The Alter Ego - a teenager goes to extremes to get a boy to notice her
Jane stared out of her bedroom window. Her teenage heart missed a beat when Jason next door came out of his house, his football kit slung over his shoulder, on his way down to the park to practise with the local team. His blond hair stuck up in a fashionable quiff at the front and he had the tall skinny stature that all the girls loved. OK, so he had a few pimples, but so did she. They all did, but that didn't stop Jane from thinking he was gorgeous. She’d known Jason since she was five years old when his family moved in next door and they'd started school together. In fact they were as close as brother and sister at one time but things changed when they reached their teens. It seemed as if Jason hardly noticed her and she found it hard to think of anything to say to him. He was more interested in Jessica Johnson, the class glamour queen, a tall slim brunette with long, straight, glossy hair who always had something amusing to say. Whereas Jane had short curly hair which would never lie down, and on cold days it stuck up like a cock’s comb at the crown. She was short and a bit tubby and could never think of anything clever to talk about. Even worse, her name was Jane Elizabeth Lucas, J.E.L. which meant she was teased mercilessly at school, with names like Jellybaby and Plain Jane. She hated it. Why couldn't she have been called something glamorous like Olivia or Isabella? Who would want to look at a dumb spotty girl with sticky up hair, chubby thighs and a name that could be changed to Jellybaby? So she worshipped Jason from afar whilst he seemed intent on avoiding her.
She went over to her iPad and checked her messages on Facebook. She only had one friend and his name was Jason Wilder. Her smiling Facebook picture stared out at her; big, blue eyes, flawless skin and long straight blond hair. The name she’d chosen was Olivia Lucas and she’d got the photo off the internet. There was a message from Jason.
‘Off to the park. Ace if you could come too.’
She responded ‘Me too but in Paris for w/e. back Sunday.’
They'd been conversing online for weeks and they’d discovered a lot of interests and feelings in common. They both liked Ed Sheeran and they were both into writing. They had the same whacky sense of humour and watched the same comedy shows on T.V., Except for the fact that Jason believed she was this glamorous jet setter with rich parents and a sophisticated lifestyle it was perfect. But she’d concocted so many lies to get him to notice her and communicate with her. She was supposed to be living in Stratford enjoying plays every weekend at the Royal Shakespeare. She wasn't into Shakespeare at all really but it sounded good. Jason sometimes sent her poems so she wanted to impress him. She was more interested in story writing herself so she sent him one of her short stories about Paris which she’d had to research on the net because she'd never been there. But they got on really well and Jason was forever wanting to meet up, which of course was impossible.
Everything went smoothly with her online romance until one day Jason dropped a bombshell.
‘I’ve sent your Paris story in to a story writing competition. And guess what? You've won first prize £100. They want you to come to Birmingham to accept it.’
She stared at the screen aghast. What was she going to do now? The only way she could collect her prize was if she covered her face with a yashmak or wore a crash helmet.
She wrote back, ‘Sorry, I'm going on a world cruise for a month.’
He wrote ‘Ok I'll pick it up for you. See you when you're home again.’
Jane was frantic. What had she got herself into?
The next morning she saw Jason in class but as usual they ignored one another. She sat demurely at the front whilst he sat at the back with the rest of the in-gang. Their English teacher Mr. McArthur wanted them to write a story with an interesting opening sentence about somewhere in the world they'd like to visit. Thinking she may as well use the research she'd done on Paris she began to write There's something about the light in Paris that artists the world over love…….
A week later when Mr McArthur handed out their books he said, ‘There’s one remarkably good story this week. Jane, would you read yours out to the class please.’
Jane flushed. She hated being the centre of attention.
‘’Go on Jellybaby. Let's hear it,’ taunted Jessica Johnson cruelly from the back of the room. As usual she was trying to draw attention to herself.
‘That's enough Jessica. Carry on Jane,’ encouraged Mr. McArthur.
‘Yes let's hear it, Jane’ said a friendlier voice. It was Jason. Jessica pouted her lips sullenly.
Nervously Jane began, ‘There's something about the light in Paris…..’
When she'd finished the whole class clapped, except for Jessica Johnson who couldn't abide any other girl getting attention, and Jason who sat with
a pensive look on his face. There was something familiar about that story.
As the class filed out of the classroom he put his hand on Jane’s arm and guided her to a quiet corner.
‘It's you isn't it. You're Olivia.’ He looked at her questioningly.
Jane flushed and nodded. She hung her head waiting for him to tell her she'd been underhand and dishonest.
‘Why did you do it, Jane?’
‘I just wanted to talk to you but I didn't stand a chance with Jessica around…..’
‘So you made up an alter ego,’ he said.
She nodded, ‘I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it. You don't have to communicate with me ever again.’
‘But I want to. You’re the first girl I've ever felt a connection to.’
‘You mean you like me even though I’ve got this awful curly hair and I’m not tall and slim like Jessica?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ve always liked you ever since we were kids. You just went so quiet as we got older and I didn’t think you liked me anymore.’
‘But what about Jessica?’
Jason laughed, ‘She's just a mate. I want to spend more time with you. We’ve got so much in common, and without that silly facebook page we can actually talk to each other. I have a new poem I want to run past you. I could never read poetry to Jessica. She’d make fun of me.’
Jane’s eyes shone. Everything was going to be alright after all.
‘How about we go down to the park after school, find a bench and read to one another,’ said Jason, ‘Then we’ll come back to my house and have some of mum’s fruit cake.’
‘I'd like that. And you can come with me to collect my book prize,’ said Jane happily.
They walked down the corridor hand in hand, heads bent closely together whilst Jessica with the long glossy hair looked on enviously.
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
Jane stared out of her bedroom window. Her teenage heart missed a beat when Jason next door came out of his house, his football kit slung over his shoulder, on his way down to the park to practise with the local team. His blond hair stuck up in a fashionable quiff at the front and he had the tall skinny stature that all the girls loved. OK, so he had a few pimples, but so did she. They all did, but that didn't stop Jane from thinking he was gorgeous. She’d known Jason since she was five years old when his family moved in next door and they'd started school together. In fact they were as close as brother and sister at one time but things changed when they reached their teens. It seemed as if Jason hardly noticed her and she found it hard to think of anything to say to him. He was more interested in Jessica Johnson, the class glamour queen, a tall slim brunette with long, straight, glossy hair who always had something amusing to say. Whereas Jane had short curly hair which would never lie down, and on cold days it stuck up like a cock’s comb at the crown. She was short and a bit tubby and could never think of anything clever to talk about. Even worse, her name was Jane Elizabeth Lucas, J.E.L. which meant she was teased mercilessly at school, with names like Jellybaby and Plain Jane. She hated it. Why couldn't she have been called something glamorous like Olivia or Isabella? Who would want to look at a dumb spotty girl with sticky up hair, chubby thighs and a name that could be changed to Jellybaby? So she worshipped Jason from afar whilst he seemed intent on avoiding her.
She went over to her iPad and checked her messages on Facebook. She only had one friend and his name was Jason Wilder. Her smiling Facebook picture stared out at her; big, blue eyes, flawless skin and long straight blond hair. The name she’d chosen was Olivia Lucas and she’d got the photo off the internet. There was a message from Jason.
‘Off to the park. Ace if you could come too.’
She responded ‘Me too but in Paris for w/e. back Sunday.’
They'd been conversing online for weeks and they’d discovered a lot of interests and feelings in common. They both liked Ed Sheeran and they were both into writing. They had the same whacky sense of humour and watched the same comedy shows on T.V., Except for the fact that Jason believed she was this glamorous jet setter with rich parents and a sophisticated lifestyle it was perfect. But she’d concocted so many lies to get him to notice her and communicate with her. She was supposed to be living in Stratford enjoying plays every weekend at the Royal Shakespeare. She wasn't into Shakespeare at all really but it sounded good. Jason sometimes sent her poems so she wanted to impress him. She was more interested in story writing herself so she sent him one of her short stories about Paris which she’d had to research on the net because she'd never been there. But they got on really well and Jason was forever wanting to meet up, which of course was impossible.
Everything went smoothly with her online romance until one day Jason dropped a bombshell.
‘I’ve sent your Paris story in to a story writing competition. And guess what? You've won first prize £100. They want you to come to Birmingham to accept it.’
She stared at the screen aghast. What was she going to do now? The only way she could collect her prize was if she covered her face with a yashmak or wore a crash helmet.
She wrote back, ‘Sorry, I'm going on a world cruise for a month.’
He wrote ‘Ok I'll pick it up for you. See you when you're home again.’
Jane was frantic. What had she got herself into?
The next morning she saw Jason in class but as usual they ignored one another. She sat demurely at the front whilst he sat at the back with the rest of the in-gang. Their English teacher Mr. McArthur wanted them to write a story with an interesting opening sentence about somewhere in the world they'd like to visit. Thinking she may as well use the research she'd done on Paris she began to write There's something about the light in Paris that artists the world over love…….
A week later when Mr McArthur handed out their books he said, ‘There’s one remarkably good story this week. Jane, would you read yours out to the class please.’
Jane flushed. She hated being the centre of attention.
‘’Go on Jellybaby. Let's hear it,’ taunted Jessica Johnson cruelly from the back of the room. As usual she was trying to draw attention to herself.
‘That's enough Jessica. Carry on Jane,’ encouraged Mr. McArthur.
‘Yes let's hear it, Jane’ said a friendlier voice. It was Jason. Jessica pouted her lips sullenly.
Nervously Jane began, ‘There's something about the light in Paris…..’
When she'd finished the whole class clapped, except for Jessica Johnson who couldn't abide any other girl getting attention, and Jason who sat with
a pensive look on his face. There was something familiar about that story.
As the class filed out of the classroom he put his hand on Jane’s arm and guided her to a quiet corner.
‘It's you isn't it. You're Olivia.’ He looked at her questioningly.
Jane flushed and nodded. She hung her head waiting for him to tell her she'd been underhand and dishonest.
‘Why did you do it, Jane?’
‘I just wanted to talk to you but I didn't stand a chance with Jessica around…..’
‘So you made up an alter ego,’ he said.
She nodded, ‘I'm sorry. I'll get rid of it. You don't have to communicate with me ever again.’
‘But I want to. You’re the first girl I've ever felt a connection to.’
‘You mean you like me even though I’ve got this awful curly hair and I’m not tall and slim like Jessica?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’ve always liked you ever since we were kids. You just went so quiet as we got older and I didn’t think you liked me anymore.’
‘But what about Jessica?’
Jason laughed, ‘She's just a mate. I want to spend more time with you. We’ve got so much in common, and without that silly facebook page we can actually talk to each other. I have a new poem I want to run past you. I could never read poetry to Jessica. She’d make fun of me.’
Jane’s eyes shone. Everything was going to be alright after all.
‘How about we go down to the park after school, find a bench and read to one another,’ said Jason, ‘Then we’ll come back to my house and have some of mum’s fruit cake.’
‘I'd like that. And you can come with me to collect my book prize,’ said Jane happily.
They walked down the corridor hand in hand, heads bent closely together whilst Jessica with the long glossy hair looked on enviously.
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
Jack and the Macanaka - What do you think the World will be like in the 3rd millennium?
It was the year 3000 and Jack was looking forward to his holiday on the island of Tabaca which lay in the far distant waters of the Pacific Ocean. Once there he planned to climb the Macanaka Rock, reputedly the tallest geographical landmark in the world. It was a solid block of shiny black lava which had suddenly popped up out of the ocean in the year 2050 after World War three, when the Western World had been hit by a series of nuclear bombs which had disturbed the earth’s crust. It was a 6 mile high flat topped tower, ten miles wide with a crater two miles deep which geologists maintained had been hidden on the ocean bed for millions of years. A tribe of gargantuan beings was believed to be living within its crater, and it was Jack’s ambition to climb into the crater to investigate. Airline passengers had reported sightings of huge ape-like creatures which disappeared into caverns in the crater walls when planes went over, but there had been no sightings for some years now since tele transportation had taken over the airways and it was thought that they’d become extinct. No one had ever climbed to the top and seen the creatures close up so Jack would be the first to record their behaviour.
He had obtained the necessary permission to climb Macanaka from the I.G.A. the Office of International Geographic Affairs so, on the morning of his departure, he donned his "all seasons climbing suit" which dry cleaned automatically at the touch of a button inside the pocket and kissed his mother good bye.
“Have a good time,” she called after him as he entered his teletransporter, “and don’t forget to take those nutrition pills I gave you. Message me and let me know how you get on.”
“O.K.,” shouted Jack, and closed the door
“Please key in your destination” came a disembodied voice from the monitor.
Jack keyed in Tabacca and immediately felt a tingling sensation down his spine as his molecules were being broken down and transported through time and space to his destination. Ten seconds later he stepped out into the public concourse at Tabaca Teleport and hired a capsule to take him to his hotel which he had booked the day before via tele-thought. As he floated along in his capsule he recalled his grandfather telling him how he had made a similar journey seventy years before with Jack's great grandparents which had taken 36 hours because they'd had to board two aeroplanes and a steam boat to get there. Now travel was so quick and easy, but maybe not as interesting.
After a relaxed night’s sleep in his rockaby bed Jack sat at the breakfast table and eyed his multivitamin tablet with distaste. How he would have loved a full English breakfast like his grandfather would have had. But this was 3000 and by law everyone had a responsibility to be in peak health so as not to burden the state. Consistent poor health could result in being banished to an isolated island in the North Sea where there were only two doctors to deal with over a thousand sick patients. After washing his pill down with black coffee he took himself to the hotel gym and joined several fellow guests keeping trim on their chosen tools of torture.
An hour later he entered his hired capsule and directed it via voice control to the site of the Macanaka Rock. He relaxed back into his seat and watched the world go by, mostly tall glass office buildings in various sculptured shapes and colours. Evidence of humanity was limited to people like himself, floating along in their own private bubbles telethinking with their business colleagues. Eventually he was out of the city and crossing flatlands dotted with palm trees. In the far distance the ocean hugged the shoreline.
Suddenly, there it was, the Macanaka, towering into the clouds like an enormous block of dark chocolate, its summit rarely seen from the ground. He went to the signing in office where he showed his permit and hired some climbing gear. The first part of the climb was simple with a gradual grassy gradient leading up towards the lava face. It took him two hours to get to the serious stuff. Once at the lava face he checked his ropes and pitons hanging on his belt and began to tap into the rock hard lava with his axe. He never felt more exhilerated than when he was climbing; no-one to tell him what to do and how to do it, no petty rules and regulations. Just him and the rock face. He felt free.
Eight exhausting hours later he reached the half way mark and rested up on a ledge. He swallowed another pill and was ready to move on. Five hours later he was within sight of the summit. One more rest and he would soon be there. His excitement was building at the prospect of seeing those strange creatures. As he scrambled over the edge of the crater he switched on the camera embedded into his forehead and began his descent into its depths. Surprisingly there were lakes surrounded by forests and meadows interspersed with grey black rock. The crater seemed to have its own micro climate which produced exotic plant-life with huge leaves and vibrant blossoms. He noticed large holes in the walls of the crater where the animals were said to live. As vegetation was abundant they were probably herbivorous rather than carnivorous so he began to feel easier, knowing his only protection was the hammer and pitons strung to his belt.
He became aware of being watched and looked around nervously but saw nothing. He walked on but the feeling persisted. He sat on a rock and made out he was sleeping but kept one eye open. A rustling came from within a band of trees and slowly two huge ape-like creatures emerged. They must have been fifteen feet high and seemed quite docile, but Jack’s heart hammered as they came closer and closer until they were standing right over him. They looked down at him curiously with their giant heads on one side. Then the smaller one reached down and picked him up like a baby. Jack was terrified but he kept very still. What would they do? Perhaps they were carnivorous. Maybe there were other animals living alongside them in the caves which they preyed upon.......or which preyed upon them! He remained absolutely still. The creature carried him into a nearby cave and placed him on a ledge. Then she (he assumed it was a she) began to stroke his head and it sounded as if she was humming a lullaby. It dawned on Jack that she must think he was a baby. The larger male crouched a few feet away just watching quietly, picking at berries lying on the floor of the cavern.
An hour went by and Jack felt it was time to move. He couldn’t feign sleep forever. He opened his eyes and smiled tentatively at his captor. Her features were strangely humanoid but covered in soft grey hair interspersed with the odd silver whisker.
‘Hello,’ he said warily. The creature nodded and made a mewing sound which seemed as if she was trying to imitate his word.
‘Hello, he said again more loudly. This time the creature almost repeated the word correctly
‘Eow’ she said, a little bit like a cat’s meow.
Jack pointed to his chest and said ‘Jack.’ Once again the creature tried to imitate the sound.
‘Ack,’ she said.
The conversation went on like this for several minutes and eventually the creature was able to make a sentence.
‘Eow Ack.’
Jack remained with his new friends for a week recording their habits. He christened them Gor and Rilla after the species they resembled and a special bond developed between them. They swam in the lakes, and played hide and seek amongst the trees like children; they fed on wild honey, pomegranates and juicy berries which they collected on haliconia leaves the size of dinner plates; they drank sweet water from crystal clear lakes. Birds, which had long become extinct in the lower regions of the world, alighted close to them without fear in the forests and at the water’s edge. It was such a good simple life, Jack was tempted to stay there forever, but his permit was running out and it was soon time to say goodbye. His friends accompanied him to the edge of the crater where he waved farewell. A surge of sadness swept over him as huge tears welled in Rilla’s eyes. He doubted he would ever see them again.
When at last he arrived at ground level he was met by several journalists.
‘Well, was there anything worth seeing up there?’ asked a reporter from World News.
Jack thought for a few moments.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Just barren rock. Whatever was there has long since gone. If it wasn’t for pills I wouldn’t have survived either.’
He stepped into his capsule and directed it back to the hotel. As he floated along in his bubble he smiled thinking about how he had been privileged to experience something so rare and beautiful which deserved to be protected from an alien world. He reached up behind his right ear and switched on his telethinker to send a thought message home to his mother, ‘Back in a jiffy, Mum. Nothing exciting to report.’ Then he switched it off and deleted the film in his camera. He sat back and closed his eyes.
‘Farewell, my friends,’ he thought, ‘Thank-you.’
……………And back came the message, ‘Eow Ack. Miss you.’
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
It was the year 3000 and Jack was looking forward to his holiday on the island of Tabaca which lay in the far distant waters of the Pacific Ocean. Once there he planned to climb the Macanaka Rock, reputedly the tallest geographical landmark in the world. It was a solid block of shiny black lava which had suddenly popped up out of the ocean in the year 2050 after World War three, when the Western World had been hit by a series of nuclear bombs which had disturbed the earth’s crust. It was a 6 mile high flat topped tower, ten miles wide with a crater two miles deep which geologists maintained had been hidden on the ocean bed for millions of years. A tribe of gargantuan beings was believed to be living within its crater, and it was Jack’s ambition to climb into the crater to investigate. Airline passengers had reported sightings of huge ape-like creatures which disappeared into caverns in the crater walls when planes went over, but there had been no sightings for some years now since tele transportation had taken over the airways and it was thought that they’d become extinct. No one had ever climbed to the top and seen the creatures close up so Jack would be the first to record their behaviour.
He had obtained the necessary permission to climb Macanaka from the I.G.A. the Office of International Geographic Affairs so, on the morning of his departure, he donned his "all seasons climbing suit" which dry cleaned automatically at the touch of a button inside the pocket and kissed his mother good bye.
“Have a good time,” she called after him as he entered his teletransporter, “and don’t forget to take those nutrition pills I gave you. Message me and let me know how you get on.”
“O.K.,” shouted Jack, and closed the door
“Please key in your destination” came a disembodied voice from the monitor.
Jack keyed in Tabacca and immediately felt a tingling sensation down his spine as his molecules were being broken down and transported through time and space to his destination. Ten seconds later he stepped out into the public concourse at Tabaca Teleport and hired a capsule to take him to his hotel which he had booked the day before via tele-thought. As he floated along in his capsule he recalled his grandfather telling him how he had made a similar journey seventy years before with Jack's great grandparents which had taken 36 hours because they'd had to board two aeroplanes and a steam boat to get there. Now travel was so quick and easy, but maybe not as interesting.
After a relaxed night’s sleep in his rockaby bed Jack sat at the breakfast table and eyed his multivitamin tablet with distaste. How he would have loved a full English breakfast like his grandfather would have had. But this was 3000 and by law everyone had a responsibility to be in peak health so as not to burden the state. Consistent poor health could result in being banished to an isolated island in the North Sea where there were only two doctors to deal with over a thousand sick patients. After washing his pill down with black coffee he took himself to the hotel gym and joined several fellow guests keeping trim on their chosen tools of torture.
An hour later he entered his hired capsule and directed it via voice control to the site of the Macanaka Rock. He relaxed back into his seat and watched the world go by, mostly tall glass office buildings in various sculptured shapes and colours. Evidence of humanity was limited to people like himself, floating along in their own private bubbles telethinking with their business colleagues. Eventually he was out of the city and crossing flatlands dotted with palm trees. In the far distance the ocean hugged the shoreline.
Suddenly, there it was, the Macanaka, towering into the clouds like an enormous block of dark chocolate, its summit rarely seen from the ground. He went to the signing in office where he showed his permit and hired some climbing gear. The first part of the climb was simple with a gradual grassy gradient leading up towards the lava face. It took him two hours to get to the serious stuff. Once at the lava face he checked his ropes and pitons hanging on his belt and began to tap into the rock hard lava with his axe. He never felt more exhilerated than when he was climbing; no-one to tell him what to do and how to do it, no petty rules and regulations. Just him and the rock face. He felt free.
Eight exhausting hours later he reached the half way mark and rested up on a ledge. He swallowed another pill and was ready to move on. Five hours later he was within sight of the summit. One more rest and he would soon be there. His excitement was building at the prospect of seeing those strange creatures. As he scrambled over the edge of the crater he switched on the camera embedded into his forehead and began his descent into its depths. Surprisingly there were lakes surrounded by forests and meadows interspersed with grey black rock. The crater seemed to have its own micro climate which produced exotic plant-life with huge leaves and vibrant blossoms. He noticed large holes in the walls of the crater where the animals were said to live. As vegetation was abundant they were probably herbivorous rather than carnivorous so he began to feel easier, knowing his only protection was the hammer and pitons strung to his belt.
He became aware of being watched and looked around nervously but saw nothing. He walked on but the feeling persisted. He sat on a rock and made out he was sleeping but kept one eye open. A rustling came from within a band of trees and slowly two huge ape-like creatures emerged. They must have been fifteen feet high and seemed quite docile, but Jack’s heart hammered as they came closer and closer until they were standing right over him. They looked down at him curiously with their giant heads on one side. Then the smaller one reached down and picked him up like a baby. Jack was terrified but he kept very still. What would they do? Perhaps they were carnivorous. Maybe there were other animals living alongside them in the caves which they preyed upon.......or which preyed upon them! He remained absolutely still. The creature carried him into a nearby cave and placed him on a ledge. Then she (he assumed it was a she) began to stroke his head and it sounded as if she was humming a lullaby. It dawned on Jack that she must think he was a baby. The larger male crouched a few feet away just watching quietly, picking at berries lying on the floor of the cavern.
An hour went by and Jack felt it was time to move. He couldn’t feign sleep forever. He opened his eyes and smiled tentatively at his captor. Her features were strangely humanoid but covered in soft grey hair interspersed with the odd silver whisker.
‘Hello,’ he said warily. The creature nodded and made a mewing sound which seemed as if she was trying to imitate his word.
‘Hello, he said again more loudly. This time the creature almost repeated the word correctly
‘Eow’ she said, a little bit like a cat’s meow.
Jack pointed to his chest and said ‘Jack.’ Once again the creature tried to imitate the sound.
‘Ack,’ she said.
The conversation went on like this for several minutes and eventually the creature was able to make a sentence.
‘Eow Ack.’
Jack remained with his new friends for a week recording their habits. He christened them Gor and Rilla after the species they resembled and a special bond developed between them. They swam in the lakes, and played hide and seek amongst the trees like children; they fed on wild honey, pomegranates and juicy berries which they collected on haliconia leaves the size of dinner plates; they drank sweet water from crystal clear lakes. Birds, which had long become extinct in the lower regions of the world, alighted close to them without fear in the forests and at the water’s edge. It was such a good simple life, Jack was tempted to stay there forever, but his permit was running out and it was soon time to say goodbye. His friends accompanied him to the edge of the crater where he waved farewell. A surge of sadness swept over him as huge tears welled in Rilla’s eyes. He doubted he would ever see them again.
When at last he arrived at ground level he was met by several journalists.
‘Well, was there anything worth seeing up there?’ asked a reporter from World News.
Jack thought for a few moments.
‘No,’ he replied. ‘Just barren rock. Whatever was there has long since gone. If it wasn’t for pills I wouldn’t have survived either.’
He stepped into his capsule and directed it back to the hotel. As he floated along in his bubble he smiled thinking about how he had been privileged to experience something so rare and beautiful which deserved to be protected from an alien world. He reached up behind his right ear and switched on his telethinker to send a thought message home to his mother, ‘Back in a jiffy, Mum. Nothing exciting to report.’ Then he switched it off and deleted the film in his camera. He sat back and closed his eyes.
‘Farewell, my friends,’ he thought, ‘Thank-you.’
……………And back came the message, ‘Eow Ack. Miss you.’
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
Bunter goes on a diet - poor Billy. The 'fat police' are after him.( Inspired by Frank Richards Bunter Stories)
It was a Friday morning when an official looking Vauxhall pulled up at the wide steps of Greyfriars School. A tall thin man and a short round woman got out carrying briefcases looking a little like Jack Spratt and his wife on a weekend country break. The man marched up to the doorbell and pressed the button. A bell echoed down the hollow corridors within and seconds later the door was opened by a tall athletic boy dressed in immaculate cricket whites.
‘Good morning, my name’s Wingate. I’m head boy. Can I help you?’
‘Yes we’ve come from the Department of Health and we’d like to speak to your Headmaster please.’
‘He’ll be out of assembly in five minutes. Please come in and take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.’
The couple were shown into a panelled study with pictures above the mantle shelf showing various smiling youths in cricket pads. On the door the sign read Rev. Herbert Locke, Headmaster. They settled down in front of the desk and waited. After ten minutes the Head swept in wearing the black gown and mortar board befitting his status.
‘Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. I’ve just had to chastise a boy in the Lower Fourth for stealing sweets from another boy’s tuck,’ he sighed as he sank down behind his desk. ‘Now what can I do for you. Wingate tells me you are from the Department of Health. I do hope none of my boys is carrying some dreadful disease. So many of our parents live Overseas these days. Heaven forbid that Greyfriars should be afflicted by some terrible sickness picked up in darkest Africa.’
‘Nothing like that I can assure you, Sir. My name is Banks and this is Miss Eversham. We’re from the new National Health department, F.L.OP.’
The Reverend Locke looked disconcerted. ‘F.L.O.P.? That’s a strange name for a government department if you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Banks……but then…..on the other hand……..’
‘It stands for the Fat Large Obese Police,’ said Miss Eversham quickly.
‘Yes, well, if you say so,’ said the Headmaster eyeing Miss Eversham’s portly frame. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘It’s come to our notice that you have a particularly large boy here who appears to be eating huge amounts of chocolates and cakes. As you know the Government have now banned all sugar from children’s diets and the issue needs to be addressed.’
The Headmaster sighed ‘Ah. You must be talking about Billy Bunter. Yes, he does eat rather a lot I’m afraid. We’ve tried to encourage him to cut down on sweets and cakes and do more exercise but he hides in the locker room, usually with a bag of jelly babies, whenever it’s P.E. and I’ve just had to speak to him about stealing sweets from another boy. He denied it of course, he always does, but you’ve only got to look at him to know he’s guilty as charged.’ The headmaster sighed again. ‘What’s he been up to now? Has he been swiping biscuits from the Co-op? I bet its McVities chocolate. He likes them.’
‘No Sir. We just need to see him that’s all.’
The Headmaster rang a bell on his desk and Wingate came in.
‘Yes Sir?’
‘Fetch Bunter please, Wingate.’
Some minutes later there was a knock and a large rotund boy entered wearing huge round spectacles and a striped blazer which didn’t quite meet up in the middle. Crumbs were evident on the front of his school jersey as he wobbled over to the headmaster’s desk with a beseeching look on his face
‘Please Sir. It wasn’t me, Sir. Honestly, it wasn’t me that sneaked into cook’s kitchen and took the apple pie for tonight’s supper.’ He hung his head. There was never a guiltier looking specimen to be seen.
The Head sighed. ‘It wasn’t I who sneaked into cook’s kitchen, Bunter,’ he corrected wearily.
‘That’s quite alright Sir. I know it wasn’t you.’
The Head sighed and shook his head in exasperation. ‘These people just want to see you Bunter.’ He looked at Banks and Eversham. ‘Do you wish to interrogate him?’
‘No that won’t be necessary, Sir. ’ said Miss Eversham ‘He can go back to class now.’
When Bunter had gone Miss Eversham opened her briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. She pushed it across the desk to the Reverend Locke, ‘Here is a diet sheet. You need to see that Bunter follows it.’ She gave him a look which suggested he would be in big trouble if he didn’t. It was like he was back in the Lower Fourth again.
‘We’re only concerned about the boy’s obesity,’ said Banks, ‘It’s a health issue you see.’
‘Yeeees,…. I can see that,’ said the Head, looking down anxiously at the diet sheet and wondering how on earth he could enforce these recommendations.
‘We’ll need the boy’s home address too, Sir,’ went on Banks
The Headmaster nodded, ‘Speak to my secretary next door. She has all the addresses. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and teach Moral Education to the Lower Fourth, not an easy task I assure you.’ With that he shook hands, bowed graciously and swept out of the room sighing and muttering to himself ‘Oh dear, Oh dear.’
Having acquired the address of Billy’s parents the two F.L.O.P officials drove away whilst a pair of owl eyes watched them from an upper storey window, unaware of what was in store.
That weekend was an off campus weekend and Billy was looking forward to his mother’s excellent dumpling stew followed by plum duff, his favourite pudding. His mouth watered at the very thought. As he waited for her to pick him up he sat in the entrance hall of Greyfriars School stuffing his mouth with several chocolate biscuits which he’d ‘borrowed’ from Wilby’s tuck box without asking, planning to return them, of course, after the weekend.
His mother arrived flaunting a straw hat decorated with artificial roses which she’d worn for her cousin’s wedding, but now wore to impress the other parents whenever she came to pick up Billy. She chivvied him into their Ford Anglia and very soon they were bowling along through the Surrey countryside.
‘Your father and I have had visitors,’ said Mrs. Bunter cautiously.
‘That’s nice,’ replied Billy munching the last of Wilby’s chocolate biscuits.’ What’s for tea? I’m starving.’
‘You’re having a nice ham salad for a change’
, ‘Salad?’ Billy nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘I can’t abide salad.’
‘Well I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it. You’re on a strict diet as from today.’
‘Who says?’ cried Billy, almost choking on the remains of his biscuit.
‘F.L.O.P.’ said his mother, and proceeded to tell him about the visit from the Fat Police and how they said he must stop eating sugary things and do more exercise. ‘And if you don’t lose at least 5 stone in the next 6 months we’ll be taken to court and maybe put in prison for child abuse.’
Billy’s eyes were wide with alarm. Ten stone? Six months? Salad every day? Exercise? There’d be nothing left of him. He’d be a walking matchstick. He thought of all those scrumptious cakes and chocolates just waiting to be eaten. No, it just wasn’t on, and what’s more he was having none of it. But what could he do? For the time being he just had to go along with it, but he’d think of something.
***
Mrs Bunter placed a plate of ham salad in front of Billy and a plate of dumpling stew in front of her husband. The aroma of beef gravy was almost too much for Billy to bear but he took a deep breath and valiantly popped a tomato into his mouth.
‘Yummy yum. I never realised tomatoes tasted so good,’ he said managing to keep a distasteful look off his face, ‘and this lettuce is scrumptious.’ He balanced a lettuce leaf onto his fork and scooped it into his mouth before it could escape back onto his plate. His mother was pleased. Maybe they didn’t have a battle on their hands after all.
His father looked up from his tasty dumpling stew and nodded. ‘Well done William. We’ll have you down to a size ten in no time. Tomorrow morning we’ll walk into town and get you started on an exercise regime. Might even do a spot of running myself.’ He laughed, knowing full well that was a step too far.
‘Yes, I’ve paid a subscription for you to join the Gym.’ Said his mother. ‘ What fun you’’ll have. Your father will take you there tomorrow to have a look round.’
Billy didn’t think it sounded like fun at all but he said, ‘That sounds wonderful Mother. Now what’s for afters?’
‘There’s a choice, dear. Apple or pear. Which would you like?’ said Mrs Bunter as she put a bowl of steaming plum duff and custard in front of her husband.
Billy’s face fell. It was all too much. He got up, ‘May I be excused? I have some homework to do.’ His father nodded and he rushed up to his bedroom where his secret stash of biscuits hid in a box under his bed. He took out a packet of chocolate McVities, frantically ripped open the wrapper and lay on the bed blissfully licking off the chocolate before stuffing the biscuit whole into his mouth. No sooner had he finished one than he started on another. He was halfway down the packet when there was a knock on the door. He hurriedly swallowed and pushed the biscuits under his pillow, managing to brush the tell-tale crumbs off the bed all in one movement before his mother came in. As the door opened the tantalising smell of left over dumpling stew and plum duff wafted up the stairs.
‘You forgot your apple Billy.’ She put it next to his bed. ‘Sleep well dear’
Later that night when his parents had gone to bed, Billy crept downstairs, making sure he missed the creaky step and opened the fridge door, expecting to see the dumpling stew and the plum duff in bowls ready for eating up the next day. Calamity! No dumping stew, no plum duff. Just a lump of mouldy cheese and half a loaf of stale bread. Then he noticed a note on the fridge door. ‘Sorry Billy, your father wanted seconds so there’s none left!’
Poor Billy. He sat at the kitchen table with a woebegone look on his face rubbing his tummy which was rumbling with emptiness. He was certain he would starve to death, and it was only the first day of his diet! All he’d had was a lettuce leaf, a tomato and a piece of ham. It was child abuse. That’s what it was. Child abuse!
He went back upstairs completely forgetting the squeaky step. He didn’t care. He sat on his bed and felt around underneath for his box of biscuits. Where was it? He lowered his heavy frame to the floor and looked under the bed, but it had gone!
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asked his father who was standing at the door holding his emergency supplies. ‘No more biscuits for you my lad. Better get used to it. I want you up bright and early tomorrow. We’re going to walk into town and buy you some trainers. Then we’ll go to the gym.’ With that he closed the door and left Billy looking more dejected than ever.
Next morning in the middle of a delicious dream about vanilla slices and chocolate cream cakes Billy was rudely awakened by a hammering on his bedroom door
‘Breakfast is on the table Billy. Don’t let it go cold’ called his mother.
Billy got up and shuffled to the bedroom door. The enticing aroma of bacon and egg floated up from the kitchen. Hope sprang anew in his belly. Closing his eyes he imagined crunchy bacon in his mouth and thickly buttered toast cut into soldiers dipped into runny egg yolk. Mmmm.
But none of that was for him. All he had was one hardboiled egg and a piece of toast with a scrape of butter on it. His mother never had learnt to boil an egg.
After breakfast he put on his blazer and glumly accompanied his father into Reigate. By the time they reached town Billy was puffing and panting like an old steam train. They found the sports shop and bought Billy a pair of Nike trainers. Mr. Bunter nearly fainted when he was told the price but it had to be done. Billy had to lose weight otherwise F.L.O.P. would be on their trail.
Their next stop was the Gym. As they walked in Billy knew straight away he was going to hate it. All those people pounding on a pathway and getting nowhere. The worst thing was all they had to drink was water. Not even a glass of coke to make life more interesting. And then there were the bicycles; people perching up on hard seats pedalling like mad with glazed looks on their faces and not moving an inch. What was the point of it all. If they had to walk and cycle why not get out into the countryside and go somewhere interesting? It all seemed a painful waste of time.
‘Well come on then,’ said his father, ‘I’ve not spent all that money for nothing. Let’s try the bike first?’
Billy looked at it unhappily but his father pushed him towards the infernal machine and helped him up onto the seat. He tried to turn the pedals but his bottom was too big for the seat and his legs were too short so he fell off scraping his ankle on the pedal. The treadmill was even more lethal. He pressed a button and it started with a nice gentle walk but it got faster and faster until his short fat legs couldn’t keep up.
‘Help! Someone stop it!’ he shouted as he hurtled along like a demented hippopotomous, but no-one heard him. They all had earphones stuck in their ears. Finally he shot off onto the floor in an untidy heap whilst the treadmill went merrily on its way. For a few minutes he sat there dazed. He wasn’t built for exercise and he certainly wasn’t built for salads. Fortunately Mr. Bunter decided Billy had had enough for one day, so they left and found a Bakery to buy a loaf for Mrs Bunter.
In the shop there was a shelf with cream cakes on it and Billy stared at it longingly, his mouth watering. Finally he knew what he must do. Desperate times demanded desperate measures. Whilst his father was in the queue waiting to be served he looked around furtively then reached up, snatched a cream cake and ran to the door with it.
‘Hey!’ shouted the Baker. ‘What are you doing? Put that back’
Billy ran out of the door with the Baker behind him and took off down the busy street.
‘Stop thief!’ shouted the Baker. Billy ran and the baker ran, whilst Mr. Bunter stared after them open mouthed in the shop doorway.
Billy kept running until he got to the traffic lights where his way was blocked by a burly policeman who grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. ‘Not so fast young man. What’s going on ‘ere?’
‘ ‘es stolen my cake that’s what’s goin’ on Officer,’ gasped the Baker catching up.
‘Leave me alone, you’re hurting me,’ shouted Billy as he wriggled to get free and kicked the policeman’s shins. The policeman yelled and let go of him. Billy was off again down the street with the limping policeman and the angry baker behind him. An old lady sitting in her wheelchair outside Woolies stuck out her walking stick and Billy went sprawling across the pavement hurling the cake into the road where a cyclist rode over it leaving cream tyre prints on the tarmac.
The policeman took out his notebook.’ I’m charging you with stealing a cake from this ‘ere baker, destruction of goods and attacking a policeman. You don’t ‘ave to say anything but what you do say will be taken down……’
‘Yes Yes. I know all that. Just cuff me and get on with it,’ said Billy rudely. This was all taking far too long. He could die of hunger at this rate.
Just then his father arrived on the scene.
‘What on earth is wrong with you William? Say you’re sorry this minute.’
‘Won’t,’ said Billy hunching his shoulders and looking down at his trainers. His father turned to the policeman, ‘I really don’t know what’s got into the boy, Constable. It’s his first offence. Can’t you let him off with a warning? I’ll deal with him when I get him home.’ He glared at Billy and was tempted to box his ears there and then.
‘Sorry, Sir. Rules is rules. ‘e attacked a police officer on duty so ‘e’ll ‘ave to be dealt with by the law.’ With that he cuffed Billy and dragged him down the street to the police station.
Half an hour later his photo had been taken, his dabs were on record and Billy was in a cell. As the door clanged shut the young policeman winked at him through the bars and said, ‘Someone will bring you something to eat soon. You’re in luck. Its lamb chops tonight with apple pie for seconds.’
‘Yesss!’ hissed Billy as he punched the air and lay back on his pallet, a triumphant grin on his round face. ‘At last, something to eat. And this bed isn’t bad either’
He’d taken a bit of a chance pinching that cake and kicking that policeman but it had paid off. They’d let him out eventually of course, but hopefully not too soon.
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
Bunter goes on a diet - poor Billy. The 'fat police' are after him.( Inspired by Frank Richards Bunter Stories)
It was a Friday morning when an official looking Vauxhall pulled up at the wide steps of Greyfriars School. A tall thin man and a short round woman got out carrying briefcases looking a little like Jack Spratt and his wife on a weekend country break. The man marched up to the doorbell and pressed the button. A bell echoed down the hollow corridors within and seconds later the door was opened by a tall athletic boy dressed in immaculate cricket whites.
‘Good morning, my name’s Wingate. I’m head boy. Can I help you?’
‘Yes we’ve come from the Department of Health and we’d like to speak to your Headmaster please.’
‘He’ll be out of assembly in five minutes. Please come in and take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.’
The couple were shown into a panelled study with pictures above the mantle shelf showing various smiling youths in cricket pads. On the door the sign read Rev. Herbert Locke, Headmaster. They settled down in front of the desk and waited. After ten minutes the Head swept in wearing the black gown and mortar board befitting his status.
‘Please forgive me for keeping you waiting. I’ve just had to chastise a boy in the Lower Fourth for stealing sweets from another boy’s tuck,’ he sighed as he sank down behind his desk. ‘Now what can I do for you. Wingate tells me you are from the Department of Health. I do hope none of my boys is carrying some dreadful disease. So many of our parents live Overseas these days. Heaven forbid that Greyfriars should be afflicted by some terrible sickness picked up in darkest Africa.’
‘Nothing like that I can assure you, Sir. My name is Banks and this is Miss Eversham. We’re from the new National Health department, F.L.OP.’
The Reverend Locke looked disconcerted. ‘F.L.O.P.? That’s a strange name for a government department if you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. Banks……but then…..on the other hand……..’
‘It stands for the Fat Large Obese Police,’ said Miss Eversham quickly.
‘Yes, well, if you say so,’ said the Headmaster eyeing Miss Eversham’s portly frame. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘It’s come to our notice that you have a particularly large boy here who appears to be eating huge amounts of chocolates and cakes. As you know the Government have now banned all sugar from children’s diets and the issue needs to be addressed.’
The Headmaster sighed ‘Ah. You must be talking about Billy Bunter. Yes, he does eat rather a lot I’m afraid. We’ve tried to encourage him to cut down on sweets and cakes and do more exercise but he hides in the locker room, usually with a bag of jelly babies, whenever it’s P.E. and I’ve just had to speak to him about stealing sweets from another boy. He denied it of course, he always does, but you’ve only got to look at him to know he’s guilty as charged.’ The headmaster sighed again. ‘What’s he been up to now? Has he been swiping biscuits from the Co-op? I bet its McVities chocolate. He likes them.’
‘No Sir. We just need to see him that’s all.’
The Headmaster rang a bell on his desk and Wingate came in.
‘Yes Sir?’
‘Fetch Bunter please, Wingate.’
Some minutes later there was a knock and a large rotund boy entered wearing huge round spectacles and a striped blazer which didn’t quite meet up in the middle. Crumbs were evident on the front of his school jersey as he wobbled over to the headmaster’s desk with a beseeching look on his face
‘Please Sir. It wasn’t me, Sir. Honestly, it wasn’t me that sneaked into cook’s kitchen and took the apple pie for tonight’s supper.’ He hung his head. There was never a guiltier looking specimen to be seen.
The Head sighed. ‘It wasn’t I who sneaked into cook’s kitchen, Bunter,’ he corrected wearily.
‘That’s quite alright Sir. I know it wasn’t you.’
The Head sighed and shook his head in exasperation. ‘These people just want to see you Bunter.’ He looked at Banks and Eversham. ‘Do you wish to interrogate him?’
‘No that won’t be necessary, Sir. ’ said Miss Eversham ‘He can go back to class now.’
When Bunter had gone Miss Eversham opened her briefcase and took out a sheet of paper. She pushed it across the desk to the Reverend Locke, ‘Here is a diet sheet. You need to see that Bunter follows it.’ She gave him a look which suggested he would be in big trouble if he didn’t. It was like he was back in the Lower Fourth again.
‘We’re only concerned about the boy’s obesity,’ said Banks, ‘It’s a health issue you see.’
‘Yeeees,…. I can see that,’ said the Head, looking down anxiously at the diet sheet and wondering how on earth he could enforce these recommendations.
‘We’ll need the boy’s home address too, Sir,’ went on Banks
The Headmaster nodded, ‘Speak to my secretary next door. She has all the addresses. Now if you’ll excuse me I have to go and teach Moral Education to the Lower Fourth, not an easy task I assure you.’ With that he shook hands, bowed graciously and swept out of the room sighing and muttering to himself ‘Oh dear, Oh dear.’
Having acquired the address of Billy’s parents the two F.L.O.P officials drove away whilst a pair of owl eyes watched them from an upper storey window, unaware of what was in store.
That weekend was an off campus weekend and Billy was looking forward to his mother’s excellent dumpling stew followed by plum duff, his favourite pudding. His mouth watered at the very thought. As he waited for her to pick him up he sat in the entrance hall of Greyfriars School stuffing his mouth with several chocolate biscuits which he’d ‘borrowed’ from Wilby’s tuck box without asking, planning to return them, of course, after the weekend.
His mother arrived flaunting a straw hat decorated with artificial roses which she’d worn for her cousin’s wedding, but now wore to impress the other parents whenever she came to pick up Billy. She chivvied him into their Ford Anglia and very soon they were bowling along through the Surrey countryside.
‘Your father and I have had visitors,’ said Mrs. Bunter cautiously.
‘That’s nice,’ replied Billy munching the last of Wilby’s chocolate biscuits.’ What’s for tea? I’m starving.’
‘You’re having a nice ham salad for a change’
, ‘Salad?’ Billy nose wrinkled in disgust. ‘I can’t abide salad.’
‘Well I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to it. You’re on a strict diet as from today.’
‘Who says?’ cried Billy, almost choking on the remains of his biscuit.
‘F.L.O.P.’ said his mother, and proceeded to tell him about the visit from the Fat Police and how they said he must stop eating sugary things and do more exercise. ‘And if you don’t lose at least 5 stone in the next 6 months we’ll be taken to court and maybe put in prison for child abuse.’
Billy’s eyes were wide with alarm. Ten stone? Six months? Salad every day? Exercise? There’d be nothing left of him. He’d be a walking matchstick. He thought of all those scrumptious cakes and chocolates just waiting to be eaten. No, it just wasn’t on, and what’s more he was having none of it. But what could he do? For the time being he just had to go along with it, but he’d think of something.
***
Mrs Bunter placed a plate of ham salad in front of Billy and a plate of dumpling stew in front of her husband. The aroma of beef gravy was almost too much for Billy to bear but he took a deep breath and valiantly popped a tomato into his mouth.
‘Yummy yum. I never realised tomatoes tasted so good,’ he said managing to keep a distasteful look off his face, ‘and this lettuce is scrumptious.’ He balanced a lettuce leaf onto his fork and scooped it into his mouth before it could escape back onto his plate. His mother was pleased. Maybe they didn’t have a battle on their hands after all.
His father looked up from his tasty dumpling stew and nodded. ‘Well done William. We’ll have you down to a size ten in no time. Tomorrow morning we’ll walk into town and get you started on an exercise regime. Might even do a spot of running myself.’ He laughed, knowing full well that was a step too far.
‘Yes, I’ve paid a subscription for you to join the Gym.’ Said his mother. ‘ What fun you’’ll have. Your father will take you there tomorrow to have a look round.’
Billy didn’t think it sounded like fun at all but he said, ‘That sounds wonderful Mother. Now what’s for afters?’
‘There’s a choice, dear. Apple or pear. Which would you like?’ said Mrs Bunter as she put a bowl of steaming plum duff and custard in front of her husband.
Billy’s face fell. It was all too much. He got up, ‘May I be excused? I have some homework to do.’ His father nodded and he rushed up to his bedroom where his secret stash of biscuits hid in a box under his bed. He took out a packet of chocolate McVities, frantically ripped open the wrapper and lay on the bed blissfully licking off the chocolate before stuffing the biscuit whole into his mouth. No sooner had he finished one than he started on another. He was halfway down the packet when there was a knock on the door. He hurriedly swallowed and pushed the biscuits under his pillow, managing to brush the tell-tale crumbs off the bed all in one movement before his mother came in. As the door opened the tantalising smell of left over dumpling stew and plum duff wafted up the stairs.
‘You forgot your apple Billy.’ She put it next to his bed. ‘Sleep well dear’
Later that night when his parents had gone to bed, Billy crept downstairs, making sure he missed the creaky step and opened the fridge door, expecting to see the dumpling stew and the plum duff in bowls ready for eating up the next day. Calamity! No dumping stew, no plum duff. Just a lump of mouldy cheese and half a loaf of stale bread. Then he noticed a note on the fridge door. ‘Sorry Billy, your father wanted seconds so there’s none left!’
Poor Billy. He sat at the kitchen table with a woebegone look on his face rubbing his tummy which was rumbling with emptiness. He was certain he would starve to death, and it was only the first day of his diet! All he’d had was a lettuce leaf, a tomato and a piece of ham. It was child abuse. That’s what it was. Child abuse!
He went back upstairs completely forgetting the squeaky step. He didn’t care. He sat on his bed and felt around underneath for his box of biscuits. Where was it? He lowered his heavy frame to the floor and looked under the bed, but it had gone!
‘Is this what you’re looking for?’ asked his father who was standing at the door holding his emergency supplies. ‘No more biscuits for you my lad. Better get used to it. I want you up bright and early tomorrow. We’re going to walk into town and buy you some trainers. Then we’ll go to the gym.’ With that he closed the door and left Billy looking more dejected than ever.
Next morning in the middle of a delicious dream about vanilla slices and chocolate cream cakes Billy was rudely awakened by a hammering on his bedroom door
‘Breakfast is on the table Billy. Don’t let it go cold’ called his mother.
Billy got up and shuffled to the bedroom door. The enticing aroma of bacon and egg floated up from the kitchen. Hope sprang anew in his belly. Closing his eyes he imagined crunchy bacon in his mouth and thickly buttered toast cut into soldiers dipped into runny egg yolk. Mmmm.
But none of that was for him. All he had was one hardboiled egg and a piece of toast with a scrape of butter on it. His mother never had learnt to boil an egg.
After breakfast he put on his blazer and glumly accompanied his father into Reigate. By the time they reached town Billy was puffing and panting like an old steam train. They found the sports shop and bought Billy a pair of Nike trainers. Mr. Bunter nearly fainted when he was told the price but it had to be done. Billy had to lose weight otherwise F.L.O.P. would be on their trail.
Their next stop was the Gym. As they walked in Billy knew straight away he was going to hate it. All those people pounding on a pathway and getting nowhere. The worst thing was all they had to drink was water. Not even a glass of coke to make life more interesting. And then there were the bicycles; people perching up on hard seats pedalling like mad with glazed looks on their faces and not moving an inch. What was the point of it all. If they had to walk and cycle why not get out into the countryside and go somewhere interesting? It all seemed a painful waste of time.
‘Well come on then,’ said his father, ‘I’ve not spent all that money for nothing. Let’s try the bike first?’
Billy looked at it unhappily but his father pushed him towards the infernal machine and helped him up onto the seat. He tried to turn the pedals but his bottom was too big for the seat and his legs were too short so he fell off scraping his ankle on the pedal. The treadmill was even more lethal. He pressed a button and it started with a nice gentle walk but it got faster and faster until his short fat legs couldn’t keep up.
‘Help! Someone stop it!’ he shouted as he hurtled along like a demented hippopotomous, but no-one heard him. They all had earphones stuck in their ears. Finally he shot off onto the floor in an untidy heap whilst the treadmill went merrily on its way. For a few minutes he sat there dazed. He wasn’t built for exercise and he certainly wasn’t built for salads. Fortunately Mr. Bunter decided Billy had had enough for one day, so they left and found a Bakery to buy a loaf for Mrs Bunter.
In the shop there was a shelf with cream cakes on it and Billy stared at it longingly, his mouth watering. Finally he knew what he must do. Desperate times demanded desperate measures. Whilst his father was in the queue waiting to be served he looked around furtively then reached up, snatched a cream cake and ran to the door with it.
‘Hey!’ shouted the Baker. ‘What are you doing? Put that back’
Billy ran out of the door with the Baker behind him and took off down the busy street.
‘Stop thief!’ shouted the Baker. Billy ran and the baker ran, whilst Mr. Bunter stared after them open mouthed in the shop doorway.
Billy kept running until he got to the traffic lights where his way was blocked by a burly policeman who grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. ‘Not so fast young man. What’s going on ‘ere?’
‘ ‘es stolen my cake that’s what’s goin’ on Officer,’ gasped the Baker catching up.
‘Leave me alone, you’re hurting me,’ shouted Billy as he wriggled to get free and kicked the policeman’s shins. The policeman yelled and let go of him. Billy was off again down the street with the limping policeman and the angry baker behind him. An old lady sitting in her wheelchair outside Woolies stuck out her walking stick and Billy went sprawling across the pavement hurling the cake into the road where a cyclist rode over it leaving cream tyre prints on the tarmac.
The policeman took out his notebook.’ I’m charging you with stealing a cake from this ‘ere baker, destruction of goods and attacking a policeman. You don’t ‘ave to say anything but what you do say will be taken down……’
‘Yes Yes. I know all that. Just cuff me and get on with it,’ said Billy rudely. This was all taking far too long. He could die of hunger at this rate.
Just then his father arrived on the scene.
‘What on earth is wrong with you William? Say you’re sorry this minute.’
‘Won’t,’ said Billy hunching his shoulders and looking down at his trainers. His father turned to the policeman, ‘I really don’t know what’s got into the boy, Constable. It’s his first offence. Can’t you let him off with a warning? I’ll deal with him when I get him home.’ He glared at Billy and was tempted to box his ears there and then.
‘Sorry, Sir. Rules is rules. ‘e attacked a police officer on duty so ‘e’ll ‘ave to be dealt with by the law.’ With that he cuffed Billy and dragged him down the street to the police station.
Half an hour later his photo had been taken, his dabs were on record and Billy was in a cell. As the door clanged shut the young policeman winked at him through the bars and said, ‘Someone will bring you something to eat soon. You’re in luck. Its lamb chops tonight with apple pie for seconds.’
‘Yesss!’ hissed Billy as he punched the air and lay back on his pallet, a triumphant grin on his round face. ‘At last, something to eat. And this bed isn’t bad either’
He’d taken a bit of a chance pinching that cake and kicking that policeman but it had paid off. They’d let him out eventually of course, but hopefully not too soon.
THE END
Copyright 2016 by Wendy Breytenbach (or Jane Maxwell). All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission