Ellie frowned. “Is that it? I don’t have to spend ages filling out forms and pretending to be over eightee—”
Fred slammed the laptop shut and, swerving past Isla and Morris who were coming through the door, pulled Ellie out of the computer room.
Ellie was still fretting on the way home, all the way to their front door.
“But why didn’t we have to pay for it? How’s it going to get here? When is it going to get he—”
“Ellie!”
The door opened. Janine was standing there with Margaret Scratcher in one hand and, in the other, a package.
“What’s this?” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Ellie, going into the house.
“It’s a package, Ellie. Something you’ve obviously bought off the internet. How many times must I tell you I don’t want you buying stuff online without asking us …?”
Ellie frowned. “I haven’t actually bought anything off the internet …”
“Well, it’s addressed to Ellie Stone.”
“Hang on, Mum,” said Fred, picking up some ripped-open cardboard, “it’s addressed to you.”
“No, that was something else that arrived at the same time. Which I did order. That.” She pointed to a pile of mail – there was always a pile of mail in the Stones’ hallway, some of which seemed to stay unopened for years – on top of which was a polythene pack, labelled ‘FATANX’.
“What’s that?” said Ellie.
“It’s a corset,” said Janine. “Basically.”
“What’s a corset?” said Fred.
“Don’t you remember?” said Ellie. “We did them at school, when they were teaching us about the Victorians. They’re these horrible tight bits of underwear that women used to have to wear to look slimmer and force their waists to be really tiny. Mum, you shouldn’t have got one of those, they’re really bad, and besides you don’t need it—”
“It’s not for me, it’s for your father,” said Janine.
“Oh,” said Ellie.
“Anyway, stop changing the subject. Where did you get this from?” She held up the unopened package, the one addressed to Ellie.
“I don’t know,” said Ellie. “I haven’t ordered anything. Has it got the address where it was sent from on it somewhere?”
Janine squinted at the package. Then, as if it might help, she extended the arm holding Margaret Scratcher towards it, as if she – Margaret – might be able to spot something she – Janine – could not. “No. That’s odd. There’s no other writing on it.”
“Anyway, Mum, can I have it?”
Janine looked uncertain, but suddenly Margaret Scratcher made her move.
Janine Stone was always, day and night, holding Margaret Scratcher. Ellie and Fred would sometimes wonder how the cat ever went for a wee or a poo, since, apart from when feeding, their mother always seemed to have her lying across her left arm. What wasn’t clear was how Margaret felt about it. Well. It was sometimes clear. Sometimes, Margaret would clearly think, What am I doing constantly hanging about on this woman’s arm? and make a bolt for it. Up Janine’s arm and round the back of her head.
But Fred and Ellie’s mum was not one to give up easily. She would grab Margaret and hold her at arm’s length while her paws wheeled about like a furry electric fan with claws, until finally the cat calmed down, gave up and went back to sleeping on her arm.
This is exactly what had just happened. There was a lot of yowling and Janine shouting: “Margaret! Margaret! Margaret! Margaret!” – higher and higher each time – and then she dropped the package.
It was Fred who caught it, but Ellie who said: “Great! Let’s go to the playroom!”
The playroom in the Stones’ house was about as much of a playroom as the computer room at the school was a computer room. It was basically the spare room. It had a bed in it that Fred and Ellie’s grandparents used when they came to stay, a threadbare carpet and a basket for Margaret Scratcher to sleep in.fn1
But the playroom did also have a TV screen on the wall, and so had become the room in which Fred and Ellie played video games, normally sitting on the floor, or sometimes – when it hadn’t just been slept in by their grandparents and could be a little … musty – on the bed.
As soon as they got in there, Ellie tore at the package, ripping it to pieces.
“It can’t be, can it? I mean … it just can’t!” she was saying.
“No, it can’t,” said Fred. “It’s not possible.”
But it was. Ellie reached into the box and took out … the Controller. The black one with the blue lines and the buttons like jewels. Exactly the one that they had seen on the computer only half an hour earlier.
“I don’t understand it,” said Ellie. ”How can it have got here so quickly …?”
“I don’t know,” said Fred.
Ellie turned the Controller over, looking for clues. But on the back there was no company name, no writing: just a shiny metal plate underneath which, she assumed, were the batteries. A very shiny metal plate: she could see her face in it. This distracted her for a minute. Ellie never really thought about her appearance most of the time. She just looked how she looked.
But, since Isla had said that thing about girls with glasses, Ellie had started wondering about it. If maybe she should try to look a bit different. If, maybe, the glasses and the braces and stuff – the whole looking just like her brother thing – if maybe it was a bit—
“But … how does it feel? In your hands?” said Fred, breaking her train of thought.
Ellie held the Controller and moved it slowly up and down in her hands, as if weighing it. She flicked her thumb on to the control stick, rolling it around. Her fingers roamed searchingly over the front buttons.
She looked up at her brother. She was smiling. She may even, although Fred wasn’t sure, have had the beginnings of a tear in her eye.
“Perfect. It feels perfect.”
Fred smiled back, pleased that his sister was pleased.
“Is that how it comes?” he said. “Just straight out of the package? No instructions?”
Ellie looked back in the box. She scrunched around some paper.
“No. Just … this …” she said. She took out a black bracelet, also with a blue glowing line around it. There was a label attached to it, which read:
“What does that mean?” said Fred.
“I don’t know,” said Ellie.
“Well, you’re the video-game expert,” he said.
Ellie shrugged and put the bracelet on. It fitted well on her wrist. But, when she picked up the Controller again, it knocked against it, disturbing her sense of perfection.
She tried flicking it further down her arm, but every time she put her hands back on to the Controller the bracelet slid down and got in the way.
“Aargh!” she said, handing it to her brother. “Can you hold this, till we find out how it works?”
“OK,” said Fred, sliding the bracelet round his wrist. He quite liked the look of it. It made him feel like a pop star. Perhaps I should get another one, he thought, to wear on the other wrist. With spikes …
Meanwhile, Ellie was trying to make the Controller work. She switched on the console. The TV screen came on, with all the graphics on it.
But the graphics didn’t seem to know that the Controller was in the room. She pressed the main button on it, the one with a picture that looked like someone dancing; she pressed all the other buttons, the ones that looked like jewels; she even shook it, like a maraca. Nothing. Both the console and the screen seemed unable to pick up the Controller.
“What are you meant to do?!” she said.
“I don’t know,” said Fred.
“Are you meant to charge it up?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you meant to set it up with a computer?”
“I don’t know.”
“How do you even switch it on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Urrrrrggggggghhhhhhhh!!!!!!” said Ellie. And
lifted the Controller up in the air, with both hands, as if she was going to smash it down hard on the floor of the playroom. Fred, who hated the thought of anything breaking – and who was still, as he always had been as a toddler, a little scared of loud noises – held up his hands to stop her.
And it was then that the Controller – and Fred’s bracelet – lit up.
“Uh-oh,” said Ellie.
“Oh-uh,” said Fred.
Her hands were in the air. So were his. The Controller and the bracelet were close to each other. Something about this closeness must have had an effect because the blue lines on the Controller were suddenly pulsing. As was the blue light on the bracelet.
“That’s … good … isn’t it?” said Ellie, bringing the Controller back down again.
“Yes,” said Fred. “I think so.”
Ellie pointed the Controller at the screen. The game options were up: FIFA. Street Fighter. Super Mario. Minecraft. But the device wasn’t lighting up any of the boxes with the game icons in them. She held it closer, towards Mario. In desperation, she started pressing the buttons and toggling the control stick randomly.
“It’s not working, Fred! It’s still not working!”
“What’s happening?” shouted Fred suddenly. “Ellie? What’s happening?”
Ellie looked round. Fred was crouching on the window ledge. Luckily, the window was shut.
“What are you doing there?”
“I don’t know,” said Fred.
“You don’t know what you’re doing there?”
“Well, I’m crouching. What I mean is I don’t know how I got here.”
“Fred. Don’t be stupid! You must have climbed up there …”
“I didn’t climb. I jumped!”
“What do you mean you jumped? In one go?”
“Yes.”
“Without falling off?”
“Yes.”
Ellie stared at him. The window was about a metre off the ground.
“Are you sure?”
“Ellie. I was just standing there. Next to you. You were looking at the screen. And fiddling with the Controller. Next thing I knew I’d jumped up here.”
Ellie stared at him some more. Then she noticed something: the blue light on the Controller in her hands, and the blue light on the bracelet around her brother’s wrist, were pulsing in time with each other. Perfectly in time with each other.
So she said, “Say that again.”
“Next thing I knew I had ju—”
“No – before that.”
Fred frowned. “You were looking at the screen …?”
“No, in between that and the jumping bit …”
Fred frowned again. “You were … fiddling with the Controller …?”
Ellie nodded slowly. “I was, wasn’t I …” she said and not like it was a question. She nodded again. “Fred? Can you just … prepare yourself? I’d like to try something.”
“Prepare myself? In what way …?”
“I dunno. Just … make ready.”
Fred had no idea what that meant. But he took a deep breath and said: “OK.”
Ellie was the more confident twin. She’d always been the one to make decisions, the one who knew what was what. She was more grown-up, more likely to understand stuff that Fred didn’t, quite, yet.
But although she was acting like she knew what was what here – taking control, telling Fred to make ready, all that – she didn’t really understand what was going on. She didn’t really think that Fred had got up on to the window ledge in the way her brain was telling her he must have. And she didn’t really think anything was going to happen when she pointed the Controller back at Fred and flicked the control stick downwards, while pressing the emerald button.
But it did.
Fred’s legs extended, and he jumped gracefully off the window and landed back on the floor of the playroom.
“Oh. My. God,” said Ellie.
“You see!” said Fred. “That’s what happened before! Only in reverse. And … wwwwooaargggh!!!”
Ellie, who had been smiling in amazement while Fred was speaking, had moved the control stick of the Controller in a circle.
Which had led to – or, if not, it was a really remarkable coincidence – Fred spinning round in a circle.
Then, gaining in confidence, Ellie pressed the ruby button and flicked the control stick up at the same time. Leading to Fred – while saying “AAARRGGGHHHH!!!!!” – jumping up in the air and doing a perfect somersault back down again.
Once he realised he was fine and hadn’t broken anything, Fred, breathless and wide-eyed, said: “Ellie! What’s happening?”
“You see that bracelet you’re wearing?”
“Yes.”
“I think it’s paired with the Controller. I think it pairs … you with the Controller.”
Now it was Fred’s turn to stare. Then he laughed. “Good one, Ellie! Very funny! Now can we talk about why I’ve started leaping up into the air for no reas— WWWWOOOAAARGGH!” he said as Ellie moved the control stick upwards while pressing the gold button – making him jump up and land with a forward roll on the spare bed.
“Oh! It’s musty!” he said, coming up near the pillow.
“Fred, it’s really happening! You’re paired with the Controller! You are my avatar!”
Fred nodded, finally taking this in. “Are you going to change all my clothes and hairstyle?”
“No,” said Ellie. “I’m not brilliant at making my avatars look good anyway. That’s your speciality.”
“Will it work the other way round?”
“I don’t know …” she said. “Shall we have a go?”
Fred nodded excitedly. He was about to take the bracelet off – and Ellie was about to hand over the Controller – when, from outside, they heard:
“HEEEEEELLLLLLLP!!!!”
The twins ran outside. Standing on the street,
looking up, was Eric, holding a bacon sandwich, and Janine, not holding Margaret Scratcher. Which meant something was wrong.
“What’s happened?” said Ellie.
“MARGARET! MY LITTLE MARGARET!! MY BEAUTIFUL MRS SCRATCHER!!!” Janine was screaming, in between sobs.
“What about her?” said Fred.
“She’s up there,” said Eric, pointing, in between munches.
The Stones, as we know, lived in a ground-floor flat. But next door to their building was a house lived in by the Whites. The Whites were perfectly fine neighbours, except at Christmas. At Christmas, the Whites transformed their house into the biggest Christmas building in the street – maybe in the whole town. Derek White, the dad, strung light bulbs all over the front; above the living-room window was a big neon Santa, laughing in a sleigh with all twelve reindeer a-flying; and in the garden stood an enormous Christmas tree, festooned with every colour of fairy light in the fairy-light spectrum.
Fred and Ellie liked it actually. But Eric didn’t. Eric thought that Derek was hogging the limelight. To say nothing of how much he was hogging the street’s electricity. And the thing Eric really didn’t like was that Derek built all this and switched it on … at the end of October.
That really annoyed Eric at the best of times. “Christmas isn’t for ages!” he would always grumble, looking at next-door’s lights from behind the lounge curtains.
“Oh, Eric. You’re only annoyed because you won’t be getting the turkey and the stuffing and all the trimmings for months …” Janine would always reply.
“No, I’m not!” Eric would then always protest.
“You’re right,” Janine would then always continue. “It’s mainly just the sausages wrapped in bacon you’re thinking about …”
But none of that was happening this time. This time, Eric and Janine were both outside while Derek White and his wife, Kirsty, and his two children, Leo and Emma, waited for Derek to throw the switch and light the lights.
Which he was about to do. He was standing by the Christmas tree holding a plugboard. But …
<
br /> “Don’t you dare, Derek White!!” said Janine. “I’ll have you reported to the RSPCA!!!”
“Look, Janine,” Derek replied, “I always put my Christmas lights on at 7.15 on October the 22nd. It’s 7.13 now. If your cat hasn’t come down in two minutes, I’m afraid I can’t answer for the consequences …”
“MARGARET!! MARGARET!!” shouted Janine.
“Yes, come on now, Mrs Scratcher,” said Eric more quietly and only after he’d swallowed the last bit of his sandwich.
“Meoooowwwwwww …”
Fred and Ellie looked up, following the sound with their eyes. A ball of white fluff was perched on top of the Christmas tree, holding on with the tips of its paws to a big silver star: a silver star which was wired up with many, many tiny lights around its five points.
“Will she be OK up there?” said Fred.
“I’m not sure,” said Ellie.
“Oh please, Lord … I promise this Christmas that I’ll do anything you want … if you only rescue Margaret Scratcher from this terrible fate …”
They looked round. Janine was indeed, as these words suggested, praying: something neither Fred nor Ellie had ever heard her do before, not even at Christmas. She had her eyes closed and was facing away from the tree, possibly because that was in the general direction of the nearest church, about two miles away.
“… I promise not to watch so much daytime TV … promise not to have a go at Eric so much … promise to make sure the kids don’t have to eat his bacon sandwiches …”
“Fred,” said Ellie. “Prepare yourself.”
“What …?” said Fred. Then he realised that Ellie was still carrying the Controller. And he was still wearing the bracelet.
He didn’t know what she was going to do. But, whatever it was, he didn’t have a good feeling about it.
“… I promise that I’ll look after the kids better and make sure they don’t come to any harm …” Janine was saying when she suddenly stopped praying. She stopped praying because she stopped talking. She stopped talking because she was staring, mouth open, at the tree. Which her son was presently climbing up.
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