by Chris Hawley
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
DISGUISES
I was up very early the next morning. I meditated in the half-light of dawn, trying to feel the presence of Michu. Once or twice I thought I heard her voice in my head but I was not sure if it was wishful thinking or not. Success or not I was beginning to appreciate the benefits of sitting silently and going inside.
Once up and about I listened carefully for the sound of the local newspaper being stuffed through our small letter box. I wanted to see if there were any more stories following on from the big news in the Sunday Post. Maybe Albert Smith had thought up some more lies to add to the damage he’d already done.
About six-thirty, I heard Dad go down the stairs and I guessed he would beat me to it. He would also be anxious to see it for himself. He went into the kitchen and I heard him filling the kettle with water. This morning there was no sound of whistling and that was unusual. He’s still in a bad mood today, I thought.
Then the sound came from the front door and I hurtled down the stairs two at a time. Dad came out of the kitchen at the same moment and we almost collided with each other. I was the more athletic and pounced on the newspaper. His hands closed over mine before I could get the paper out of the letter box. But the privilege of being the first to read the news was the father’s not the son’s, so I gave way. He carried it to the kitchen, walking slowly and scanning the front page as he went. I followed on behind, trying to look over his shoulder. At least it was not front page news today. Disagreements among Town Councilors was today’s hot news.
Not finding anything to do with the story of Sunday in the first few pages he tossed the paper onto the kitchen table and continued with what he had been doing before the race to the front door. I sat down and carefully scanned through every single article on every single page, while he wordlessly made tea. I even skipped reading the sports news, which was normally what I would have done first. I just had time to note that England had made 398 in their second innings and had given India 288 to win on the last day.
Then my eye caught a single column article on page 2. It was headed ‘I SAW AN ALIEN’ I read on eagerly. ‘A resident of the town reported yesterday that she had seen an alien land in the churchyard of St. Mark’s Church in Cornwall Street on Saturday afternoon. Mrs. Sproggett, of 15 Dover Street had this to say, ‘I was just going indoors when I ‘appened to look round and what should I see? I saw this something coming out of the sky wrapped in cling film; leastways that’s what it looked like to me. I can tell you I was flabbergasted. This thing just floats down in among the graves and runs off. My ‘usband was at work at the time. I’m not making this up; I actually saw it ‘appen. After that bit in the Sunday Post about hextraterrestrials in Dover Street, I can tell you I’m scared. I want to know what the Government is doing to protect ordinary, law-abiding citizens.’’ I read on.
‘This sighting so soon after the disturbing news of an alien visitor to the town is likely to pose awkward questions for the defence forces. So far, no-one else has come forward to corroborate Mrs. Sproggett’s story.’
I decided not to share the article with my father. It would only annoy him more. I turned back to the sports news. Lewis Hamilton was still ahead of Alonso in the Formula One drivers’ championship with a few races to go till the end of the season. The guy is amazing, I thought. Fancy, his first season and he could win the championship.
When Sonia came downstairs for breakfast, looking as if she hadn’t slept, I showed her the article. Dad had already gone off to work. Despite her unsettled mood, she managed a smile at the thought of how she had given the lady the shock of her life.
Mum came down soon after that. She looked concerned.
‘There’s a BBC van outside our door, did you know?’
‘Really?’
Sonia and I exchanged glances. We both got up from the table and rushed to the sitting room. Sure enough, there was the BBC van and on the pavement just outside our front gate, stood a woman holding a microphone in her hand. Beside the van stood a cameraman, his heavy camera resting on a stand and pointing at the woman, with our house behind her in the background. I pulled Sonia aside, in case we were seen looking through the window.
‘Bill, the TV! Turn on the TV!’ whispered Sonia excitedly.
I crossed the room and switched it on. There on the screen was the same scene. It was uncanny. I turned up the volume and heard the woman saying, ‘…in Dover Street which the girl from Mars is alleged to have visited. In this house lives the Steadman family, whose teenage son is said to have been corresponding with her by e-mail. Just an ordinary British family, you may think. Whether this story turns out to be true or a just hoax is yet to be seen. We will be bringing you further news on this incredible tale. In the meantime this is Janet Richards reporting live from Dover Street for BBC News.’ The news programme announcer made some comment about aliens that I didn’t pick up.
I turned down the volume on the television and Sonia and I sat on the floor of the sitting room, dazed by the new turn of events. Evidently the story was catching on. Next it would be the national dailies.
Sonia decided she had better telephone the library and tell Mrs. Rogers she was fine and would be coming into work tomorrow. She said she didn’t want to say on the phone why she had been away since Wednesday but would explain in the morning. Mrs. Rogers said she was happy to hear her voice and what was all this about Bill Steadman and a Martian girl. She said she had been quite shocked when she had read the front page of the Sunday Post.
A little later, Ben and Tim turned up carrying a heavy suitcase, which Tim put down on the floor of the hall.
‘Hey man!’ he said. ‘You’ve got half the world outside your door!’
‘Yeh, and they all wanted to talk to us,’ said Ben. ‘Do you know Bill Steadman?’ And ‘are you friends of the boy Steadman?’ So many questions!’
‘Not only that!’ I said. ‘We’ve been on BBC TV too! Not us exactly but the house.’
‘Fame at last!’ said Tim, shaking my hand.
‘I could do without it, thanks very much! By the way, did you read the bit in the morning paper about Sonia dropping in to have tea with the vicar?’ I said facetiously.
Sonia frowned at me.
They hadn’t seen it, so I read it out to them.
‘The flying librarian!’ exclaimed Tim.
Sonia aimed a kick at Tim’s leg but he dodged cleverly.
‘Beast!’ she cried.
‘Hey, you two! Okay, what have you got in that suitcase, the crown jewels?’
‘Something much more exciting,’ said Ben, going to get the case from the hall.
The case was opened and we were shown the contents.
‘Wow! These things must’ve cost you a bomb,’ I breathed.
‘Not a penny, actually,’ said Ben. ‘I remembered our Uncle Arthur was on the stage, so I called him and told him I needed some costumes urgently to help out a friend and he said ‘come over and see what I’ve got.’’
‘Hey, this is cool,’ I said, taking out a wig of white hair complete with mustache and beard. Then I found a walking stick, some glasses and a fancy hat. Before long I was dressed as an old man and I hobbling around the sitting room with my stick, accompanied by the hoots from the others. My mum came in and joined in the fun, putting away her gloom of the morning.
Sonia was next. She made a stunning old lady, with her long skirt, half-length coat and white wig. Coming out of the dining room, where she had gone to change, she didn’t resemble our Sonia at all. We all congratulated her on her theatrical performance.
‘We’re ready to face the world guys,’ I said to the boys. ‘Tomorrow we are going out through the back door with our costumes under our arms. When we come back, it will be through the front door wearing them. Sonia and I will be my mum’s long-lost aunt and uncle from Australia.’
‘A great idea of yours Bill,’ said Tim.
‘Sonia’s idea actually,’ I confessed, glancing at Sonia. She gave me a smile o
f thanks. ‘Hey, thanks for all the trouble you’ve gone to to get these things!’
‘Thanks to Uncle Arthur,’ said Ben.
‘Three cheers for Uncle Arthur!’ I cried. The call was taken up by all, including my mum. This is becoming a real adventure, I thought.
