I took a deep breath. “Plonk. It’s in the Sagittarius Dwarf Elliptical Galaxy. It’s seventy thousand light years from the centre of the Milky Way. In the direction of the Large Magellanic Cloud.”
Becky shook her head. “We have to get you to a doctor.”
“One minute to go,” said Vantresillion.
“Becky,” I said. “Listen. This is important. It is very possible that, in about fifty seconds, Charlie is going to, like, explode.”
Becky stared at me with her mouth hanging open.
“Five minutes after that I’m going to explode too. So I just wanted to say that I love you. And don’t stand too close to me. And a few minutes later…well, it’s probably best not to think about that bit.”
“Thirty seconds…” said Vantresillion.
I walked over to Charlie and said, “You’re the best friend ever. You know that, don’t you? And I sort of love you too. But not in a girly way.”
“Shut up!” said Charlie.
“Oh, OK, then,” I said huffily.
Charlie touched his wristband. “Mr Vantresillion…?”
I pressed my own wristband to listen in.
“Yes?” snapped Vantresillion.
There was a pause. “We have a problem. There’s a policeman here.”
“And why is that a problem?”
“Because, I guess, if he sees two boys explode he’ll go away and fetch more policemen,” said Charlie.
“Where are the Watchers?” hissed Vantresillion.
“He has absolutely no idea, I’m afraid.”
“What the hell is going on?” asked Becky.
I clapped a hand over her mouth.
“Don’t let the policeman get away,” hissed Vantresillion.
“Nnnnnnggg,” said Becky, trying to tear my hand away.
“How are we meant to do that?” asked Charlie.
“I don’t know,” spluttered Vantresillion. “Just…just…put him into the Weff-Beam unit.”
“He’s a very large policeman,” said Charlie.
“Fenting nard!” said Vantresillion. “Get your friend to stand next to him so I can blow them up together.”
“I don’t think Jimbo wants to do that,” said Charlie.
“Fenting, fenting, fenting nard!” said Vantresillion. “Don’t move. I’m sending someone down. And when they’ve dealt with the very large policeman you are going to be toast! Do you understand?”
“Absolutely,” said Charlie and took his fingers off the wristband. He turned to Becky. “Time for you to get your big stick.”
I took my hand off Becky’s mouth and she said, “Would you kindly tell me what is going on? And why is there an imaginary policeman? And who the hell are you talking to?”
But Charlie didn’t get a chance to explain because the blinding blue light was pouring out of the sky. Then there was an ear-splitting boom! and the light went off and Becky picked up her big knobbly stick and ran over to the ruined cottage and lifted the stick over her head. The cover slid sideways and Mrs Pearce’s head emerged from the hole and Becky hit it really hard with the stick and Mrs Pearce squealed and rolled sideways and lay face-down on the earth, completely unconscious.
“Oh my God,” said Becky. “I’ve just hit a really old lady over the head.”
“Actually,” said Charlie, “that’s Mrs Pearce.”
“My God,” said Becky. “I’ve just hit your history teacher over the head.”
I bent down and started lifting Mrs Pearce’s skirt. “This will make you feel better.”
“What the hell are you doing, Jimbo?” said Becky.
“I need to show you something.”
“You sick and twisted little boy,” said Becky. “No way am I looking at a teacher’s bottom.”
And there it was. Coming out of a neat little hole in the back of Mrs Pearce’s knickers. A bit like a long hairy parsnip. The tail.
“Jeez,” said Charlie. “That is going to be burned into my memory, like, for ever.”
“Becky,” I said. “Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
“No.”
“Open your eyes.”
Becky opened her eyes and looked down and screamed. Then everything was lit up by a bright blue light and the mountains rang with the deafening boom! – except we didn’t take much notice because we were all so freaked out by Mrs Pearce’s tail. And then we heard someone say, “Little human scum!” and we spun round to see Vantresillion rising out of the Weff-Beam tube.
Becky ran towards him and lifted the big knobbly stick and swung it, but he was too quick. He grabbed the end and yanked it out of Becky’s hands.
“Narking frotter!” he yelled, his eyes sparking with blue light. “I am toasting you now.” He reached for his wristband.
“Stop him!” shouted Charlie.
But Becky had already whipped a can of L’Oreal extra-strength hairspray from her back pocket and squirted him in the eyes. He screamed and raised his hands to his face and fell to the ground.
“The wristband,” I said and stamped on Vantresillion’s arm while Charlie yanked it off and flung it as hard as he could. We stood and watched it sail through the air until it plopped into the water next to the little boat moored to the rocks.
Vantresillion said, “Aaeeaaeeaaeeaargh!”
And Charlie said, “Jimbo, your sister is one feisty chick.”
“I’m assuming that’s a compliment,” said Becky.
“Yeah,” said Charlie. “But when Vantresillion doesn’t check in, someone is going to press that button and we’re going to explode, so we have to do something spectacular in the next minute.”
Vantresillion got to his feet and staggered around blindly, trying to find us and strangle us.
“Petrol,” I shouted. “There’s petrol in the boat. We set light to the Weff-Beam thing. We blow it up.”
We ran down to the water’s edge and tried to lift the outboard motor off the stern but it was too heavy.
“Forget that,” said Becky, holding a red plastic fuel can. “This is what we need.”
We ran back up the grassy slope to the ruined cottage.
“It’s closing!” shouted Charlie. “Quick!”
I grabbed the broken knobbly stick and shoved it into the hole. It splintered and cracked. Charlie and Becky staggered over with a rock and jammed it into the gap. The mechanism squeezed and juddered and gave off a lot of evil brown smoke.
Becky screwed the black top off the red plastic can and poured the contents into the Weff-Beam unit. “Now,” she said. “Let’s set light to it.”
“How?”
Becky paused for a moment. Then she said a really, really rude word. “We haven’t got a lighter!”
The mechanism juddered and smoked and the rock cracked into two pieces.
“Craterface’s lighter!” I searched madly through the pockets. The cigarettes, the wallet, the oily fluff…and the lighter.
I threw myself to the ground and shoved my arm down past the lid.
“Stop, you moron!” shouted Charlie. “You’ll blow yourself to pieces!”
He ripped off his shirt and shoved the sleeve into the mouth of the petrol can, then pulled it out and set light to it. The rock finally shattered, Charlie shoved the flaming shirt through the last inch of shrinking gap and shouted, “Run!”
We ran and hurled ourselves to the ground and waited. And waited. And absolutely nothing happened. Except for Vantresillion wandering into the ruined cottage, moaning, with his arms stretched out in front of him, clawing the air like a lost zombie.
He was standing in the very centre of the cottage when the blue light flashed on. He screamed again, but much, much louder this time. Then he vanished inside the column of light and we couldn’t hear him screaming any more. Then the light went off and the boom! shook the mountains and we saw that Vantresillion had been turned into a smoking black statue of himself. One arm fell off and smashed on the ground. Then the head
did the same thing.
“It didn’t work!” said Charlie. “It didn’t – ”
And then, suddenly, it did work. There was a shuddering whump! and the Weff-Beam unit and the cottage and the black statue of Vantresillion erupted in a massive cauliflower of orange flame. We closed our eyes and covered our heads. The heat wave hit us and it was like being run over by a really hot lorry.
We opened our eyes. There was an ominous silence for about two seconds, then a horrible clatter as broken pieces of highly advanced technology rained down around us. I looked up and rolled out of the way just in time to prevent myself being kebabbed by a long spear of ceramic tube-wall.
We got up and picked bits of ash and shrapnel off our clothing and walked back towards the ruin. Except it wasn’t there any more. There was a black crater. There was a ring of charred stones. There were some wires. There was a triangle of cracked blue glass.
I heard a little click and felt my wristband loosen and fall to the ground. I heard another little click and saw Charlie’s wristband do the same.
He bent down and picked them up. “You know,” he said. “Just to be on the safe side.” He drew back his arm and hurled them into the water.
And this was when we saw Mrs Pearce. She’d finally come round and got to her feet. She had her fingers pressed to her own wristband. “Gretnoid,” she said. “Nutwall venka berdang.” She pressed it again. “Gretnoid. Nutwall venka berdang.” Her voice was getting more and more panicky. “Gretnoid…? Gretnoid…?”
Charlie walked up to her. “You’ve lost all contact with Plonk, haven’t you?”
She growled at him.
“Brilliant,” said Charlie. “I’m kind of assuming they can’t blow us up now. Or the planet. Is that right?”
“You’re going to suffer for this. I am going to make you all suffer so very, very much.”
“How?” said Charlie.
She paused for a few moments, then she slumped to the ground and started to cry. “Oh God,” she wailed. “I’m going to be stuck on your stupid, primitive, godforsaken planet for ever.”
“Anyway,” said Becky, “we’re off now. There are five of your friends tied up over there. Behind the big boulder. They’re going to need a bit of help.”
We walked back to the tent. The five Watchers were tied up nearby. I recognized two of them from the red Volvo. They were all a bit snarly at first. Then Charlie explained that the Weff-Beam had been destroyed and that they wouldn’t be going home. After this they went a bit quiet. A couple of them cried, just like Mrs Pearce.
Becky dug around in the holdall and found a spare shirt for Charlie. We packed up and headed back down to the water. Mrs Pearce was still on her hands and knees, crying, when we walked past her.
“Cheerio!” said Charlie.
She looked up at him and whimpered like a sad dog.
We climbed into the boat and lowered the outboard into the water. Becky yanked the starter cord three times and the engine coughed into life and we puttered down the little channel to the sea.
∨ Boom! ∧
17
Individual broccoli tartlets
We ran out of petrol halfway, having used the back-up supply to destroy the Weff-Beam. But there were oars and it was a sunny day, and just being on the surface of our own planet was a pleasure.
I tried to explain everything to Becky, but after a while she told me to stop. “It’s doing my head in, Jimbo. I’m tired and hungry and filthy. I’ve been living in the wilderness for nearly a week, hitting strange people over the head. I need normal. I need ordinary. I need bacon and fried eggs and toast. And I need a long hot shower. I do not need hover-scooters and intergalactic ferries.”
So she went and sat at the bow and Charlie sat facing me while I rowed and we shared our stories about how he’d been captured and how Becky and I had set off in pursuit on a stolen motorbike.
And maybe Bob-with-the-Hawaiian-shirt was right. Maybe it was cool being on a planet on the far side of the known galaxy. And maybe it was even cooler escaping and getting home again. But the coolest thing of all was having my best friend back.
“What about Mrs Pearce?” I said.
“What do you mean?” asked Charlie.
“She said she was going to make us suffer. You don’t think she’s going to, like, track us down and kill us, do you?”
Charlie put his head on one side and stared at me. “She’s an elderly lady with no job. The police will be looking for her. She has a tail. And no belly button. If I were her I’d be heading for the hills and living off nuts and berries.”
We took turns rowing and after a couple of hours we reached Elgol harbour with two seagulls circling above us and a friendly seal in our wake.
The red Volvo was parked a little way up the road from the slipway.
“So,” said Charlie, rubbing his hands together, “are we going to break in and hotwire it?”
“Don’t be daft,” said Becky. “I had the driver tied up for three days.” She fished a set of car keys out of the holdall. “These were in his pocket.”
“You are a true professional,” said Charlie.
“Thank you,” said Becky.
“Can I have a go at driving?” said Charlie.
“Are you out of your mind?” said Becky. “Get in the back.”
The Volvo was pretty straightforward after the Moto Guzzi. It had four wheels for starters, so it wasn’t going to fall over sideways. We scraped a couple of stone walls and bumped in and out of a few ditches over the first couple of miles but Becky soon got the hang of it.
The journey was glorious. All those things I’d never looked at before seemed wonderful now. Cooling towers. Transit vans. Concrete bridges. I looked at electricity pylons and felt a warm glow in my heart.
After three hours we stopped at Gretna Green. Becky ordered her fry-up, I ordered a pizza and Charlie ordered a black coffee and four apple turnovers.
We had another six hours of driving in which to plan our stories. But we were too tired. After about four minutes Charlie and I fell asleep and didn’t wake up till we reached the M25. Luckily, Becky only fell asleep twice, but each time she was woken up by a lorry honking as she veered into the wrong lane of the motorway.
We offered to drop Charlie off first but he reckoned our parents were less likely to kill him.
When we pulled into the car park by the flats I looked up at the tatty, peeling, weather-stained block and I must admit I got a bit tearful. Then I remembered the complications waiting upstairs and my heart sank.
I turned to Becky. “What are we going to say?”
“We?” said Becky. “I think that’s your job, mate. But if you want my advice, I’d go easy on the aliens-with-hairy-tails-and-space-travel aspect of the whole thing.”
“Gird your loins,” said Charlie. “Let’s get this over with.”
Becky unlocked the door of the flat and we stepped inside. Mum was on the phone. She dropped it and froze for several seconds. Then she screamed. It was actually quite frightening. She threw her arms around me and Becky and squeezed and cried and shouted, “You’re alive! You’re alive!”
Then Dad came into the hallway and did the same thing, without the screaming. Then everyone noticed that Charlie was standing to one side looking a bit left out so we grabbed hold of him and had a group hug, by which time all of us were crying, even Charlie, and I’d never seen him cry before, ever.
Things calmed down after a few minutes and we stopped hugging each other. Mum’s face went a bit dark and she said, “Where in God’s name have you been?”
And this was the point when I realized we should have worked out a story. “Well…”
There was a horrible silence.
“You disappear for a week,” said Mum, her joy ebbing rapidly away. “You don’t tell us where you’re going. We call and you don’t ring us back. We’ve been through hell wondering what happened to you.”
Then Charlie had a brainwave. And I have to say that it was both s
imple and rather brilliant. “We were kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped?” said Dad.
“Kidnapped?” said Mum.
“By Mr Kidd,” said Charlie. “And Mrs Pearce. From school.”
“They took us to Scotland,” I said. “To Loch Coruisk. On the Isle of Skye.”
“What…!?” said Mum. “What…!? What…!?” She sounded a bit like a chicken.
“So,” said Dad, shaking his head, “who wrecked the flat?”
“What?” asked Charlie.
I looked over Dad’s shoulder and saw two halves of the snapped coffee table stacked in the corner of the living room and it all came back to me. “Oh, that,” I said.
“We came back home,” said Dad. “The fridge was on its side. The sofa was upside down. And we found one of the kitchen chairs in the car park.”
“Obviously we didn’t want to be kidnapped,” said Becky, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “So we put up a fight.”
“But…but…but…” said Mum, sounding like a slightly different kind of chicken. “But why did they kidnap you?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” said Charlie breezily. “You’ll have to ask Mrs Pearce and Mr Kidd. Perhaps they can explain everything.”
“I’m going to ring the police,” said Dad.
“Excellent idea,” said Charlie. “But I really do think I ought to go home first.”
Becky and I showered rapidly and grabbed some clean clothes and Dad drove us all over to Charlie’s house.
We knocked on the door and it was pretty much a repeat of what happened at our house. The hugging, the crying. Except that Mrs Brooks screamed a lot louder than Mum.
Dr Brooks rang the police, and two sergeants arrived ten minutes later. Reassuringly, neither of them were wearing brass wristbands.
We told them the kidnapping story. Like Becky suggested, we missed out the aliens-with-hairy-tails-and-space-travel aspect. And the stealing-a-motorbike-and-a-car-and-driving-without-a-licence aspect. And the saving-the-Earth-from-destruction aspect.
The police asked us whether we wanted counselling. We said we’d prefer a hot supper. They told us they’d be in touch and headed out to their car.