Johnny and the Bomb (3 page)

Yo-less knelt down gingerly. He patted Mrs Tachyon vaguely, and something fell out of one of her many pockets. It was fish and chips, wrapped in a piece of newspaper.

‘She's always eating chips,' said Bigmac. ‘My brother says she picks thrown-away papers out of the bin to see if there's any chips still in 'em. Yuk.'

‘Er …' said Yo-less desperately, as he tried to find, a way of administering first aid without actually touching anything.

Finally Johnny came to his rescue and said, ‘I know how to dial 999.'

Yo-less sagged with relief ‘Yes, yes, that's right,' he said. ‘I'm pretty sure you mustn't move people, on account of breaking bones.'

‘Or the crust,' said Wobbler.

Chapter 2
Mrs Tachyon

Mrs Tachyon had always been there, as long as Johnny could remember. She was a bag lady before people knew what bag ladies were, although strictly speaking she was a trolley woman.

It wasn't a
normal
supermarket trolley, either. It looked bigger, the wires looked thicker. And it hurt like mad when Mrs Tachyon pushed it into the small of your back, which she did quite a lot. It wasn't that she did it out of nastiness – well, it
probably
wasn't – but other people just didn't exist on Planet Tachyon.

Fortunately, one wheel squeaked. And if you didn't get accustomed to moving away quickly when you heard the
squee
…
squee
…
squee
coming, the monologue was another warning.

Mrs Tachyon talked all the time. You could never be quite certain who she was talking to.

‘… I sez, that's what you sez, is it? That's what
you
think. An' I could get both hands in yer mouth and still wind wool, I sez. Oh, yes. Tell Sid! Yer so skinny yer can close one eye and yer'd look like a needle, I sez. Oh, yes. They done me out of it! Tell that to the boys in khaki! That's a pelter or I don't know what is!'

But quite often it was just a mumble, with occasional triumphant shouts of ‘I
told
'em!' and ‘That's what
you
think!'

The trolley with its squeaky wheel could turn up behind you at any hour of the day or night. No one knew when to expect it. Nor did anyone know what was in all those bags. Mrs Tachyon tended to rummage a lot, in bins and things. So no one wanted to find out.

Sometimes she'd disappear for weeks on end. No one knew where she went. Then, just when everyone was beginning to relax, there'd be the
squee
…
squee
…
squee
behind them and the stabbing pain in the small of the back.

Mrs Tachyon picked things out of the gutter. That was probably how she'd acquired Guilty, with his fur like carpet underlay, broken teeth, and boomerang-shaped backbone. When Guilty walked, which wasn't often since he preferred to ride in the
trolley, he tended to go around in circles. When he ran, usually because he was trying to fight something, the fact that he only had one and a half legs in front meant that sooner or later his back legs would overtake him, and by then he was always in such a rage that he'd bite his own tail.

Even DSS, the rabid dog owned by Syd the Crusty, which once ate a police Alsatian, would run away at the sight of Guilty spinning towards him, frantically biting himself.

The ambulance drove off, blue light flashing.

Guilty watched Johnny from the trolley, going cross-eyed with hatred.

‘The ambulance man said she looked as if she'd been hit by something,' said Wobbler, who was also watching the cat. It was never a good idea to take your eye off Guilty.

‘What're we going to do with all this stuff?' said Johnny.

‘Yeah, can't leave it,' said Bigmac. ‘That'd be littering.'

‘But it's her stuff,' said Johnny.

‘Don't look at
me
,' said Bigmac. ‘Some of those bags
squelch
.'

‘And there's the cat,' said Johnny.

‘Yeah, we ought to kill the cat,' said Bigmac. ‘It took all the skin off my hand last week.'

Johnny cautiously pulled the trolley upright. Guilty clung to it, hissing.

‘He likes you,' said Bigmac.

‘How can you tell?'

‘You've still got both eyes.'

‘You could take it along to the RSPCA in the morning,' said Yo-less.

‘I suppose so,' said Johnny, ‘but what about the trolley? We can't just leave it here.'

‘Yeah, let's push it off the top of the multistorey,' said Bigmac.

Johnny prodded a bag. It moved a bit, and then flowed back, with an unpleasant oozing noise.

‘Y'know, my brother said Mrs Tachyon killed her husband years ago and then went mental and they never found his body,' said Bigmac.

They looked at the bags.

‘None of them is big enough for a dead body,' said Yo-less, who wasn't allowed to watch horror movies.

‘Not a
whole
one, no,' said Bigmac.

Yo-less took a step back.

‘
I
heard she stuck his head in the oven,' said Wobbler. ‘Very messy.'

‘Messy?' said Yo-less.

‘It was a microwave oven. Get it? If you put a—'

‘Shut up,' said Yo-less.

‘I heard she's really, really rich,' said Bigmac.

‘Stinking rich,' said Wobbler.

‘Look, I'll just … I'll just put in it in my grandad's garage,' said Johnny.

‘I don't see why we have to do it,' said Yo-less. ‘There's supposed to be Care in the Community or something.'

‘He doesn't keep much in there now. And then in the morning …'

Oh, well. The morning was another day.

‘And while you've got it you could have a rummage to see if there's any money,' said Bigmac.

Johnny glanced at Guilty, who snarled.

‘No, I like a hand with all its fingers on,' he said. ‘You lot come with me. I'd feel a right clod pushing this by myself.'

The fourth wheel squeaked and bounced as he pushed the trolley down the street.

‘Looks heavy,' said Yo-less.

There was a snigger from beside him.

‘Well, they say
Mr
Tachyon was a very big man—'

‘Just shut up, Bigmac.'

It's me, he thought, as the procession went down the street. It's like on the Lottery, only it's the
opposite
. There's this big finger in the sky and it comes through your window and flicks you on the ear and says ‘It's YOU – har har har'. And you get
up and think you're going to have a normal day and suddenly you‘re in charge of a trolley with one squeaky wheel and an insane cat.

‘Here,' said Wobbler. ‘These fish and chips are still warm.'

‘What?' said Johnny. ‘You picked up her actual fish and chips?'

Wobbler backed away. ‘Well, yeah, why not, shame to let them go to waste—'

‘They might have got her spit on 'em,' said Bigmac. ‘Yuk.'

‘They haven't even been unwrapped, actually,' said Wobbler, but he did stop unwrapping them.

‘Put them in the trolley, Wobbler,' said Johnny.

‘Dunno who wraps fish and chips in newspaper round here,' said Wobbler, tossing the package onto the pile in the trolley. ‘Hong Kong Henry doesn't. Where'd she get them?'

Sir John was normally awakened at half past eight every morning by a butler who brought him his breakfast, another butler who brought him his clothes, a third butler whose job it was to feed Adolf and Stalin if necessary, and a fourth butler who was basically a spare.

At nine o'clock his secretary came and read him his appointments for today.

When he did so this morning, though, he found him still staring at his plate with a strange expression.
Adolf and Stalin swam contentedly in the tank by his desk.

‘Five different kinds of pill, some biscuits made of cardboard and a glass of orange juice with all the excitement removed,' said Sir John. ‘What's the point of being the richest man in the world – I am still the richest man in the world, aren't I?'

‘Yes, Sir John.'

‘Well, what's the point if it all boils down to pills for breakfast?' He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘Well … I've had enough, d'y'hear? Tell Hickson to get the car out.'

‘Which car, Sir John?'

‘The Bentley.'

‘Which Bentley, Sir John?'

‘Oh, one I haven't used lately. He can choose. And find Blackbury on the map. We own a burger bar there, don't we?'

‘Er … I think so, Sir John. Wasn't that the one where you personally chose the site? You said you just knew it would be a good one. Er … but today you've got appointments to see the chairman of—'

‘Cancel 'em all. I'm going to Blackbury. Don't tell 'em I'm coming. Call it … a lightning inspection. The secret of success in business is to pay attention to the little details, am I right? People get underdone burgers or the fries turn out to be too soggy and before you know where you are the entire business is down around your ears.'

‘Er … if you say so, Sir John.'

‘Right. I'll be ready in twenty minutes.'

‘Er … you could, perhaps, leave it until tomorrow? Only the committee did ask that—'

‘No!' The old man slapped the table. ‘It's got to be today! Today's when it all happens, you see. Mrs Tachyon. The trolley. Johnny and the rest of them. It's got to be today. Otherwise …' He pushed away the dull yet healthy breakfast. ‘Otherwise it's this for the rest of my life.'

The secretary was used to Sir John's moods, and tried to lighten things a little.

‘Blackbury …' he said. ‘That's where you were evacuated during the war, wasn't it? And you were the only person to escape when one of the streets got bombed?'

‘Me and two goldfish called Adolf and Stalin. That's right. That's where it all started,' said Sir John, getting up and going over to the window. ‘Go on, jump to it.'

The secretary didn't go straightaway. One of his jobs was to keep an eye on Sir John. The old boy was acting a bit odd, people had said. He'd taken to reading very old newspapers and books with words like ‘Time' and ‘Physics' in the title, and sometimes he even wrote angry letters to very important scientists. When you're the richest man in the world, people watch you very closely.

‘Adolf and Stalin,' said Sir John, to the whole world
in general. ‘Of course, these two are only their descendants. It turned out that Adolf was female. Or was it Stalin?'

Outside the window, the gardens stretched all the way to some rolling hills that Sir John's landscape gardener had imported specially.

‘Blackbury,' said Sir John, staring at them. ‘That's where it all started. The whole thing. There was a boy called Johnny Maxwell. And Mrs Tachyon. And a cat, I think.'

He turned.

‘Are you still here?'

‘Sorry, Sir John,' said the secretary, backing out and shutting the door behind him.

‘That's where it all started,' said Sir John. ‘And that's where it's all going to end.'

Johnny always enjoyed those first few moments in the morning before the day leapt out at him. His head was peacefully full of flowers, clouds, kittens—

His hand still
hurt
.

Horrible bits of last night rushed out from hiding and bounced and gibbered in front of him.

There was a shopping trolley full of unspeakable bags in the garage. There was also a spray of milk across the wall and ceiling where Guilty had showed what he thought of people who tried to
give him an unprovoked meal. Johnny had had to use the biggest Elastoplast in the medicine tin afterwards.

He got up, dressed, and went downstairs. His mother wouldn't be up yet and his grandad was definitely in the front room watching Saturday morning TV.

Johnny opened the garage door and stepped back hurriedly, in case a ball of maddened fur came spinning out.

Nothing happened.

The dreadful trolley stood in the middle of the floor. There was no sign of Guilty.

It was, Johnny thought, just like those scenes in films where you know the monster is in the room somewhere …

He jumped sideways, just in case Guilty was about to drop out of the ceiling.

It was bad enough seeing the wretched cat.
Not
seeing it was worse.

He scurried out and shut the door quickly, then went back into the house.

He probably ought to tell someone official. The trolley belonged to Mrs Tachyon (actually, it probably belonged to Mr Tesco or Mr Safeway) so it might be stealing if he kept it.

As he went back inside, the phone rang. There were two ways he could tell. Firstly, the phone
rang. Then his grandfather shouted ‘Phone!', because he never answered the phone if he thought there was a chance it could be answered by someone else.

Johnny picked it up.

‘Can I speak to—' said Yo-less, in his Speaking to Parents voice.

‘It's me, Yo-less,' said Johnny.