloves and passing me some cash.

'What's this?'

'D-3 Generics are annoyingly literal but it can pay dividends � I asked the cabbie to drive backwards all the way here and by the end of the trip he owed me money. How are things?'

I sighed. 'Well, it's like having a couple of teenagers in the house.'

'Look upon it as training for having your own children,' said Gran, sitting down on a chair and sipping my coffee.

'Gran?'

'Yes?'

'How did you get here? I mean, you are here, aren't you? You're not just a memory, or something?'

'Oh, I'm real, all right.' She laughed. 'You just need a bit of looking after until we sort out Aornis.'

'Aornis?' I queried.

'Yes.' Gran sighed. 'Think carefully for a moment.'

I mulled the name in my mind, and, sure enough, Aornis came out of the murk like a ship in fog. But the fog was deep, and there were other things hidden within � I could feel it.

'Oh yes,' I murmured, 'her. What else was I meant to remember?'

'Landen.'

He came out of the fog, too. The man in the sketch. I sat down and put my head in my hands. I couldn't believe I'd forgotten him.

'I'd regard it a bit like measles,' said Gran, patting my back. 'We'll cure you of her, never fear.'

'But then I have to go and battle with her again, in the real world?'

'Mnemonomorphs are always easier to contain on the physical plane,' she observed. 'Once you have beaten her in your mind, the rest should be easy.'