comin 2 gt u

by Simon Packham

  ‘Just checking,’ said Dimbo, running his finger over the K and sniffing it. ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘What about when the lights went out? How did they do that?’

  Dimbo rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the contents of the wastepaper bin. ‘The switch in the corridor, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh yeah.’

  He continued for another ten minutes, crawling under the washbasins, scribbling notes and taking pictures with his mobile. ‘Right, that’s it,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve got everything I want.’

  We walked in silence to the stairs. Dimbo was deep in thought. I didn’t want to interrupt him, but in the end I couldn’t help myself.

  ‘So who is it then? You’ve got to tell me – who’s The Emperor?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This isn’t a silly TV show, Sam.’

  ‘Then what were you doing back there?’

  ‘Building a profile.’

  ‘What’s the use of a stupid profile? It’s the HMS Belfast trip tomorrow and we don’t even know who it is.’

  We stepped into the natural light. Callum Corcoran and Animal were up to their ankles in the huge puddle that had formed after the morning’s downpour, kicking water at each other.

  Dimbo made instinctively for the shadows. ‘Cheer up,’ he said, as we came to a halt outside our tutor base. ‘We may not know who The Emperor is yet, but the profiling has made one thing abundantly clear.’

  ‘What exactly?

  ‘Now we know you can’t take these threats too lightly. ’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying we’re not dealing with your average St Thomas’s idiot here. I’m saying this Emperor is fairly intelligent, clearly a risk taker, not to mention dangerously unpredictable. I’m saying you’ve got to be careful, Sam.’

  A whole crowd of them pushed past us on their way to registration. As they piled into the classroom, someone whispered, ‘Hope you’re not scared of water, Chickenboy. ’

  ‘Did you hear that?’

  Dimbo nodded grimly.

  ‘What am I going to do?’

  ‘I’ve told you. You’ve got to get to The Emperor before The Emperor gets to you. There’s nothing more frightening than the unknown, Samuel. But crack The Emperor’s identity and we’re laughing.’

  ‘You just said you hadn’t a clue who he was.’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  ‘But what about the Belfast trip?’

  ‘When you’re on the train, you’ll have to do what I did when we went to the Natural History Museum.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Sneak up into First Class. No one will bother you there. I’ll text you if the ticket collector’s coming. Slip your number into my briefcase when no one’s looking.’

  ‘How about when we’re on the boat itself?’

  ‘Stick as close to Miss Stanley and “I’ll do the funnies” as possible.’

  ‘What if I lose them?’

  ‘I’ll be right behind you. The minute I see something fishy, I’ll let you know. ’

  The thought of Dimbo as some sort of personal bodyguard didn’t inspire much confidence. ‘It will be all right, won’t it, Stephen?’

  Dimbo glanced into our tutor base. A re-enactment of the Battle of the Somme seemed to have broken out. ‘You could just bunk off for the day.’

  My eyes were drawn to the courageous figure in No Man’s Land. Water bombs were exploding all around her, but Abby sat at her desk, quietly reading her latest paperback. And it was at that moment that I realised why it was so important to stand up to The Emperor. It wasn’t just for myself, but for Abby and Dimbo and all the other kids who dreaded going to school because someone was giving them a tough time. Maybe I could give Granddad something to be proud of after all.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I have to go through with it. If I don’t do something now, it might go on for years.’

  Dimbo nodded. ‘That’s either very brave, or incredibly stupid.’

  4.07 p.m.

  ‘Now you mustn’t be frightened, Sam. Your granddad might be a bit confused, but the doctor’s been up and she says he’s not in any pain.’

  ‘He was fine yesterday.’

  Petal was balancing a tray of half-empty coffee cups and broken biscuits. ‘Life’s like that, I’m afraid. One moment you’re bouncing along full of beans, and five minutes later . . .’

  ‘He said he was going to die.’

  ‘I’ve seen that a few times,’ said Petal. ‘It’s like they know.’

  ‘I don’t want him to . . .’

  ‘Of course you don’t,’ said Petal, trying hard to smile. ‘Now, why don’t you have a nice biscuit and then pop up and see him? I’ll come with you if you like.’

  I bit into a stale Rich Tea finger. ‘It’s OK. I’m not frightened.’

  Down in the residents’ lounge, an organist in a sparkly suit was leading a sing-song. Granddad had once told me that he’d cut his throat if he had to sit through another chorus of ‘Roll Out the Barrel’. That’s why I was half smiling when I reached the end of the corridor and tapped on his door. ‘Granddad . . . Granddad, it’s me.’

  I tried again, but there was still no answer, so I took a deep breath and stepped into the rancid gloom. ‘Sorry I’m late. I missed the bus again. Look, what’s happening? Granddad, are you OK?’

  It was as black as night and someone had gone psycho with the air-freshener. All I could hear was the distant moan of ‘It’s a Long Way to Tipperary’ and the agonised wail of Granddad’s breathing.

  ‘It’s me, Sam.’

  Still no answer. I didn’t like to wake him, but I didn’t fancy sitting in the twilight zone for half an hour either. I tiptoed to the window and opened a chink in the curtains. The sun slashed the darkness like a lightsaber.

  ‘DON’T OPEN THE CURTAINS!’ screamed a high-pitched voice. A moment later, his bedside lamp clicked on and I saw Granddad sitting bolt upright in bed with a crazed expression on his face.

  ‘What’s the matter, Granddad?’

  ‘Don’t open the curtains. I’m not ready yet.’

  ‘What do you want to sit in the dark for?’ I said, sounding just like Mum when I closed the blinds so I could see the Xbox properly. ‘I think the sun’s coming out again.’

  ‘Can you see anyone?’ whispered Granddad.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Down on the bench; have a look for me, there’s a good lad.’

  Two emos were kissing. Every time the girl came up for air, she took a swig of Diet Coke. ‘There’s no one, Granddad, just a couple of teenagers.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that.’

  He looked about a hundred years old, and a million miles away from the jolly old man who used to give me piggyback rides round the garden and let me nail old bits of wood together in his shed. I hated it when he got all crazy like that.

  ‘I’ve got that sherbet fountain you asked for, Granddad.’

  He fell back onto his mountain of pillows and let out a muffled groan. ‘Thank you, m’boy. But you’ll have to help me, I’m afraid.’

  I bit the top off the liquorice and held it to his lips. ‘There you go.’

  He took a couple of sucks and then stopped to catch his breath. ‘Well, that takes me back.’

  ‘Don’t you want any more?’

  ‘You finish it, m’boy. I’ve had enough.’

  ‘What shall I bring tomorrow?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think you need worry about that.’

  ‘But Granddad . . .’

  He stretched out a trembling hand and ruffled my hair. ‘I’ve never been the sort of chap to wear his heart on his sleeve. God knows, it drove your grandmother barmy. The point is . . . life would be pretty pointless without other people – important people that is. And when I say important, I mean, well, the people we . . . love. What I’m trying to say, Sam, is that it’s been a real pleasur
e getting to know you. I’ve been so proud to have such a, well, such a wonderful grandson. I’m really very . . . fond of you, you know. And I just wanted to tell you that . . .’

  ‘I love you too, Granddad.’

  ‘Yes, well . . . that’s good then.’ He looked almost as relieved as I was when Mum told me I didn’t have to be a pageboy at Auntie Lucy’s wedding. ‘Now, have you read it yet?’

  I’d been carrying it round in my rucksack all week, but I was in such a state that I just couldn’t bring myself to finish his story. And Granddad had hardly mentioned it. By the look of him, I’d say he’d been just as preoccupied as I was.

  ‘Sorry, Granddad. I’ve had . . . stuff on my mind.’

  ‘Yes I can see that,’ he said, ‘but you have to finish it. I can’t rest until I’ve put the record straight. I want you to know the truth.’

  ‘Couldn’t you just tell me now?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Come on, Granddad. I’d really like to hear the rest of the story. ’

  ‘Well, I suppose . . .’ When he was quite satisfied that no one was hiding behind the portable lavatory thing, he turned to me and nodded. ‘Where had you got to, m’boy?’

  ‘You were just about to join your ship.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ he said, struggling to haul himself up the north face of his pillows. ‘We boarded HMS Thanatos in Algiers. I remember thinking how thin the armour looked. Almost like a sardine tin. Of course cruisers are built for speed and don’t carry extra weight like thick-skinned battleships.’

  ‘Yes, but what happened, Granddad?’

  ‘As Captain Brady said, we’d hardly had time to sling our hammocks before we were racing up to Taranto to bombard the Italian coast. Those five-and-half inch guns made a hell of a racket. Rather like a high explosive going off in a dustbin.’

  ‘What about the —?’

  ‘Did I mention the food?’

  ‘No, Granddad.’

  ‘Actually it wasn’t at all bad, considering.’ A distant light gleamed in his bloodshot eyes. ‘Herrings in tomato sauce, Soya Links, ship’s biscuits, of course – I was rather fond of them. And if you were really desperate you could always get hold of some nutty from the NAAFI.’

  ‘What’s nutty?’

  ‘Naval chocolate; rather like eating solidified cocoa, though, strangely, completely lacking in nuts.’

  ‘Tell me about Tommy Riley, Granddad. How did he take to being at sea?’

  ‘Like a duck to water, oddly enough. We all had our action stations, of course. Tommy was clever, potential officer material. So they gave him a job down below in the transmitting station.’

  ‘How about you, Granddad?’

  ‘I was a look-out on the bridge, and Sharky Beal was my reader.’

  ‘Reader?’

  ‘Yes. I sat behind a pair of binoculars fixed to a scale. Whenever I spotted an enemy plane I had to yell “aircraft”. Sharky’s job was to read off the angles so that our guns could fix on the target. He wasn’t too happy about that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He didn’t think he’d see much action “hiding behind a bleedin’ pair of binoculars”. Mind you, they were a magnificent piece of engineering.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘They were so powerful that when you looked into the distance you could actually see that the world was round. If you sighted a ship on the horizon, its stern was bent over the curvature, almost as if it was sliding off the edge of the world.’

  He yawned and slid a little further down his pillows.

  ‘Yes, but what’s the big secret, Granddad? I thought you wanted to tell me about it.’

  The war wound under his left eye was gently weeping. It still did that sometimes, even after more than fifty years.

  ‘It all started when we went down to Alexandria for a boiler clean. That’s where we had the photograph taken. The funny thing is, I can hardly bear to look at it now. ’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘I suppose because it reminds me of the last time in my life when I was truly happy.’

  ‘What happened, Granddad? Please, you’ve got to tell me.’

  He stared into the distance. ‘It was the first time we saw some real action. You see, the three of us were playing cards when . . . when . . .’

  ‘Granddad, Granddad . . . Granddad?’

  His head fell onto his chest and he let out a ghostly howl.

  ‘Wake up, Granddad. At least tell me the end of the . . .’

  It was something he used to do when I was little: pretend to fall asleep in the middle of the story just to check I was listening. Then he’d spring back to life and make me jump. But this time it was for real. I knew I shouldn’t wake him, so I cradled his head in my hands and lifted it gently onto the pillow.

  Just as I was tiptoeing to the door, I got this silly urge to do something I hadn’t done for ages. Granddad preferred a firm handshake or a pat on the back, but there wasn’t a lot he could do about it. I leaned across and kissed his sand-papery cheek. He smelled of that funny soap they used to have at Nanny’s house.

  ‘Goodbye, Granddad. See you tomorrow.’

  6.18 p.m.

  Mum had promised she’d be out by half five at the latest, but the engaged sign was still up on her office door and every now and then the sound of raised voices spilled out into the empty corridor.

  Dad’s mobile was off again, so I left him yet another message: ‘Hi Dad, me again. Sorry, but I’m really worried about Granddad. He looked so ill today. And he keeps telling me he’s going to . . . Can you talk to him? Please, Dad . . . Oh and Dad – good luck for the race tomorrow.’

  I tried to keep my mind off the Belfast trip by playing Tetris on my phone. But all I could think about was what a perfect place a World War Two cruiser was for someone to meet with a ‘nasty accident’. My imagination turned somersaults until I’d been through every single worse case scenario in the Seaman’s Handbook.

  And that’s when it struck me that I’d need all the friends I could get the next day. Only Abby and Dimbo were really talking to me. I was a total Billy no mates. I knew it was a long shot, but seeing as he hadn’t replied to any of my texts, I thought it might just be worth a try. I tapped in his home number, squeezed hard on my blob of Blu-Tack and pressed dial.

  ‘Yeah, waddayouwant?’ said a half-familiar voice.

  ‘Is that Mrs Pitts?’

  She sounded weird. ‘Who is it wants to know?’

  ‘It’s Sam, Sam Tennant.’

  The Wicked Witch of the West transformed into Mary Poppins. ‘Oh Sammy, how lovely to hear from you.’

  ‘Is Alex there?’

  ‘No,’ she said, turning back into a witch again. ‘Alex and Molly are with their father.’

  ‘Do you know when he’ll be back?’

  ‘How long does it take to choose an engagement ring?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He wanted the children to feel part of it. Sick, isn’t it?’

  ‘Well, I —’

  ‘Apparently they’re going to conduct the whole disgusting charade on a beach in Mauritius. Do you know where we got married, Sammy?’

  ‘In a church?’

  ‘Hackney Registry Office.’ She laughed, but it didn’t sound like she found it all that funny.

  ‘Do you think you could ask Alex to call me when he gets in, please?’

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best, but if he’s half as slippery as his father you might as well hire a private detective. Did I tell you about —?’

  ‘OKthanksbye.’

  Mr and Mrs Pitts used to take us bowling. Sometimes they got really cross with each other about the scoring. I knew Alex liked all the presents and stuff, but I had a feeling he was still sort of hoping they might get back together again. Maybe he was only avoiding me because he didn’t want to talk about the wedding.

  Mum’s meeting was going on forever. The kid in there must have been a right psycho. Even the pyromaniac boy wasn’t t
hat full on. I was so hungry that I took out the remains of Granddad’s sherbet fountain. But after a couple of sucks I felt really guilty. His story seemed to be whispering at me from the bottom of my rucksack. I knew I’d promised him I’d finish it. The trouble was, part of me really needed to find out what happened, and another part was terrified of reading something I didn’t want to hear.

  What was so good about the truth anyway? Wasn’t it better to believe what you wanted to believe? My hand hovered above my rucksack while I tried to decide.

  Sliding Off

  the Edge of the World

  SEPTEMBER 1943

  SOMEWHERE IN THE MEDITERRANEAN

  The three of us were having a quiet game of cards, when the peace was shattered by the dreaded sound of the action station rattlers and the crackle of the tannoy: ‘D’you hear there, d’you hear there? Close up to action stations. Close up to action stations.’

  ‘Gonna see some action,’ said Sharky grimly. ‘Gonna make my family proud.’

  I struggled into my anti-flash gear (white asbestos gloves and hoodie, designed to protect from burns) in record time. Tommy on the other hand seemed more concerned with his lifejacket.

  I can still hear the ring of boots on iron ladders, the full-throated cursing and whispered prayers, as all hands hurried to action stations. It’s funny what goes through your head at a time like that, but I remember thinking what a tragedy it would be if I copped it having never tasted lobster.

  It was a clear blue Mediterranean afternoon when Sharky and I arrived on the bridge. You could almost have imagined we were on a pleasure cruise; only the ping of the asdic (anti-submarine device) and the distant drone of a squadron of Junkers 88s gave the game away.

  Suddenly, there they were in the corner of the sky, six of them in formation, small grey dots in my binoculars, which rapidly became fully-fledged warplanes.

  ‘Aircraft!’ I shouted.

  Sharky read off the angles and our guns swung round to face them like angry Daleks.

  One by one, they peeled away from their formation and swooped. I can’t tell you what that feels like, Sam, to have an enemy plane screeching towards you at two hundred miles per hour with four thousand pounds of high-explosives on board, but I can promise you one thing: I was absolutely terrified.