Chapter FIVE

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‘Tentacles? Arg,’ groaned Remy.

‘Is that an acronym?’ asked Giles. ‘I’ve read about them. A.R.G. What’s that stand for?’

Remy just shook his head, unwilling to think of a tentacled photograph ending up anywhere near the local newspaper. ‘This is not happening,’ he murmured. Maybe his mum had been right about needing a day in bed. He thought lovingly about his bed. And his pillow. His head on his pillow, in his own quiet room …

‘A.R.G. Aliens, R, Great?’ Giles wasn’t giving up and Remy sighed.

‘Don’t be foolish dear,’ said Miranda. ‘He’s just teasing you,’ she said to Remy. ‘You are looking a tad peaky though, perhaps you need an invigorator shot. Giles?’

‘Of course. Top idea,’ said Giles and pointed his finger at Remy.

Long hairy gorilla finger. The words washed through Remy’s brain like a warm bath. Long hairy gorilla finger. Water sloshed around his ears. Long hairy … pointing at me! ‘Stop!’ yelled Remy. ‘What are you doing?’

‘It’s just the relaxation mode,’ said Giles. ‘The precursor for the invigorator shot.’

‘I don’t even know what a precursor is, but stop pointing that at me!’

‘Oh. Well. Righto. No need to get worked up old chap. It’s a luxury treatment though. You sure…’

‘No. Yes. Stop it!’ A picture of Tiger’s stiff body flashed through Remy’s head and made him stamp his feet to check he was still able to walk. ‘Come on,’ he said and set off again towards the green belt and The Joneses.

They didn’t have far to go before Remy heard the taunting tone of The Jones Gang, all three of their nasty voices poking fun at Lewis. He leant against the fence of the last house before the green belt, just out of view.

‘Think you were going to get us with your crappy little machine, did you?’ It sounded like the biggest Jones.

‘Yeah, he reckoned he was going to mud us.’ The middle Jones.

‘All by his little lonesome. Loser.’ The smallest Jones.

‘Nice shot from here straight down our driveway.’

‘And onto Mum’s car.’

‘She wouldn’t like that.’

‘Man, they finish each other’s sentences,’ whispered Remy. ‘Bunch of thugs. At least they think Lewis is acting on his own though, gives us the element of surprise.’ He grabbed Miranda and Giles and brought them down to his height. ‘Right. They’ve got Lewis. We’re going to have to charge in and grab him and the flinger before they realize what’s hit them.’

‘Righto,’ said Giles.

‘You grab Lewis,’ Remy said to Giles. ‘I’ll grab the flinger and you…you,’ he floundered, ‘you keep watch,’ he said to Miranda. ‘Then we run.’

‘Jolly good,’ said Giles and Miranda nodded.

‘Ready, go!’ Remy ran round the corner and straight to the flinger. He smiled as he picked it up and started running back the way he came, but he didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. And there was a heavy sensation on his head.

‘Going somewhere?’ The biggest Jones snarled, and Remy looked around into eyes as sharp as cut tin. His big hand was on Remy’s head and was pushing, and pushing, and Remy felt that soon his head might sink into his neck and squash him into an empty pile of clothes.

‘Giles! Miranda! Where are you!’ shouted Remy.

‘You alright, old boy?’ said Giles. ‘That doesn’t look very comfortable.’

All three pasty Jones faces and even Lewis’ really tanned one paled at the sight of the gorilla strolling round the corner.

‘It’s not. You were supposed to grab Lewis and run!’ said Remy.

‘Oh, but I am running, aren’t I?’ said Giles.

‘Just get Lewis!’

‘Oh, cracker! Which one is Lewis?’

‘The smallest one,’ said Remy.

Four mouths opened and closed. Then, ‘That’s crazy out of it, a talking gorilla,’ said the smallest Jones.

‘Cool,’ breathed Lewis. Remy was quietly chuffed that he’d finally managed to impress his best friend.

‘So?’ Giles was still standing there. ‘I’m supposed to get Lewis. Does that mean I should destroy him or fetch him like a basket of beans?’

‘Basket of…? Rescue him!’ yelled Remy. ‘Oh, and me,’ as his head squashed further.

‘Jolly good. Rescuing is a very common function in this identity programme, I was hoping to use it.’

‘What a loser,’ said the middle Jones. ‘He talks like a fairy.’

‘A fairy?’ Miranda appeared from around the corner. ‘Where! Watch out Giles, I told you they might follow us here.’ She crouched into an attack pose.

If Remy could have slapped his forehead he would have. But with his arms still around the flinger and his forehead rapidly getting smaller he just sighed. ‘I think he means the pink sparkly type, the ones girls play with,’ he said.

‘Of course,’ said Miranda, still looking around wildly. ‘They’re the worse type. Lull you in with their sweet smelling cupcakes, then BAM, blood everywhere!’

‘You finished yet?’ said the biggest Jones, ‘cos I reckon we should crush these two little mud puddles and youse two big hairy fairies can just run along back to the zoo.’

‘There’s no need to be rude. Giles,’ said Miranda, nodding at her hairy duvet-covered companion. ‘Best not to take any chances with potential fairies.’

‘With pleasure, my dear,’ he said and pointed his finger at The Joness.

Just in time Remy managed to yell ‘Duck!’ to Lewis.

Everything was very silent for a second, then, ‘Hehaw,’ said the biggest Jones and ‘hehawhaw hehaw!’ He grabbed at his throat with both hands and Remy made a run for it.

‘Come on. Lewis,’ he yelled as Lewis stood there staring at all three braying brothers. ‘Giles, Miranda. Run now.’ And the four of them scuttled off round the corner.

‘What did …who are … how did…’ stuttered Lewis when they were a safe enough distance away to slow down.

‘Simple matter of realigning the vocal component of the cerebral cortex, it’s mostly just a shock tactic. I’m Giles, pleased to meet you; and with this,’ said Giles, pointing to his finger. ‘Answer your questions?’

‘But they’re braying like…’ Lewis said, still staring at the two gorillas.

‘At least they don’t look like donkeys,’ said Remy helpfully.

‘Well, they were making quite an ass of themselves,’ said Miranda.

Remy couldn’t help himself, he giggled, and then the nervous giggle turned into a full blown laugh. It was the first time he’d laughed in such a long time.

‘Was that inappropriate?’ said Miranda. ‘Not the done thing?’

‘Who cares,’ said Lewis. ‘It was totally cool.’

Remy managed to get control of his laughter. ‘Will they stay like that?’

‘Oh no,’ said Giles. ‘Not once we fix the…’

‘Yeah, yeah, the un-timer,’ said Remy.

‘I say,’ said Miranda. ‘That contraption you’ve got there, what’s it made of?’

Remy looked down at the flinger in his arms and then at Lewis. ‘Um, a few bolts, some elastic, some wood, a bit of tinfoil in the bucket launch pad here…’

‘Tinfoil and wood. What sort of wood?’ said Miranda.

‘It was from an old table my Mum didn’t want anymore,’ Lewis joined in, seemingly recovered from his shock. ‘Starts with a B, I think. Dunno, wood is wood isn’t it?’

‘Balsa wood!’ cried Miranda and bent closer to sniff. ‘It is! All wood is not just wood my dear, most certainly not in this case.’ She put out her hands to take the flinger.

‘No,’ said Remy and clutched it closer. ‘It took us ages to perfect this design.’

‘Oh don’t worry old chap,’ said Giles, ‘we only need a gillygram.’

‘How much is a gillygram?’ said Remy, still suspicious.

Miranda delicately broke off a tiny splinter. ‘This much.’

Remy’s mouth, already shaped to protest, reformed itself. ‘Oh, okay,’ he said.

‘How much tinfoil do you need?’ It was Lewis, and Remy remembered that there’d been no real explanation as to why they were accompanied by two gorillas. Who talked. Strangely.

‘Giles and Miranda, this is Lewis. Lewis, apparently this is Giles and Miranda. Aliens. With a second hand communication programme. Bit old fashioned.’ He waited for Lewis to look impressed again.

‘Yeah, I figured,’ said Lewis.

‘What?’

‘Well you know. They’re gorillas. Who talk weird. Hardly going to be anything normal are they?’

‘Oh yeah,’ said Remy, a little deflated.

‘So I guess you need tinfoil to fix your space ship or something,’ Lewis said.

‘Clever, this one,’ said Miranda. ‘Higher species perhaps?’

Remy slumped even more.

‘Our one’s the cleverest though,’ said Giles. ‘He led a rescue with gusto. And commanded our slim escape from a hoard of potentially lethal fairies.’

‘But there weren’t really any…’ started Remy but stopped when Giles nudged him.

‘Fairies, pah. You’re right Giles, glad we didn’t have to reopen the Inviroscapular Wars. Good job young man,’ Miranda said and patted Remy on the head. ‘Now then, how about this tinfoil. We need a bit more than a gillygram of that.’

‘Oh that’s easy,’ said Lewis. ‘My Dad runs a catering firm, we’ve got heaps.’

‘Marvellous,’ said Miranda.

But Remy looked at her. ‘How much more than a gillygram do you need?’ he asked.

‘Oh, just a blurgstonne.’ She smiled.

‘And how much is that?’ said Remy.

‘Um …’ Miranda looked around. ‘About that much,’ she said and pointed to a passing truck.

 

- Illustration by Katz Cowley