The Taylor TurboChaser

by David Baddiel

  “Come on,” said Janet. “It is. I’m sure.”

  “Why are you so sure?”

  “Because I’ve got a teenage brother too. And that is definitely the smell of teenage fart. Of teenage male fart.” As she said this, Janet pushed her face – or at least her mouth and nose – out through the cat flap.

  “Yes,” said Amy. “It is.”

  “I think so too,” said Rahul. “And I don’t even have a teenage brother. But I have a lot of cousins. And we meet and eat a lot of Indian food …”

  “All right, all right!” said Jack. “Yes! OK! I’ve let off! I’m sure some of you have during this journey as well!”

  “Oh my goodness, yes,” said Amy.

  “As Simon Cowell says, ‘It’s a yes from me,’” said Janet, bringing her face back inside.

  “Um … well, if we’re all admitting it, then, yes, I too have broken wind,” said Rahul. “Once or twice.”

  “But …” said Amy, “we aren’t teenagers. So our farts don’t smell as bad.”

  “Is it time to stop for some lunch?” said Janet.

  “Smell not put you off then, Jan?” said Jack.

  “It’s gone away now.”

  “Hmm. Maybe we could stop,” said Amy. “We’ve probably put enough distance between us and Mum’s van. We’re nearly in Cumbria, I think. And we have –” she looked at the clock – “over twenty-four hours before Dad leaves for Japan. What have we got to eat?”

  Janet took out her bag. “Beans!”

  Everyone looked at Jack.

  “I think it might be time to see if we can get some different food,” he said.

  “Hmmmm. I loved that chocolate ice cream!”

  “It was delicious. Although not as nice as the apple crumble!”

  “The jelly trifle was incredible!”

  “I liked the main course – roast chicken and roast potatoes!”

  “So, Jack, shall we get the bill?” said Amy.

  The children were sitting round a white-table-clothed table, having stopped at La Rurale Pastorale, an extremely posh restaurant in an old country house just outside Dermot Coillery (the place names in this part of the country sounded more like famous people than rude things; they had passed the villages of Bear Hills, Dredd Sheeran, Huge Bonne Ville and Vince Cable).

  Waiters with very noticeable French accents and white silk gloves had served them an amazing repast, with drinks and puddings and lots of side dishes. And they’d stopped here, on the basis not only that Jack shouldn’t be given any more beans, but also that he had said that eating at La Rurale Pastorale would not be a problem, money-wise. He, as the oldest person on board the TurboChaser – virtually an adult, really – would sort it.

  “The bill?” Jack replied, to Amy. “I don’t think there’s much point in asking for that.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I thought you had some money,” said Janet.

  “I never said that.”

  “You said that eating here wouldn’t be a problem!” said Rahul.

  “That I did!”

  “So, Jack,” said Amy, “what did you mean?”

  “I think you’re forgetting that Jack is short for … Jack the Lad.”

  “Is it?” said Janet.

  “Well, no,” said Jack. “Not technically. But what I mean is, I’m a trickster. I’m a master of the short, and the long, con. I’m the man with a plan. And I have one.”

  “Oh good,” said Rahul.

  Jack frowned. “That sounded a bit … sarcastic.”

  “Might be. I think I’m starting to learn how to do it.”

  “We can’t just … not pay,” said Janet. “It’s not right.”

  “And she’s not wrong,” said Rahul. “For once.”

  “Jack …” said Amy. “I don’t like this.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack, smiling. “You’ll see.” He beckoned over their waiter, a man with a large moustache. The waiter bent down towards him.

  “’Allo, zir. Ah trust you ’ave enjoyed your me-al?”

  “Yes, thank you. It was delicious.”

  “I ’ave ze bill ’ere,” he said, presenting a little silver platter with a dome. He lifted the dome, and there it was – £127.50.

  “Oh my days,” said Janet.

  “I wish I’d looked at the prices now,” said Rahul.

  “Is zere a problem, zir?” said the waiter.

  “No, no,” said Jack. “What’s your name?”

  “Mah naime?”

  “No, your name.”

  “Mah naime?”

  “Oh, you’re saying ‘name’. Yes.”

  The waiter seemed to think about this for quite some time. “Louis.”

  “OK, Louis. Well. If I could be frank. We can’t pay that. We can’t pay anything like that. I mean they’re children, aren’t they? And I’m only fourteen. So we don’t have jobs. So, like, no money.”

  Louis’s moustache seemed to twitch.

  “Zis is a joke, yes? ’Ilarious Breeteesh sense of ’umour – ha ha ha ha.”

  “No. No. Now, I can see you’re getting annoyed. Your moustache is twitching.”

  Louis frowned. He put his hand up to it to check.

  “But I think you’re forgetting something, aren’t you?” Jack added.

  “Ah am?”

  “You are. My sister – over there – I think you’re forgetting – she’s in a wheelchair.” Jack started to look very sad. His eyes moistened. “And I can’t believe that this wonderful establishment – La Rurale Pastorale – is going to force a disabled young girl and her brother, and all her friends, who are just trying to help her live her tiny, difficult, problem-filled life from day to day, to sing for their suppers? I mean, really?”

  Louis’s moustache twitched again. He frowned. He frowned some more.

  “Would you maaained just waitin’ a minute, please? Ah need to ’ave a word wiz mah superioeours.”

  “Of course,” said Jack. “You take your time.”

  Louis nodded, turned on his heel and went off. Jack turned to the table, smiled, and opened his palms, in a “You see? Sorted!” kind of way.

  “Me?” hissed Amy furiously. “I’m your big clever plan?”

  “Yes. Sorry about that. I had to lay it on a bit thick.”

  “My tiny, difficult, problem-filled life? I love my life! And you know that one thing I never do is use my legs as an excuse! When anyone asks for volunteers to do something, I never stick my hand up and say ‘I can’t! I’m disabled!’”

  “As I say, I had to turn on the waterworks a bit. Chill out, sis.”

  “Why are you speaking like a middle-aged DJ?”

  “All I’m saying is, you’ll thank me when they come back and let us off. You will.” He looked round. Louis was returning. “As they are definitely about to do …”

  “How much more washing-up is there to do?” said Jack.

  “Loads,” said Louis. “As you can see.”

  Except it now turned out his name wasn’t Louis. It was Dave. And he didn’t have a French accent any more. He had a very British accent, located somewhere in the middle of the country. He was standing with his arms crossed by the sink, in the back of La Rurale Pastorale’s kitchen. As he spoke, a whole new load of plates, knives, forks, pots and pans were emptied into the very same sink. By Rahul.

  “Oh, come on!” said Jack. “We’ve been here for three hours!”

  Amy, Janet and Rahul looked at him. Amy was on drying duties; Janet on stacking-up duties; and Rahul, as I’ve basically already told you, was on bringing-new-needing-to-be-washed-up-cutlery-and-crockery-over-to-the-sink duties.

  Dave checked his watch. “And I reckon you’ll be here for another two hours. And then maybe you’ll have paid your bill. Just about. You stupid little boy.”

  He started to walk off, grabbing a piece of expensive bread from the counter to chew as he went.

  “What now, Jack the Lad?” said Amy, flicking him with her tea towel. The restaura
nt had provided her with a chair, which she was sitting on while she dried the dishes.

  “Yeah, what now, Mr Short and Long Con?” said Janet.

  “You did really well there, Jack, I must say,” said Rahul.

  “Hmm,” said Amy. “You have learnt how to be sarcastic.”

  Jack turned wildly away from the sink, towards Dave’s walking-away back.

  “I’ll tell everyone the French thing is a big act!” shouted Jack. “I’ll tell everyone … everyone … who follows me on my Instagram page!”

  “Yeah,” shouted Dave back. “You do that, Katy Perry.” And he walked out of the kitchen.

  By the time they left La Rurale Pastorale – with Dave waving them off, definitely sarcastically (he was holding in his waving hand a very, very clean plate, for a start) – and got back into the Taylor TurboChaser, it was getting dark.

  “OK,” said Amy, as they drove away. “I think it’s beans from now on. I don’t care about the smell.”

  No one said anything for a while. Amy just drove.

  “Well …” said Rahul, eventually. “I guess we lost a lot of time there.”

  “You think?” said Jack.

  “Yes, I do. And yes, I know you’re being sarcastic.”

  “Estimated arrival time at destination 23:30pm, Saturday,” said the sat nav.

  “Yes, we’re cutting it a bit fine now,” said Amy. “Thanks a lot, Jack.”

  This time, Jack didn’t say anything. Not even sarcastically.

  “Do you think our parents are somewhere nearby?” said Janet, looking around.

  “I don’t know,” said Amy. “I suppose so.”

  The mood in the car had become very depressed.

  Janet said, “Can I turn my phone on, then?”

  Amy looked at Rahul. “Probably won’t make much difference now. They’ll probably catch up with us any second.”

  Rahul nodded.

  Janet picked up her phone.

  “Aaaaaaaah …” she said.

  “Why are you making that noise?” said Amy. “That’s like the sound my mum makes when she’s gone on about how much she’s gasping for a cup of tea and then makes a cup of tea and drinks the first gulp.”

  “Because that’s how I feel!” said Janet, with her phone held up in her hand. “I’m gasping to turn my phone on!”

  “Hold on, Janet!” said Rahul suddenly.

  “Oh no!” said Janet. “What?”

  “That car up ahead …”

  “I’ve turned it on! I couldn’t help myself!”

  “Well, turn it off!” said Rahul.

  “What about the car up ahead?” said Amy.

  “It’s not a car, is it? It’s a van.”

  Amy squinted at it.

  “It’s a van … with quite a high top on it.”

  Now Jack squinted at it.

  “And –” he got out the Binocuscope and peered through it – “a sticker on the back that says ‘HOT ROD’.”

  “Oh my days,” said Amy. “Our parents aren’t about to catch up with us. They’re ahead of us! We’ve caught up with them!”

  “Janet!” shouted Rahul. “Have you turned your phone off?”

  “Er …”

  “JANET!” they all cried.

  “This is a really narrow lane for the van,” said Suzi. “If a car comes the other way, I’ll just have to reverse back down it.”

  “Ooh, hello,” said Norma, looking at her phone. “I’ve got a blinking dot on my maps!”

  “You can get some powder for that, y’know!” said Colin.

  “HA HA HA HA HA!” he and Norma said together.

  “Sorry, what?” said Prisha.

  “I said that black spot on my app is winking again!” said Norma.

  “We’d better call the doctor, then!” said Colin.

  “HA HA HA HA HA!”

  “Yes, that’s basically the same joke, Colin,” said Sanjay.

  “But more importantly, where are you seeing that dot?”

  Norma held up her phone. Sanjay squinted at it.

  “Well?” said Suzi, because she couldn’t look round at it while she was driving. “How far in front of us are they?”

  “Um … well, given that the world is round, a long, long way,” said Sanjay.

  “Pardon?”

  “They aren’t in front of us. They’re behind us.” He looked round. “In fact, I can see them.”

  “WHAT?” said Suzi, and she looked in the mirror. “That’s them?”

  “Yes! I recognise my own power torches!”

  “They’re chasing us now? Why?” said Colin.

  “They’re not chasing us, you fool!” said Norma. “It’s like when you run at some sheep. If you catch up with the sheep and then run ahead of them, the stupid sheep will keep running after you because they can’t remember what they’re running away from!”

  “Oh yes. Didn’t Janet’s friend Malcolm Bailey talk about that once?”

  Suzi screeched to a halt. “Right,” she said. “They’re not getting away this time.”

  “AAAARGH!” said the passengers of the Taylor TurboChaser as they screeched to a halt as well, about twenty metres behind the parent-filled van.

  “They’ve stopped!” said Rahul.

  “The van doors are opening!” said Janet.

  “They’re getting out!” said Jack.

  “Hold on!” said Amy, looking over her shoulder and pulling the direction lever backwards towards her. The TurboChaser went into reverse, making a loud groaning sound as it did so.

  Suzi and the other parents just stood and watched, amazed. From the point of view of the children looking out from the Taylor TurboChaser, the adults got smaller and smaller. Not small enough, however, for Rahul not to notice what they were doing.

  “They’re getting back into the van!” he shouted.

  “OK!” shouted Amy. “I’ll keep reversing!”

  “You better had!” shouted Rahul. “Because now they’re reversing!”

  They were. Amy’s face – looking over her shoulder – set itself now into a determined expression. The backwards car chase was on!

  “Why have you put your wings on again, Janet?” Amy screamed.

  “They’re clean and dry again!”

  “Please take them off! I can’t see out the back!”

  The narrow lane curved round. Amy moved the wheel to turn the TurboChaser. But it started heading instead towards the hedge running by the roadside!

  “Other way, Amy! You have to turn the wheel the opposite way when you reverse!”

  “Oh yes! Yes!” She did so, bringing the back of the vehicle in line with the lane just in time. Leaves brushed against the glass next to Janet’s head as it swung round.

  The van, or rather the back of it, was getting closer.

  “Come on, Amy!” said Rahul.

  “Yeah, come on, Amy!” said Jack.

  “Was that sarcastic?” said Rahul.

  “No!” said Jack.

  “I don’t know if I can make it go any faster!” said Amy. “It doesn’t like going backwards very much!”

  “Neither do I!” shouted Janet. “It’s making me feel sick!”

  “Fox!” shouted Jack.

  “Don’t be rude!” shouted Amy.

  “No! In the road! Behind us!”

  Sitting there, calm as a cucumber – calmer in some ways, as a cucumber would definitely have been about to be squashed – was indeed a russet-brown fox.

  “OH!” Quick as a flash, Rahul pressed the motorbike button and the TurboChaser narrowed.

  Quicker even than that quick flash, Amy swerved the handlebars.

  The TurboChaser circled round the fox at the last minute. It – the TurboChaser, not the fox – groaned terribly as it went.

  “Is it going to fall apart, Rahul?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “Hang on!” said Janet. “Look!”

  They looked. The van had stopped reversing. It was just standing in the lane, waiting.r />
  “Why is it doing that?” said Amy.

  “It’s the fox!”

  It was the fox. Which clearly was a very calm fox, given that, despite a backwards car chase going on around it, it had settled down to sleep, for all the world like a cat in a basket.

  “Aah! Good old Mum!” said Jack.

  “What do you mean?” said Janet.

  “He means our mum would never run over an animal,” said Amy, and she felt strangely proud of Suzi – even though she was running away from her.

  They continued to reverse away. The van receded into the distance. The lane was still narrow, but now on either side of it were two enormous lakes. Very enormous lakes. Amy couldn’t even see the other sides of them.

  “Yay!” shouted Janet. “Way to go, Amy!”

  “Whoa!” shouted Rahul. “Another victory for the Taylor TurboChaser!”

  “Hurray!” shouted Jack in the same tone. “And now there’s a police car behind us!”

  Amy stopped reversing. They all looked round.

  There was.

  “Stop right there,” said an official-sounding voice over a megaphone.

  “Roger. The Eagle has taken roost. I repeat, the Eagle has taken roost. The Squirrel is in the Eagle’s sights. The Eagle is poised to dive. Over.”

  “Sorry, PC Middleton, what are you saying?”

  DCI Bryant was in the driving seat. PC Middleton was in the passenger seat. They were both looking out at the back of the Taylor TurboChaser.

  “Sorry, sir, is it not clear?” said PC Middleton. “Basically, the Eagle is us. This car. And the Squirrel is them – the kids – in that weird vehicle. And so when I say, ‘The Squirrel is in the Eagle’s sights,’ what I mean is—”

  “I KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN!” shouted DCI Bryant. “I JUST DON’T KNOW WHY YOU’RE SPEAKING LIKE THAT! YOU’RE NOT EVEN ON A WALKIE-TALKIE! YOU’RE ON THE PHONE TO MRS TAYLOR!”

  PC Middleton nodded, as he often did when DCI Bryant lost his temper. He was indeed on the phone to Suzi, who had got out of the van, with the other parents.

  “Yes,” her voice was saying from the little speaker on PC Middleton’s phone. “I didn’t really understand why you were speaking like that either.”