Free White corridor by Christopher Fowler

readjusted his spectacles and squinted up at his partner with watery wide eyes. ‘I just like a nice bit of theatre. Doesn’t everyone?’
    ‘When are we leaving?’
    ‘Just as soon as we get these doors shut and I remember where I left my hearing aid batteries. We should be able to reach Plymouth by late afternoon, which will give us time to unload the van and set up for the start of the convention on Wednesday morning. It only lasts two days, climaxing with the awards ceremony and the show on Thursday evening. We can either stay overnight and set back first thing Friday morning, or leave the night before. Can I trust you to be captain of our supply team? I’ve got enough to do just sorting out my pills.’
    ‘What do I have to do?’
    ‘Alma has manufactured a hundredweight of sandwiches for us to take along, and some of her special “thick” pea-and-ham soup that might come in handy for fixing radiator leaks. She’ll give you the full list of comestibles.’
    ‘Good heavens, we’re not going to the North Pole, Arthur.’
    ‘Just as well, because it’s not there anymore,’ said Bryant gloomily. ‘Global warming. I read in the paper that it’s melted clean away. I don’t suppose I’ll see a frozen landscape again in my lifetime.’
    ‘You’re wrong about that, Mr Bryant.’ Alma Sorrowbridge had come into the yard behind their home waving a copy of the
Daily Mail
. ‘Blizzards, it says here, turning very nasty. Look at the forecast, the coldest winter in fifty years. It’s snowing in Somerset, and going to get worse. The gritters are going on strike and the roads will be like ice. Decent people will freeze to death in their beds.’
    ‘Always the bearer of cheering news, aren’t you?’ Bryant sighed, slamming the van doors with finality. ‘She just wants me to cancel the trip because she doesn’t approve of my multifaith approach to spiritualism. That, and the fact that last year we made a chapter of her evangelists’ gospel choir share their dressing room with a pair of Brahmins and some Hasidic Jews.’ Bryant neglected to mention that the choir had brought a family bucket of pork ribs into the dressing room and had almost started a war.
    ‘The doctrine of salvation by faith is the essence of gospel teaching,’ said Alma hotly. ‘It’s Protestant, not Pick ‘n’ Mix. I don’t approve of throwing all these religions together with nonbelievers.’
    ‘There’s no such thing as a nonbeliever,’ Bryant stated. ‘Everyone believes in something, whether it involves alien visitations or simply being nice to each other and repairing a fractured world with good deeds, a cabalistic lesson you might learn the next time you consider torturing me with your culinary experiments. Now be so kind as to go and finish packing my warm clothes.’
    It was a little after 8:15 A.M . when they embarked on their journey. John May had agreed to come along partly because his partner was not to be trusted with directions, but also because he had never shown an interest in Bryant’s enthusiasms, and had decided it was about time he did.
    ‘I’ve planned our route,’ said Bryant, settling into the passenger seat and pulling the collar of an enormous astrakhan overcoat up around his ears. ‘We need the A38, possibly via Bittaford and Moorhaven, assuming those villages are still there after two world wars. Perhaps we should stop and buy a more recent map. Do you think I should put a satellite navigation system in my Mini Cooper?’
    ‘You are the last person in the world to be trusted with SatNav,’ May retorted. ‘Remember what happened when you borrowed Dan Banbury’s car?’
    ‘Oh, er, vaguely.’ Bryant sank further into his overcoat, recalling his flustered response to the insistent electronic voice warning him to turn right. It had led him into a closed street where work on the London Underground system was under way. Bryant surprised the railway workers by shooting Banbury’s vehicle into a trench