The Blasphemer: A Novel by Nigel Farndale Page B

could be turned down. Nancy began to sing along to it tonelessly, getting the lyrics slightly wrong: ‘Because my kiss, my kiss is on your lips …’ She was on her second half-can of Venezuelan beer.
    Sitting in front of them was the youth with the bleached dreadlocks they had seen in the restaurant. As he joined in with odd lyrics from the chorus he rose from his seat and began stretching. He was wearing boot-cut jeans so low half his Calvin Klein briefs were visible. His T-shirt carried the message I AM NOT A TERRORIST ( I’M JUST BEARDED ). He did not have a beard, nor did he look as if he needed to shave. Daniel felt a pang of envy. The young man was languid, carefree, clean-limbed.
    ‘Cramp?’ Nancy asked, flicking back a strand of hair. She had a very un-English habit of starting conversations with strangers; but this, to Daniel, looked more like flirtation.
    ‘Yeah, right here in my calves,’ the young man said with agrimace and what Daniel recognized instantly as the springy accent of the Massachusetts north shore.
    Nancy ground the palm of one hand against the other – a demonstration. ‘Try massaging the balls of your feet.’
    ‘Thanks,’ the young man said, removing a flip-flop and hopping on one foot while rubbing the other. When he had finished, he gave a wide smile that exposed expensive American teeth. ‘Greg,’ he said with a pat of his chest. ‘Greg Coulter.’
    ‘Hello, Greg Greg Coulter. I’m Nancy. We saw you at the restaurant in Quito.’
    ‘Yeah? You guys on holiday?’
    Nancy nodded. ‘You?’
    ‘Honeymoon.’ He pointed at the seat behind them. ‘We got married three days ago.’
    Nancy patted Daniel’s knee, bare below Bermuda shorts. ‘Did you hear that, Mr Kennedy? They’ve just got married.’
    ‘Congratulations,’ Daniel said, turning to smile at Greg’s younglooking wife who was sitting behind them, her pale, goosepimpled legs tucked under her.
    ‘Not afraid of commitment, you see,’ Nancy added, not looking at Daniel.
    ‘I didn’t realize you two were together,’ Daniel said to the child bride. ‘You’ve been so quiet back there. Why don’t we swap seats so you guys can sit with each other?’
    ‘That’s OK,’ Greg said. ‘We’re nearly there.’
    There was a lull in which the droning of the engines could be heard.
    ‘Actually,’ Nancy said, ‘ I ’m on holiday but my “biological pairbond” here …’ she patted Daniel’s knee again, ‘is working. He looks at things through microscopes. Spores, moulds, bacteria.’
    ‘I only look at those things for fun. I specialize in worms.’
    ‘He’s an international authority on nonsegmented roundworms,’ Nancy continued, enjoying herself. ‘They’re microscopic.’
    ‘The first living organism to have its entire genetic blueprint decoded,’ the child bride said, joining in with an uncertain smile, leaning over the back of Nancy’s seat. A silver cross was swingingforward on a chain around her neck. She was wearing a microskirt and a clinging T-shirt with a peace sign drawn in diamante sequins. It was cut to show her midriff. It also showed she wasn’t wearing a bra.
    Daniel clasped his hands like an indulgent vicar. ‘Very good!’
    ‘They have a nervous system, can digest food and have sex, like humans,’ the child bride continued with a chewy American accent.
    ‘That’s why they’re so significant.’
    ‘Now you’re scaring me,’ Daniel said.
    ‘I thought I recognized you,’ the child bride said. She turned to her husband. ‘Told you I recognized him.’ She faced Daniel again. ‘You did that programme on the Natural World Channel, didn’t you?’
    Daniel helped her out: ‘ The Selfish Planet .’
    The child bride lowered her eyes and gave a shy smile. ‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘I thought it was real interesting. You always been into biology and stuff?’
    ‘Yeah, I suppose I have,’ Daniel said. ‘My name’s Dan, by the way.’ He raised his eyebrows and paused for her