‘Over here. On the telly.’
Elsa stared at the telly. On the screen, the presenter pointed right at her and yelled, ‘Are you Elsa and are you here to help?’
‘What?’ gasped Elsa. ‘How did you know my name?’
‘You’re wearing a badge,’ said the man on the telly. ‘It says, “I’m Elsa and I’m here to help.” ’
Elsa glanced down at her own name badge. ‘But you’re on telly,’ she said. ‘How can you see me?’
‘I’ve stopped trying to keep up with the marvels of technology,’ said the presenter. ‘All I know is you’re making too much noise.’
Elsa turned the television off. Then she stood for a while with her eyes closed, concentrating on her breathing. Gregory came in and gave her a peppermint, which he said was good for the nerves. She shook her arms and shook her head and said, ‘Calm, calm, be mindful,’ to herself as she walked to the window. ‘What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.’ She stared out of the window, smiling at the flowers. She did not smile at what happened next.
A shower of glass cascaded through the air and pattered on to the patio.
There was a loud scream.
Then there was the stairlift. Except it wasn’t on the stairs any more. It was barrelling through the air like a massive drunken bird. Snapping apple-tree branches as it powered onwards and upwards.
The screams were coming from Mr Leithen. They weren’t really screams. They were cheers. ‘Look at me!’ he whooped. ‘I’m flying!’
He’d sneaked back to the stairlift on his own to have an extra go. He’d pressed the button so hard it had blasted up the rails, straight through the skylight and into the sky.
‘We have lift-off,’ Sputnik said with a smile.
‘He’s going to crash!’ wailed Elsa.
‘Why don’t you people ever read the instructions?’ sniffed Sputnik. ‘Look.’
The flying stairlift seemed to stall in the air, wobble, then lurch backwards. A gorgeous blue-and-white parachute blossomed above it. The wind caught it and wafted it sideways. Mr Leithen waved as his stairlift dilly-dallied over the orchard and danced down towards the gardens.
‘Gregory,’ snarled Grandad, ‘this electrician fella has stolen my personal property.’ He had hold of me by the elbow.
‘Not now,’ huffed Gregory, pulling out his mobile. ‘I’m calling the fire brigade. We have a serious breach of Health and Safety. This is a code red.’
A few minutes later a pair of bright red fire engines were backing into the walled garden. The residents were extremely excited. They crowded round the French windows. They clapped. They waved.
‘This is better than George Clooney,’ said the lady next to Grandad.
Sputnik looked up at Elsa and said, ‘When I first heard about a magical mystical land where no one got old and everyone was happy, I didn’t believe a word of it. But now that I’ve been here I can see that it’s partly right anyway. Everyone here is happy. Well done.’
Of course Elsa didn’t understand a word of this. She just thought a small dog was barking at her. She sat down with her head in her hands, looked at me and said, ‘The upset here is upsetting your poor wee doggy. We’re normally very well organized. And peaceful.’ She seemed about to cry.
Sputnik didn’t notice this. ‘So long as everyone’s happy,’ he said, ‘my work here is done. Let’s go.’
– Go where?’
‘Taking your grandad back to his sea chest,’ said Sputnik, ‘to find out what’s inside.’
24.
Teeth
Even though he didn’t know who I was, he seemed to know where we were going. Grandad dragged one of the mobility scooters out of its shelter and climbed on. ‘I’m not supposed to use this unsupervised. But if a fully qualified electrician isn’t supervision, I don’t know what is. Hop on the back,’ he said. ‘Next stop: Traquair Gardens.’
Sputnik sat between me and Grandad as we chugged over the bridge and down the river walk. That’s the way we used to come home when he collected me from school, the way we went when he was doing his high-tide walks, the way we went if we were going to church. It felt good to be out in the fresh air with Grandad, even if he didn’t know who I was.
When we got to Traquair Gardens, Mrs Mackie was smoking out of her window again, as if she’d never moved, as if smoking cigarettes was what she did for a living.
‘Are you back for your stuff, Sandy Mellows? You’ve enough of it.’
Bags and boxes of Grandad’s clutter was now piled up in the area in front of the house. The people who were moving in had finally cleared it all out, ready for collection.
A tottering pile of newspapers was leaning like the Tower of Pisa, against the steps. ‘I’ll be wanting them,’ said Grandad.
‘We’ve come for your sea chest, Grandad,’ I reminded him.
‘Aye, in due course. In the meantime there’s all this to think about.’ He pointed to a big box full of broken light bulbs. ‘And where’s my box of teeth?’
‘Have you got the key to the sea chest with you, Grandad?’
‘Aye, never without it.’
There was no sign of the sea chest outside. Maybe the new people had seen my Post-it note and were keeping it safe indoors. I was going to knock and ask, but Sputnik was too excited to wait. He tried the door. It opened. The smell of fresh paint and disinfectant breezed out. The hallway had been painted a fresh, buttery yellow. Everywhere was so clean and bright. It made me think that the new people must be really nice, even though they had stolen our house.
Sputnik dashed inside.
The fact that the door wasn’t locked should have warned me what was going to happen. But I was too busy thinking about Sputnik and the sea chest. I felt bad that he was so excited about it. I’d made him think it held the Tenth Wonder of the World, when for all I knew it was full of old socks and razors. Or more false teeth.
‘It’s here!’ yelled Sputnik. ‘Come on, Grandad. Time to open up!’
But Grandad was quietly sorting through the pile of newspapers. ‘7 June 2012 is missing,’ he called. The way he said it, it sounded as if an entire day had dropped out of history, rather than just one copy of the Scotsman. He was looking around for some sign of the lost day.
‘I really want to see what’s in this sea chest. Is it all right if I chivvy him in here at gunpoint?’
– No!
Just then Grandad came speeding past us, tugging a chain out from under his shirt. There was a little key on the chain. ‘Where’s that chest?’ he muttered. ‘Maybe the missing Scotsman is in there.’
He pushed open the door of what used to be his bedroom. It was completely empty apart from a couple of boxes. The floor was bare wooden boards. The walls were painted pale blue. I thought he would be upset, but he just said, ‘Aye, this’ll do nicely. Start bringing all my stuff in, would you?’
Then he went over to the two boxes. One of them was his sea chest. The other was the one marked ‘Teeth’. He opened the teeth box first. I was expecting it to be full of old sets of false teeth, but the first thing he took out was the jaw of a shark, bristling with wicked sharp fangs.
‘Got that in the South Seas,’ he said. ‘Swapped it for cigarettes.’
Then he took out a tooth the size of a fist covered in intricate carvings.
‘That’s from a walrus,’ he said. ‘Carved it myself. You had to find something to do with your hands on those Arctic trips.’ He found a red pouch with a single yellow dog’s tooth inside.
‘You know what that is? When I was in Moscow that time, I found a wee stray. She was in agony from a bad tooth. I whipped it out with my little knife and she followed me everywhere from then on. I fed her and washed her. Looked after her. She was a bonnie wee thing. I taught her to play fetch. I had a red rubber ball. No matter how far I threw it, she’d always bring it back. I even taught her to salute like a proper sailor. I wanted to bring her home with me, but they wouldn’t let me. Took her off me be
fore I got back on board. Made me fill in all kinds of forms. I was down in the mouth about that, but a year later I got a letter from a Russian navy officer who said he’d taken her out of the dog pound and – you’ll not believe this – he’d trained her up and sent her into space. I think it was probably the salute that swung it for her. If you’re going to send a dog up in a rocket, you want it to be one that can salute. Laika. That was her name, and this is her tooth.’
Sputnik looked amazed. ‘You . . . you knew Laika?’ he stammered. Then his amazement seemed to turn to fright. Grandad didn’t have time to answer, and I didn’t have time to ask what was wrong.
A woman came in through the door carrying a pot of paint. Seeing us there, she dropped the paint and screamed.
‘Be calm, woman,’ said Sputnik. ‘We’re having an exchange of information that might be crucial to the survival of your planet.’
Of course that’s not what she heard. What she heard was woof woof woof woof!
Grandad stared at her and seemed to half remember something. ‘Have I done it again?’ he said. ‘Is this not my house? I’m sorry, hen. Here, let me show you how to chop vegetables really fast. Pay particular careful attention.’ His hand went up to his top pocket.
‘Grandad, NO!!!’
It was too late. He’d taken out his wee vegetable knife. She’d seen it. Screamed louder than ever. A man came running in. Called the police. A few seconds later we were all in the back of a police car.
One of the policemen asked Grandad if he was from the Shangri-La.
‘Shangri-La,’ said Grandad, ‘doesn’t exist. It’s a mythical country invented for the film Lost Horizon. I think it was a book before that.’
‘It’s also the name of a home here in Dumfries, a special place for old people who are getting bit mixed up,’ explained the policeman.
‘Well, that counts me out,’ said Grandad. ‘Nothing mixed up about me. Never felt less mixed up in all my puff. Ask me anything.’
They asked him where he lived.
‘I’m between addresses at the moment,’ said Grandad. ‘As you can see, I’ve got my luggage with me.’ He had his sea chest on his knee. ‘I don’t think that’s any reason to shove me in a home for bewildered pensioners, do you?’
The two policemen were beginning to look as if it might be possible for Grandad to convince them. The first one said, ‘Just say, for instance, we didn’t drop you at the Shangri-La . . . Where would we drop you?’
‘Wherever’s convenient for you. I’m not a baby. I can find my own way.’
The second cop said, ‘What about the dog?’
‘What dog?’
‘The dog on the back seat, sitting between you.’
‘There’s no dog back here, son. I think you must be dreaming.’
‘Yes. He’s sitting up between the two of you.’
‘You need your eyes testing, bud,’ said Grandad. ‘That’s not a dog. That’s my very good friend Sputnik Mellows. What dog would wear a kilt? Or a flying helmet? Or a pair of goggles, I ask you.’
That Grandad could see Sputnik . . . really see him . . . kilt, goggles, flying helmet, the lot . . . that was the best thing ever.
All through the amazing things I’d done with Sputnik – flying, floating, foiling robberies – there was a background buzz of loneliness that I hadn’t even noticed until it stopped. The loneliness of not being able to tell anyone about it.
Now I had someone to talk to, that background buzz was gone, like when your ears pop after swimming.
But . . .
That Grandad could see Sputnik was also, obviously, the worst thing ever. As soon as he said it, the two policemen looked at each other, nodded, and a few minutes later Grandad and his sea chest were back in Shangri-La.
They took me back to the Temporary.
They took Sputnik to the dog pound.
So by the time it got dark that night all three of us were behind locked doors.
25.
Grandad’s Harmonica
When Murder Bell heard that I’d stolen a vehicle he was impressed.
When he heard that the vehicle was a mobility scooter he laughed so loud I could hear him three rooms away.
When you do something bad at the Temporary – for instance coming home in a police car – they make you write a list of promises. They call it ‘The Contract’.
You’re supposed to come up with your own promises, but I got a lot of help this time from Mrs Rowland.
1. I promise that if I’m worried about my grandad or anyone else, I will ASK about them. I will not attempt to kidnap Grandad again, using a vehicle that does not belong to me and an unpredictable dog.
If I don’t want to talk, that’s OK. I can ASK by text, Facebook, WhatsApp or Post-it note. But I will ASK.
2. I promise not to take other people’s mobility scooters – or any other vehicles – without permission or supervision.
3. If I want to go into someone else’s house for whatever reason, I promise that I will ASK. I will not do breaking and entering.
4. If I do any breaking and entering – which I won’t – I promise not to get bewildered old men or unpredictable dogs involved in my crime.
5. I agree that my grandad is someone who needs constant professional adult supervision due to his habit of pulling a knife on people. I do not count as a professional adult supervisor.
6. If a dog – or any other stray animal – turns up at the Children’s Temporary Accommodation, I promise to inform the staff and not try to hide the animal under my bed.
7. Not talking to people is fine. But if I upset people or mess them about it’s my job to put things right. It’s up to me to find a way to do that, even without talking (see Promise 1).
In order to help me keep Promise 7, Mrs Rowland came and got me when Ray and Jessie turned up next afternoon after tea. She said, ‘This is your chance to put things right with this very nice family who have been so good to you.’
They were waiting in the hallway.
‘Is this where you live normally?’ said Ray. ‘Nice being in the middle of town. Have you got your own room?’
Before I could answer, Jessie said, ‘Sputnik’s gone missing. We woke up this morning and there was no sign of him. We came here on the bus. Like you and me did that day.’
‘Jessie thinks Sputnik got the bus too. I tried to tell her—’
‘Sputnik would follow you to the end of the world,’ said Jessie. ‘Everyone knows that. Is he here?’
The point of Promise 7 is that I have to explain things. I was honestly about to do that when Mrs Rowland said, ‘Yes, he did follow Prez all the way here. Though Prez never told us, did you, Prez?’
I was going to explain that too, but there was no stopping Mrs Rowland. ‘And having followed him here, he then followed Prez to the nursing home where his grandad was staying, where Prez then took his grandad walkies.’
‘That was nice of him,’ said Ray.
‘It may sound nice,’ said Mrs Rowland, ‘until you hear where he took him walkies to. Do you want to tell them, Prez?’
Yes, I did want to tell them. But not as much as Mrs Rowland wanted to tell them. ‘He took them to the flat where he used to live and the three of them strolled right in there and started helping themselves to things.’
‘Stealing?!’ Jessie gasped.
‘NO!’ I shouted. I really didn’t want Ray to think I was a thief.
‘Well, not stealing exactly.’ Mrs Rowland was flustered. She explained that we hadn’t taken anything, but that Grandad had threatened the new people with a knife.
‘He threatened them? Really? Isn’t he a bit old and frail?’ said Ray. ‘He can’t have been that much of a threat.’
‘His grandad gets mixed up,’ said Jessie. ‘Doesn’t he, Prez?’
They were sticking up for me. In the middle of all the bad stuff that felt good. So I said, ‘He wanted to show her the quickest way to chop carrots.’
‘At least we’ve found Sputnik tho
ugh, eh?’ Jessie smiled. ‘Where is he? Is he in the garden?’
‘As you know, we don’t allow pets.’
‘So . . .’
‘So we called the police and they took him away.’
‘What?! Why didn’t you call us?’ wailed Jessie.
‘Because,’ said Mrs Rowland, ‘I had enough to do persuading the police not to press charges against Prez. For breaking and entering. And threatening behaviour. I could go on . . .’
I hadn’t thought of that. She’d probably had to work hard to keep me out of trouble. I remembered my manners and said, ‘Thank you.’
‘Right. We’d better go and try to get him back,’ said Ray. ‘See you, Prez.’
They left. Just like that. Seeing them had been like going back to Stramoddie for two minutes. When they went, the Temporary seemed bigger and emptier than ever.
So it was good when the door opened and Ray stuck his head round it, saying, ‘It’s OK if Prez comes with us, isn’t it?’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ said Mrs Rowland. ‘But do bring him back when you’re finished with him. I’d miss him if he wasn’t here.’
We walked round to the police station together. They didn’t speak to each other. We didn’t speak. Jessie and Ray seemed to know what each other was thinking, what they were going to say.
They didn’t know what I was thinking though. I was thinking about the crunchy drifts of red and gold leaves along the pavement. Leaves that had fallen from the trees. Leaves that said, Very soon this planet will shrink.
The police station smelt mostly of disinfectant and coffee but if I concentrated I could just catch a faint whiff of dog.
There was a really crabbit police officer at the desk. ‘What’s the name of the missing animal?’ she said.
‘Sputnik,’ said Jessie.
‘That’s not the name on the collar of the dog we’re holding,’ said the officer. She was looking through a giant notebook she’d pulled out from under the desk.
‘Oh. The collar,’ said Ray. ‘It’s not his collar. It was the collar of our old dog. This dog is a stray.’
Sputnik's Guide to Life on Earth Page 16
