The Kid Who Came From Space

by Ross Welford

  Now it’s Gran’s turn to sit on my bed. She takes my hand in one of hers and with her other uses a tissue to dry my face. She tucks it back into the pocket of her dressing gown.

  ‘I don’t think you’re lying,’ she says.

  I’m astonished. ‘You heard all that?’

  ‘I heard it. Your dad’s under a lot of strain, pet. We all are. But if I’ve learned one thing in my seventy-ahem years it’s this: sometimes what you think are the wildest lies turn out to be the truth.’

  ‘S … so you believe me?’

  Gran smiles. ‘You forget, pet: I’m a twin as well.’

  She’s right: I often forget that. Gran’s twin sister – Great-aunty Di – emigrated to Australia before I was born. I’ve never met her.

  ‘If something happened to Diane,’ says Gran, ‘I would know. And when I had your dad, three weeks early, Di called me the next day. She knew because she had felt labour pains.’

  The pains that tell you you’re about to give birth? I give Gran a puzzled look.

  ‘How does that work?’

  ‘No idea, pet. It’s a twin thing, and it doesn’t happen all the time. But somewhere out there in the I-don’t-know-what there’s a connection … that is, if you ask me. It might be like a bat’s squeak that you cannit hear but every now and then you can tune into it like an old car radio. So if you say that you know Tammy’s alive somewhere, then it makes sense to pay attention because, Lord knows, no one else seems to have a clue.’

  I repeat my question from before. ‘So you believe me? About the alien?’

  Gran narrows her eyes and makes a little half-smile.

  ‘I never said that, pet. But put it this way: I don’t think you’re lying.’ She takes off her large glasses and peers into my eyes. ‘You’re a good lad, Ethan. And I know you wouldn’t knowingly lie about something like this.’

  I am so relieved to hear this that I feel my bottom lip trembling, and I don’t want to cry any more, so I am glad when Gran gets up slowly from my bed and goes to my door.

  ‘Your dad’s off tomorrow to go and see your mam. So perhaps you and me can get to the bottom of this?’

  Huh. Who’d have expected that? My little, harmless, hot-chocolate-loving Gran might turn out to be just the adult we need.

  It’s midnight and I’m still awake. I didn’t sleep at all last night, so I am exhausted. Truly drained. But I still can’t sleep.

  What is happening?

  What is Hellyann doing at the bike rental shop?

  How will I get Tammy back?

  Sleep doesn’t come till about five in the morning and when I awake, the room is so cold that my breath makes clouds, but at least the stink has gone.

  A weak light, the colour of milky tea, struggles through the glass, and when I look out, it’s snowing again. Outside, Dad is scraping ice from the windscreen of our car, and beyond the car park I can just make out the shapes of the hills through the whiteout. I can also see the roof of Mad Mick’s Mental Rentals, and I wonder – as I’ve been wondering all night – how Hellyann is coping.

  ‘Ah, you’re up – great!’ Gran stands in the doorway. ‘Busy day – remember?’

  I do remember, and I nod.

  It’s not even eight o’clock and I’m exhausted.

  A few minutes later, Dad comes into the kitchen beating his hands together from the cold. ‘Wow! It’s flippin’ Baltic out there.’ He puts his hands on Gran’s cheeks and she squeals, then he ruffles my hair and says, ‘A’reet, champ?’ It’s Dad’s way of saying there are no hard feelings but I know from experience that he’ll not want the subject of Iggy or alien spaceships brought up again.

  Gran hands him a flask of tea and a packet of sandwiches.

  ‘Is your phone charged?’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’

  ‘Have you packed a shovel?’

  ‘Yes, Mam.’

  ‘Don’t drive into a snowdrift, all right?’

  ‘I’ll try not to, Mam.’ He puts a hand on my shoulder and says, ‘Your mam’s going to be fine’, then he heads out of the front door.

  As soon as the door slams, Gran puts another fried egg on to my plate and folds her arms.

  ‘Where is it, then?’ asks Gran. ‘This alien of yours?’

  ‘It’s a her, not an it,’ I say through a mouthful of egg.

  She shrugs off this detail. ‘Is that what the smell is in your room? Alien? It reminds me of when your dad and Uncle Alan kept a dead frog in their room for a fortnight and—’

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ I interrupt. I’m becoming a bit defensive about Hellyann’s smell, I find.

  ‘It’s better now that you’ve hung it out of the window.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  Gran gives me a pitying look, just like Tammy used to. It’s amazing how my gran can sometimes seem like a quarter of her age. ‘Because I looked, clever clogs. Now eat up and let’s go.’

  Gran and I haven’t really said much. I grab a packet of cheese from the fridge (I know Hellyann likes that) and some bananas in case she’s hungry, and Gran just watches, apparently trusting that I know what I’m doing, which is nice of her.

  Or perhaps she’s just indulging me, like grown-ups do sometimes. You know: Let him have his bit of fun – let him work out whatever fantasy is currently in his worried little head, bless him, and he’ll soon see sense.

  She’s in her normal clothes: thick, fleece-lined running bottoms, a double-layer, zip-up top and big trainers with woollen socks. She pulls a hat over her short white hair, adjusts her specs, and together we trudge through the snow up the hill to Mad Mick’s Mental Rentals.

  There’s a trail of footprints in the snow leading to the metal front door, and I immediately feel a surge of nerves. What if …

  I don’t know what if, actually. It’s just that another set of footprints makes me nervous. I look at them carefully. They’re not wellington boots, so it isn’t Hellyann. They are different, and there’s something else: something making a track alongside the feet.

  Suzy!

  I grin to myself, and the metal door opens a crack to reveal a tousled mop of copper curls.

  ‘You took your time,’ says Iggy.

  He opens the door further and his face falls when he sees Gran.

  I hold up my hands defensively. ‘It’s OK. It’s OK. This is my gran.’

  ‘You say that like it explains everything,’ says Iggy.

  But there’s no sign of Hellyann.

  ‘… and so,’ Iggy concludes, ‘we brought her here.’

  Iggy’s story is exactly the same as what I told Gran, who listened carefully, alert for any inconsistencies that would indicate we were lying.

  We sit – me, Iggy holding Suzy in his lap, and Gran – on the seats that form the reception area of Mad Mick’s. Orchestral music is playing on a tiny speaker plugged into an ancient iPod on the table between us. Hellyann, Iggy has explained, is taking a hot shower in the tiny bathroom out the back, but I’m still not sure Gran believes us.

  Gran has sat tight-lipped in concentration as we tell our tale, starting with my and Iggy’s ‘pike-hunting’ expedition two nights ago and our encounter with the two Geoffs. Gran shakes her head and pulls a face when they are mentioned.

  ‘Never liked them two. The older one especially.’

  ‘You know them?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘You forget I grew up near here, pet. Geoff Mackay – the older one – was married to my bridesmaid’s daughter, Maureen. Nasty piece of work, he was.’

  Then behind us, the bathroom door opens. A huge cloud of steam billows out, and from the middle of the steam emerges a figure, fully clothed in jeans tucked into wellies, a thick sweater in coloured stripes that Gran would have called ‘jazzy’ and a woollen hat. The music swells to its climactic final chord in a way that could have been planned, but wasn’t – although Iggy has a slight smirk as though he realises the drama of the moment.

  Hellyann comes closer, shyly, and stands before us, sniffi
ng the air. Wet strands of hair poke out from beneath her woollen hat. I can’t see her tail, but the back of her jeans is bulging slightly so I guess she’s stuffed it away. She narrows her eyes at Gran and then looks at me accusingly.

  Gran gasps and lifts her hand to her mouth in astonishment, saying in a little voice, ‘Oh, my giddy aunt!’

  ‘This is my gran.’ I say. ‘My grandmother. My … my father’s mother.’

  Gran steps forward. Hellyann edges backwards.

  ‘It’s all right. You can trust her.’ I turn to Gran. ‘Can’t she?’

  ‘Yes, dear,’ says Gran to Hellyann. ‘You can trust me. I want to help to get Tammy back.’

  Hellyann looks at Gran for the longest time before saying, ‘You tolt someone.’ Even through her squeaky monotone I can tell she is upset and scared.

  ‘It’s my gran. Christine. She’s totally trustworthy.’

  ‘Do you mean your grantmother? How to I know she is trustworthy?’

  ‘Because … because she’s my gran, Hellyann!’ I know it sounds lame, but I can’t quickly think of anything else. ‘Grans are totally trustworthy. It’s kind of a rule.’

  Gran speaks next, and it’s the ‘Gran-est’ thing I have ever heard. ‘I like your jumper, pet. I like the colours.’

  Hellyann looks down at her sweater, kind of uncomprehendingly.

  Iggy’s brow is furrowed. He’s looking at Hellyann’s face.

  ‘Have you shaved, Hellyann?’

  Hellyann’s long hand strokes her cheek. ‘I fount an implement in the bathroom which was effective in removing some of my face hair. I thought it may be useful not to look so unushual.’

  I hand over the food I brought in my pockets. There are some empty packets of Cheesy Wotsits on the floor, so she has eaten something. Still, Hellyann tears the wrapper off the block of cheese with her teeth and bites straight into it, taking huge mouthfuls and chewing with her mouth open, which Gran would have commented on if it had been me – but now she says nothing.

  Instead she gets to her feet, straightens her shoulders and looks at Hellyann over the top of her glasses. She’s quite small, my gran, but when she fixes you with her dark eyes, it’s quite an intimidating look. It’s what she has done countless times with me and Tammy over the years and it means: I’m taking no nonsense here, and you had better not be messing about.

  She says, ‘Ethan tells me that you know where our Tammy is, young, erm …’ she pauses and then settles on, ‘young lady.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Hellyann, spraying tiny gobbets of cheese as she speaks. Then she swallows a big mouthful and licks her teeth with her long tongue. Gran doesn’t flinch. ‘But we do not have excessive time.’ The word excessive sprays more cheese and a bit lands on Gran’s glasses.

  We are just thinking about this, when there’s the noise of a rattling engine a little way down the hill. Seconds later, the front door bursts open and the Geoffs stand there, silhouetted in the doorway.

  Through the opened door, I can see the Geoffs’ rattly old car.

  The two men march forward to our little group sitting around the coffee table. The younger one is still carrying the gun at his side, but most of it is covered by his coat, which has flapped open. The older Geoff starts speaking even before he gets close to us, shaking his head in disbelief as he stares at us.

  ‘Oh my goodness me. Oh my goodness, gracious me. Gerroff!’ Suzy is flapping and pecking around his ankles, causing him to kick out. Thankfully, his aim is poor and Suzy just hops out of the way before going back in for another peck. She really is like a little, angry terrier.

  The two Geoffs stand while we sit, and the younger one snorts when he sees Gran.

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ Geoff Jr says. ‘Look who’s here! They’ve got a little old lady to help them!’

  Geoff Sr, who has been staring at Hellyann, glances over at Gran and says, ‘I saw. What’s up, Christine? Small world, eh?’

  The two Geoffs laugh: a horrible, mocking chuckle.

  Gran says nothing and keeps her eyes on the two men. And still Suzy is growling and pecking at their legs.

  Hellyann hasn’t sat down, and she starts to move away. She could make a run for it. She is easily agile enough, but as soon as she moves, the younger Geoff nudges his coat aside to bring into view a long, shiny farmer’s shotgun, which he raises and points lazily at Hellyann.

  Gran gives a little bark of contempt.

  ‘Ha! Is that the antique shotgun your dad stole from his father-in-law? He always knew who’d taken it.’

  Geoff Jr looks uneasy, his eyes darting between Gran, Hellyann and his dad. Gran tuts but says no more.

  ‘You’s have all gone very quiet,’ says the older Geoff. ‘I’ll make it easy for you. Hand over the alien right now, and everything’ll be fine. Otherwise …’ He leaves the threat hanging, but it doesn’t sound good.

  It’s Gran who gets to her feet and goes straight up to them, seemingly unafraid of the shotgun. ‘Otherwise what, exactly? You’ll kill her? I don’t think you have the nerve.’ She’s staring at them from beneath her woolly hat, her eyes burning and furious. ‘You …’ she points at Geoff Sr, and looks him up and down, ‘you are just a bully, and you always have been. And as for you, little Geoffrey with your popgun, you’re pathetic. All you both want is some sort of recognition, some sort of fame and you don’t care about anybody else.’

  The Geoffs look at Gran, then at each other, and a slow grin spreads across each of their faces. They start to laugh.

  As their laughter grows, Suzy becomes yet more agitated. Geoff Sr is laughing so hard that he bends down and it’s only when he stands up again that I realise he has grabbed Suzy and is holding her by the throat. The laughter stops as if a switch had been flicked, and Suzy flaps her wings in protest.

  Poor Iggy rushes forward but the younger Geoff takes a pace to put himself between Iggy and his chicken.

  Geoff Sr turns to his son. ‘You bought our Sunday lunch yet, Geoffrey?’

  ‘No, Dad, I haven’t. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’

  ‘Exactly, son. It’s the perfect size for two, this one,’ he says, holding Suzy up. He then tucks the bird under his arm and holds her tightly by the neck. ‘You see, all I have to do is make a little twist here …’ He mimes breaking Suzy’s neck.

  ‘No!’ says Hellyann and she steps forward.

  Without letting go of the bird, the old man relaxes his grip on Suzy’s neck, and the chicken shakes her head in disapproval.

  ‘Well, would you believe it? It speaks! What is it, ET?’ says Geoff Sr. ‘One animal death enough for you, eh? Or perhaps you want to kill this one yourself as well? Either way, very sensible. And you speak English? This gets better and better. Make sure you tell them that, son.’

  Geoff Jr is on his phone and we all listen to his side of the conversation.

  ‘We’ve got it, Jamie. I said, we’ve got it … Aye. Right here … Pictures? Aye, I’ll send you some … Aye, and the black stick thing I mentioned … How long will you be? … I said, how long …’ Geoff Jr pauses to glare at his phone and then shakes it, as though that will improve the signal. Then he tuts and puts his phone away.

  He says to his father, ‘They’re on their way. Dunno how long. Depends on the roads. Couldn’t hear properly.’

  ‘Who is on their way?’ says Gran forcefully.

  ‘Oh, hello, Christine,’ says Geoff Senior. ‘I’d forgotten you were there. Who do you think would be most interested in ET here? A journalist perhaps, like Jamie Bates, that blow-dried idiot off the telly? Or even someone from the military? Or how about, ooh … both? Aye, the press and the Royal Air Force are both on their way. Geoffrey, keep them here while I get the car.’ He leaves through the double doors, Suzy still tucked under his arm.

  Geoff Jr still has his gun aimed towards Hellyann. He edges round behind Hellyann and jerks his head towards the door. ‘Come on, ET. It’s not far.’

  This is too much for me. ‘Stop!’ I shout, and he does, looking
round slowly.

  ‘Please!’ I continue. ‘This is about Tammy. Can’t you see? She knows where Tammy is! You’re going to ruin everything!’

  Geoff Jr glances down at the ground and, for a moment, I think my plea has been effective. He can’t ignore that, surely?

  He speaks so quietly I have to strain to hear him. ‘Don’t you worry about that, my little friend. This will all be over in half an hour.’ He smiles a sickly grin. ‘We’ll be done with her, and then you can have her back to chase your sister. That way, everybody wins, eh? Ta-ra!’

  Seconds later, the throaty sound of the old engine rattles outside, and Geoff Jr leads Hellyann at gunpoint out of Mad Mick’s Mental Rentals and into the car.

  He turns back and repeats the mirthless grin. ‘Isn’t this fun?’

  Then he slams the door behind him and the car roars off.

  Nobody says anything for what seems like ages.

  The three of us – Iggy, Gran and I – watch the car pull away with Hellyann and Suzy inside, spraying up snow behind it, and then we stand silently next to one another.

  I see Iggy’s lips moving but I don’t hear what he’s saying. I think he’s just mouthing ‘Suzy’ over and over again.

  ‘Where do they live, then?’ asks Gran eventually. ‘Is he still in that dump of a place up the road to the observatory?’

  I nod sadly, my gaze transfixed by the tyre tracks leading away from us.

  ‘He is? I might have known it. Well, come on – let’s get going.’ Gran claps her hands together purposefully.

  ‘To do what?’ I say.

  I really feel deflated. What chance do any of us have against a pair of psychos with a shotgun? The RAF and journalists will be here soon anyway and the whole thing will be out of our hands.

  Gran turns to Iggy and me and gazes at us intensely over the rim of her glasses. ‘Tell me, Ethan Tait …’

  My full name. This is serious.