Good Omens

other was that someone was crying.
    Adam was a soft touch for tears. He hesitated a moment, and then cautiously peered over the hedge.
    To Anathema, sitting in a deck chair and halfway through a packet of Kleenex, it looked like the rise of a small, disheveled sun.
    Adam doubted that she was a witch. Adam had a very clear mental picture of a witch. The Youngs restricted themselves to the only possible choice amongst the better class of Sunday newspaper, and so a hundred years of enlightened occultism had passed Adam by. She didn’t have a hooked nose or warts, and she was young … well, quite young. That was good enough for him.
    â€œHallo,” he said, unslouching.
    She blew her nose and stared at him.
    What was looking over the hedge should be described at this point. What Anathema saw was, she said later, something like a prepubescent Greek god. Or maybe a Biblical illustration, one which showed muscular angels doing some righteous smiting. It was a face that didn’t belong in the twentieth century. It was thatched with golden curls which glowed. Michelangelo should have sculpted it.
    He probably would not have included the battered sneakers, frayed jeans, or grubby T-shirt, though.
    â€œWho’re you?” she said.
    â€œI’m Adam Young,” said Adam. “I live just down the lane.”
    â€œOh. Yes. I’ve heard of you,” said Anathema, dabbing at her eyes. Adam preened.
    â€œMrs. Henderson said I was to be sure to keep an eye out for you,” she went on.
    â€œI’m well known around here,” said Adam.
    â€œShe said you were born to hang,” said Anathema.
    Adam grinned. Notoriety wasn’t as good as fame, but was heaps better than obscurity.
    â€œShe said you were the worst of the lot of Them,” said Anathema, looking a little more cheerful. Adam nodded.
    â€œShe said, ‘You watch out for Them, Miss, they’re nothing but a pack of ringleaders. That young Adam’s full of the Old Adam,’ ” she said.
    â€œWhat’ve you been cryin’ for?” said Adam bluntly.
    â€œOh? Oh, I’ve just lost something,” said Anathema. “A book.”
    â€œI’ll help you look for it, if you like,” said Adam gallantly. “I know quite a lot about books, actually. I wrote a book once. It was a triffic book. It was nearly eight pages long. It was about this pirate who was a famous detective. And I drew the pictures.” And then, in a flash of largess, he added, “If you like I’ll let you read it. I bet it was a lot more excitin’ than any book you’ve lost. ’Specially the bit in the spaceship where the dinosaur comes out and fights with the cowboys. I bet it’d cheer you up, my book. It cheered up Brian no end. He said he’d never been so cheered up.”
    â€œThank you, I’m sure your book is a very good book,” she said, endearing herself to Adam forever. “But I don’t need you to help look for my book—I think it’s too late now.”
    She looked thoughtfully at Adam. “I expect you know this area very well?” she said.
    â€œFor miles an’ miles,” said Adam.
    â€œYou haven’t seen two men in a big black car?” said Anathema.
    â€œDid they steal it?” said Adam, suddenly full of interest. Foiling a gang of international book thieves would make a rewarding end to the day.
    â€œNot really. Sort of. I mean, they didn’t mean to. They were looking for the Manor, but I went up there today and no one knows anything about them. There was some sort of accident or something, I believe.”
    She stared at Adam. There was something odd about him, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She just had an urgent feeling that he was important and shouldn’t be allowed to drift away. Something about him …
    â€œWhat’s the book called?” said Adam.
    â€œThe Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch,” said Anathema.
    â€œWhich what?”
    â€œNo. Witch. Like in Macbeth ,” said Anathema.
    â€œI saw that,” said Adam. “ It was really interesting, the way them kings carried on. Gosh. What’s nice about ’em?”
    â€œNice used to me an, well, precise. Or exact.” Definitely something strange. A sort of laid-back intensity. You started to feel that if he was around, then everyone else, even the landscape, was just background.
    She’d been