[Brenda & Effie 00] - A Treasury of Brenda and Effie

by ed. Paul Magrs

  “Brenda, are you alright,” said Tilly.

  “I’m bloomin’ fantastic,” I holler back. There’s nothing like a good ruckus to get the blood pumping.

  “Now get me out of here,” I say.

  “We’ve retrieved the interior layout – keep going, down the corridor on your left and keep running.”

  An alarm has gone off inside the ship, a piercing repeated ring alerting every potato head to my presence.

  My spare hand clings on as I sprint along taking directions in my ear. There it is, some kind of docking hanger with a little gang of potato heads at work. I barge over and knock out the first two with an upper cut and a good backhander and then boot the third, fourth and fifth away with a succession of quick forward and back kicks. I recognise the craft that are docked here. I know how to fly one. I have been trained well. Before I get in one, I go over to a terminal in the wall and punch a hole through the screen. Then I hoist up my skirts and pull down one of my stocking tops. There is a secret compartment in my left thigh and I click it open and take out a device the size of a butternut squash.

  Watching this onscreen I discreetly feel down under my vintage evening gown for the secret compartment. It’s not there but then I’ve had many spare parts in my time.

  I take the squash and hurl it down into the smashed screen and hear it falling down into the interior mechanisms, clinking and chinking as it tumbles.

  “Three minutes Brenda,” comes the call in my ear.

  “I’m out of here,” I reply.

  I clamber over the dropped potato heads littering the docking bay and say, “There’s a rip above Mars, a tear in the universe. That’s where they’re coming from. Sending you the co-ordinates.” I can feel my eye clicking and whizzing and spinning around.

  “Thank you Brenda – locking onto target NOW.”

  Then from deep below me sounded a booming BANG and I am thrown to the floor.

  “Time to go!” I shout.

  I get up and race over to one of the small craft, booting a potato head out of the way. A fireball erupts out of the smashed screen and the wall bends inwards for a second before exploding outwards. The entire docking bay starts to rise upwards tilting towards forty-five degrees and I only just make it to the craft. I’m in and at the controls firing up the engine.

  I spin the ship around and head towards the opening leading out into space. A few potato heads come tumbling out past me and hit what must be an invisible shield in front. I know about this. I was well briefed. Leaning out of the cockpit I take a second device out of the secret compartment in my left thigh and taking aim, hurl it at the invisible shield. BANG! It’s gone – fizzing out of action as I hurtle towards it.

  “I’ll be home in time for tea,” I holler whooping with relief. “Put the kettle on.”

  “Well done Brenda!” said Tilly. “See you soon – will that be Earl Grey or English Breakfast?”

  “English Breakfast of course!” I cry back.

  As I approach the exit I can see Earth in all her glory and this time she is fighting back. Rockets from all over the globe are zooming upwards from every continent hitting the alien craft hanging all over the planet. Whatever it is I’ve done I’ve been successful in taking down any protective shielding those ship have. All over the stratosphere, the alien ships are exploding into smithereens.

  Then, a twitchy niggle. I look around and can’t see my spare hand. In all the rush I’ve been operating this craft onehandedly. I’m almost out of the ship, hovering on the lip of the exit. I can’t leave without my spare hand. I manoeuvre the ship around. Explosions and debris are flying everywhere with a few more potato heads being sucked out into space. Where is it? There! Clinging onto a metal railing for dear life. I manoeuvre over and the thumb on my spare hand beckons for me to leave before it’s too late. No way. I’m positioning the craft into place beneath my hand and open the cockpit roof. My hand drops down and I grab it, sliding the roof closed, turning the craft around and we’re off. BOOM!

  The hanger explodes around us and I can barely keep control. My spare hand is back on my wrist spinning frantically back into place. Now I can take the controls with both hands and put my foot down zooming towards the hanger bay exit. BOOM! Behind us comes a massive fireball burning our bottoms as we almost clear the door. We are five seconds too late and are caught in the explosion as the ship turns upside down and I lose all navigation control. We are hurtling towards Earth inside a meteor storm of debris and toasted potato heads.

  Back in Glenda’s dressing room, Effie was jumping up and down beside me. “You did it Brenda! You saved the Earth from those marauding monsters! You did it, you did it, you did it!”

  I hadn’t seen her this het-up since she won a fifteen quid on the Grand National.

  “That’s how it happened then,” said Glenda taking a drag from her vapourlite. “That’s how you got to be in that vineyard in that smoking hole. You crash landed on Earth after destroying the alien fleet. Well done Brenda darling, you’re a hero.”

  “It looks like I contributed at least,” I said. “With help from this Tilly person in my ear. I have no idea what that jacket potato spud like thing was on about, wanting me to reveal the secret location where the Palace was though.”

  “Well, let’s find out,” said Glenda and she worked her fingers over the glowing globe again winding the action back like a DVD rewind.

  I am standing on London Bridge calling out into the wreckage of the city. “Here I am, come and get me. I have news on the resistance.”

  In the water below, a murky shadowy green glow and then up from the depths rises one of those walking machines with the Thames sloshing off the sides. A tendril like coiling metal arm with a clawed hand reaches out and grabs me and I am dumped into a wire net like basket hanging below its dripping underbelly.

  Then, there I am, prepping for the trip. Putting the butternut squash devices into the secret cavity in my left thigh and pulling up my stocking tops. Checking my whirling eyeball and, shockingly, clicking a new ear into place. A woman stands before me wearing a 50’s style floral dress.

  “All set, Brenda dear?”

  “Yes Ma’am.”

  “Oh, please call me Margot.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, your Highness, Margot.”

  “For Queen and country Brenda – I know you can do it.”

  “Yes, Margot.”

  Then I’m standing in a grand room, filled with paintings and chandeliers and ornate furniture. All around is a hive of activity with people buzzing around at machines and big screens, like in the cinema, showing world maps and black spots and flashing lights. I clock one of the disgusting phlegmy blob like invader things bottled up inside a huge bell jar.

  “What is this place?” I ask.

  “Codename: the Palace, Brenda dear. We decamped to an old Tupperware factory in Bournemouth. It’s our secret HQ against the invaders.”

  A woman in her early twenties with an immaculately coiffured chignon and pillar box red lippy comes up to greet me.

  “Brenda, we meet at last.” She grabs both my hands. “I’m Mathilde Brown, but please call me Tilly. I’m Head of Operations round here.”

  “Pleasure to meet you Miss Brown,” I say.

  Back we go, I’m wearing a knitted blue and white jumper and am loading a tray of fish into a smoky kiln. I turn around and three people are standing behind the counter at the front of the shop.

  “Good evening,” I say, “we’re closed I’m afraid, I’ve just turned off the till.”

  “We haven’t come for pickled herrings,” says the woman wearing a smart magenta trilby. “Your country needs you Brenda – we’ve found you at last.”

  Then I remember. If Glenda goes back any further we’ll dive into that adventure Henry and I had in that lost pocket of prehistoric forest at the foot of the cliffs of Dover. That’s how I ended up in that pickling shop when I got washed out to sea and was picked up by a Norwegian fishing trawler. I didn’t want any picture of H
enry popping up just now. This was all a bit much as it was. I’d have a private chat with Glenda later. I didn’t want all of my dirty laundry airing in public!

  “I think I need a break Glenda,” I said. “All these revelations about me saving the Earth from the invaders are a bit much to take in.”

  “Oh,” Glenda paused taking her hand off the ball. It was a good watch, these flashbacks of mine, I could see she was disappointed. “Of course Brenda darling, we could all do with a cuppa.” I went to take my hand off the ball also but it wouldn’t budge. “Glenda,” I said. “I can’t lift my hand – it’s stuck!”

  “That’s not happened before,” said Glenda. “Here let me help.” She came over to where I sat and tried to prise my hand off the globe. I felt a sudden surge of panic come over me.

  I could see the light of the ball glowing up through my hand illuminating veins. Then we heard a noise that I instantly recognised. It was that hideous potato head cackle. We turned and looked at the wall behind us and slowly an image began to materialize.

  It was the potato head that had me strapped down on the spaceship. It had its hand on an identical ball and I could feel its little mind control fireflies starting to enter my mind. The potato head was fixed on me. Where was it projecting from? Another time or dimension?

  “Glenda, Effie” I shrieked. “It’s got control over me. It survived and it’s coming for me.”

  “Where are you?” it demanded.

  Effie grabbed my hand and tried to yank it off the ball. “It’s stuck Brenda, I can’t get it off!”

  I clamped my mouth shut. I instantly knew what it was attempting to do. If the ball could travel into my past, then surely it could also travel back the other way to my future. One timeline with multiple doors along the route. And like I discovered, a door could be stepped through both ways.

  The fireflies were fizzing around my head, focusing in on a tiny part of my mind. I couldn’t keep the door closed any longer, catching me on the hop like it did.

  “The date is twenty-six of February in the year two thousand and sixteen,” I cried out. “The location is Whitby in the North East of England.”

  The potato head let out a hideous cackle of delight in response.

  I said, “They’re locking onto the ball as a beacon. They’re trying to open a door which leads straight back to Earth!”

  Glenda yelled out for her boys but they’d disappeared. Then Chris appeared in the doorway; just as I felt a hot surge of heat from the ball and my hand shot straight off. The ball spun wildly on the spot and then actually hovered for a few seconds before shooting straight-up through Glenda’s dressing room ceiling sending down a shower of cakey plaster. A cold shot of air came rushing down to meet us.

  We ran out into the cold night. There was the ball high above the Pavilion spinning like a little moon in the black starry sky. Behind it the black sky was starting to recede like an ink blot spreading on paper and we could see another sky through the opening aperture, all flaming red like hot chilli soup, with objects hovering on the brink waiting to come in. Glenda’s crystal ball was beckoning in a flotilla of alien ships.

  “What are we going to do?” cried Effie, her hair wind whipped and trench coat flapping.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I can feel them celebrating and whooping with glee. They’ve been waiting for this moment for decades. Hiding out there somewhere. They escaped the Clackers attack and now I’ve let them back in.”

  And then I said, “Clackers?”

  The rip in the night sky widened and the lead ship came closer. All around us Whitby twinkled in the night, lights through cottage windows, the promenade display, the illuminated Abbey all Gothic and glorious and about to be the landing point of an alien attack. And it was all my fault.

  HONK! HONK! HONK!

  We turned. A car was speeding up towards the Pavilion, headlights like a monster’s eyes running towards its prey.

  “Whatever next,” I thought.

  Out of the car clambered…

  Top Bun!

  Huffing and puffing she made her way to the boot and disappeared from view as the boot door flipped upwards. She remerged holding a cylinder type thing perched on her right shoulder.

  “’Scuse me ladies,” she said as she shuffled past.

  “My Henry’s got a big bazooka,” said Glenda.

  Really now I thought, experiencing another vivid flashback. This is hardly the time or place for that! But then I clocked what Glenda meant. She indicated towards Top Bun who was adjusting her projectile device.

  “Like she’s got there,” said Glenda. “Henry used one of those once to take down that Robot Cyclops in Sienna.”

  “Oh Lady,” I thought pursing my lips. “Sienna now, is it!”

  Top Bun took a step back, aimed the bazooka at the rip and fired. A rocket blasted out of the cylinder and flew upwards towards the lead ship as it emerged through the tear in time and space. There was a big asteroid sized dent on the bumper of the tarnished hull and I clocked some kind of weapon underneath. I watched in horror as the weapon jerkily moved into position and I saw it was aligning itself to target the Abbey on the East Cliff. If the Bitch’s Maw was blasted open with the destruction of Whitby, we’d have all the residents of Hell crawling up from the depths.

  Great. Any plans I had to bake a lemon drizzle this weekend were out the window.

  There was an instant impact. BOOM! We all stepped back shielding our eyes against the fiery maelstrom, as Top Bun’s rocket hit the lead ship head on. The rip imploded back into itself and we saw the tear close, as the ship behind was dragged back and obliterated into smithereens.

  Glenda’s crystal ball dropped like a stone to the pavement in front of us. Without hesitation, Effie quick stepped forward and booted it over the promenade edge and we heard it plop into the North Sea.

  Top Bun came shuffling over. “Evening Ladies and Gents,” she huffled and puffled. Then nodding to me. “Good to work with you again Brenda, remember me? I’m Matilde Brown, you knew me as Tilly.”

  So Top Bun was Matilde Brown or Tilly Brown as I had known her. What had started out as me planning a quiet weekend cooking, spring cleaning and baking with the radio on in the background had turned out to be a Friends Reunited do and the discovery I had been instrumental in saving the Earth. We went down to Cod Almighty to chew it all over.

  “I recognised you of course Brenda in the supermarket. You didn’t clock who I was, though we did strike up an acquaintance,” said Top Bun.

  I nodded and smiled.

  “I was going to pluck up courage and ask you for a coffee and butterscotch yum yum in the café. But I could see you were settled here running your B&B. After all the nightmares of the invasion, I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject and then decided it was best left. So I just kept an eye out to make sure you were doing alright.”

  Speaking of eyes. “So that’s how you knew what was going in in Glenda’s dressing room, my eye – it’s still active isn’t it?”

  “I’m afraid so Brenda, it clicked into action when you made contact with that piece of alien tech – that’s what it was designed to do. I was at home watching my favourite soap when I received a signal that you’d made contact again. I’m still in active service you know,” she beamed. “I’m still a member of The Clackers.”

  “Clackers?” said Glenda

  “All of us in the service who were good at crossword puzzles, problem solving, chess and knitting. We could all knit like the clappers, so we called ourselves The Clackers.”

  “Code breakers, ducky?” said Effie.

  “Exactly,” said Top Bun.

  We sat there munching our way through our chippy supper.

  “So, what’s next Glenda?” I said.

  “Well, I’ve got my Henry coming down sometime soon,” she said looking up from her compact as she reapplied her lippy. “Now my show is kaput, I’m at a loose end for a few weeks. I could always bunk up with you Brenda here in Whitby. I don’t
feel like going back to Brighton just yet.”

  Well, I had to tell Glenda about Henry now if we were going to be friends again.

  “About Henry,” I said.

  Then Chris’s phone rang – it was Robert was calling.

  “Excuse me ladies.”

  Robert was frantic on the phone.

  “Calm down Babe,” Chris said, “Speak slowly, what’s happened?”

  Twenty minutes later, the whole gang of us turned up at the Miramar. There was Robert and Penny in the lobby with a load of black bin bags in front of Reception. The place looked like it had been turned over and robbed. I recognised that whiff of oriental eau du toilette as soon as I walked in.

  “She’s booted me out,” said Robert. “Lou Lou Matrese has taken over the Miramar.”

  Behind Reception stood an exotic looking woman with cat-eye makeup, spicy red pepper lippy and sporting long glossy black hair with a fringe that could slice lemons. I couldn’t help but notice the flashy designer logo embossed on the band of her high waisted flamingo pink trousers.

  “Good evening,” she smiled at us all. Then looking directly at Effie and myself she said, “So we meet again. Brenda. Effie.”

  Effie and I looked at each other and signed.

  “Lynn Manchu,” I said. “What are you doing back in town?”

  “Well, it’s not to take over this dump,” said Lynn, her eyes narrowing. “Sheila and I never did share the same taste.”

  Then she said. “Let’s cut to the chase. Where is it, where did my father hide his greatest secret? I know you know, ladies.”

  So that was it. She’s after that elixir of eternal life that Fu cooked up years ago which had caused all that hassle with invading forces seeking the secret of immortality. I had the wretched vial in my bathroom cupboard at home, at the back, behind the cotton buds and ear drops.

  Should we just hand it over to her for the sake of a bit of peace and quiet? I was so looking forward to getting back to a bit of normality. Not on your nelly mate.

  So much for a quiet weekend then. I looked at Effie and the rest of the gang and shrugged.