Spindrift

by Jonathan Broughton

  I run through the group of Cindy girls, growling and huffing loudly and they make way for me. I sit before Johnny, looking up at him with the woolly booty held tightly.

  “Hallo, little fella.” He looks down and studies me and I see the dawn of recognition in his eyes, they glow with excitement. “You’re Garibaldi, Cindy’s little dog.”

  I wag my tail frantically.

  “Where’s Cindy, little Gary fella? I’ve been looking for her for a long time,” and he gives my head a good rubbing.

  Then he notices the booty in my mouth. I place it before him and he picks it up and recognises it for what it is and his eyes go wide and I see tears in them as the pennies begin to drop. He takes his little gizmo in shaky fingers and runs it over the soggy bootie. The thing goes crazy, making all sorts of bleeps and squeals and Johnny just stares at its little screen, wide-eyed and breathing heavily. He turns to me and he’s crying.

  “Where is she, Gary?”

  I bark at him and turn to go, but he just stands. I grab his trouser leg and tug and he comes after me. We run to Mrs Tinsdale’s.

  But nobody’s in.

  BUGGER! Johnny knocks loudly, there’s no answer. Calmly he leans against the wall beside the door. The three su-its stand beside him. I sit down at his feet and we wait.

  A while later I hear them. I start barking and then they’re coming through the gate, Mrs Tinsdale, Cindy and Jonni-Jr in her pushchair. They see Johnny and stop dead. Cindy and Johnny stare at each other.

  Mrs T. looks at them both and picks up Jonni-Jr. “I guess you must be Johnny,” she says, eyeing the three su-its suspiciously.

  Cindy starts laughing and crying all at the same time and runs to Johnny. She flings her arms around him tightly and they’re lost in their hugs and kisses.

  I leap about barking like a loon. Thank the stars - I don’t have to carry this secret around anymore.

  So, at last, Cindy and Johnny are reunited and little Jonni-Jr has her dad. They are all so excited and Jonni-Jr takes to Johnny like there’s no tomorrow. She won’t leave him alone and even though he’s a stranger, insists on hugging him and sitting on his lap all the time. Cindy can hardly get a look-in.

  So the kettle boils and we all sit in the front room, even the su-its, with cups of tea and Johnny tells his tale. I’m so excited I pee on the floor. Dirty, dirty dog!

  It turns out that Johnny doesn’t come from our world. I can’t even imagine another world. It’s some place with a funny name that I can’t remember and his car is not even a car, but something that travels between stars. Apparently, it drives through space wormholes; must be bloody big worms. That’s why he always shot off at midnight. The gui-dance system was set on automatic return so he wouldn’t get lost and the gui-dance stars only aligned at midnight. But Johnny’s programmed it now so it knows the way here and he can travel to our world any time he wants.

  He’s been coming back here every six weeks searching for Cindy, but his little gizmo has been checking the wrong women. It didn’t know Cindy had become a mother.

  Back in his world, Johnny’s father is top Alpha Man of the richest and most powerful land on their planet and one day Johnny will take his place as top Alpha Man. The three su-its are from Johnny’s world too, they’re mine-ders and protect him.

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that,” says Mrs T. “I thought they might be police and Johnny is in trouble.”

  Cindy is nervous with all the ‘other world’ stuff, but she’d do anything for Johnny. She really wants a normal ‘Earthly’ life, just Johnny, her, Jonni-Jr and me.

  “Look honey,” says Johnny lovingly. “Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. It’s my world, come and visit it. We can be back in a month if you don’t like it... or the next day if you really don’t like it and we’ll live here, near the beach.”

  So, it’s agreed. Jonni-Jr and me will stay with Mrs T. and Johnny and Cindy will visit Johnny’s world.

  But Cindy does like it, in fact she loves it and so Johnny, Cindy and JJ move to a wonderful home in Johnny’s world. The trip only takes a short time through the wormholes and they come back and visit all the time so Mrs T. can spend time with JJ as she grows up... and because JJ wants to see me. We’ve grown very close. She is such a happy pup, in fact she has the best of everything. You could say she’s the happiest pup in the two worlds.

  I stay with Mrs T. She does me a cracking good dinner - not that Cindy wouldn’t, but I like Mrs T’s. cooking and I’ve still got the boats to sniff around. But we all went to Johnny’s world for the wedding and that was great fun and we visit from time to time. I like Johnny’s world... but it’s not the beach.

  Cindy still has the hut, because JJ was conceived there. Sometimes she and Johnny go there to remember. Her stash is still under the bed and sometimes I really fancy a spliff... but that’s another thing dogs don’t do. But who cares, I belong, I have family. And I can still go chase those bloody gulls and annoy those fat bitches at the pub. I wouldn’t change living in my world for anything. I’m King of the Beach!

  Teeth

  by Christine Dale

  Teeth are a pain,

  From the minute they grow,

  It seems as though,

  Babies cry all day, and all the night.

  Mothers breast feeding.

  Get quite a fright.

  When suckling babies,

  Clamped on tight, give them a bite!

  Then aged five or six,

  In all their school pic’s.

  They smile for the camera.

  As wide as they can.

  And there right in front,

  Where their teeth should be,

  A gaping black hole,

  For all to see.

  Then you reach teenage.

  Having pearly whites is all the rage.

  You brush them every morning.

  And of course every night.

  You smile into the mirror,

  With great delight.

  Because, you’ll only get a boyfriend,

  If your teeth are bright and white.

  Then in your thirties and forties.

  They don’t look quite so bright.

  So you spend a small fortune,

  On things

  That just might!

  Turn back the years,

  Cover those stains.

  And put the white back in your smile again.

  Then when you hit fifty,

  Imagine the blow.

  All your teeth are still there,

  But your gums have let go!

  The Warrior of Warrior Square Gardens

  by Jonathan Broughton

  Like Archie in the story, I loved dressing up in plastic armour and fighting imaginary foes. I even allowed myself to be killed sometimes and revelled in my heart-breaking death scenes. My granddad fought in the Great War. The spirit for a good fight and the chance to be a hero are hard to quench.

  Archie Piper scrambled out of bed and ran downstairs.

  Mum stood at the kitchen sink washing dishes. “Hello darling, you’re up early. Ready for some breakfast?”

  “It’s the parade today, isn’t it?” He climbed onto his chair at the table.

  “It is and it looks like it’s going to be sunny.” She dried her hands and reached into the cupboard for a bowl and the cereal packet. “Are you excited?”

  “Yes I am. Can I put my armour on now?”

  “After you’ve had some breakfast and then a wash.” She poured cereal into the bowl and passed him the milk.

  “Oh! I had a bath last night.”

  “Exactly, that’s why you just need a wash this morning.”

  As he ate, Archie peered at the photograph that stood on the shelf of the big cabinet against the wall. It showed a man in a uniform and a peaked cap. A black moustache covered his top lip. The man looked straight back at him as if he might be able to see into the kitchen and wherever Archie stood or sat, the man’s gaze followed.

  Archie
crunched through his cereal. The man didn’t frighten him, not now, not after mum found him hiding under the table one day, crying. “The man won’t stop watching me.”

  She had wiped away his tears. “That’s my great-granddad,” she explained. “He was a soldier in the Great War.”

  Archie didn’t understand ‘greats.’ He knew about granddads and he knew about war, but he let mum talk.

  “He went to France. He died in the fighting and never came back.”

  “Why is there a picture of him if he died?”

  “That was taken before he died.” She had taken the picture off the shelf and let him hold it. “Isn’t he smart in his uniform? He was very brave to go to war.”

  Archie tilted the picture, but the man still looked at him, though sideways. “Did he do a lot of fighting?”

  “I expect so.”

  “Why did he die?”

  Mum gave a little sigh. “I don’t know. A lot of people died and he was one of them.”

  “Why does he keep looking at me?”

  Mum straightened the picture in his hands. “He looks at me, too. I like to pretend that he enjoys watching us, because he never saw his own son. I think he hopes that one day you will grow up to be big and brave.”

  “I will.” He let go of the picture. “Was he strong? Did he kill lots of people?”

  Mum placed the picture back on the shelf. “I never knew him. I was born a long time after he died.”

  “Can I have a uniform like that for the parade?”

  He expected mum to say no; instead she gazed at the picture and then said, “Well, not quite like that. I wouldn’t know how to make it, but I’ll see if I can think of something.”

  At last, the day, this day had arrived! St Leonards Festival and the parade around Warrior Square Gardens with all his friends from school. Today he wore a uniform for real. Not a uniform like granddad’s, but armour as the knights of old once wore, with their swords and lances, which he liked best. Archie sucked the spoon for the last bits of cereal. “Finished.”

  Mum took his bowl and dropped it in the sink. “Up you run to the bathroom, then.”

  Archie leapt off his chair and ran towards the door.

  “Have a proper wash,” she called after him. “With soap.”

  Three minutes later, Archie ran down the stairs, dressed in his blue trousers, green top and yellow plastic sandals. “I’m ready.”

  Mum brushed his hair with her hand. “I’ve put the armour in the front room. There’s plenty of time before the parade. Are you sure you want to get ready so early?”

  Archie squirmed out of her reach. “I want to practice. I want to fight like the great-granddad. I can’t do it without the armour.”

  Mum followed him into the front room. “I don’t think there’s going to be any fighting.”

  “Yes there is. Because my friend Tom is going to be an alien and we’re going to fight.”

  The armour lay on the sofa. It gleamed like real metal. The big piece that went across his chest and did up with buckles round his back shone like gold. The helmet, with a visor that went up and down in front of his eyes and two side-guards that dangled on either side to protect his cheeks, might be real silver, it flashed so bright. The wide belt: black leather with a heavy clasp. Then the sword, which was the best, with its silver blade and gold handle. Three jewels, blue, green and yellow, stuck into the crosspiece that stopped your hand from being cut by the blade’s sharp edges, sparkled bright enough to dazzle any alien.

  “Now Archie, listen to me.” Mum knelt beside him and lifted her finger. “You must promise to behave. There’s going to be a lot of people watching the parade and the teachers are going to be very busy keeping order. When I told them you were coming as a warrior, they asked if you could leave the sword behind. I said I’d think about it. If you’re naughty, they’ll send you home. I want you to be a proud warrior, not a bad warrior. Do you understand?”

  Archie nodded. He wanted the armour on - now! If he made a fuss it meant a longer time to wait.

  Mum stood up. “All right. Let’s get you dressed.”

  “Over here, over here.” Archie jumped in front of the big mirror that hung behind the door. Mum picked up the chest piece and he shut his eyes. The hard edges dug into his skin as mum pulled the buckles tight. The helmet squeezed his head as she pulled it over his hair. The pieces that dangled at the side tickled his cheeks. She fixed the belt nice and tight and then she took his hand and placed the sword into his palm.

  “Ready,” she said.

  Archie scrunched his eyes tight shut and then opened them wide. “Yay!” He thrust the sword into the air, jumped and landed with his legs wide apart and his knees bent. “Aaaaaargh!” and he swiped the sword sideways as he cut off an enemy head.

  “I’ll leave you to practice,” mum said.

  “Can the great-granddad watch? I want to show him how I practice. He might know some good practice too.”

  Mum gave a little laugh. “What a nice idea. I’ll fetch him.”

  With one leap, Archie reached the sofa. He lined up all the cushions in a row and stabbed them one after the other.

  “I’ll put him on the mantle-piece.” She placed the picture of the great granddad in the very middle so that his eyes saw into every part of the room. “Be careful not to knock him off.” The door clicked shut behind her.

  “Aaaaaargh!” Archie held the sword with both hands and brought the blade down with all his strength. The cushions crumpled under his blows. One, a big orange cushion with tassels, he threw into the air and whacked with the flat of the blade before it hit the ground. The thwump of the contact sounded good. He spun left, then right, held the sword sideways to stop a well-aimed blow at his head, circled the sword in a wide arc to scatter the enemies bold enough to come too close.

  He glanced at the great-granddad who watched every move.

  “Very good,” the great-granddad agreed. “But have you seen the assassin with the wicked knife crawling through the long grass behind you?”

  Archie leapt onto the sofa and thrust the sword into the space over the back. The assassin gurgled and lay still. “Got him.”

  “Well done.” Great-granddad’s eyes never left Archie’s. “But that bowman, fifty yards away, has climbed up a tree and his aim is clear and straight.”

  Archie vaulted over the back of the sofa and ducked. The arrow hit the cushions with a loud thwack. “Missed.”

  “Good reactions,” congratulated the great-granddad.

  The sword made it difficult to crawl and Archie held it flat to the floor and then slithered like a snake round the sofa until he reached the side and the view in front.

  “He’s still up that tree,” warned the great-granddad.

  Archie squatted on his haunches and with the biggest jump landed behind the bean bag. Thwack! Thwack - went two more arrows. He drew his sword and as the bowman fitted a third arrow, Archie ran as fast as the wind, reached the lamp standard and thrust his sword straight up into the bowman’s leg.

  The bowman’s shriek made a terrible noise and he lost his balance and tumbled out of the tree. Archie drove the sword into the man’s stomach and finished him off. Blood spurted everywhere.

  “You think fast on your feet, Archie,” the great-granddad approved. “Very important in a fight.”

  Hardest of all proved to be the catapult. Huge and heavy, it tossed boulders like pebbles.

  “The best way is to set fire to it,” suggested the great-granddad. “Cut some dead wood off that fallen tree and tie it tight together.”

  Archie worked quick and quiet as he gathered branches and twigs from behind the television.

  “That’s good.” The great-granddad’s voice went to a whisper. “Now, crawl towards the catapult and use the bundle as camouflage.”

  Archie wriggled along the floor towards the bookcase with the bundle in front of his face.

  “Take my matches,” ordered the great-granddad. “Light the wood and throw i
t as hard as you can.”

  Archie struck the first match and the wood exploded. He stood and, with a perfect aim, tossed it right into the middle of the catapult. He dived for cover as the catapult buckled and blew apart from the red hot heat and the enemy closest to it caught fire too and burned to death.

  The battle lasted all day and all night. When it was over, Archie faced the mirror, his cheeks bright red and lowered the visor in front of his eyes. “The Warrior of Warrior Square Gardens,” he intoned. “Bring me the enemy leader.”

  The alien king knelt before him to surrender, but Archie didn’t listen to his pleas for mercy. He sliced through all eight tentacles and then lopped off his head.

  “That’s the last we’ll hear of that army.”

  The great-granddad’s warm approval gave Archie a glow of satisfaction. He peered into the eyes that never blinked, or shifted, or glistened. “Why did you die?”

  For a moment the great-granddad didn’t speak and his face didn’t move as it might if he was thinking. At last he said, “My weapon jammed. I tried to be brave and I did fight, but I didn’t have the same courage. You will make a very great warrior, because men will admire your strength and daredevil spirit and follow you into battle. I would, if you and I fought together.”

  “Archie, time to go,” mum called from the kitchen.

  Already! Archie spun back to face the mirror. A thousand prisoners needed executing. He’d save them for later.

  “You look very hot,” mum said. “I hope you’re not too tired.” She picked up the great-granddad and took him back to the kitchen.

  “My muscles are full of courage. I don’t feel tired at all.”

  “Remember Archie, this is a parade, not a battle.”

  Mum placed the great-granddad in his usual place on the shelf. He didn’t look upset or happy, pleased or worried. It’s sad that he just stands and watches, thought Archie, because once he must have talked, but because he died he stopped.

  He took hold of his sword: the three jewels flashed. With both hands, he placed it in front of the picture - a ready weapon gave courage to every warrior.

  Mum laid a hand on his shoulder. “Great-granddad will look after it for you.” She steered him towards the door. “The teachers will be pleased.”

  Archie didn’t care about the teachers. He’d won the battle. The alien king lay dead and even the bravest warrior in the world needs a rest from fighting.