TEN
REFLEXIVITY

Last Sunday a light went out that illuminated the world. Nothing would turn it back on. The death of Princess Di, the fairytale princess, the human royal, left us all totally stunned.

I am not a Johnny-come-lately to sing the praises of our magical princess. Unlike many others who now describe her in such glowing terms but certainly did not during her life, I have again and again expressed my love for Diana.

When I got some readers' letters knocking her I was saddened. I wonder how they and all the grey men who put her down feel now? The people have spoken.

Michael Winner,
News of the World
September 7th 1997

"ISLANDS WITHIN ISLANDS that's the British for you," The Hon. Trixibell had long since given up on her race. It was her one regret that she had not been born a Continental. Her mother still shuddered if the word was mentioned.

Their convoy had broken through to the M1. Although heavily pitted and badly repaired, the motorway was still navigable. It left them more exposed, but it had been a while since any kind of aircraft had been over. Several friendly and unfriendly airforces were abroad, on hire to continental corporations. It was the only way to raise enough money to pay for the quality of artillery they demanded.

"We have had to learn," PM Flair had announced over the radio, " that we only have so many options. Economics is, after all, the root of most warfare. We can have guns and butter, but we can't have aircraft carriers and the latest laser-scopes. It makes sense, really. Only you, the warriors in this great cause, can decide what you need most. And if you tell us what you need, we will listen. I guarantee that. Unfortunately, I am not responsible for the failings of my predecessors, who set up the supply systems and who were as unrighteous as I am righteous. But we'll soon have the engine overhauled and back on the road, as it were, before Christmas. I have long preached the gospel of personal responsibility. So you may rest assured that I will keep this promise or take the Big Step in the attempt. Thank you. God bless."

There were seven weeks left to go. By now the people's PM would probably be praying for a miracle. Ladbroke's and the Stock Exchange were setting all kinds of unhelpful odds.

Jerry himself had not ruled out Divine Intervention. Surely something was in control?

"It's not that long since you were collateral yourself, Mr C." Mo attempted to revive his friend's self-respect. "Remember when your corpse was the hottest commodity on the market ?"

"Long ago." The old assassin contemplated his own silver age. "Far away. Obsolete ikons. Failed providers. Lost servers. Scarcely an elegy, Miss Scarlett. Hardly worth blacking up for. Government by lowest common denominator. A true market government. Poets have been mourning this century ever since it began. Anyway, how would I remember? I was dead."

"As good as." Una Persson settled a slim, perfect reefer into her holder and fished her Meredith from her top pocket. Her elegant brown bob swung to the rhythm of the half-track's rolling motion and Jerry had a flash, a memory of passion. But it hurt him too much to hang on to it. He let it go. Bile rose into his mouth and he leaned again over the purple Liberty's bag. Something was breaking up inside him, mirroring the social fractures in the nation. He was nothing without his guidelines. This disintegration had been going on for many years and was now accelerating as everyone had predicted. Was he the only one who had planned for this? Had all the others lost their nerve in the end? He stared around him, trying to smile.

"Either stop that," said Una, "or pass me your bag."

"Here we go!"

Ignoring the twisted and buckled signs which sought to misdirect them, they turned towards Long Buckby and their ideal. At some time in the past couple of years some vast caravan of traffic had come this way, flattening the borders and turning the slip-road into a crude highway, reminding Jerry of the deep reindeer paths he had once followed in Lapland, when he had still thought he could find his father.

He had found only an abandoned meteorological post, with some photographs of his mother when she had been in the chorus. Her confident eyes, meeting Jerry's across half a century, had made him weep.