Sebastian and Rebecca Abercrombie had been living at Gableforth, 36 Fairfield Avenue, ever since they were married. The 1920’s detached house with its rambling garden was a perfect suburban family home for bringing up their three children. The interior had been modernised many times since it was first built for the architect Geoffrey Pimble, and while none of the original oak-panelled walls were any longer in existence it’s latest makeover at the turn of the 21st century gave it a high-tech interior fit for an advertising executive of Sebastian’s standing, while maintaining a solid classical look on the outside.
The huge garden was a wonderland for children with two large patios, a formal lawn and a large overgrown area at the bottom, with a run-down ‘Wendy House’, which was really a very large garden shed. Since shortly after Gableforth had been built kids regarded the overgrown area as a special place and would play imaginative games there full of fairy princesses, dragons and knights in armour.
That was until Zack and his siblings were born. Imagination didn’t come easy to Zack. He would rather hit out and smash things. He saw a tree’s branches as something to try and wrench off rather than a place where he could rig up a swing.
Rebecca had tried to install Zack in a local nursery when he was three years-old but after a week he became such a disruptive tearaway she was forced to pull him out of the nursery and hire a minder to look after him at home. She apologised to the nursery teacher for Zack’s bad behaviour excusing it by saying: ‘He finds it hard to mix.’
Smiling the teacher said under her breath: ‘But he finds it very easy to stir.’
Zack was no better at home, driving a succession of nannies to the point of distraction. His primary school years were a nightmare. He whipped through all the local schools in no time with one after another politely telling his parents that it might be better for the harmony of the school if Master Abercrombie were to find an alternative educational institute more tailored to his exuberance. That’s why Sebastian was now forking out a fortune for his heir to be educated miles away at a private school for the rich and the damned.
Rebecca loved all her children, even Zack, but she still blanched at the thought of half-term only just starting and just what would happen. In previous years they had gone away on holiday during half-term but every holiday had ended in some sort of disaster and resulting humiliation for the parents. In Majorca Zack had piled stones round a sleeping man on the beach and then put a wooden cross at his head, and in the Lake District had stolen a rowing boat and taken it out on Lake Windermere by himself causing a panic with divers on full-alert. He was seven at the time.
This half-term the kids were staying at home.
‘Children… tea’s ready’, shouted Rebecca from the conservatory. ‘Come in and wash your hands.’ The kids loved to have tea in the conservatory, rather than the kitchen, even if Rebecca was in constant fear for the safety of the windows.
As the children started to storm in from the garden, Blade set his plan in action.
‘Remember we only want the ringleader,’ he told Deep Fat, ‘It’s all down to timing.’
The conservatory was off the hall at the back of the house, which meant the kids had to come through the kitchen into the hall to get there. And it was at the doorway from the kitchen into the hall that Deep Fat and Blade had decided to spring their trap. Deep’s power cord had fast inertia recoil and they were depending on that.
With the door wide-open Deep Fat was on the left hand side, wearing a piece of bubble wrap, and Blade was on the right. Between them flat on the black ceramic floor tiles was the black power cord. They didn’t need any camouflage really because Zack was whooping and hollering and taking no notice of his surroundings. As he approached the open door, with Jake and Lucy in tow, Blade said quietly: ‘Now’
They lifted the power chord a foot off the ground just as Zack was about to go through the doorway. Bang, he tripped and fell, sprawling out on the parquet flooring in the hall. In a split second Blade released the power cord, which retracted back into Deep Fat and saved Jake and Lucy from the fate that had befallen their eldest brother.
‘Mum, mum,’ screamed Zack at the top of his voice, as Rebecca came running from the conservatory. ‘Mummmmmmmmmm.’
Zack was lying on the wooden floor, blood pouring from his nose and a growing bump on his forehead. As soon as his mother approached he feigned unconsciousness.
‘Oh my God,’ said Rebecca, putting her arm under his shoulders and trying to cradle her eldest son. ‘What on earth have you done now! …Zack, Zack,’ she said with alarm, gently slapping his left cheek. ‘ Zack, darling what’s happened to you?’
Zack pretended to come round from a deep sleep. ‘Where am I? Where am I,’ he said.
‘You’re here with mummy. What happened darling?’
‘I can’t see,’ said Zack, blinking his eyes rapidly. ‘I’ve gone blind; I’ve gone blind….Who am I? Where am I? Blood everywhere… what… what,’ and then he collapsed into feigned unconsciousness again.
Rebecca was just about to call the doctor when she saw her son half open his left eye and the tiniest hint of a little smile play across his mouth.
She was furious: ‘Zack Abercrombie, you get up off that floor right now.’
She hauled him up off the floor and dragged him across the hallway into the downstairs lavatory where she took a flannel, ran it under the cold water tap and pinched it to his bloody nose as hard as she could.
‘Ouch mum, that hurts,’ he protested.
‘And so it should,’ she replied. ‘You will be the death of me Zack. Just wait until I tell your father about your antics, frightening the life out of me like that. And in front of your brother and sister as well…
‘But mum…
‘No buts Zack, you’ve gone too far this time,’ said Rebecca as she gripped his nose harder to stop the bleeding.
Jake and Lucy came to see what was going on and Rebecca turned on them as well. ‘You two,’ she said. ‘Get upstairs straight away and wash your hands I’ll see you in the conservatory.’ They shuffled off as fast as they could, mum was in a bad mood.
‘And you young man, can come with me now. She dragged him into the conservatory and said: ‘Sit down there and be quiet.’ Zack’s nose had stopped bleeding but he had a great duck egg of a bump on his forehead.
‘Mum it wasn’t my fault. I was just coming out of the kitchen and something tripped me up and I went flying, believe me. I didn’t do it on purpose.’
‘Something tripped you up,’ said Rebecca in measured tones. ‘Was that the same something that forgot to trip up your brother and sister who were right behind you? Well, was it,’ she shouted.
‘I dunno, said Zack taken aback at the fury in his mother’s voice.
‘Why do you continually play the fool?’ she asked her voice gentler now as she prepared to launch into her usual tirade. ‘Why do you do this Zack, why? Give me one good reason why?’
‘Do what mum?’
‘Do what! Frighten me half to death, scare your brother and sister, rampage round the house creating merry hell, play act at every possible moment, are disrespectful, selfish, ungrateful…’ she started spluttering. ‘I despair of you Zack Abercrombie. ‘Now eat your tea in silence and then go to your room. Your father will have something to say about this when he gets home.’
‘Say about what mum?’ Zack began, but his mother’s scowl caused him to think better of it, so he sat down and ate his tea in silence.
‘It wasn’t my fault… something tripped me up,’ he mumbled.
‘And you can stop mumbling under your breath too,’ his mother said.
Blade and Deep Fat had watched all the goings-on with wry satisfaction. They had got their man and were pleased after all the hurt he had caused to the other gadgets in the kitchen.
Lucy and Jake came down the stairs to tea and while all four family members were in the conservatory sitting in silence Blade, Deep and Lee-Mailer decided it was the perfect moment for
them to head across the hallway to the safety of the cupboard under the stairs.
They moved across the parquet flooring as silently as possible, keeping an eye on the open door into the conservatory. The children were all eating in silence. They could just see the back of Jack and his mum, and the other two Abercrombie children were out of sight. There seemed to be no problems there as the gadgets neared the cupboard door. Lee-Mailer, who regarded the hall as part of his territory, pushed the door. It didn’t budge. He gave a worried smile to Blade and Deep Fat and then pushed the door again. It was locked.
‘Now what?’ whispered Deep Fat, looking at Lee-Mailer with disgust. ’You got any other ideas?’
‘You got a better one?’ he snapped back.
‘I’ve told you two before,’ said Blade. ‘’Now stop all this.’
Then all three of them turned to stare at the front door in horror. There was a car pulling into the driveway.
‘That’ll be your father,’ Rebecca said sternly to Zack.’ He’s home early, aren’t you in for a surprise young man?’
But if Zack was in for a surprise, the three gadgets trapped in the hallway were shocked rigid. They heard footsteps trudging up the drive. Blade immediately realised the danger they were in and swung into action. He inserted the thinnest of the serrated edge knives into the tiny gap between the door and the architrave and slowly pulled it down until he could feel the bolt. It was strong and securely locked. He bent the blade as far as he could and edged it across the bolt. Luckily it was an old bolt that gave him a little leverage.
‘OK, he said to Deep Fat, ‘Pull back on me as hard as you can while I try to snap the bolt open.’ Deep Fat did as he was told, just as all three heard the sound of a key opening the front door. Deep Fat heaved. It didn’t work.
‘One more time,’ said Blade with fear in his trembling voice. ‘One more time.’
And this time the cupboard door sprung open at exactly the same time as the front door, and the gadgets dashed inside just in time to hear Sebastian Abercrombie announce: ‘Darling, I’m home.’
Inside the cupboard under the stairs Blade, Deep Fat and Lee-Mailer all breathed a sigh of relief as they looked around their new surroundings. There were some dustsheets, old tins of paint and a few brushes, plenty of cobwebs, a disused coat rack and a dirty old duvet.
‘Looks ideal,’ said Blade. Both Deep Fat and Lee-Mailer stared at him in disbelief. ‘First we must rest and then I’m aiming to go out again in search of Forque. A couple of hours passed by and all they heard was shouting from outside as Zack got his usual tongue-lashing from his father for his latest unruly incident. Eventually the whole downstairs of the house went quiet and the three gadgets judged it was safe to sleep.
When Deep Fat opened his eyes he saw that Lee-Mailer was already awake. Not only was he awake but he also had his screen open.
‘What are you looking at?’ said Deep Fat.
‘Nothing.’
What do you mean nothing? You can’t be looking at nothing.’
‘Nothing that would interest you…’
The voices woke up Blade who stretched his tungsten carbide serrated edges and yawned. ‘You two at it again.’ he said, more of a statement than a question.
‘Chief,’ said Lee-Mailer because they both now acknowledged that Blade was the leader of their group. ‘Chief, I’ve managed to get into the auction site on the Internet, thought you might want to have a look.’
‘How on earth did you do that? There’s no telephone connection in here.’
‘Ah, there’s one thing you don’t know,’ he replied with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I’m a special edition CI721eZX built for both mobility and wireless. As long as I am fully charged and there’s a wireless router in the vicinity I can operate just about anywhere. There weren’t many of us built because Cane Industries were desperate to keep down costs. I topped myself up using that old electric socket in the corner.’
‘Wow, you’re even handy than I thought,’ said Blade ‘So show me what you can do.’
Lee-Mailer looked at Deep Fat with a smirk of satisfaction on his face. The fryer pretended to look away.
‘Well for a start,’ said Lee-Mailer, directing his conversation to Blade and ignoring Deep Fat, ‘I can have a look at all these online auctions you are so worried about.’
‘Really, then show me.’
With a flick Lee-Mailer pulled up a screen. ‘Here’s what you do,’ he said as his keyboard slid out from underneath. ‘First we go to the biggest auction site in the country, the one most people use, like this and then we enter the type of article we are looking for.
‘Put in emailer,’ chimed up Deep Fat, ‘and see how much you’re not worth.
‘Be quiet.’ ordered Blade.
‘Say for instance ice cream maker,’ continued Lee-Mailer as if there had been no interruption.’ He entered the words. Immediately up came a screen with 286 ice cream makers for auction.
‘Wow’, said Blade impressed. ‘But how do we know which one of those is from this house?’
‘Well we all know that the ice cream maker here is an Italian. How would ‘Zalda the Ice Queen’ ever let us forget, and that she is an all-electric model not one of those cheap ones you put in the fridge. So if we look down this whole list of ice cream makers we can shorten the list to just the ones made in Italy. For instance there’s a couple of Gaggia’s here and an Italian Magimix. There’s quite a few Gaggia in fact. But Zalda, I think, is a Zaltoni, which is pretty rare,’ Lee-Mailer carried on, as if talking to himself.’
After he had exhausted the entire list of ice-cream makers and struggled between half-a-dozen Zaltonis he said: ‘There I bet that’s the one,’ and clicked on the link.
Up came a screen with a lovely picture of Zalda the Ice Queen looking splendid and clean, which wasn’t surprising as she had only ever been out of her box three times.
The product information about Zalda was mouth-watering, no wonder Sebastian Abercrombie worked for an advertising agency, thought Blade
as he read it out: ‘This ice cream-maker is a fiery Latin beauty like only the Italians can make and she will melt your heart. The Zaltoni PQ13 Gelato Chef to give her the correct name delivers big time and in quantity. In fact she can churn 1.5 litres of ice cream or sorbet in 30 minutes so you can serve it fresh on your dinner party table. It’s all due to the built-in freezer which does away with the need to chill the bowl for hours before you want to eat exciting home-made ice cream. The gentle churning and freezing at the same time means all the flavours of your fresh ingredients are magically retained. Just fill the bowl, press the button and relax. The Zaltoni PQ13 even turns itself off when the cycle is complete. One less thing to do. As new, hardly ever used….Recipe book included.’
‘Obviously it was far too complicated for the Abercrombie’s to figure out,’ said Deep Fat who had been quietly listening. ‘How much do they want for Zalda then?’
‘Erm, let’s have a look,’ said Lee-Mailer, scrolling back up the screen. ‘Starting bid £29.99.’
‘£29.99,’ fumed Deep Fat. ‘But they cost more than 250 quid in the shops.’
‘Yes’ explained Lee-Mailer, trying to be patient. ‘But you see my friend, that is just for openers. There are another, let’s have a look, six days to go on this auction and people are expected to bid higher.’
‘Well I jolly well hope so. Our Zalda worth only £29.99, it’s disgusting,’ said Deep Fat, rattling his inner basket in fury.
‘It’s probably more than you’re worth anyway,’ said Lee-Mailer.
‘And what do you mean by that.’
‘Nothing my friend, just that you were a consistent work-top item, highly prized in the household and used a lot, so you’re value’s low,’ he snarled. ‘Zalda was hardly ever used at all.’
‘Ah but I’m not in the auction ‘cos they think I’m still in the kitchen cupboard, they’ve forgotten all about me. Whereas, you, Lee-Mailer, you’re up for it, because we saw your box read
y on the kitchen floor. So there.’
At this point Blade jumped in again and this time he just glared at them and they fell back into silence, but it was ticking over in Lee-Mailer’s mind that Deep Fat was right, he was on the auction list somewhere.
‘OK,’ said Blade. ‘But how are you so certain that particular ice cream maker is our Zalda, it might be a similar machine belonging to someone else.
‘Just look at the right hand side of the screen,’ explained Lee-Mailer. See where it says, ‘Seller’ the ID name next to it is Abercrom42. That’s much to much of a coincidence for it not to be Mr. Abercrombie.’
‘I see,’ replied Blade, his brain already ahead of the game. ‘Can we just look up all the goods that are being sold by Abercrom42?’
‘Of course we can.’
‘Then let’s do it, and let’s find out just how many household accessories this family is trying to get rid of.’
Lee-Mailer clicked on ‘View Seller’s Other Items’ and a list came up on the screen.
Blade peered at the screen in shock. Just about every kitchen gadget in the house was listed. He raced down the list looking for one thing and one thing only, a beautifully designed, exquisite carving fork. He couldn’t see it; he looked again. No, Forque wasn’t there. Blade didn’t know whether to be happy or sad, happy because she wasn’t on the list, but sad because he still didn’t know where she was and neither did the Abercrombies.
The list was a complete gadget cull. Anybody would think the family was preparing to go back to the Nineteenth Century. The most obvious suspects were there, like the poor old toasted sandwich maker who had been with the family a long time, even before Blade arrived. But he had never seen it used. It was a hard thing to say but Blade thought maybe it would be better if the sandwich maker did go to a new home. At least for a week or two he would have some work again.
Glancing further down the list he noticed an old friend, a Salad Shooter. He thought it a neat gadget mainly because it had blades like himself, except that on the Shooter they were cone shaped – one for slicing and one for shredding. The Shooter as he was known around the kitchen could shred large quantities of cheese or slice potatoes in double quick time. You just put them in the top and voila the shooter shot them out the other end and there was your au gratin spuds or the cheese for your lasagne. The blades were dishwasher safe too, just like he was. But they weren’t tungsten carbide tipped. ‘Well,’ thought Blade, ‘you can’t win ‘em all.’
And then Blade had to catch his breath when he saw The General was also up for sale. ‘What!’ exclaimed Blade. ‘I don’t believe it, not The General.’
The General was a lean grilling machine made by General Industries in Chicago, Illinois and had taken the world by storm when first launched. There were many other copy-cat grilling machines on the market but a General 421 TW86 Super Classic was still seen as one of the best to own. Its simplicity is what made it a hit. It contained it’s own thermostat which switched the grill on and off when it reached it’s working temperature, there was a drip tray to catch excess fat and it was easy to clean. A classic gadget.
‘So why on earth would anyone want to get rid of The General,’ thought Blade. ‘Mmmm, well if they Abercrombies don’t want him, I do.’
Blade turned to Deep Fat: ‘I want you to go back into the kitchen and see if you can find The General and bring him back here.’
‘Why me?’
Blade looked exasperated and let out a big sigh. ‘Because, big boy, Lee-Mailer has to stay here to work, and I have to study all the information coming in. And anyway you owe me for getting you out of that kitchen cupboard.’
‘But it means having to cross the hallway again…on my own.’ And he gave a worried gulp.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll make sure the coast is clear. I wouldn’t send you out there if Zack was on the warpath. But the one thing to remember when you make it to the kitchen is not to let Toaster see you. Is that clear?’
‘Yes chief,’ I’m well aware of that. But why do you want The General here anyway?’
‘They’ve put him up for auction and we can’t afford to let him go. Now let’s just wait until the time is right and off you go. It ‘s not too difficult you just have to bring back The General on his own. I’m relying on you for this Deep Fat and I know you won’t let me down.’
The slight praise went straight to Deep Fat’s head as it was intended to do. ‘I’ll do my best chief, I’ll do my best.’
They waited in silence for nearly half-an-hour, checking the hallway now and again through a crack in the door and listening for any sounds. When Blade was convinced there was no one around he turned to Deep Fat and said: ‘OK, off you go and the best of luck.’ And with that he opened the cupboard door as silently as possible and Deep Fat was on his way.
‘I don’t know about all this,’ the fryer kept mumbling to himself as he moved across the parquet flooring, which to him seemed miles wider than when they had arrived.
He slowly edged across until he got to the open kitchen door, sweat pouring off his lid and down into his viewing window. Remembering to be on the lookout for Toaster, he peered slightly round the doorjamb. Toaster was at his usual station on the worktop engaged in conversation with old chrome dome himself Kettle. Deep Fat eased himself into the kitchen. Things were very much the same as when he had left: popped bubble wrap, smashed boxes, old newspapers strewn around; gadgets here and there. No one had been down to clear up yet which gave Deep Fat a slight advantage and he dived under the nearest debris and breathed a sigh of relief.
He moved quickly towards Jane Dough who smiled when she saw him. It made Deep Fat happy to see her smile because she had been so sad and crying.
‘Oh Deep Fat,’ she said. ‘You promised to come back for me and you have.’
‘Yeah, well…um… you see,’ explained Deep Fat in his usual way. ‘I’m really looking for The General.’ And then seeing how downcast Jane became added: ‘But of course I’m here for you as well. Er… you don’t know where The General is do you?’
’I think he’s over near the Aga.’
Deep Fat promised again he would be back and set off towards the Aga range.
As he passed the giant Brabantia kitchen bin, and still keeping an eye on the worktop for any sign of Toaster, Deep Fat spotted The General. ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ he said to himself.
The General was crouching. Deep Fat coughed, ‘Excuse me General.’
‘Down, down, surveillance op,’ came back the reply and The General waved his hand at Deep Fat to get down. Deep Fat crouched as well. “Well what is it man, I haven’t got all day.’
‘Blade would like to see you sir.’
‘See me, what on earth for? Can’t you see I’m busy on this surveillance op, codename Aroma?’
‘Yes sir, but he says it’s important sir. All the kitchen gadgets are at risk. Blade needs to see you quickly.’
‘Gadgets….at risk…. What do you mean man, are we under attack? Spit it out.’
Don’t know sir, I was just told to find you and take you to Blade sir. He will give you the full details’
‘Hmmph,.. and what about Operation Aroma? I’ve had him pinned down now for weeks.
‘Don’t know sir.’
‘Don’t know, don’t know… Any further orders from HQ.’
No sir, that’s where I’m to take you sir, to headquarters.’
‘Dammit,’ said The General, turning round. ‘Let’s have a look at you man. Well you’re no lean, mean killing machine are you? What are you doing in this squad? You need to shape up, lose some of that fat.’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Well don’t shilly-shally about man, lead on, lead on.’
Deep Fat re-trod his steps back past the upmarket rubbish bin and into the jungle of old newspapers and bubble wrap, keeping one eye on Toaster and making a bee-line for the door, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t run into Jane Dough.
‘You’re in a hurry boy,’ said The
General. ‘Best to keep low and move slowly when you’re on manoeuvres you know.’
‘Yes sir, but this is urgent sir.’
And just as he turned the corner of the next packing case Deep Fat ran straight into Jane and a grimace set on his face.
‘I’m all ready,’ said Jane with an exuberance that hadn’t been seen in a long time. ‘Let’s go.’
‘Who’s this?’ demanded The General. ‘A nurse. Are we going to sustain casualties?’
Deep Fat was at his wit’s end and didn’t know what to do. He had a crazy old soldier on one hand and a dolled-up bread maker on the other. He started to explain to Jane: ‘First I have to take The General to see Blade, then I’ll….
‘You mean you’re leaving me – again,’ exclaimed Jane bursting into tears.
‘No it’s not like that,’ he began. ‘It’s just that…’ And then he felt weary. ‘OK get in line then, but be quiet and don’t say a word.’
All three of them made it to the kitchen door, checked there were no Abercrombies around and hurried across the hallway to the cupboard under the stairs. Deep tapped on the door and it was quickly opened.
‘Well done,’ said Blade on seeing The General behind the fryer. It all went OK then?
‘Yes, yes… there is one small thing.’
‘What’s that?’ said Blade, intrigued.
‘Surprise,’ announced Jane Dough.
Blade’s face crumpled.
CHAPTER FOUR
A PLAN IS HATCHED
Gadgets: The Great Escape Page 3
