Johnny and the Bomb (15 page)

‘Yes, of course,' said Kirsty. Behind Wobbler, the staff were watching nervously, like monks in some quiet monastery somewhere who've just had St Peter drop in for tea.

‘A hundred years ago it'd have been a marvel. And now we throw them away without a second thought. So … how do you make one?'

‘Well … you get some oil, and … I think there's something about it in a book I've got—'

‘Right,' said Wobbler, leaning back. ‘You don't know. I don't know, either.'

‘But I wouldn't bother with that.
I'd
write science fiction,' said Kirsty. ‘Moon landings and stuff.'

‘You probably could,' said Wobbler. A tired expression crossed his face, and he started to pat the pockets of his coat as if looking for something. ‘But I've never had much of a way with words, I'm afraid. No. I opened a hamburger bar.'

Johnny looked around, and then started to grin.

‘That's right,' said Wobbler. ‘In 1952. I knew it all, you see. Thick shakes, Double Smashers with Cheese'n Egg, paper hats for the staff, red sauce in those little round plastic bottles that look like tomatoes … oh, yes. I had three bars in the first
year, and ten the year after that. There's thousands, now. Other people just couldn't keep up. I
knew
what would work, you see. Birthday treats for the kids, the Willie Wobbler clown—'

‘
Willie Wobbler
?' said Kirsty.

‘Sorry. They were more innocent times,' said Wobbler. ‘And then I started … other things. Soft toilet paper, for a start. Honestly, the stuff they had back in the 1940s you could use as roofing felt! And when that was going well, I started to listen to people. People with bright ideas. Like “I think I could make a tape recorder
really small
so that people could carry it around” and I'd say “That might just catch on, you know, here's some money to get started”. Or “You know, I think I know a way of making a machine to record television signals on tape so that people could watch them later” and I'd say “Amazing! Whatever will they think of next! Here's some money, why don't we form a company and build some? And while we're about it, why don't we see if movies can be put on these tape thingies too?”'

‘That's dishonest,' said Kirsty. ‘That's
cheating
.'

‘I don't see why,' said Wobbler. ‘People were amazed that I'd listen to them, because everyone else thought they were crazy. I made money, but so did they.'

‘Are you a millionaire?' said Bigmac.

‘Oh, no. I was a millionaire back in 1955. I'm a billionaire now, I think.' He snapped his fingers again. The chauffeur in black, who had silently appeared behind them, stepped forward.

‘I
am
a billionaire, aren't I, Hickson?'

‘Yes, Sir John. Many times.'

‘Thought so. And I think I own some island somewhere. What was it called now … Tasmania, I think.'

Wobbler patted his pockets again, and finally brought out a slim silver case. He flicked it open and took out two white pills, which he swallowed. He grimaced, and sipped from his glass of water.

‘You haven't touched your One with Everything,' said Johnny, watching him.

‘Oh, I asked for it just to make the point,' said Wobbler. ‘I'm not allowed to eat them. Good heavens. I have a diet. No sodium, no cholesterol, low starch, no sugar.' He sighed. ‘Even a glass of water is probably too exciting.'

The manager of the burger bar had at last plucked up the courage to approach the table.

‘Sir John!' he said, ‘this is a such an honour—'

‘Yes, yes, thank you, please go away, I'm talking to my friends—' Wobbler stopped, and smiled evilly. ‘Fries all right, Bigmac? Properly crisp?' he said. ‘What about that milkshake, Yo-less? Right sort of texture, is it?'

The boys glanced up at the manager, who suddenly looked like a man praying to the god of everyone who has to work while wearing a name-badge saying ‘My name is KEITH'.

‘Er … they're fine,' said Bigmac.

‘Great,' said Yo-less.

KEITH gave them a relieved grin.

‘They're always good,' said Yo-less.

‘I expect,' said Bigmac, ‘that they'll go on being good.'

KEITH nodded hurriedly.

‘We're gen'rally in most Saturdays,' added Bigmac, helpfully. ‘If you want us to make sure.'

‘Thank you, Keith, you may go,' said Wobbler. He winked at Bigmac as the man almost ran away.

‘I know I shouldn't do it,' he said, ‘but it's about the only fun I get these days.'

‘Why did you come here?' said Johnny quietly.

‘You know, I couldn't resist doing a
little
checking,' said Wobbler, ignoring him. ‘I thought it might be … interesting … to watch myself growing up. Not interfering, of course.' He stopped smiling. ‘And then I found I wasn't born. I'd never been born. Nor was my father. My mother lived in London and was married to someone else. That's one thing about money. You can buy any amount of private detectives.'

‘That's nonsense,' said Kirsty. ‘You're
alive
.'

‘Oh, yes,' said Wobbler. ‘I was born. In another time. In the leg of the trousers of time that we were all born in. And then I went back in time with you all, and … something went wrong. I'm not sure what. So … I had to come back the long way. You could say I had to walk home.'

‘I'm sure that's not logical,' said Kirsty.

Wobbler shrugged. ‘I don't think time is all that logical,' he said. ‘It bends itself around humans. It's probably full of loose ends. Whoever said it shouldn't be? Sometimes loose ends are necessary. If they weren't, spaghetti would be merely an embarrassing experience.' He chuckled. ‘Spoke to a lot of scientists about this. Damn fools. Idiots! Time's in our heads. Any fool can see that—'

‘You're ill, aren't you,' said Johnny.

‘Is it obvious?'

‘You keep taking pills, and your breathing doesn't sound right.'

Wobbler smiled again. But this time there was no humour in it.

‘I'm suffering from life,' he said. ‘However, I'm nearly cured.'

‘Look,' said Kirsty, in the voice of one who is trying to be reasonable against the odds, ‘we weren't going to leave you there. We were going to go back. We
will
go back.'

‘Good,' said Wobbler.

‘You don't mind? Because surely, if we
do
, you won't exist, will you?'

‘Oh, I will. Somewhere,' said Wobbler.

‘That's right,' said Johnny. ‘Everything that happens … stays happened. Somewhere. There's lots of times side by side.'

‘You always were a bit of an odd thinker,' said Wobbler. ‘I remember that. An imagination so big it's outside your head. Now … what was the other thing? Oh, yes. I think I have to give you this.'

The chauffeur stepped forward.

‘Er … Sir John, you know the Board did want—'

There was a blur in the air. Wobbler's silver-headed cane hit the table so hard that Bigmac's fries flew into the air. The
crack
echoed around the restaurant.

‘God damn it, man, I'm paying you, and you will do what I say! The Board can wait! I'm not dead
yet
! I didn't get where I am today by listening to a lot of lawyers whining! I'm having some time off! Go away!'

Wobbler reached into his jacket and took out an envelope. He handed it to Johnny.

‘I'm not telling you to go back,' he said. ‘I've got no right. I've had a pretty good life, one way and the other—'

‘But,' said Johnny. Through the glass doors of the mall he could see a car and four motorcycles pull up.

‘I'm sorry?' said Wobbler.

‘The next word you were going to say was “but”,' said Johnny. Men were hurrying up the steps.

‘Oh, yes. But … ' Wobbler leaned forward, and began speaking quickly. ‘If you go back, I've written a letter to … well, you'll know what to do with it. I know I really shouldn't do it, but who could pass up an opportunity like this?'

He stood up, or at least attempted to. Hickson rushed up as Wobbler caught the edge of his chair, but was waved away.

‘I never had any children,' said Wobbler. ‘Never got married. Don't know why, really. It just didn't seem right.'

He leaned heavily on his stick and turned back to them.

‘I want to be young again,' he said. ‘Somewhere.'

‘We were going to go back,' said Johnny. ‘Honestly.'

‘Good. But, you see … it's not just a case of going back. It's going back and doing the right things.'

And then he was gone, walking heavily towards the men with the suits, who closed in behind him.

Bigmac was staring so much that a long rivulet of mustard, tomato sauce, special chilli relish and vivid green chutney had dripped out of his burger and down his sleeve without him noticing.

‘Wow,' said Yo-less, under his breath. ‘Will
we
be like that one day?'

‘What? Old? Probably,' said Johnny.

‘I just can't get my head around old Wobbler being old,' said Bigmac, sucking at his sleeve.

‘We've got to go and get him,' said Johnny. ‘We can't let him get …'

‘Rich?' said Yo-less. ‘I don't think we can do anything about the “old” bit.'

‘If we bring him back, then he – the old one – won't exist here,' said Kirsty.

‘No, he'll exist in
this
here, but not in the
other
here. I don't think he'll be existing anywhere for very long anyway,' said Johnny. ‘Come on.'

‘What's in the envelope?' said Kirsty, as they left.

Johnny was surprised. Usually she'd say some thing like ‘Let's see what's in this, then,' while snatching it out of his hand.

‘It's for Wobbler,' said Johnny.

‘He's written a letter to
himself
? What's he say?'

‘How do I know? I don't open other people's letters!'

Johnny shoved the envelope back into his inside pocket.

‘The keep-fit club should have finished by now,' he said. ‘Come on.'

‘Wait,' said Kirsty. ‘If we're going back to 1941, let's go
prepared
this time, shall we?'

‘Yeah,' said Bigmac. ‘Armed.'

‘No. Properly dressed, I mean.'

Chapter 9
‘Every Little Girl …'

It was an hour later. They met behind the church, in the damp little yard where they'd left the trolley.

‘All
right
,' said Kirsty. ‘Where did you get that outfit, Johnny?'

‘Grandad's got loads of stuff in the attic. These are his old football shorts. And he always wears old pullovers, so I thought that was probably OK, too. And I've got my project stuff in this box in case it helps. It's genuine 1940s. It's what they carried gasmasks in.

‘Oh, is
that
what they are?' said Bigmac. ‘I
thought
people had rather big Walkmans.'

‘At least take the cap off, you look like Just William,' said Kirsty. ‘What's this, Yo-less?'

‘Me and Bigmac went along to that theatre shop in Wallace Street,' said Yo-less. ‘What do you think?' he added uncertainly.

He shuffled round nervously. He was wearing a broad-brimmed hat, shoes with soles like two bumper cars parked side by side, and tight trousers. At least, what could be seen of the trousers looked tight.

‘Is that an overcoat?' said Johnny critically.

‘It's called a drape jacket,' said Yo-less.

‘Bright red,' said Kirsty. ‘Yes, I can see no one will notice you at all. And those trousers … you must have had to grease your feet to get them on.'

‘It looks a bit … stylish,' said Johnny. ‘You know … jazzy.'

‘The man in the shop said it's about right for the period,' said Yo-less defensively.

‘You look like you're about to play the saxophone,' said Johnny. ‘I mean … well, I've never seen you looking so … you know … cool.'

‘That's why it's a disguise,' said Yo-less.

Kirsty turned to Bigmac, and sighed.

‘Bigmac, why is it I get this feeling you've missed the point?'

‘I
told
him,' said Yo-less. ‘But he wouldn't listen.'

‘The man said they wore this in 1941,' said Bigmac defensively.

‘Yes, but don't you think that people might notice it's a
German
uniform?'

Bigmac looked panicky.

‘Is it? I thought Yo-less was trying to wind me up! I thought they had all swastikas and stuff!'

‘That's the Gestapo. You're dressed up like an ordinary German soldier.'

‘I can't help it, it's the only one they had left, it was this or chain mail!'

‘At least leave the jacket and helmet off, all right? Then it'll probably look like any other uniform.'