Britland Calling: 2. Britland In Danger – Opening Chapters

1

MARIO’S CAFÉ

BUT THE BOTTOM-OF-THE-GARDEN-SPACESHIP did not splash down. It landed in its usual way, touching down as gently as a falling feather as its positron underlay cushioned the craft onto something hard. Tommy had landed on some huge concrete flagstone paving slabs.

Outside the window, he could see himself in the familiar setting of the central shopping area of Basildon town centre—except that it wasn’t the Basildon of the Earth! How could he tell? Well, the buildings were exactly the same. But the shoppers milling around? This was an Enid Blyton Toytown made real!

Out of his windows, he could see a throng of spiky-haired humanoids much more colourfully dressed than humans tend to be. But there were also a larger number of toys. Toys, that all seemed to be very much alive! Teddy bears, dolls, toy animals, toy soldiers, toy trucks and trains with faces on them—oh, all kinds of toys. It was one thing to hear someone claiming to be Trevor the Teddy Bear on his bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship speakers, but quite another to see the weird and incredible sight through his windows.

And there was one other strange thing that Tommy’s iron-grey eyes took in. He noticed that the leaves on the shopping centre’s amply scattered trees were blue. And when he looked down at the small patches of grass bordered at the base of these trees, well, they were blue too. It was then that Tommy realised a few things that he had previously misunderstood. Fiona had said that apples were blue and not green. He could see why she had said this now. And he understood why he thought he was about to land on a sea. The seas were, in fact, the green areas on this planet for some reason, and the land masses were blue because of the foliage.

Tommy could see many of the shoppers were starting to gather around his bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship. He decided there was nothing for it but to present himself. The bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship’s door swished open and out onto the concrete flagstone paving slabs, he stepped out into a beautiful sunny day. And to think the sun was Mr Sun, a living non-animal being, a Space Body.

Many of the living toys gathered around Tommy and they all looked very sad.

“You’re, Tommy,” said a tiny pink perm-haired dolly with dark-brown skin. Although she was apparently made of plastic, her eyes and lips looked to be ordinary flesh and blood. In fact, all the toys seemed to have eyes and mouths that were flesh and blood despite the rest of them being made of non-flesh materials like wood, plastic, or metal. The dolly continued in earnest, “And that’s your bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship, isn’t it? And you’re from Basildon too—only the Basildon on Earth. Your Britland is called Britain, isn’t it?” The dolly put her hands on her waist in askance.

“Yes,” said Tommy, surprised to find himself in conversation with a tiny dolly.

A cloth monkey pushed to the front of the gathering crowd.

“You’ve come to save us, haven’t you?” said the monkey. He was wearing big red-spotted pyjamas. And on one particularly big red spot on the monkey’s chest was written the words “Martin the Monkey”.

“Well, I’m not too sure why I’ve been called here. But whatever the reason, I will do my best to help you all.”

Suddenly the sunshine flickered violently like a huge light being switched on and off rapidly.

“Arrgh!” cried Martin the Monkey, quickly crouching down, burying his head in his hands. Many of the humanoids and toys in the vicinity screamed.

Tommy didn’t know what could have caused the sunshine to do such a thing. However, fortunately, the flickering soon stopped and clear clean sunshine once more bathed the shopping centre.

“It’s all right,” shouted a relieved woman with bright blue spiky hair. “It’s just Mr Sun taking his sunglasses on and off rapidly. His behaviour is getting more unpredictable. But he has not decided to blow himself up yet. I’m sure Tommy will sort things out before Mr Sun blows himself up—and us with him.”

Tommy began to get an idea of the problem that the Britland people were hoping he would solve.

Just then, a male Britlander humanoid wearing a many-buttoned waistcoat, jacket and trousered dinner suit of all the colours of a rainbow and a thick head of bright-yellow spiky hair came out of Mario’s Café and shouted in a many-toned chorus of voices:

“Tommy! In here! Quickly, please!”

The crowd immediately parted, allowing Tommy to march himself quickly towards the café.

“Good luck, Tommy!” shouted the pink perm-haired dolly in his wake.

Inside he could see no difference from the Mario’s in his own Basildon except, of course, for the occupants. A noisy rabble of toys and brightly coloured spiky-haired humanoids were engaged in busy conversation and clinking their cutlery against mugs and cups of hot drinks and plates of cakes. But the noise quickly fell silent as the café’s customers and staff all looked at Tommy.

“Over here,” said the humanoid who had called Tommy into the café. Next to him was a teddy bear, dipping his hairy finger into a jar of honey.

Tommy joined the humanoid and the teddy bear, sitting opposite them, at a four-chaired Formica-topped table.

“Mr Tomboli at your service,” said the humanoid, offering a hand out to Tommy.

“Tommy Emerson Aaron Spencer,” said Tommy, as he shook Mr Tomboli’s hand then sat down.

Meanwhile, the symphony of cutlery clinking, hot drink sipping and cake chomping and busy conversation once more filled the café, but many furtive eyes looked Tommy’s way.

“This, I’m sure you’ve guessed, is Trevor,” said Mr Tomboli, placing a hand on a shoulder of the teddy bear who was sucking his honey plastered finger.

Just at that moment, a large female teddy bear with an apron on waddled up to the table with a computer pad and accompanying computer pen.

“What can I get you, Tommy?” she said, forcing a smile.

“Will my Earth money be legal tender here?” asked Tommy.

“Of course not, but it’s the least we can do to offer you all we have, considering the situation.” The female teddy bear held her pen, ready to write Tommy’s order on her computer pad.

“Just a mug of coffee, then.”

“Milk? Sugar?”

“Milk. One and a half sugars.”

“No cakes or biscuits, or perhaps a ham and tomato sandwich?”

“No thank you. The coffee will be fine.”

The waitress teddy bear dabbed her pen at various points of her computer pad, then waddled off busily to the serving counter at the back of the café.

“Well, how can I help?” asked Tommy, eyeing Mr Tomboli. “It’s something to do with Mr Sun, isn’t it?”

“Yes. You’ve obviously heard things?”

“Well, I’ve heard and observed things that suggest there’s a serious problem with Mr Sun. Something so bad he might be thinking of blowing himself up.”

Just then, the waitress came scurrying back in a fast-motion waddle with Tommy’s ordered mug of coffee.

“There you are, Tommy,” she said, placing the mug down carefully on the Formica tabletop.

“Thank you,” said Tommy.

“You’re welcome,” said the waitress, before waddling off at her usual busy pace to another table to take an order.

“Tommy, it’s like this …” began explaining Mr Tomboli solemnly. “The sun, that is to say Mr Sun, is suffering from some sort of extreme boredom, and wants to explode into a deadly supernova. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. Mr Sun doesn’t have enough mass to go supernova. But we are talking here about a living sun. And believe me, he has enough mass to go supernova.”

“Yes, I can well understand,” said Tommy, giving a quick nod.

“Well, this is pretty bad news if you happen to be living on a planet orbiting around it—a planet that cannot escape the solar system,” said Mr Tomboli.

“Yes,” agreed Tommy. “Fiona told me that Thear is not a Space Body and is an ordinary planet, the only ordinary planet in the solar system.”

“True,” said Mr Tomboli. “If Mr Sun does go supernova, all the solar system’s Space Bodies will be able to react quickly enough to move off to another solar system, or move off to simply wander through the universe without bothering any stars. We can’t think of any way to stop Mr Sun from being bored and change his suicidal mind from blowing himself up and taking us with him.”

Tommy was saddened to hear all this. He sipped some coffee and thought about the problem. He noticed that the café had gone quiet again.

“Could he be turned back into an ordinary sun?” asked Tommy.

“Even if he could, we would have no right to murder him, nor deprive his family of their father.”

“Yes, of course. I was just thinking out aloud to get my brain warmed up. Fiona told me about the births of the Space Bodies in the solar system and all about Origimus.”

“My, my,” said Mr Tomboli, “you have picked up a lot of knowledge on your way to Thear.”

“Fiona was very conversational.”

“True,” said Mr Tomboli. “That’s one of the reasons we chose her to escort you to Thear.”

Just at that moment, the small pink perm-haired dolly with brown plastic skin pushed her way into the café. She was swinging a small humanoid-looking doll with blue spiky hair. Up to Tommy’s table, she marched. And there she stood, just staring with furrowed eyebrows at Tommy.

“Are you all right?” said Tommy to the dolly.

“I’m all right at the moment. But what about Mr Sun?” The dolly begun hugging her humanoid doll close to her chest and twisting her trunk from side to side as if comforting both the doll and herself.

“I’m trying to think of a way to help Mr Sun get better,” said Tommy down to the dolly. “Why don’t you come and sit next to me for good luck?” Tommy patted the chair beside him.

“Can Mr Bomberelli come to?” The dolly’s eyebrows wriggled a little like a pair of disturbed hairy caterpillars.

“Who’s Mr Bomberelli?” asked Tommy.

The dolly shoved out her humanoid doll towards Tommy.

“Oh,” said Tommy, slightly taken aback. “Of course, Mr Bomberelli can join you. Can you reach yourself up onto the chair?”

“What?” said the dolly, looking completely befuddled.

“Do you need help to get yourself up onto the chair?” Tommy thought the dolly was surely too small to reach herself up onto the chair. How wrong he was.

“No, Tommy. I’m Dianna the Dolly. And I can look after myself. I might be small but I learned a few tricks from my friend Jack.” The dolly suddenly fired herself up in the air in a triple somersault and landed sitting down on the edge of the tabletop. “Oops. Overdone it a bit.” The dolly jumped down to the chair and remained standing on it. She carefully placed her Mr Bomberelli doll on the tabletop.

“That was very impressive,” remarked Tommy with raised eyebrows. “Your friend Jack is quite a good teacher. Is he some sort of gymnastics teacher?”

“No,” said the dolly while trying to make a chair out of an upturned empty mug and saucer, “he’s Jack the Jack-In-A-Box.”

Tommy just smiled and turned his thought back to the main problem of Mr Sun’s boredom.

“These Space Bodies,” he said, “they place a great importance on conversations. They call these conversations Space Body talk. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Tomboli?”

“Oh yes. They cannot live without feeling wanted and being able to chatter away about the most trivial of space matters. And Mr Sun is the most dependent on this Space Body talk. He loves to be the centre of attention, which is hardly surprising as he is the centre of the solar system. He even wears his special sunglasses so we on Thear can look at him.”

“When Mr Sun has his sunglasses on, it is possible to look at him without damaging your eyes, isn’t it, even from the surface of Thear?”

“Oh yes,” said Mr Tomboli. “His sunglasses always take the focus of your eyes and so protect them. They don’t make much difference to his brightness overall though. But still if he takes them on and off quickly you notice a slight difference, as you just witnessed a few minutes ago.”

“I see,” said Tommy, taking another sip of coffee. He noticed many of the customers were now leaning towards him from their tables and the teddy bear waitress was loitering close by.

“The far Outer Planets. I notice they seemed very quiet. Sort of unsociable, almost. Is this the case?”

“Ah, these far Outer Planets are cold. They are too far from Mr Sun’s bathing sunshine and more importantly, his conversational gravity. They just cannot be bothered to involve themselves in any significant Space Body talk. They are happy to just sleepily orbit under ordinary laws of physics.”

“Are they happy?” Tommy looked at Mr Tomboli over the rim of his coffee mug as he took yet another sip.

“Tommy, shouldn’t we be talking about Mr Sun? We are running out of time here. Why discuss planets that hardly contribute to life in our solar system?”

“Because …” said Tommy, pausing as he placed his mug confidently on the table.

“Because what …?” said Mr Tomboli grasping his hands in frustration.

“Because …” Tommy paused again, before standing up. His bright iron-grey eyes lit up the whole café. “Because, Mr Tomboli, therein lies the solution to this problem!”

 

2

TOMMY TACKLES THE BRITLAND PROBLEM

TABLES AND CHAIRS scraped across the floor. Cutlery chinked and clanked on crockery, on tables and on the café floor. The café’s customers and staff charged towards Tommy’s table and crowded around it. Everyone was looking at Tommy, hanging on his every word. Their faces full of hope. Even Dianna the dolly got onto the tabletop and walked along it to stand opposite Tommy, staring at him imploringly. She had forgotten about her Mr Bomberelli doll.

Mario’s Café held its breath …

“Go on,” said Mr Tomboli calmly, peering around Dianna. His skills as a government minister were coming to the fore.

“Conversation more than anything else is the food of Space Bodies. They like to play and manipulate the extraordinary laws of nature, but more than anything, they love conversation. They cannot live without it. Their emotions are given and received through their conversations.”

“And …?” pressed Mr Tomboli.

“There’s one more point to notice before I give my solution. Fiona’s father has taken a place in the Outer Planetary System. He had an argument with his wife Emily over whether or not to have more moonchildren. I’m sure you are aware of this?”

“We are all aware on Thear of Albert and Emily’s separation,” said Mr Tomboli.

“And you know that Albert was Mr Sun’s first child?” questioned Tommy.

“Erm … yes, that’s right,” answered Mr Tomboli. “Albert was first, followed by Stewart, followed by Kristen … and so on …”

“Well, I believe Mr Sun’s boredom is really caused by him missing Albert’s conversation. Did Mr Sun start getting bored after Albert moved himself off to the Outer Planetary System?”

“Albert moved off something like 2,150 years ago. But it is only in the last few years Mr Sun has started to get bored and become unpredictable.”

“Yes, but to Space Bodies, as Fiona told me, a few thousand years would feel to them like a few months would feel to us. So that’s the nub of the solution. We need to get Albert back into Mr Sun’s Conversational Neighbourhood! And for added insurance, perhaps convince one of the farthest planets to join him for extra company. They’ll soon warm up and become active in Space Body talk—I’m sure of that. Mr Sun will soon get interested in life once again. One of those planets had 161 moonchildren!” “That’s Pantheus,” said Trevor. “He’s divorced. He got to keep 161 moonchildren and the other 193 headed off with their mum to our neighbouring star.”

“Oh,” exclaimed Tommy. He didn’t quite know what to say. He realised that all the peoples of Thear were probably well informed of all the Space Bodies’ latest comings and goings.

“Well, imagine all of Pantheus’s 161 children playing with Stewart’s 151 moonchildren. Think of all the new moonchildren, the new conversations generated. And with Mr Sun’s first child Albert back in his usual solar system position.”

“Yes!” shouted Mr Tomboli, his many-fold chorus of voices firing off around the café and bouncing off the walls. “Yes, by Jiminy!” roared Mr Tomboli. “I think you’ve got something there! But how to do it, Tommy? How to do it?”

“Well, the major problem now becomes, how do we get Albert to come back to Emily? And the minor problem becomes, how do we get Pantheus and his moonchildren to move into the Inner planetary system? Er, by the way, none of this would affect Thear’s orbit, would it?”

“Thear’s orbit would not be affected. Trust me, I’m Mr Tomboli.”

“You’re not Origimus in humanoid form, are you?”

This caused great laughter in the café.

“Blimey, I didn’t think it was that funny,” said Tommy, surprised at the huge burst of laughter.

“Out of all the Britlanders we know,” said Dianna the Dolly, “Mr Tomboli is hardly likely to be Origimus.”

Mr Tomboli looked a little sheepish, but he joined in the new burst of laughter that followed Dianna’s comment.

“Well, how do we proceed?” asked Mr Tomboli when the laughing died down, looking over the top of Dianna who had taken to sitting on the tabletop between Mr Tomboli and Tommy.

“Right, starting with the easy problem first. For Pantheus, we will simply get the moonchildren to leave by employing Mr Khartoum to entice them away with the promise of some great stories. Once they meet up with Stewart’s children, I can’t see them wanting to go back to sleeping again. I am sure Pantheus will follow them once they charge off. It will be his paternal instinct. He’ll be happy once he’s warmed up by Mr Sun. Why just imagine, you’re asleep and someone comes to wake you up. You want them to go away and let you sleep on. But they drag you up, feed you, and bring you to a beach on a hot summer’s day. There’s no way you would want to go back to bed. I think we should try that first just to keep Mr Sun interested as quickly as possible. But how long would it take to contact Mr Khartoum?”

“A minute at most, I should think,” said Mr Tomboli, surprising Tommy.

Mr Tomboli grabbed Trevor’s mobile phone. “Give me that mobile, Trevor! Time is of the essence!” Mr Tomboli then banged the mobile on his forehead a few times. He put it to his ear, and said, “Hello? Is that Britland Control Centre?”

Tommy heard a tinny voice coming out of the mobile phone’s earpiece answering Mr Tomboli.

“Put me through to Mr Khartoum, please,” requested Mr Tomboli. After a few seconds, Mr Tomboli looked at Tommy, and said, “I’ll be through to him in less than thirty seconds. We use the Space Body gravity transmitter located at Jodrell Bank Observatory, near Goostrey, Cheshire to talk to specific Space Bodies in private communications.”

Tommy nodded his head. It seemed like the place such an astronomatical device would be.

After a short time, Mr Tomboli’s earpiece stared up again …

“Ah, hello Mr Khartoum. It’s me, Mr Tomboli. Now …”

Mr Tomboli went on to discuss Tommy’s plan.

Minutes later …

“So he’s on his way to Pantheus now,” said Mr Tomboli loudly so presumably all the café could hear the drama. “He’s telling some of Pantheus’s moonchildren a story about Origimus when he was a boy. The other moonchildren are all waking up and gathering around. They are happy they’re getting Mr Khartoum’s special attention just as much as in hearing one of his special stories. Now he’s telling them all that they must come to Mr Sun’s Conversational Neighbourhood to hear the end of the story. They’re all happily following him. And Pantheus has shaken himself out of his sleepy stupor and roared ‘MY CHILDREN!’ and he’s charging after his moonchildren at many times the speed of light towards the Inner Planetary System. Well, they’ve all arrived and Mr Khartoum is finishing off the tale—but no, he’s started the story from the beginning at the request of Stewart’s moonchildren who have joined Pantheus’s moonchildren. Meanwhile, Stewart is talking to Pantheus about some of the adventures they had many millions of years ago. Pantheus looks very happy. And glory be, Mr Sun is joining in.”

Mr Tomboli then shouted to the teddy bear waitress. “Teresa, can you open the door, please? When Mr Sun’s this happy, we’ll hear his voice. It won’t be very loud, but we’ll just be able to hear a distant murmur.”

Teresa scurried in her fast-motion waddle to the café door and wedged it open. Everyone went quiet in the café, straining his or her ears, including Tommy. Outside through the windows it was quiet too as the shoppers were all looking up at Mr Sun. And Mr Sun’s murmuring slowly drifted into the café. Tommy couldn’t make anything out except the odd word or phrase. He thought he heard a couple of “bonjours”, too.

“Mr Sun’s happy to see his youngest child, Pantheus,” said Mr Tomboli. “I think Tommy’s right about Albert being the crux of the problem. So, Tommy, how do we get Albert back with his wife Emily?”

“Can you talk to Emily now?” asked Tommy.

“Oh yes, easy,” said Mr Tomboli. He pressed his finger on the flat surface of his mobile. “Britland Control Centre?” A tinny voice blared from the earpiece. “Oh, hello, Captain Felletti. Can you patch me through to Emily, please?” Mr Tomboli looked at Tommy. “I’ll soon be through to Emily. Do you wish to talk to her? You’ll know what to say.” Mr Tomboli handed over the mobile device to Tommy …

 

3

EMILY WOOS ALBERT

“THIS IS EMILY, IS THAT MR TOMBOLI?” said Emily.

“No, it’s me, Tommy. Mr Tomboli has passed me his mobile.”

“Oh, hello, Tommy.” Emily’s voice still sounded pleasant, but it did not have the effect it had had on him earlier when he heard it directly through her gravity fluctuations. Tommy thought the mobile sounds from Emily were some sort of Gravity-to-Analogue conversion. “Can I help you with anything?”

Tommy explained that he needed Emily to get back with Albert so that he would return to the Inner Planetary System. He continued …

“Fiona told me the reason behind your dustup with Albert. She said he wanted more moonchildren, but you didn’t, is that right?”

“Um … I’m not sure it’s anyone’s business but mine and Albert’s—‍”

“—And Fiona’s,” interrupted Tommy.

“Um … yes, of course. And Fiona’s.”

“Fiona told me the reason you didn’t want any more moonchildren was because you were happy with Fiona and you thought having more moonchildren would only upset Stewart and his wife Victoria, as more moonchildren in the Inner Planetary System would make them unhappy. But look at Stewart now. Does he look upset at the arrival of 161 of Pantheus’s moonchildren?” Tommy held his breath.

Seconds that seemed like minutes later …

“He looks happy! And Victoria has come back with three of her moongirls to see what all the fuss is about. I-I’ve never seen Stewart and Victoria look so happy before. One of Pantheus’s moonchildren is only a baby. Aah, just look at that! Victoria is playing with the baby, using her gravity fluctuations to fire it above her like a table tennis ball on an air fountain. The baby is spinning about and giggling. It reminds me of when Fiona was born. Oh, we had such fun. I-I … it’s just …” Emily sounded as if she was struggling with her emotions.

“What is it, Emily? Are you all right?”

“Yes, Tommy. I’m all right. I made a big mistake with Albert over not wanting to have more moonchildren.”

“And with Fiona.”

“Yes, and with Fiona. I just don’t know what I was thinking.”

“So do you want to win back Albert’s heart and have more moonchildren?”

“Oh yes, I do. I’ve been such a fool!”

“Well, can you win his heart back?”

“I’m a Space Body planet from the Song System. We are great singers and songwriters. I am a songstress. I’ll do my best. And I’ll do so right now!”

There followed a weird swishing and howling sound coming out of the mobile’s earpiece, causing Tommy to pull it away from his ear. The noise quickly diminished.

“What was that strange noise?” said Tommy to the mobile. “Is that how Space Body planets sing?”

“Don’t be silly, Tommy,” said Emily. “That’s the sound of a Space Body planet travelling at top speed—many times faster than light. I’m right up to Albert. He’s pretending to be asleep, but he must have heard the sound of my high-speed approach. Are you in Mario’s Café?”

“Yes,” said Tommy.

“I thought you would be. That’s where Mr Tomboli usually goes when he meets people. If you press the app on your mobile that says ‘Ext Speak’, the sounds from my vicinity will come out of the café’s speakers. Then you’ll all hear my efforts to woo Albert. I know what Britlanders are like, and I’m sure they’ll all want to listen.”

Tommy pressed the yellow-coloured square box on the mobile that had “Ext Speak” written on it. It began flashing red, then turned green. The word “On” appeared beneath it. Tommy lifted the mobile back up to his head.

“Can you still hear me?” said Tommy.

“Yes,” came the reply—but not just through the mobile’s earpiece, but also out of the café’s speakers.

“Okay,” said Tommy. “You’re coming through the speakers loud and clear. Well, off you go then …” Tommy put the mobile down on the tabletop.

“Albert, I know you’re awake,” said Emily.

“No, I’m not, I’m asleep,” said a sleepy Albert.

“I’ve decided I want more moonchildren, as I am absolutely sure it won’t affect Stewart and Victoria.”

“Not that such a consideration should matter,” said Albert, sounding a little angry.

“Aah, I see you are now awake. So I’m going to sing you a song to show how sorry I am about our undignified dustup and try to win back your heart.”

Albert said nothing.

Emily sang. And what a singer she was. And what a song she came up with. And how she created such beautifully sensuous background music was a mystery to Tommy. She must have used incredibly skilful gravity fluctuations. Everyone in the café was mesmerised. And she sang:

 

If the sun moves the planets

Then you move my heart.

But like the space in between them

I feel we’re far apart.

If you could love me just a little more

Then you would see the opening of a door

A door in to my heart, my love

A door I’ve set ajar

A door, my love

A door, my love

A door in to my heart

 

Oh, and my pain grows stronger

Space hangs hard …

And my heart grows older

 

Oh and I need you, Albert

To wrap your gravity around me—

forever.

 

I’d give up everything

If I could kiss you right now.

 

Albert,

I’d give up all I own, darling

Oh just for moonkids right now

 

 

If a child calls the planets

Then they call my heart

But like the love deep inside them

I feel they’re just the start

If you could love me just a little more

Then you would see the opening of a door

A door in to my heart, my love

A door I’ve set ajar

A door, my love

A door, my love

A door in to my heart

 

Oh, and my pain grows stronger

Space hangs hard …

And my heart grows older

 

Oh and I need you, Albert

To wrap your gravity around me—

forever.

 

I’d give up everything

If I could kiss you right now.

 

Albert,

I’d give up all I own, darling

Oh just for moonkids right now

Albert,

I’d give up all I own, darling,

Oh, just to have you right now

 

The music drew to a dramatic close. Half the café was in tears, such was the power of Emily’s skilful singing and the emotional lyrics.

“Oh my gawd!” came a new voice over the café speakers.

“Blimey,” said Tommy loudly for the benefit of the rest of the café, “that’s Albert and Emily’s only moonchild, Fiona.”

“They’re going to kiss, Betty,” said Fiona.

“You sure?” said another girl’s voice. “Let me have a look. I wanna look. Please, Fiona!”

“No, Betty. You’ll be seen if you open your eyes. Then my mum and dad will realise someone’s hiding behind you. I don’t want to risk ruining anything.”

“Black holes aren’t just used to hide moonchildren, you know,” complained Betty.

“Shush, look, they’re going to kiss! It’s so exciting.”

“How can I look if I have to keep my eyes closed?”

“I’ll describe it. That’s nearly as good. And I’ll record it so you can see it later.”

“Go on then, Fiona.”

“Mum’s moving more closely to Dad than planets ever move to each other. They’re both starting to vibrate from the gravity fluctuation control needed for such close approaches. Wow, Betty, can you imagine what it’s like to feel such loving gravity?”

“Nope,” said Betty. “And I don’t wanna ever feel that sort of gravity. I mean, it’s not like a parent or guardian hugging you, is it?”

“Dunno,” said Fiona. “And now look!”

“What is it? What do you see?”

“Tears are forming in Dad’s eyes. Mum’s ring has lifted up above her head so that she looks like an angel—an angel with a golden halo. And yes, she’s got tears in her eyes too. Now Mum’s moving in for the kill! And … Ooh, Betty! Betty! They’re kissing now—smack on the lips. I’ve never seen two planets kissing. It’s very rare. I wouldn’t do it for anything. Now they’re moving a normal distance apart for close talking and Mum’s ring has gone back to its usual place. Shush now, Betty, they’re going to talk.”

“You’re the one doing all the talking, you numpty,” said Betty.

“Shh!” said Fiona.

Albert’s voice boomed happily out of the café speakers, “You really want us to gather some moonchildren from the moonchildren nurseries? Origimus is in the Gamma Sector. We could bring them to him in just a week of travel.”

“What about getting the Space Body Cooperative birth certificates?” asked Emily.

“That’s no problem. With Victoria’s Royal Space Body Collective connections, that will be no problem. We can have them in less than a Thear day.”

“But she might not want to help us, Albert.”

“Stewart and I have already discussed it with her. She’d be only too happy. She loves moonchildren.”

“Oh Albert, we must tell Mr Sun of our plans. He’ll be so happy to hear such news. He’s missed you, Albert. You were his first.”

“I didn’t know your dad was Mr Sun’s first born Space Body,” said Betty. But she spoke a little too loudly …

“Hey, who’s that?” shouted Albert.

“It’s me, Betty the Black Hole,” said Betty loudly. Then much more quietly, she said, “You may as well slide out from behind me now, Fiona. I’ve opened my big yellow eyes. Yellow against black is quite a give away.”

“Betty’s been hiding me, Dad,” said Fiona loudly.

“Sorry, Fiona. I just couldn’t keep my eyes closed any longer,” said Betty.

“No probs. We didn’t muck anything up. It’s all sorted now. A done deal, matey.” Fiona’s voice sounded very confident.

“Look, Albert!” said Emily, full to the brim with happiness. “There they are, in the direction of Pollster’s Star. See them?”

“I see them,” said Albert. “It’s Betty and our Fiona, all right.”

“How long have you been hiding behind Betty?” asked Emily.

“Not long,” said Fiona. “Why? Did I miss anything?”

“Well … nothing you’d understand. In any case, your father’s coming home and you’re going to have some brothers and sisters. We’ll work out how many later.”

“I’d say, at least eleven to start with just to make a round dozen,” said Albert. “Would that be all right, Emily?” he added a little tentatively.

“That would be fine, but I’d be happy with 99. Why not start with a round 100?”

“Oh, that’d be fantastic,” said Albert, “if Fiona agrees?”

“Oh yes please, Dad.”

“Well, come on then,” said Emily. “Let’s all go and see Mr Sun at top speed.”

“Can I come?” asked Betty.

“Of course you can, you custard-eyed cretin,” said Fiona.

A chorus of ear-piercing, weird swishing and howling sounds screeched through the café speakers.

“Quick, turn off the Ext Speak app!” shouted Mr Tomboli across the table to Tommy.

Tommy quickly pressed the Ext Speak app and the “On” word disappeared as the app returned to its inactive yellow-coloured state. The sound cut off from the speakers as if it had been chopped off with an axe.

“Phew, what a relief!” said Trevor, lowering his hairy hands from his ears and digging a finger back into his jar of honey.

“They’ll be with Mr Sun now,” said Mr Tomboli.

Tommy handed the mobile back to Mr Tomboli.

“We’ve been cut off,” said Mr Tomboli after raising the mobile to his ear. “Still, I have a feeling we’ll soon know if the problem has been well and truly solved. Best to just finish your coffee, Tommy.”

The café returned to normal. Everyone went back to their tables and the clinking of cutlery on crockery and the murmur of conversation once more filled the café. The café door was still left open.

About ten minutes later, a voice came down from the sky …

“Hello everyone!” It was the jolly voice of a shouting Mr Sun, the only Space Body who could make himself heard through the atmosphere of Thear, even though he was 93 million miles away. “I’m sure you can all hear me—even those on the nighttime side of Thear. Come out! Come out wherever you are—even if you can’t see me! Remember, with my powerful neutrinos, I can see all of you.”

At this, the café emptied in a stampede, leaving just Tommy, Mr Tomboli and Trevor—and Mr Bomberelli who had fallen off his upturned-mug chair when Dianna had scrambled across the tabletop in her efforts to join the recent café exodus.

“We’ll hear him from in here,” said Mr Tomboli.

“I’m pleased to announce I won’t be blowing myself up anytime in the next 100 billion years or so, at least. I wasn’t really going to blow myself up, but I hoped by pretending I was that I might get help to get better. I was just so sad at losing Albert. But now he’s back! And I have further good news. He’s going to have 99 more moonchildren—and that’s just for starters. So off you all go, back to your merry lives!”

Just outside the café’s entrance, a highly excited rag doll with the words “Rebecca the Rag Doll” embroidered in blue thread on a yellow ribbon knotted into her straggly auburn hair appeared, and with a powerful voice belying her tiny size, she shouted:

“Three cheers for Tommy! Hip, hip …”

“HOORAY!” chorused Basildon’s main shopping centre.

“Hip, hip …”

“HOORAY!”

“Hip, hip …”

“HOORAY!”

And on the Basildon flagstone concrete slabs outside Mario’s Café, an ecstatic mass of toys and humanoids danced up and down and waved at Mr Sun, hoping he would see them. This sort of jubilant scene was repeated the world over; for even on the nighttime side of the world, the people there knew, of course, that Mr Sun could see them with his powerful neutrinos.

Tommy had proved himself a superhero to the people of Britland—and they hadn’t even heard of his victories over Mr Sun and ghost dark matter black holes yet. However, Fiona would soon let them know now that everything was back to normal in Thear’s solar system.

In the café, Trevor plucked an apple out of the inside pocket of his jacket. “Would you like an apple, Tommy? You deserve it.”

“Er, no thanks,” said Tommy, staring dubiously at the blue-coloured apple. “I had a huge meal earlier today.”

“Go on,” said Trevor, pushing the apple across the Formica tabletop.

But suddenly Tommy felt tired and slumped on the tabletop, falling asleep.

Then he vanished, as did his bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship.

“Where’s Tommy gone?” asked Trevor, taking back his apple and pocketing it while sticking a finger yet again into his jar of honey.

“Back to his own time and place. He’ll be waking up now, in his bottom-of-the-garden-spaceship, orbiting Jupiter.”

“Jupiter?”

“It’s a planet in his solar system. Come on, Trevor. Let’s go home. I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of Tommy.”

 

4

LOGAN’S MOTHER SAYS SWEET DREAMS

“WHAT AN INTERESTING STORY,” said Logan’s mother softly to herself as she closed up her Tommy’s Adventures in Britland book. “Perhaps a bit too difficult in places for Logan, especially all that strange mathematics stuff between Tommy and the ghost dark matter black holes. The other Tommy stories were more action based. Though I still wish we had read that story first now, then maybe we might have talked to Mr Tomboli about it. I think we bought the book about two weeks before we met Mr Tomboli. And oh yes, it’s just dawned on me where we bought it! We bought it in the Help the Children charity shop, which is the shop that turns into the Tomboli’s Britland Toys shop.”

Logan’s mother looked down lovingly at Logan. “You poor little mite. You fell asleep before I even got to mention Mr Tomboli’s appearance in the story.”

Logan’s mother put the Tommy’s Adventures in Britland book away in the large see-through plastic box of books. She placed the box carefully by the door before coming back to stand over the sleeping Logan.

She stroked her chin, deep in thought …

“You know what I think, Logan … I think that Mr Tomboli really did write the book. That would explain everything. He probably even published it himself. I bet he’s selling his books in all the charity shops in Basildon and maybe Basildon’s leading book shops. That’s why he’s put Basildon in the book. I think he’s looking for a reaction when anyone reads his book and then sees his shop. Some sort of publicity stunt … Unfortunately for him, we visited him in his shop before we read a story that mentions him in his book. But if he was after publicity, why wasn’t his shop open more of the time? If the charity shop doesn’t want to give him more days to share their shop, why couldn’t he just hire another shop? There are loads of empty shops these days in England’s high streets and town centres. I can’t make any sense out of it, Logan. Can you?”

Logan answered with a long drawn out stuttering snore.

Logan’s mother gave Logan’s softly breathing face a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, my little prince,” she said happily, pleased that Logan had been so good lately. She smiled broadly as she thought about his play-acting earlier today when he had said Freddy the Football was alive. He was so good at acting that she almost believed him. There was no Freddy the Football in the story she had just read, or that might have got her thinking there was some truth in Britland.

She looked at Freddy the Football with his drawn on smiling face resting on the chair at the foot of Logan’s bed, and said, “My son certainly has an imagination to die for, doesn’t he.” She laughed, then moved towards the football.

“Well, Freddy the Football, goodnight to you too!”

Logan’s mother bent down and kissed Freddy softly on the face. And because she was kissing him, she didn’t see him pull a scrunched up “gerroff” face. He wasn’t used to being kissed. Mr Tomboli never kissed Freddy. Mr Tomboli showed affection by patting him on the head, which usually meant bouncing him up and down.

Logan’s mother drew away from Freddy, picked up the see-through plastic box of books, switched off the main bedroom light and then slinked off to put away the box of books and make herself a nice hot cup of cocoa. She had lost a good two hours of sleep reading the story. Nevertheless, she felt it was well worth it.