‘Shut up, Lewis,’ whispered Push.
‘You’re mother smelt of bat droppings and you’re shop smelt like Parker’s armpits...’
‘Thanks,’ said Parker.
‘...And you look like a baboon has stolen you’re face and left its arse in its place.’
Taz slipped down from the back of his quad bike. His hand went to his back pocket and pulled out a large pen-shaped object. There was a click and a glint of light as a six-inch blade snapped out of its casing.
‘Do you reckon they’d mind if I slice him a bit before we hand him over?’
Denny giggled and hopped from one foot to the other. ‘Go on, Tazzer. Give him some stripes.’
‘Oh, the moron’s got a knife,’ chanted Lewis.
‘What exactly is this achieving?’ whispered Push. ‘He’s going to hurt you.’
Lewis glanced up at the sky. ‘I know what I’m doing.’ He turned to Taz. ‘Why don’t you hit me with this as well?’ he said, scooping up a tent pole and tossing it in a high arc towards the advancing shopkeeper.
‘Duck!’ he yelled. The three of them hit the muddy ground. Taz caught the pole and held it aloft.
And nothing happened.
Taz laughed. ‘Hold them still’.
‘What was that all about?’ coughed Parker.
‘I thought he might get zapped by the lightening,’ said Lewis, sheepishly.
‘Is this you’re first visit to our planet? That’s the most pathetic plan ever. That’s just the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. That’s the worst plan since the Trojans thought that a giant wooden horse would look good inside their city walls.’
‘Now we’re all going to get pasted,’ added Push.
‘Will you three girls stop squabbling while I cut you?’ snarled Taz.
A howl curled over the field from the direction of the trees. They all turned their heads. Another howl followed, then another until the night was filled with baying. At the same instant, the rain stopped and the moon crept between the receding clouds. Shadows slipped out of the woods and spread across the fields towards them. The baying turned to shrieks and cackles and ghostly faces emerged from under sweeping capes. Within seconds a horde of slavering vampires was upon them.
There was no need for the stakes they wielded. The villagers ran, some snatching up their bikes, some abandoning them in their race to reach the gate. Even Taz fled without looking back.
Vizzy flopped to the floor in a squelchy heap, gasping for air and laughing. ‘You know, Lewis, sometimes it’s an advantage to be thought of as spooky freaks.’
The Goths jumped and clapped and some made after the villagers. Lewis was shaking. He clutched at Vizzy’s soaking cape. ‘I thought we’d had it then.’
‘Better find somewhere safer to camp,’ she said and started to gather up the scattered bags and pots.
Chapter Nineteen
Jackman was on the road again. He sat in the back of his Rolls Royce, reading important papers. He had a pile on his knee and others scattered around the shiny leather seats. Dotty sat in the opposite corner.
‘Never mind, my dear.’ He leant over and patted her on the knee. ‘We’ll soon have Mrs Bootles back.’
‘I thought you said that man you sent to find her had failed.’
‘Yes, well, he’s not the only string to my bow, you know.’
‘And I thought you said the general who tried to arrest all those naughty children had failed too.’
‘Yes,’ snapped Jackman, ‘which is why I’m going down to Southampton to take charge of the situation personally.’ He picked up the phone by his elbow and spoke to the driver in the front seat. ‘Put your foot down, George.’
* * * * *
The great road south finally merged into a motorway. It was the only practical route to their destination. The police had kept their part of the bargain and closed the whole of the south carriageway to traffic. They did nothing to hinder the march; they simply observed and kept the traffic flowing.
Spread out over three motorway lanes and a hard shoulder, the march bunched up considerably. But it was still far too long to see the front from the back and vice versa.
They passed junction after confusing junction until their sense of direction had completely deserted them. Piperdy poured over maps to be sure that the police hadn’t tricked them into a diversion. Eventually, they found themselves on the M271. All around them, the signs of a big city came into sight. There were tower blocks on the horizon and industrial estates on all sides.
* * * * *
On the third day of their alliance with the Goths, Lewis, Push and Parker stood on a low hill and stared down at the city. Close by, giant cranes and derricks lined the waterfront. The river and the sea stretched out into the mist and there, on the horizon, was a low mass of land that they took to be the Isle of Wight.
‘This is as far as a we go, mate,’ said Vizzy, ‘I’d love to see your march but we’re not that keen on big crowds at the moment. Before you go, we’ve got a present for you.’ She signalled to three of the girls who suddenly pounced on Parker.
‘What the…’ screeched Parker. ‘Get them off me.’
They dragged him to the ground and began to relieve him of his clothes. Push and Lewis stepped up to intervene. Vizzy waved them off. ‘Leave them to it, will you?’ she grinned.
The girls stopped when they had Parker down to his T-shirt, boxers and socks. One of them knelt on his chest and daubed white paste onto his face from a make-up box. Another applied black eyeliner round his eyes. ‘Keep still or I’ll poke you in the eye.’
The third had unbundled a pile of clothes from a carrier bag and was pulling black drainpipe trousers up his skinny legs. ‘Stop struggling, will you?’
Push began to see the funny side. ‘I was afraid he wouldn’t have agreed,’ said Vizzy, ‘if we’d just asked him politely. We thought we’d better make it a surprise.’
‘What about us?’ said Push.
‘We’ve got the same package for you but I assumed you’d co-operate.’
‘Too right,’ said Push. ‘Bring it on.’
‘This is the only way,’ said Vizzy, ‘that you’re going to get into Southampton without being stopped at the first corner.’
‘Outstanding,’ said Lewis, ‘I can be a Goth. What do I have to do?’
‘Just be yourself,’ said Vizzy.
Parker struggled to his feet. He was clad in a black knee-length velvet greatcoat and a leather waistcoat over a black shirt. His hair had been sprayed and combed into an untidy mohican. His face was white, his eyes black and his lips pinched with a streak of black lipstick.
‘You bastards!’ he shouted, ‘you utter bastards!’
‘Oh, the ingratitude!’ said Vizzy, ‘That’s my best coat.’
Parker calmed down a bit. ‘Yes, well, you could have asked. Thank you. I suppose it will help us to get where we want to go.’
The other two submitted to a similar transformation. Push did a twirl. ‘Monster!’ she purred.
‘Total div,’ said Parker, pointing at Lewis.
‘He looks smart,’ said Push, and she linked arms with both of them. ‘We’re going to be the best Goths in town.’
‘You’re going to be the only Goths in town,’ reminded Vizzy.
They shook hands and there was some crying. Push was told to keep her eyes dry if she could – her make-up was not invulnerable to tears.
‘Thank you for everything.’ She gave Vizzy a big hug.
* * * * *
The end of the line for the marchers was the parks in the middle of Southampton. As thousands of them filtered through the cordoned-off streets, curious shoppers gathered to stare, reminding themselves what children looked like.
The police had decided that the four or five green spaces near the commercial centre of town were the perfect holding zone for the children. As the head of the march ground to a halt in Houndwell Park, the rear was spilling out onto the other lawns and playing fields.
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‘But we want to go to the docks,’ protested Lydia to the Chief Constable. He met them at the southern boundary of the park.
‘You’re as close to the docks as you are ever going to get. We can’t get all of you onto the ferries. That is plainly ridiculous.’
‘We’re going to the Isle of Wight,’ said Lydia, ‘and if the Government won’t let us, we’ll stop here, stinking up the place until they change their minds.’ She didn’t say it with any conviction. When spoken aloud it didn’t sound much like a waterproof plan.
‘A delegation from the Government is on its way now,’ said Chief Constable Railings, lamely. ‘You can put any complaints to them. In the meantime, sit down and behave yourselves.’
* * * * *
Vizzy had been right. Their progress into Southampton had attracted only mild curiosity. On one occasion, a shopkeeper waved a broom at them. ‘It’s Mr Khan’s cousin,’ laughed Push. Rounding a street corner, they were confronted by a giant poster pasted onto a hoarding above a bus stop. A four metre tall picture of Lewis’s face was accompanied by the words:
“THE TRAITOR SPOTICUS. HUNT HIM DOWN. HAND HIM OVER. £10,000 REWARD. BY ORDER HM GOVERNMENT”.
‘That explains why those bikers were so keen on capturing you,’ said Push. They hurried on by.
At every turn their anticipation heightened until at last they saw and heard signs of people their own age. Crossing the road from a parade of shops, they peered through park railings and there they were. A sea of bodies sprawled over every inch of available grass.
‘They made it!’ shouted Push and started jumping up and down. ‘Let’s get in there.’
Parker found the nearest drinking fountain and scrubbed his face. ‘I’m not joining up with the others looking like some kind of exile from the Adams Family.’ Push and Lewis followed his example.
It wasn’t immediately apparent which way the front of the march could be found. They kept heading south until they saw a line of police cars ringing the southern edge of the park. They discovered Lydia beside a tall blue column on a plinth. She was sat on a park bench, chomping a baguette.
Lydia stood up quietly and watched the strangely-clothed figures walking down the path towards them. ‘And what have you come as?’ she shouted.
Push ran to greet her. She started squealing and hopping until Lydia hushed her. ‘Don’t make a fuss. We don’t to be too conspicuous.’ But it didn’t stop her putting her arms around all three of them.
‘What’s occurring?’ asked Lewis.
Lydia sat them down and brought them up to speed. ‘So that’s it,’ she said. ‘When the so-called Government Delegation gets here, we’ll just have to try and bluff our way onto those ferries.’
They were interrupted by the phut-phut sound of a small moped, wobbling slowly up the path towards them. The rider was wearing a dark greatcoat and a black helmet with a darkened visor. He pulled up next to Push and flipped his lid up. ‘Delivery for March and March Limited.’
‘Arseface! You made it! You star!’ She wrapped her arms around his neck.
‘Gerroff. You’re crushing the merchandise.’
A lump in his chest wriggled and the face of Mrs Bootle emerged under his chin.
‘You ain’t going to hurt her?’ said Arseface, as he took his helmet off.
‘Of course we’re not going to hurt her,’ said Push.
‘Right. Job done. I’m not going to hang around while you lot get mowed down by soldiers. If you ever make it back to Flintwick, look me up. I’ll still be living under that bridge, most likely. Oh, and if that cat needs a home,’ he added, ‘I suppose I could look after it for a bit longer.’
And with that, he turned and wobbled away.
* * * * *
Mr and Mrs Spottiswood landed at Luton Airport that morning. In common with thousands of other parents, they were making their way to Southampton. Unlike all the others, they had an official escort.
They sat in the back of a limousine. Police outriders on powerful motorbikes cleared the way, two in front and two behind. The English Consul, who had travelled with them from Malaga, flipped his mobile shut. He put it back into his breast pocked and smiled at the Spottiswoods. ‘It appears that your child is in Southampton somewhere. At least, that’s what the latest intelligence suggests.’
‘Has he been arrested?’ asked Mr Spottiswood.
‘Not just yet. I don’t believe he’s been identified yet but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.’
‘They won’t hurt him, will they?’ asked Mrs Spottiswood.
‘Oh, of course not, Mrs Spottiswood,’ reassured the Consul. ‘I’m sure everything will proceed properly but this nonsense does have to come to an end. Rapidly.’
The limo pulled into a large public car park. ‘I’m afraid we’ll have to walk from here,’ said the Consul, ‘The streets are all cordoned off.’
They found themselves in a steady current of other parents – most sporting Mediterranean tans and inappropriate footwear. Everyone was heading for the park.
* * * * *
Jackman’s car pulled up next to the Bargate. He and Dotty alighted and a police escort formed to take them the short distance down to the park. Police officers, two deep, lined the route and behind them, vacant looking parents and locals watched him pass. There was no cheering and no flags. ‘Bloody zombies,’ he muttered.
Chief Constable Railings met him at the end of the street and guided him to the entrance of the park.
‘Where are the ring leaders?’ he demanded.
‘Over there, Prime Minister.’ He pointed to the small group under the blue column.
Jackman stood on the edge of the pavement, arms behind his back, gently bobbing up and down on the balls of his feet. He had the look of someone waiting for something.
Lewis touched Push gently on her shoulder. ‘Now’s the time,’ he said. Push took a deep breath and made her way towards the Prime Minister.
Jackman noticed the diminutive figure in black approaching. ‘Delegation, I suppose. Let her through,’ he motioned to his police guards. ‘Well? What do you want?’
‘Mr Prime Minister,’ said Push, her voice quivering with terror. ‘We, the Children of England…’ she began.
‘Stop all that blathering nonsense,’ said Jackman. ‘What makes you think I want to listen to any demands from you…you traitors. What have you done with my cat?’
Push reached into her back pocket. Edgy policemen towered over her, their hands hovering near their gun holsters. She pulled out Mrs Bootles’ collar and held it out at arms length.
‘If you doubt that we are being serious about this…’ she began again.
‘Shut up!’ said Jackman. He reached out and wrenched the collar out of her grasp. He tossed it towards Dotty. ‘Here you are, my dear. Souvenir of a dead cat.’ Dolly gasped and dropped the collar in horror.
Jackman rounded on Push again. ‘If you think that making pathetic threats to a stupid moggy is going to bring down my Government, you’re more naive than I took you for. Arrest her.’
The Chief Constable hesitated for a moment then walked slowly over to Push and placed his hand on her arm. ‘Better wait here with me, lass.’
A dreadful silence fell on the crowd, only interrupted by whimpering noises coming from Mrs Jackman. She stared with disbelief at the empty cat collar at her feet.
‘Now,’ said Jackman. ‘Down to business.’
Ten men in dark coats and mirrored shades materialised out of the crowd. They stood, five on each side of Jackman, and pulled out revolvers. ‘Nobody moves,’ he yelled. The gunmen, feet planted firmly apart, trained their weapons on Lewis and his group.
‘Which one of you is Lewis Spottiswood?’ shouted the Prime Minister.
Nobody moved.
‘Which One Of You Is Lewis Spottiswood?’ he repeated.
Lewis suddenly felt very tired. He looked around the familiar faces surrounding him and knew that there was no alternative. ‘I’m…
…..’
Before he could get the words out, Boris Pickles leapt to his feet and shouted, ‘Please Sir. He’s Spoticus. Not me. Can I go home now?’ He pointed directly at Lewis. A hand grabbed Eric’s neck from behind and pulled him firmly back to the ground. ‘Shut your stupid mouth,’ snarled the girl next to him.
Lewis was half on his feet. Jackman’s malevolent gaze settled on him and he smiled. He took a pace forward.
Ten metres away, a small voice in the crowd shouted, ‘I’m Spoticus.’ Then two more voices to the left took up the refrain. ‘No, I’m Spoticus.’ Now everyone was getting to their feet and roaring. ‘I’M SPOTICUS, I’M SPOTICUS.’
The pandemonium lasted for five full minutes. Jackman stood his ground, still bouncing up and down on his feet, and waiting. The shouting died away.
‘GET HIM!’ he said and the ten gunmen took a pace forward.
But then there was another shout. From the other side of the road, a man broke through the police cordon. ‘I’M SPOTICUS,’ said Mr Spottiswood. ‘AND SO IS MY WIFE.’
The trance was broken. Parents all along the road were surging towards the park. ‘I’M SPOTICUS,’ shouted Mrs Parker as she ran toward the Prime Minister. ‘I’M SPOTICUS,’ shouted Mr and Mrs Patel from another corner. ‘WE’RE SPOTICUS.’
Jackman shouted to the police but there was nothing they could do. The cordon was broken and in disarray. Hordes were heaving towards him in uncontrollable frenzy.
Mrs Spottiswood stood at the Prime Minister’s shoulder and, barging astonished bodyguards aside, she turned him to face her. ‘Colonel Lionel Jackman, I’m arresting you in the name of the people. For cruelty to children. And treason against the parents of England.’
‘Get off me, you crazy woman,’ he shouted. ‘Chief Constable. Arrest this woman!’
The Chief Constable shrugged. ‘No, I think she’s got a point, actually sir. If she doesn’t arrest you, I will. Sergeant. Cuff him!’
The bodyguards were bustled away by angry parents, oblivious of the waving revolvers. Jackman started ranting. ‘You hooligans. You bloody ingrates. I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to this country. And you want to throw it all away? You want those little bastards ruling the streets again?’
‘Come on now, please sir,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘I think you’re time’s up. You’re coming with me.’
‘No, I’m bloody not,’ said Jackman. He pushed the nearest two children over and started barging his way across the park. Bodies scattered in each direction. Under the blue column, a woman on a mobility scooter was watching the excitement. Jackman grabbed her by the coat and hauled her onto the floor. He jumped onto the machine and decked the pedal, shooting forward at a massive 2mph. ‘We’ll see who’s in charge here,’ he yelled.