Aliens In The Family (7 page)

David looked hopeful, Philippa suspicious. "Dora—you aren't up to any mischief are you? No stray cats? No plans to dye your hair?"

"Oh no!" Dora cried with great sincerity. "Truly I'm not. It's just this game we're playing—we don't want to interrupt it, do we, you kids?"

"No!" chorused Lewis and Jake obediently, with Jake wondering why she found it so hard to lie to David when it seemed that Dora found it so easy. But Dora didn't regard it as lying, merely preventing the truth from causing too much trouble.

"Well," said David. "I must admit I'd like to show Philippa the moon. She hasn't seen it before you know."

"Yes she has," said Lewis, confused. "She's seen it lots of times."

"But the one they had last year had been put too close to the sun and was covered in blisters," said Philippa.

"Those were
craters!"
cried Lewis, roaring with laughter at his mother's ignorance.

"Oh Phil, darling. Let me take you away from all this. We'll test the moon—colour, texture, taste..."

"Mmm, this moon is simply delicious!" Philippa said.

"Cooked to perfection," agreed David.

"You can tell they're in love," said Dora later as they watched David and Philippa leave. "They're even holding hands walking to the garage!"

"That's a bit stupid!" commented Jake, scornfully. "It takes two hands to open the garage door!" But as they watched, it was opened using David's right hand and Philippa's left.

"Did David and your mother ever hold hands?" asked Dora. "Mum never held hands with my real father. At least not when I was looking." She wanted to think that David had never truly loved anyone until he met Philippa. Somehow that would make her as much his true daughter as Jake was.

Jake gave her a slight smile. "If Dad ever held my mother's hand it would be to make sure she didn't hit him!"

"Did she ever
hit
him?" cried Dora, both shocked and thrilled at what poor David must have suffered before he became a part of their family.

"I was only joking!" Jake explained. "Well... half true, half joke."

"A Jake-joke!" Lewis seemed pleased with his quick wit.

Jake ignored him. "Suppose they take your mother's car, though?" she said anxiously.

"They won't! It rattles," answered Dora smugly. "Besides, I don't think there's much petrol in it."

Sure enough, the car that eventually backed out of the garage was David's car, although Philippa was driving, enjoying the thought of being seen in a sporty car, quieter and faster than her own. The electric window slid smoothly down. "Can you please put the milk bottles out?" called Philippa. "Don't forget, or we'll have no milk for breakfast. See you later!"

Cheerfully, the three children waved them on their way.

"Now, let's get that boy out!" said Lewis with satisfaction.

"Yeah, and ask him his name this time," added Jake.

Bond told them his name. Somehow he looked even more odd sitting on the flowery sofa in their living room.

"James
Bond! Double O seven! Licensed to kill?" Jake asked, smiling. Bond turned his eyes towards her and for the first time she looked deep into them. They were blue-grey, the colour of the sea on a cloudy day, and showed no understanding at all of what she had just said. As she watched she was amazed to see comprehension flood into them as if the knowledge was suddenly supplied from thin air.

"Don't you ever stop listening to your radio?" she asked impatiently, while Dora made fluttering gestures at her in an effort to gain attention.

"Sorry!" said Bond, disconnecting the silver wire from his ear.

"I've had a terrific idea!" Dora announced. Her terrific idea was they they should disguise Bond. "White Fire won't be any good for you," she pondered. "It's got to be Midnight Appointment or Kiss of Fire."

"Kiss of fire?" queried Bond. He looked into space as he asked the question, rather than at Dora

"I know—it's hair dye!" exclaimed Lewis before Dora could explain. "She's got a drawer full of it. What about Ginger Crunch?" he asked in an affected voice.

Dora turned red with anger. "You shouldn't go looking in my drawers reading private hair colouring!" she declared crossly. "I don't go looking at your stupid feathers!" She turned to the other two. "I just thought we could dye Bond's hair as a sort of disguise."

Jake waited to see what Bond might have to say about this but he seemed more curious than worried. Dora went to her room and fetched the bottle. She handed it to Bond who studied the label. "The single-step process to new, true hair colouring. It's as easy as one, two, three." He shook the bottle, removed the cap and smelt the lotion inside. "They don't actually recognize me by my hair," he said but was too curious about having his hair dyed to turn down Dora's offer.

"Well, I think I'll be in charge of refreshments," said Jake. "This isn't my scene." For all that she kept on going to the bathroom to watch from the door while Dora fussed over Bond, finding him such a passive patient that she went even further and put his hair in rollers. Jake put together a tray of crackers, cheese and fruit, thinking to herself that a house where you could raid the fridge and cupboards wasn't half bad. She was beginning to feel at home here. By the time she had finished pouring some cold drinks, Bond was sitting with a sort of puffed-out tea cosy on his head which was connected by a wide plastic tube to a machine with a windy voice. His hair was being dried and Jake thought he looked like a spaceman. He did not seem in the least perturbed about being seen under a hair-dryer but she deduced that that was probably because he was a bit strange anyway—he even wore unusual red and black tattoos on either side of his neck. Lewis felt humiliated for him. As Jake pushed the crackers towards him, not very graciously, Bond smiled his bright smile at her.

"You're all being very good to me," he said. "You don't know anything about me."

"We go by the look!" said Dora. "You look as if you're on the right side."

"You shouldn't do that," warned Bond. "The look can be changed. I mean, you're changing the way I look now, aren't you? And some people can take off one look and put on another as easily as you might change a coat." As he said this he unbuttoned his shirt with many pockets, took it off and put it on again inside out. It was dark blue, quite plain, and changed him remarkably. "See?" he said.

Jake had eyed with considerable doubt before. Now her eyes narrowed and something different began to show in her face. It was a distant cousin of fear—suspicion. Bond had changed his look not merely by changing his shirt. Jake imagined he had somehow managed to pull his face into a different shape, and it made the hair prickle on her head. Dora's hair did not prickle at all. Perhaps it was because Jake's hair was so very short and unshaped by the wonderful Mr Chopperlox.

"You've
got
to go by the look!" Dora remarked, surprised that there should be any doubt. "That's what it's there for, so that people can go by it. You can't wait to find out if someone's nice before you rescue them!"

"Well... you tell us if you're nice or not," Jake said to Bond, a challenging look on her face. Some questions need to be asked even when there is no possible answer. Jake thought her question could not be answered. However Bond tried to answer it as honestly as he could.

"I think I am good," he said. "I won't steal from you or hurt you. But I might bring trouble down on you. I'm being followed by a kind of danger—and I'll have to move on as soon as I can."

As he spoke, Dora decided Bond's hair was dry enough. She removed the dryer and the rollers so that his head was covered with glossy sausages. Then she brushed the sausages into fluffy curls. The curls, bright red and shining, made fiery ripples around his ears. "You took the colour exactly!" Dora cried with a dramatic gesture. She pulled Bond to his feet and spun him around to look at his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece.

"Amazing!" said Bond. "It might even... no, probably not. I'll have to go."

"Go!" wailed Dora. "But we've only disguised you! We haven't rescued you yet! Stay the night."

"Where would he sleep?" asked Lewis.

"I can't stay in your house," Bond objected, and for the first time since they had met him he looked frightened. "Believe me—I'll be all right. But I must go."

Dora ignored his protestation. "He could sleep under my bed," she suggested.

Jake saw that this might be possible. "We could smuggle him out in the morning," she said, nodding in agreement. "No big deal!"

But Bond was not convinced. "I dream!" he cried rather desperately. "I have nightmares. I talk in my sleep and describe a thousand terrible deaths, all mine."

Dora rolled her eyes skywards. There was no getting away from horror stories, she thought. But Jake, who had stood up in order to go and get some more crackers, sat down again. She leaned her elbows on her knees and propped her head in her hands. "This isn't just ordinary," she said, staring directly at Bond. "This is something weird, isn't it?"

"I have to say yes," replied Bond, 'but I'm not allowed to tell. I've made serious promises of silence. I'm grateful for all you've done, but I must go now—quickly, and I'll never be heard of again and your lives won't be altered in the slightest. Whereas if you try and look after me you may suffer for it. I'm trying to be honest with you," he added, gingerly touching his newly-dyed hair as if the fiery red might actually burn him. "But I am not allowed to tell you my story. You know I am trying to escape from someone, and I'm not sure when I'll receive the help I should get. I must keep ahead for another day, and even if I can't keep ahead I must be silent."

"Keep ahead of what?" asked Dora. "Enemies?"

"Hide, and let them run past you," advised Jake.

"They won't run past," Bond said. "If I find a lonely place my friends can come and help me. They can't come to the city. Look." From one of his many pockets he extracted a map. It was folded over but still looked brand new. Bond unfolded it and spread it out over his pocketed knees. "I have to get there, for example—or there—or there."

"That's the peninsular!" exclaimed Dora peering over his shoulder. "Oh my goodness!" she said dramatically. "Brilliant!"

"What?" asked Jake. "What's so exciting?"

"We could go on the trek! Look, he's got his finger quite close to Webster's Valley."

Jake looked at the map. "Is that the place you said was haunted?" Dora closed her eyes. "Where did you get this map?" Jake asked Bond, staring more closely. "It looks—I don't know—if you look at it closely it gets sort of three-dimensional."

"Never mind where he got it," said Dora. "Bond, if you stay we can probably get you there tomorrow. Our parents will do anything for us. Anything! They want us to have a good time and to get to like each other." Dora was already involved in preparing herself to brave the ghosts, and to talk David and Philippa into going on the trek after all.

"It's no use saying we won't be altered," Jake burst out, "we're altered by it already. And suppose we did let you just walk off into the dark when there are enemies hiding in wait for you—we'd be altered by that, too!"

"How?" asked Bond.

"We'd know we were cowardly," said Jake, "and we'd always wonder what happened to you. We can't just give in."

It was Dora's turn to be impressed. "That's right! Well done, Jake!"

"You should be careful," said Bond seriously. "I might be warning you only to
appear
honest—to get sympathy. I might use one small truth to eclipse another bigger one. The moon eclipses the sun."

Jake's mouth dropped open as if he had sprouted wings or turned to gold before her eyes. She sent a quick glance in Dora's direction, half looking for support. "How old are you?" she said at last, in a cautious voice. Bond said nothing. "Okay! Well, suppose we put you back out in the green car? Would you be safe there?" She spoke almost as if she had suddenly lost interest in the whole affair.

Dora was looking about, confused by Bond's answers and Jake's reactions, when she saw the milk bottles sitting in their carrier on the table. She glanced anxiously at the clock and saw that there was still time before the milkman arrived. "Lewie, run out with the milk bottles, will you please? Mum told us not to forget."

"Why don't you?" asked Lewis, but he knew that it was a foregone conclusion since he was the youngest, and that if he went quickly he would not miss much. He picked up the milk crate and ran out the door into the dark.

Lewis had always enjoyed putting the milk bottles out. The tokens reminded him of game counters, and he secretly felt that if he put them out in the right way, one day he might win a prize. Sometimes he hopped out to the milk box, sometimes he jumped two steps and skipped one.

Tonight however, not wanting to miss anything, he scuttled out to the box as quickly as he could, but as he put the bottles into it something touched his shoulder. Lewis let out a squeak, so high and shrill it was almost like a whistle. As he spun around fearfully, he saw for a brief second a figure standing so close behind him he could have felt its breath if it was a breathing thing. He glimpsed a knobbly forehead and white hair. Then something cold and round like a frozen coin was placed on his forehead. He felt the circle of burning cold begin to bite into him—and then suddenly it was gone.

Lewis sighed with relief. He felt initially as if he had been changed into another shape by his fright, and then that something had entered him—not a moth or a beetle but something that burned his eyes for a moment without really hurting him. He wondered if his eyes had gone red in the dark, and as he wondered this he felt the strangest sensation inside his head. His own thoughts were being softly but remorselessly nudged aside.
Make way for me!
something was saying.
Give ME a place. Let me share your eyes, let me listen with your ears.
Lewis felt it turn around and around like a cat before it settles down and then, just as pain follows a few seconds behind a numbing blow, he felt real fear. It was like nothing he had ever felt before though he had often been frightened. This real fear was so great it seemed as if everything he was composed of—his legs, his heart, his lungs, his stomach quietly digesting crackers and cheese—had all stopped working at once. He couldn't tell whether his feet were touching the ground or not. Everything was paralysed with the electricity of terror.