Quest of an oddity

Robert Samuel Godden was 23 years, 4 months and 8 days old on the day his manager told him the good news, he was 23 years, 4 months and 8 and a half days old when he decided to leave town and escape his manager.
         Robert Godden was an odd character by all accounts; indeed he had acquired a penchant for oddness, having spent most of his life living with a connoisseur of the subject(His father had spent many years cataloguing the oddities of the people he met and then listing them to that person, believing they would find them equally amusing, much to the embarrassment of his long-suffering wife. Eventually his father was forced to move away as too many of his fellow villagers were after his blood or becoming bankrupted by their therapist bills. When he was heard of, however, a now world-famous therapist paid him a large amount of money to live in his town and so apart from the death threats he frequently received in the post Mr. Godden senior lived quite happily with his exhausted wife.). As such he had developed several quirks in his own character with which to amuse himself and these added to the natural oddness inherent in his character, again probably inherited from his father. He was also a dreamer, he believed this was what made him successful in his career; however this is debatable and had been debated many times by him and his manager. This habit of dreaming had lead to one of running away from problems, a talent that was about to be made use of as he hurriedly escaped his manager, and his shortcomings, that day. That day in question is when this story begins, so let us  start by observing how the morning of Robert’s 23rd year, 4th month and 8th day of survival had played out, the rest can be filled in later:
         As on every morning, Robert had woken to find a small purple envelope addressed to him lying by his front door. Feigning excitement although there was no one around to register it, he opened the envelope to find inside a homemade card with a picture of an elephant holding a balloon on the front. Inside he found the words ‘Happy 23 years, 4 months and 8 days, Robert’, every evening before retiring to bed he made the card for the next day, using any image that took his fancy to put on the front. Initially he had bought birthday cards and added the number of years, months and days after the word ‘happy’, however he had soon realised this would become ridiculously expensive and he would undoubtedly waste all his money on them and therefore end up delivering these cards to the box on the street he would have to live in; since this day he had made the cards himself and begun to reuse the purple envelope. This habit was one of his favourite oddities and when he had guests staying he made them cards also, having first discreetly enquired as to their date of birth. Often he invited people to stay simply in order to observe their reaction to his cards and it says a lot about him that the man he later hired as his manager was the one who had quietly read the card with a blank face and then left a card for him the next morning which read ‘You are truly an absurd person, thank you for the card however’. It also says a lot about the manager.
         Despite knowing every day exactly how old he was, from which he could conceivably have worked out the date, he still owned a calendar, which he used to keep his life in as much order as he felt was necessary. Looking at this that morning he realised he had a meeting planned with his manager due to start in an hour, what’s more it seemed to be urgent. Sighing, he went upstairs to shower and dress, aware that his manager tutted loudly whenever he showed up looking too unkempt. Upon first realising this fact he had begun to show up to meetings in rags with a false beard, his own refusing to grow untidily, however he had soon discovered it was more fun to watch the man struggle to finds reasons to tut and to that end he often left one item discreetly messy to see whether his manager noticed it. Having dressed and cleaned himself he deliberately undid the third button on his shirt and left his house. Stopping only briefly on the way in order to procure breakfast he was soon at the office of his manager, a Mr P. Graddol. Mr P. Graddol was an intelligent man with a deceptively stern manner, which may explain his ability to so readily persuade people to hire Robert. As Robert entered the room Graddol inspected him carefully, determined to seek out some tut-worthy element to his appearance. As Robert had counted on, the most obvious mistakes are often harder to notice as they are less consciously looked for, for this reason Graddol gave up his fruitless search after a number of seconds and rose to greet his client.
         “Good morning Mr. Godden”
         “The third button of my shirt is undone you know”, Robert said casually.
         “Damn, I should have noticed that, ah well there’s always tomorrow.”
         “Tomorrow? But we are having a meeting today, why on earth should another be necessary tomorrow? I know you adore me but can’t you live without seeing me one day?” as fond as he was of his manager, Robert had never enjoyed being told what to do and these meetings grated on his nerves at times.
         “Would you mind doing up that button, I feel it is taunting me. Anyway the reason we are meeting tomorrow is the same reason this meeting was urgent, the BBC want you for a series, they’ve made an offer!”
Graddol was rarely a man to speak with exclamation marks but this occasion certainly called for it. Robert was an extremely talented stage magician but in order to become a household name and make any real money he needed to be on television. Indeed this had been Graddol’s first thought when he agreed to manage Robert’s career. Aware that Robert had yet to speak Graddol jumped to the, he felt, obvious conclusion that Robert was speechless with happiness.
“Well done Godden, it’s taken a while but you deserve it”, standing again to shake his hand he found Robert looking both confused and worried. This struck Graddol as odd and he gently touched his friend on the arm.          
“Peter, I didn’t know how to tell you this but there’s a problem. I can’t accept their offer. In fact I can’t accept any offers, I’ve decided to stop work for a while.” Watching Graddol’s face turn from joy to incredulity in so short a time was entertaining and for this reason Robert stayed quiet for a little longer in order to see which expression might replace that, when none did he continued, “I can’t think of any new acts, Peter, I only have so many and they’re growing old quick, and I can’t think of any more!”
Robert was often a man to speak with exclamation marks but this occasion called for them as well. For a magician new tricks were essential, especially if he had to have enough to fill 6 one hour long slots and make a BBC series. It was impossible, and both men felt this impossibility heavily.
         “But, surely we could buy some? Or recreate old tricks? This is your opportunity Robert, you have to take it. I’ll help you. We’ll do whatever it takes. You can’t leave the business”. Graddol was doing the verbal equivalent of grabbing Robert’s legs in an attempt to stop him leaving, Robert had never heard this edge to his manager’s voice before, and it panicked him slightly.
         “Oh is that the time?” Robert stalled looking at the hairs in the back of his wrist as if in amazement, “I have to go. I’ll call you!” he cried as he backed slowly and carefully from his manager’s office before breaking into a run as he left the door, shocking Graddol’s secretary and scaring a number of prospective clients. Although his career was effectively in pieces Robert felt curiously uplifted, perhaps it was the idea of how those clients must be feeling, leading him to wish he’d played the part of a fleeing man better by uttering some sort of piercing cry. This thought led naturally to the memory of his manager’s anger and confusion as he had fled the office and he felt strongly that leaving town at the moment might be a very good idea.

Robert paced down the streets leading to his home, along a roundabout route in case his manager had decided to follow him and continue their conversation, and indeed from the look of desperation in Graddol’s eyes Robert felt justified in fearing this. As he made his way home he wondered idly where he should go to, it was all very well deciding to leave town but if he had nowhere to go to he would undoubtedly end up holed in some hotel off the motorway and being driven mad or hacked to pieces by the manager. Just as he was thinking this he noticed a man sitting on a park bench who looked as if he might have just had an extended stay at that damned hotel. The man was middle aged, probably in his 40’s, and stout, he had dark hair and a straggly beard. His round face seemed suited to joviality but today it was set in a manic grin, his clothes were good but dirty and torn. It was not just the manic grin and torn clothes which got Robert’s attention; the man was talking animatedly to himself, every few moments he would cease talking and look around fearfully before the manic grin would grow larger and his chattering would commence. If more proof of his unstable mindset was necessary it could be found in the fact that he was heedlessly ignoring the several pigeons who appeared to be eating his hand.
Intrigued as he always was by odd people, and also hoping he could help the man in some way, Robert went through the park gates and sat beside the man, casually flapping his hands as he did so to disperse the pigeons. The man must have been more aware of the birds than he had appeared to be as, when they left, he fell silent and looked up into Robert’s face. For the second time that day Robert found himself looking into the eyes of a desperate man and, although he liked to think he was a good man, he wished he had not gone over. Something in the man’s face unnerved him and he unconsciously began to edge away from him. He had barely moved, however, when the man grabbed his wrist with a vice-like grip and mumbled something incoherent that might have been words, though it could have been mistaken just as easily for some kind of bird call. Robert found himself being pulled closer, looking down at the hand gripping him he realised the pigeons had indeed been eating the man’s hand as his fingers were bloodied and cut. With a manic look in his eyes the man re-commenced his mumblings his voice quickly becoming louder until he was shrieking, whilst shrieking he began gesturing, doing this so erratically with the hand not holding Robert that he hit himself fiercely a number of times. Perhaps the man had enough sanity left to understand Robert’s lack of comprehension; perhaps he was just tired of ranting but after several seconds of this behaviour he began to shake Robert furiously, grabbing him now with both hands. Robert winced from the pressure of the man’s grip on him and began to worry he might possess some kind of weapon, he was certainly angry enough to use one. Calling out for help, his turn now to be desperate, Robert wondered how he could possibly escape this man. The combination of fierce shaking and the tight grip on his wrists beginning to stop his circulation causing his head to fog and his shouting to stop. His last conscious thought was that he should never have taken the quiet back roads to get home, damn his manager.

Aware of a distant voice, hearing it as though through a thick shield of fog, Robert tried to sit up. His senses were disorientated and instead of moving he groaned slightly. Hearing the groan the voice moved closer and began to address him more directly.
“Hey there I think he’s coming round. Are you ok sir? Sir?”
         Feeling a rush of nausea and dizziness Robert groaned again, waiting for the spinning sensation to end before feeling able to open his eyes. When he finally did the daylight streaming through his lids almost caused him to shut them again. He could make out two fuzzy silhouettes floating above him and stared accusingly at these floating creatures before his foggy brain realised they were in fact faces.
         “Hello?” Robert groaned the word; although objects were beginning to come into focus this coherence meant he had suddenly become aware of a burning pain in his wrists and dull ache in his head. Memories from earlier in the day were also beginning to unfold in his head and were leaving him feeling rather overwhelmed.
         “Hello sir,” blissfully unaware of Robert’s pain and swamped emotions, the man began to chat in a cheerful voice, “gave us a bit of a scare, sir, when you weren’t waking up there. Did old Harry give you a shock then? Had a bit of trouble in that there place y’see. Not been right since. Sorry to disturb you there, I err…” an awkward pause, “ I hope you won’t be bothering the police with this… Y’see we don’t want to cause… trouble, do we?” Really, this man’s speech was fraught with awkward pauses now. “I understand you might be wanting some explanation…but really I’m not the man to help you… y’might want to go there yourself really, clear everything up…yes that might be best after all. Well if you choose to go I suppose I’ll be seein’ you there then anyhow.” At this both of the fuzzy heads left Robert’s field of vision, the men clearly having decided this was explanation enough, although one had not spoken at all.
         Grappling at the grass around him and trying to pull himself up, Robert called after them, receiving no answer and aware he couldn’t hear their footsteps anymore, he frantically hauled his body up to a standing position. Wobbling on his legs he looked around desperately but the men had left. Furiously Robert collapsed to the ground again his mind whirling with questions: How could the men think that had been enough to answer his questions? What had happened to the man with the pigeons? Where was this place he should go to? One of these questions turned out to have a simple if shocking answer. As Robert stumbled home he noticed that not only were his wrists burning, one also felt curiously damp and sticky, had the man held him tightly enough to make him bleed? Looking down at his wrist properly for the first time since the attack Robert reeled back, shaken by what he saw there. The man’s bloodied fingers had been busy on his wrists and bloody letters slowly sinking into his shirtsleeve spelled the word ‘Flaton___’.

Arriving at his home, Robert worried about whether or not to contact the police; the problem with being a magician and thus thinking up bizarre events for a living was that Robert could think of any number of unlikely events that might occur from either course of action, of these thoughts the two main conclusions he reached were these: on the one hand going off to the unknown town that had driven the pigeon man crazy and already caused him some damage without letting the police or anyone else know was an act of madness and he would surely end up being killed or driven into madness himself. On the other hand the people of the town may be lovely, the pigeon man a bizarre anomaly, and the police would mistakenly arrest them for nothing if he got them involved. Robert could simply have tried to forget the incident entirely, bought a new shirt, and not tried to go to wherever ‘Flaton’ may be but, he reasoned, if he did this a) his overactive imagination would probably have spent the rest of his life torturing him about what might have been in the town, and b) he would have had to decide on somewhere else to escape to for a few days to avoid his manager. All in all he decided it was easier to simply go to wherever ‘Flaton’ was and see if they could provide any explanation for what had happened more successfully than the cheerful man had in the park. For safety he would tell a friend where he was going so that he could phone them if he needed help at any stage, or if he never returned they would at least know where to look for him.
Robert changed his shirt, after all he would only be able to pack so many clothes and had been looking quite clean that morning, and searched his home for a map of the British Isles, if it was not in that he would have to find an incredibly detailed world map, he decided. This involved turning most of his house upside down, finally he located a map beneath the cushions on his couch, an ugly maroon thing which he had meant to replace long ago and which seemed to suck objects from all ends of the house underneath it’s cushions. Alongside the map were two socks, a blender, which he was sure he’d never seen before, and a Dido CD that a friend of his had reported missing several weeks ago, despite the fact this friend had not visited him for almost a month and had never brought any CD’s with him. Reflecting briefly on how bizarre his couch was and indeed feeling mildly impressed and also pleased with it for his new blender, he unfolded the map and began searching for ‘Flaton’.

At the same moment that Robert was searching his map, a girl in a town called Flaton on high was wondering why things never happened in her town. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted to happen or how things could change however and so she sighed and continued with her day, little knowing that soon her life would get turned upside-down.

Searching the map Robert was puzzled, he had finally managed to find the word  ‘Flaton’ tucked into the crease of the map, but the town seemed to be called ‘Flaton on high’. Was that right or should he start searching worldwide maps? Looking again at the shirtsleeve to check the spelling of the word Robert noticed that there was a bloody line dripped after the final letter. Had the man ran out of blood at that stage? Could the line be curving into the o of ‘on’? If Robert had had a computer with an internet connection it would have been easy to check if there was a ‘Flaton’ town, if not it must be that the man had not managed to spell the entire town name, and he would go to Flaton on high. Unfortunately Robert had never bothered with the Internet for the simple reason that Robert had been too tempted to research magic tricks when he was connected and he was too honest to do such a thing. He decided to search out an internet café and look there. Within minutes he had a warm coffee by his arm and was typing the word ‘Flaton’ into a search engine. The only place named ‘Flaton’ seemed to be the one he had found in the crease, although the town had only one link, it had been mentioned in the parish meeting of a nearby town due to noise complaints. Residents had complained of 'banging noises' at night, curioser and curioser thought Robert. Impressed that he had guessed right about the mysterious blood trail Robert began to feel far more optimistic about his upcoming trip. Remembering the way the man had gripped his wrists, and the desperate look in his eyes however he decided to email his manager, feeling that if their relationship was left this way and then he died in Flaton on High his manager might never get over it. After writing a short but heartfelt apology and adding that he would be leaving town for a few days, he added that perhaps this trip would inspire him and he would think of new tricks,however this was more to endear himself to his manager, making him less likely to be unforgivably mad at him before his almost certainly premature demise, than because he believed it. Having got this first email out of the way he turned with some excitement to his next email. Of his aquantances the only two he could count as friends were Peter, his manager, and Oliver Hunter, a fellow magician he"d once spied on, yes Robert was too honest to search the internet for tricks but he felt no scruples against spying on his rivals. Bizarrely, and this is what drew Robert to him, Oliver had set up several ingenious booby traps against just this sort of underhand behaviour and when he had finally been let down from the cage and his hair had been extinguished the two had formed a strong friendship. After recounting the events of his day, and only slightly exagerating them, he went on to ask Oliver to come to Flaton on High if he had not returned within three days, and provide back up/protection. Having fired off these necessary missives Robert ran home and packed quickly, remembering to pack paper to make cards from, and a fresh envelope. Deciding not to give his manager any chances to find him,  he left a note on his door saying that he would be staying in Norfolk for the next few days and giving a false number he could be reached by; and with that he left the house prepared to set off for the mysterious town of Flaton on high.
This turned out not to be as easy as he had expected because, for starters, his car had the front wheel clamped. It had always annoyed Robert that there was nowhere to park on his street, that is without the incredibly efficient policemen who circled his block immediately leaving a parking ticket on the window of his car, he had been searching for ways to park by his home for the entirety of his time living there and had recently tried painting out the yellow lines on the road in front of his house. This had involved buying both ‘steel grey’ and ‘canary yellow’ paint and painting out just enough of the lines to allow one car to park in front of his house. This had in fact only needed the grey paint but he had been forced to buy the yellow paint after other cars began parking in his space whilst he was out and he had decided to paint the words ‘This space is for the occupant of 19 Penley road only, it is illegal for other persons to park here’. Obviously this had been a ridiculous idea as although a policeman making his rounds may not notice when double yellow lines have been carefully painted out they will notice every time when these lines have been painted out and replaced by a long sentence in canary yellow paint. On the window of his car was stuck a note suggesting he pay them a ridiculous amount of money for illegal parking, impersonating a police officer, graffiti and obstructing the law in the course of justice. Although Robert doubted that writing on roads in paint and suggesting behaviour was illegal counted as police impersonation he feared he was indeed guilty of the other crimes. Aware that he didn’t need any more people mad at him so early in his adventure he quickly decided what to do about the note. Taking a coloured marker from his bag, packed for card illustrating, he wrote ‘please contact my manager about this fine, his details are: Mr P. Graddol 03346 235558, thank you’ on the bottom of the police note and decided to rent a car.

Renting a car turned out to be hellish ordeal that almost made Robert wish he’d paid the police fine. He managed to get into a ridiculous argument with both the salesman and the manager of ‘Easy Riders’ over the ‘cars'(The word car cannot be accurately used to describe some of the objects shown to Robert in the rental garage. A more accurate description would be: selected car parts, or in the case of one of these ‘cars’: a cardboard box with car windows painted on the sides.) The first ‘car’ didn’t actually have an engine, a fact that Robert only realised when the salesman patted the car and the bonnet leapt open; another appeared to have no tires. Robert finally managed to get out of the garage with perhaps the only working car they possessed, and a black eye courtesy of the irate salesman, by threatening to sue the company.

Robert's drive down to Clayley, the town where he spent the night on his way to Flaton on high, was particularly uneventful and so as he drives down the motorways and country roads let's leave him for a while and go back to see that girl living in the very town most occupying Robert's thoughts. At the moment she is walking in the hills by her town, avoiding the house whilst her mother cleans it. She begins walking back, feeling she has left her mother long enough, and as she walks past the butchers shop Charlie, the boy who works there and who never misses an opportunity to talk to her when she passes, hurries out of the shop into her path.
“Hello Charlie, what is it?” she asks in a disinterested tone of voice for Charlie is, as she has sighed to her father 'just not my type'.
“Did you hear about what happened last night?” Charlie asks, and then without waiting for her to answer he rushes on, obviously desperate to share his news, “Well you know there was another 'emergency' meeting last night? Well when my parents got back I sort of listened at the door...”
At this point the girl interrupts impatiently, "Charlie Daniels, you can"t think you're the first person to do that! Honestly! Me and Rachel have been doing that for years, you never hear anything that makes sense anyway." She turned to go with a sigh but turned back at his next words.
“Well I did!” he says proudly, “They must have stopped at the pub after the meeting because they were talking much louder than normal, I guess they had to slip up sometime.” Charlie grins, clearly enjoying holding the girl's attention for once, unwilling to let it go too easily he now takes a deep breath and looks at her intently, pretending to think about how much more to tell her, it works and she bursts out:
“Charlie! You have to tell me now! Oh go on...” this last comment is made with a persuasive smile which he evidently feels is enough to loosen his lips further as he continues:
'“Well ok,” he says leaning closer to her, “I heard them talking about that old bloke, what was his name? Oh yeah, Clarin, anyway they were saying he had 'escaped'. Mum seemed really scared by it but I think Dad just found it all a joke, he was saying that Beal is terrified and he kept laughing, So what do you think's going on there then?”

At this point in the conversation, several miles away, Robert was pulling into the car park of 'the road's end' an ominously named hotel in Clayley. Whilst staying there he felt he might as well try to discover as much as he could about Flaton on high from the people staying there. He sat in a corner of the dining room trying to look aproachable, when no one subsequently approached him he realised he may have to try a different and more active approach, however the long drive and bizarre events of his day had left him feeling completely worn out and he couldn't face doing anything until he had a coffee. As he lent his head around trying to attract the attention of the waiter his eyes landed on a girl sitting in the adjacent corner of the dining room. She reminded him so much of Alice he almost stopped breathing.

         The memory of Alice, the girl he had thought was 'the one', wasn't a memory he liked to visit often but now it all rushed back to him: the way her shampoo smelled of lemons, dancing around the bedroom one night, watching Jim Carrey movies with her head on his stomache and laughing as she groaned at the jokes; and he just couldn't help himself. He left his chair and strode across the room to the table where the girl, so like Alice in appearance, sat.
         “Want to see a trick?” This had been his line, as embarrassing as he found it to admit he had a line, since he had turned sixteen and realised that girls liked guys who could do magic. Immediately after he said it he cringed, he wasn't sixteen anymore and he didn"t really want to hit on this girl, he just hadn't been able to help going over to her.
         “Yeah, why not?” Her voice broke the daze he'd been in completely. No voice could have sounded less like Alice's than this one, even if he hadn't been in a daze it would have thrown him to hear the voice of a Jamaican man coming from the girl's throat. Amused by the bizarre turn of events and also concerned about the girl's health he said:
         “What a lyrical voice you have miss, are you quite alright?”
         “I didn't say anything”, this time her voice was much more believable and Robert stared at her hard trying to see if she was joking or was secretly a man when he realised he was being watched by the caribbean man, who undoubtedly had a Jamaican accent, sitting at the table next to hers.
         “Oh, hullo sir! Well I hope you both enjoy this trick then, if er, one of you, could please pass me your napkin?” The imitation Alice looked at him with a look of complete confusion on her face, having missed the offer of a trick she was understandibly a little behind on the conversation and seemed to be having trouble understanding why she was being paired in an audience with the caribbean man and a strange man has suddenly appeared wanting her napkin. The caribbean man was much more useful, however, as an audience member and was already holding his napkin out to Robert with a look of bored excitement on his face. Robert graciously accepted the napkin and shook it with a flourish, turning it this way and that for his audience to see. As they watched it, the napkin burst into flames and once they had burnt away the napkin fell to ash, to reveal a small hamster crouched on his palm, it's fur appeared to be slightly dusted with ash but otherwise it had apparently suffered no ill affects of the flames. The caribbean man looked stunned and then burst into applause at which the rest of the room looked around and clumps of uncertain clapping began before quickly ending. Robert bowed and presented the small hamster to the caribbean man with a broad grin on his face, he always loved the looks of amazement on people's faces when he did a trick. Whilst the caribbean man was happily stroking his new pet and looking at Robert with a mix of awe and longing, happily ignoring his dinner date who was tapping her foot impatiently and glaring at him, the Alice lookalike was staring at him with astonished fury.
         “What are you doing?!” she thundered, for a small girl she had a loud voice and Robert wasn't ashamed to say he jumped backwards a little at this unexpected shout, “How could you set fire to an innocent animal that way? You come over here, you commit arson and animal cruelty and then you,” she turned to the caribbean man who appeared to be cowering not a little at this, “you applaud him for this! What are you both thinking?!”
         At this stage in her shouting she finally stopped to take a breath and, realising she was some kind of super-human shouting machine and that this chance may never come again, Robert leapt in to try and exonerate himself from at least the crime of animal cruelty.
         “No look it's a trick! I hate to explain tricks to people, I mean that caribbean man looks like he thinks I'm some kind of god and I don't want to rid him of that idea, but obviously better to be a mere mortal non animal-hurter, so... alright come over here with me and I'll explain it.” Robert led her to the bar and away from the caribbean man who was craning his kneck to watch Robert go. Once they got to the bar Robert ordered them two drinks, thinking that she might become less volatile with some alcohol inside her, and explained how the trick was operated. Not wanting to ruin the magic of the last passage for anyone I will just assure readers that no animals were harmed in the production of said trick. (In fact the hamster in  question had been rescued from an animal sanctuary by Robert for the trick and would go on to lead a happy existence as the pampered pet of the caribbean man. He seemed to feel it had magical powers and treated it with a huge amount of respect and affection until the day, two years later, when he boasted to a young boy about his small pet's flame-resistant powers. The boy, as young boys will, felt the need to test this boast and put a match to the small animal. Fortunately the caribbean man came upon the scene and was able to put out the flame before the hamster was greatly injured, however from that day on the caribbean man viewed his pet far more sceptically and tended to pamper it less. He also learnt not to boast in front of young boys.)
         Once Robert had explained himself to the satisfaction of his companion and she had withdrawn her animal-cruelty accusations the two got on fairly well, and even more so once the third round of drinks were brought. The girl's name turned out to be Rachel and she lived in a town called Flaton on high, at this revelation Robert gazed at her in a goggle-eyed fashion which caused her to also reveal that she found men who stared both deeply insulting and mildly freaky. Robert tried very hard not to stare at her as he wondered how to pose questions about her home-town without suspicion, unfortunately this caused him to blink continuously in a manner which Rachel seemed to find as disconcerting as the staring, judging by her frequent attempts to hit him soon after he had begun the strobe-like blinking. Rubbing his arm and feeling that women were unjust and impossible to please Robert looked down at the table, studiously avoiding eye contact with Rachel in the attempt to avoid another beating, and asked her: “So what's your town like?” at the same moment as she asked him: “So what made you come over to my table anyway?”

         Robert grinned awkwardly trying to think of a way out of the question as Rachel appeared to be doing the same thing. Let's leave them both to their awkward grinning for a moment, it will undoubtedly take their alcohol weighted brains that long to think of an answer. As Rachel's brain tries to compute the question posed by this bizarre stranger and come up with a suitable answer, she is little aware that her friend is trying in vain to contact her with some very exciting news:
         “Rachel's so annoying!” Announced the girl, glaring at her mobile phone. Apparently glaring did little to ease her anger however, as she then began to hit her phone against the counter.
         “Hitting your phone won't make 'Rachel' text back”, commented her father with a frown, looking up from his paper and shocking his daughter, who hadn't noticed him, “nor will glaring at it, all these things will do is annoy your family and possibly break your phone.” Having given this warning  the man shuffled back under his newspaper and tried to ignore the tapping of his daughter's foot which had replaced the banging of her phone. Deciding that ignoring a teenage girl was even more impossible than talking to one he purposely folded his paper and looked up at her, “I also feel I should warn you that although you kids may not care much about this community, others do and if you keep up this behaviour you should learn to be very careful in future. If the leader hears you he will not be as lenient as I am. And he has more subtle ways of listening than hiding behind a newspaper.”
         “Beal you mean?” She said defiantly, staring straight at her father. Although she didn't have the bravery of her friend Rachel, or even of Charlie, though with his dad he didn't have to worry, she knew that she couldn't back down now. She decided to risk it, despite the warning of her father and the flashing anger she could see in his eyes. She wasn't old enough to see or understand the fear that lay at the base of his anger, whipping it up into that more violent an emotion, if she had been then maybe she wouldn't have said what she did next: “I heard about Clarin as well. How he escaped. I didn't realise we were all prisoners in this community.” There had been more in her throat but the words were choked out of her as her father wrapped one hand tightly around her kneck and pinned her against the wall. His face was very close to hers as he hissed through the slit his mouth had become.
         “You little idiot! Don't you realise what would happen if anyone other than me or Daniels had heard you say that? I've heard you and Rachel and that boy talking. Dear God what are you playing at? Is this a game to you? A puzzle? What are you thinking? You have to be more careful!” She struggled to gulp beneath his fingers a she continued to grip her tightly and try to get a hold of his emotions. He barely had time before he heard the front door open and his wife's footsteps in the hall. Quickly releasing his daughter he launched himself back into his chair and behind his newspaper just as she entered the room.
         “Oh my gosh! Girl, are you ok? Your face is so red!”
         “I'm fine, just been for a walk and got a bit out of breath.” She said, hurrying from the room as casually as she could whilst her heart beat and her body pulsed with newfound fear. If the only adults she could speak that way in front of were her dad and Charlie's... Oh God what about her mum?

         Finally both Robert and Rachel have come up with brilliantly witty and evasive answers:
         “I can't talk about it.”
         “I don't want to talk about it.”
         Or not...
         Just like the questions, the answers were simultaneous and Rachel and Robert couldn't help laughing, chortling, guffawing, giggling. They were drunk and even their laughing was proving hilarious by this time.
         “Muahahaha! So anyway,” Rachel recovered from the laughter first and with one final evil laugh was clearly ready for more conversation whilst Robert was still wiping his eyes and laughing into some of the coloured handkerchiefs trailing from his shirt sleeve. “Oi, come on! I really want to know why you came over. I mean it seems odd to pick out a stranger at dinner and accost them with flaming hamsters, especially if it's not on the menu. Explain.”
         “It's far too depressing a tale, involving heartbreak, chinchillas and funerals, really you don't want to hear it. Tell me about your town, Flanton was it?” Robert decided to play the casual name forgetting card, not wanting to show her how interested he was lest she try and swap her answer for his, his was one story he did not want to tell. Whilst his attempt to be casual might have stood a chance she would still have undoubtedly questioned him on his 'chinchilla, funeral, heartbreak' story anyway, had it not been for an unforeseen series of events coming to rescue Robert.

         If you have time it might interest you to learn about the series of events that saved Robert from telling his 'chinchilla, heartbreak, funeral' story to Rachel that night. It's quite unusual and pointlessly detailed and so might distract you from any lingering annoyance at not hearing the story or learning anything about alice, funerals, heartbreak or indeed chinchillas yet. If, however, you are running late for a bus or desperate to hear more about Flaton on high then this passage is best saved for another time as it is not integral to the story so skip straight past the next few paragraphs to the words: “Robert! What's on your arm?” which are enboldened for ease, or just leave this book on the table and run to catch your bus.
         
         Every week for the last two years Arnold Rodgers had bet on the lottery. He always bet on the same numbers because, as he proudly declared to everyone he met, 'they was his lucky numbers'. Although Arnold kept losing week after week he refused to lose faith in his numbers certain that they would do right by him in the end. Arnold was naturally a very lucky person and so it may seem odd that his lucky numbers should cause him to lose every week. There is, however, a very simple explanation for this: Arnold was dislexic. His dislexia only affected numbers and, working as a fisherman, he rarely came into contact with numbers, his wife took care of making hpone calls and of selling his fish. As such no one had ever noticed his dislexia, however it had caused his lucky numbers to be in the wrong order and upside down so that the 5's should have been 2's, the 6's should have been 9's and the 8's, well the 8's were fine, as were the 1's, but still this lead to a lot of unnessecary bad luck in lottery's, raffles, locker numbers, passwords and events. He would constantly have his bikes stolen because the numbers he used on the lock were actually very unlucky rather than luck, which is what happens when you turn luck upside down and back to front. He had decided to have his wedding on the 18th of may because his numbers started 1805, what he didn't know of course was that the 5 should have been a 2 and the 1 and 0 the other way around. If he had been married on the 8th of december it would have been a beautiful day, surprisingly warm with a clear sky and light fall of snow, light enough to be beautiful and not ruin the day but heavy enough to snow in his alcoholic uncle who wouldn't have been able to make it. As it was the day had torrential rain which ruined his wife's hair, gave them all terrible colds, and was not enough to stop his drunken uncle making a scene at the reception.
         It could be argued that Arnold was not really lucky since his unnoticed dislexia had affected his life to such a bizarre degree, his bikes were constantly stolen and his wife would not allow him to set any of the house locks or alarms they had been robbed so often; but fortunate things just seemed to happen to Arnold. He always said the right thing, he was in the right place at the right time and had saved numerous lives, he never got ill. Indeed had he not had dislexia he would have won every lottery draw he went in for. Although he would quickly have become a millionnaire he would also have gone to prison for fraud and faking the lottery.
         Anyway, it just so happened that on this day Arnold had not played his lucky numbers in the lottery. As they were clearly very unlucky numbers his wife had asked him to play hers instead, he had agreed as it was their anniversary and he wanted to win the money to buy her a bracelet she wanted, and after all his did seem so very unlucky. Of course that was the day they had come up. This had caused a huge argument and ruined their anniversary and so he had gone to the bar in the nearby hotel to drown his sorrows. Not being accustomed to having sorrows he wasn't very good at it but he was trying hard. He was on his 6th beer when he bumped into Robert.
         Robert was gesturing with his arms slightly to add to the nonchalance of his 'Flanton' question. A brief description of Robert is necessary to explain why this gesturing is important. Robert is 5ft 11 and is one of those awkward men, almost overgrown boys, who seem to never have completely grown into themselves. As is often the way with these men, he had long gangly appendages. His arms flailing casually happened to knock Arnold's 6th, and only just bought, drink out of his hands and all over his shirt.5
         “Oh my! I'm so sorry sir! Let me help you!” And saying this Robert picked up the handkerchiefs trailing from his sleeve and offered them to the man. However Robert had drunkenly forgotten how long the handkerchief train went on and so when Arnold took them gratefully and tried to pull them from his sleeve he just kept on pulling them. Handkerchief after handkerchief was pulled from Robert's sleeve with Arnold getting more and more angry at each pull, feeling himself the victim of a practical joke. Adding to this impression both Robert and Rachel unfortunately began laughing uncontrollably.
         “What is going on here?!” Arnold thundered.
         The anger finally broke through Robert's humour and he thankfully found himself able to stop giggling. Unfortunately now that he was in control of his laughter he realised just how long he had been laughing for, why thrity handkerchiefs of different coulours were now in Arnolds hands and he was turning very red.
         “I am so sorry sir! Again! Here you go.” And Robert pulled the final handkerchief from his sleeve and dropped it on the pile of connecting ones in Arnolds arms. He found the man still glaring at him and so quickly pushed his sleeve up, “Nothing here. See?” With a final glare Arnold stormed off with his handkerchiefs and Robert promptly began giggling again. Surprised to hear he was giggling solo he looked up to Rachel, why was she leaving him to giggle lonesomely?
         “Robert! What's on your arm?” She was staring at him open mouthed, aghast. All hints of humour had disappeared from her face and Robert found himself trying to twist his head around to see what hers saw, this quickly becamse painful and allowed no view of his arm so he then decided to turn his arm so he too could see it.
         This time was his to be aghast. Clearly etched on his arm was the red-brown stain of a word: 'Flaton'. The word must have sunk through his white shirt sleeve and onto his arm. Feeling hideously dirty, and also shocked that he had been travelling around all day with another mans blood on his arm he promptly poured his drink over the words and scrubbed at them with handkerchiefs from his other sleeve.