Secret of The Red Planet

by Chris Hawley

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  FACING THE WORLD

  Never before had I known Dad to buy a national newspaper on a weekday. He would make the Sunday paper last the whole week, that way he would keep up to date with the world without spending his whole salary on papers he would never have the time to read. But that Tuesday morning he departed from his normal routine by walking down to the newsagents to see if the whole of the (and here he used a word that I could not possibly repeat) world was talking about us.

  He was still not back home when the local daily was jammed into our letter box and I had a preview of the latest news. The headlines glared at me,

  ALIEN SIGHTING CONFIRMED

  RESIDENTS REPORT LANDING IN CHURCHYARD

  I smiled to myself and read on eagerly,

  ‘Since a resident of Dover Street came forward on Sunday to report having seen an alien descend from the sky in a clingfilm bag and land in the churchyard of St. Mark’s Church in Cornwall Road, several other residents of the town have claimed to have seen the occurrence.

  ‘The Vicar of St. Mark’s, the Reverend John Thomas, told a Post reporter he was at the door of the church at the time. ‘I was just going to the Vicarage to work on my sermon for Sunday Evensong,’ said Rev. Thomas, ‘when I saw this strange looking creature appear through the trees, in a kind of bubble. It is difficult to describe it. I withdrew into the porch so as not to be seen and I watched. My first thought was that it was the second coming but I soon realised it was a woman and could not have been the descent of our Lord on Earth. The bubble burst as the woman landed on the grass and disappeared behind the wall. I could see no more. I went to the altar and prayed for the safety of mankind.’

  ‘Reverend Thomas, who has held the post at St. Mark’s for over forty years, was at pains to point out that he did not suffer from poor eyesight nor did he have delusions.

  ‘A teenage boy who was walking down Cornwall Road with his girlfriend told The Post that he clearly saw a bag drop from the sky and disappear behind the trees. ‘We was on our way to my friend’s place when I saw this great big plastic bag fall out of the sky. I could tell it was plastic because it kind of reflected the sun like plastic bags do, y’know. I pointed it out to Daphne but she was too busy arguing with her mum on the phone and she missed it. I swear it’s the truth.’

  ‘Several other people said they saw something like a being dropping out of the sky at the same time on Saturday afternoon, confirming Mrs. Sproggett’s story. Some said they would be double-locking their doors and windows for fear of alien visits in the middle of the night. Others said they would stay at home until the authorities did something about the situation. One man told our reporter that he had once been attacked by an Alien and would never forget it.

  ‘Since our lead story in the Sunday Post, the town has become the focus of attention for the whole country. Representatives of the national TV, radio and press have converged on the town and especially Dover Street, where the Martian girl is alleged to have stayed and from where the love letters were allegedly written.

  'Asked to comment, His Worship the Mayor, Councillor Spratt, said the attention that was being given to the town would boost tourism and shopkeepers could expect increased business.

  ‘The local Police boss, Chief Superintendent James Barlow CBE, said his men had been put on alert and would deal with any further incident. ‘We are in complete control of the situation,’ he said. Meanwhile he appealed for people to remain calm.’

  I sighed as I left the newspaper on the kitchen table and went up to my room. Michu’s face looked down at me from her place on the wall. I asked her for guidance. This whole thing is getting out of hand, I thought.

  I went to the window and looked out. There were a few people in the street and some were looking towards the house. It was hard to tell if they were journalists or they were just curious onlookers. As yet there was no sign of any TV vans.

  I knocked on Sonia’s bedroom door. She was awake.

  ‘Bill, I have to go to work,’ she said sleepily.

  ‘I know and I have to continue with my studying.’

  ‘Let’s try the disguises today, shall we?’

  I smiled at her. ‘I can’t wait!’

  ‘I have been thinking what to tell Mrs. Rogers,’ she said slowly through a yawn. ‘I’ll have to be a new employee, the old woman.’

  ‘Why? Who is going to link you with me?’

  ‘We’ve been going around a lot together, Bill.’

  ‘In that case you can tell her you can’t afford to be recognised and see if she’ll go along with the game,’ I said.

  ‘She’s a good sort, but suppose the Council man comes and finds someone else working there. She might get into trouble.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘It’s not likely though,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘He hardly ever bothers us and if he comes he usually says so in advance.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Today is the day we become the long-lost aunt and uncle from Australia.’

  Dad arrived back. He said he had been accosted by a group of reporters, who wanted to know if he was Bill Steadman’s father and would he like to tell them if the story in the Sunday Post was true of not. He said he had told them to b…. off otherwise he would have to knock their teeth down their throats. I couldn’t help a laugh. He glared at me menacingly and told me it was no laughing matter.

  He sat at the kitchen table. He had not bought one national newspaper but three. All of them, The Sun, The Daily Telegraph and The Times, carried front-page stories. The Sun had a blown up version of Albert Smith’s photograph of me almost filling the front page. The headline read-

  SCHOOLBOY DATES MARTIAN GIRL

  Beneath the photograph the following words:

  WILLIAM STEADMAN, THE BOY AT THE CENTRE OF THE STORM

  There was a short article, which didn’t add much to the Post story. But I was sure that The Sun would have a reporter following me closely, hoping to get a story from me. Then I wondered how much The Sun had paid for Albert Smith’s photograph.

  The Telegraph and The Times were less sensational. The Telegraph printed parts of my letter to Michu and the results of the tests on the cloth. The report suggested that the whole story was probably a prank perpetrated by a bored schoolboy with nothing better to do in the long school holidays. Both newspapers mentioned the sightings of ‘Aliens in the churchyard.’

  After breakfast Sonia and I packed a bag each with our costumes. We told Mum the plans we had worked out and she agreed to be on hand when her Aunt Maud and Uncle Bert arrived. Dad reluctantly agreed to meet us in the next street and allow us to change into our costumes in the van and then drop us at the library door. He gave me three pounds for the taxi that would later bring the old couple from the station.

  All went like clockwork. Our neighbour over the back fence was happy to help when we told her we had to escape the press. She said something rude about them which I didn’t quite catch and told us we could use her house as a getaway whenever we liked. I decided not to tell her about the disguises until it was necessary. Dad was waiting by the van, walking up and down impatiently. When he saw us he opened the rear doors, complaining that he was very late for work and would probably lose his job and that would add to our problems. I told him his boss at the gas company would understand but he didn’t sound convinced. In the back of the van we changed hurriedly into our costumes as Dad drove us to the library. He had to admit that we looked just like Mum’s long-lost aunt and uncle from down under.

  When we entered the library in our disguises Mrs. Rogers was completely fooled. She asked if we needed help. She could see we were hardly able to walk. When Sonia revealed her identity, Mrs. Rogers looked at her in astonishment but she soon understood the reason for the disguises. She kindly agreed to take on the new employee, subject to the approval of the Council, to replace the girl who had mysteriously disappeared. Mrs. Rogers was such a sport and so kind-hearted, Sonia and I co
uld have hugged her.

  I hobbled theatrically to the table where I normally sat and opened a book on the environment and endangered species by an eminent zoologist. I was so engrossed in the book I hardly noticed the entry of two middle aged men. It was when they walked round the back of my chair that I noticed them for the first time. They sat down at a nearby table and began reading news magazines.

  The thin man who read the papers every day had not yet arrived but an old man with shaggy white hair and a light brown overcoat sat at the thin man’s table, holding up a copy of the Daily Telegraph, over the top of which he surveyed the goings on in the room. He saw me staring in his direction and lifted the newspaper, hiding his eyes. Surely the press couldn’t know I was there in the library!

  The day passed uneventfully, except that Sonia sometimes forgot that she was an old lady and climbed the steps like a 10 year old, until I reminded her. Then she would insist on my hand to help her up and down the steps, much to the amusement of the old man. I prayed that he would not take a fancy to her and invite her for tea at his place! At one point my false moustache tickled my nose and I sneezed so violently that the moustache left my face and landed on the floor. Luckily the old man was slow in taking it in and I was able to replace the moustache in time. The other two men seemed to have no interest in what was going on.

  At last it was time to leave. It was time to put our disguises to the test. We were both a bit nervous as we said goodnight to Mrs. Rogers and assured her we would be back the next day. The taxi that she had arranged for us sped off towards Dover Street. As we turned the corner from Cornwall Road I was shocked to see how many people were crowded into the street in front of the house.

  ‘This is it, Sonia,’ I said in my best Australian accent.

  She squeezed my arm and looked nervously at me. ‘Maud not Sonia,’ she said.

  ‘Oops! Sorry! Just act naturally and it will all go okay,’ I reassured her.

  ‘But I’m 18 not 80! How can I be natural?’

  ‘Just say nothing. Leave the talking to me,’ I said.

  The taxi stopped two doors away because there was no room in front of the house. I got out first and held out my hand for my dear wife of fifty years! As we shuffled along the pavement on our sticks, the throng gave way to let us pass. Mum appeared from the front door and came to meet us. The reporters all crowded round her with their microphones thrust in her face. She waved them away, telling them to give her room to meet her aunt and uncle, who had come for a visit all the way from Australia. Mum was a star. Neither Sonia nor I had to say anything at all. After a minute or two we were safely inside the house.

  ‘What I have to do for a bit of peace!’ was all she said.

  ‘Is that the way to welcome your folks who’ve come all the way from down under to see you? The least you can do is offer us a cup of tea.’

  Mum went off to the kitchen dutifully and switched on the electric kettle.