Changing down into the 40 m.p.h. lane, Franklin watched the great bulk of the second sign recede in his rear-view mirror. Although there were no graphic symbols among the wire coils covering the grilles, Hathaway’s warnings still sounded in his ears. Without knowing why, he felt sure that the signs were not part of the airport approach system. Neither of them was in line with the principal air-lines. To justify the expense of siting them in the centre of the expressway — the second sign required elaborate angled buttresses to support it on the narrow island obviously meant that their role related in some way to the traffic streams.
Two hundred yards away was a roadside auto-mart, and Franklin abruptly remembered that he needed some cigarettes. Swinging the car down the entrance ramp, he joined the queue passing the self-service dispenser at the far end of the rank. The auto-mart was packed with cars, each of the five purchasing ranks lined with tired-looking men hunched over their wheels.
Inserting his coins (paper money was no longer in circulation, unmanageable by the automats) he took a carton from the dispenser. This was the only brand of cigarettes available — in fact there was only one brand of everything though giant economy packs were an alternative. Moving off, he opened the dashboard locker.
Inside, still sealed in their wrappers, were three other cartons.
A strong fish-like smell pervaded the house when he reached home, steaming out from the oven in the kitchen. Sniffing it uneagerly, Franklin took off his coat and hat. His wife was crouched over the TV set in the lounge. An announcer was dictating a stream of numbers, and Judith scribbled them down on a pad, occasionally cursing under her breath. ‘What a muddle!’ she snapped. ‘He was talking so quickly I took only a few things down.’
‘Probably deliberate,’ Franklin commented. ‘A new panel game?’
Judith kissed him on the cheek, discreetly hiding the ashtray loaded with cigarette butts and chocolate wrappings. ‘Hello, darling, sorry not to have a drink ready for you. They’ve started this series of Spot Bargains, they give you a selection of things on which you get a ninety per cent trade-in discount at the local stores, if you’re in the right area and have the right serial numbers. It’s all terribly complicated.’
‘Sounds good, though. What have you got?’
Judith peered at her checklist. ‘Well, as far as I can see the only thing is the infra-red barbecue spit. But we have to be there before eight o’clock tonight. It’s seven thirty already.’
‘Then that’s out. I’m tired, angel, I need something to eat.’ When Judith started to protest he added firmly: ‘Look, I don’t want a new infra-red barbecue spit, we’ve only had this one for two months. Damn it, it’s not even a different model.’
‘But, darling, don’t you see, it makes it cheaper if you keep buying new ones. We’ll have to trade ours in at the end of the year anyway, we signed the contract, and this way we save at least five pounds. These Spot Bargains aren’t just a gimmick, you know. I’ve been glued to that set all day.’ A note of irritation had crept into her voice, but Franklin stood his ground, doggedly ignoring the clock.
‘Right, we lose five pounds. It’s worth it.’ Before she could remonstrate he said: ‘Judith, please, you probably took the wrong number down anyway.’ As she shrugged and went over to the bar he called: ‘Make it a stiff one. I see we have health foods on the menu.’
‘They’re good for you, darling. You know you can’t live on ordinary foods all the time. They don’t contain any proteins or vitamins. You’re always saying we ought to be like people in the old days and eat nothing but health foods.’
‘I would, but they smell so awful.’ Franklin lay back, nose in the glass of whisky, gazing at the darkened skyline outside.
A quarter of a mile away, gleaming out above the roof of the neighbourhood supermarket, were the five red beacon lights. Now and then, as the headlamps of the Spot Bargainers swung up across the face of the building, he could see the massive bulk of the sign clearly silhouetted against the evening sky.
‘Judith!’ He went into the kitchen and took her over to the window. ‘That sign, just behind the supermarket. When did they put it up?’
‘I don’t know.’ Judith peered at him. ‘Why are you so worried, Robert? Isn’t it something to do with the airport?’
Franklin stared at the dark hull of the sign. ‘So everyone probably thinks.’
Carefully he poured his whisky into the sink.
