Noah Could Never

by Simon James Green

  “And you won’t piss yourself,” Mick said.

  “I am so, so far away from pissing myself, Mick, but thanks for going on about it,” Noah replied, smiling weakly and fanning his face with his paper. “Everything’s cool, bladder-wise.”

  “Caravan!” Pierre shouted.

  “That’s a motorhome,” Noah corrected him. “A caravan must be towed.”

  “What is ‘towed’?”

  “Pulled by a car,” Harry said.

  “Eva? Have you seen anything?” Noah asked, trying to be encouraging. Perhaps a fun game like this would pull the girl out of her perpetual gloom?

  “The only thing I have seen,” Eva said, monotone, face expressionless, “is one shithole town after another.”

  “OK, well, that’s interesting, but it’s not on your card.”

  “Caravan!” Pierre shouted.

  “No, Pierre, that’s a trailer.”

  “Pulled by a car?”

  “Yes, but a caravan you live in.”

  “Motorhome?”

  “Like a motorhome, but not a motorhome. Because it’s pulled by a car. A motorhome operates with its own internal engines. A caravan without a car is just a … shed on wheels.”

  “With a toilet in,” Mick smiled.

  Noah groaned as they went over a bump in the road. “Huh. OK, right, Mick … dear Mick…”

  “I’m not stopping.”

  “Yes, but I really need to stop, though.”

  “You can go when we get to the diner.”

  “The diner!” Noah squealed. “Mick! That’s nearly an hour away! I just won’t be able to… Mick, please! Please!”

  “No.” Mick put his foot down and the van accelerated.

  “Argh!” Noah screamed.

  “What was that?” Mick said. “Scream if you wanna go faster?! You screaming, Noah?!” He accelerated some more.

  “Just to remind you, we’re all under eighteen in here!” Noah babbled. “This is a van full of children, so you have to be responsible, else you’ll crash and your guilty face will be all over the news. There’s a lot of young promise in this van. A lot of hopeful lives could be wiped out!”

  “Please wipe us out,” Eva muttered, her eyes glazing over.

  “We’re barely going forty!” Mick said, shifting the van into fifth. “Speed limit’s seventy on this road.”

  Noah shot up in his seat as they flew over another bump in the road. “ARGH! AH! AH! Seriously, your careless driving is traumatizing my bladder! Please! Mick!”

  “Mick, can you pull over?” Harry said.

  Mick sighed, slowed down and pulled on to the grass verge. “Go on, then!”

  Noah slid the door back and leapt on to the grass, battling to stay upright as his foot slid off a grassy mound and into some mud. He flailed about, looking for a suitably dense bush that he could pee behind without being seen. Damn it, why did it have to be winter and nothing have any leaves on? He pushed through the first couple of bushes, figuring that three separate sets of bracken and brown foliage would hopefully be enough to shield his nether regions from perverted eyes. And it wasn’t just the occupants of the van he was worried about. All manner of passing vehicles would contain perverts and predators who would just love to see his willy, he was sure of it. In today’s world, you couldn’t be too careful.

  He found the perfect spot, unzipped and sighed with relief. After this, they could really get on with the journey. Make up for lost time. Gather clues, work out their destination and head them off!

  BZZZZZZ!

  Noah glanced up to see a most unwelcome visitor. Some manner of black-and-yellow FLYING INSECT with a malevolent attitude about it and definitely some sort of ARSE DAGGER. In winter!

  BZZZZZ!

  It was taking a keen interest in Noah and his tender and vulnerable boy parts – parts that he would ideally put away immediately, were it not for the stream of pee he was releasing and couldn’t now stop.

  BZZ! BZZZZ!

  Noah wafted at the air as the creature dived nearer, trying not to splash his trousers as he did so, and now having to focus on:

  (A)where he was peeing

  (B)the arse-dagger-enabled insect

  (C)the occupants of the van and whether they could see him

  (D)the many perverts elsewhere on the road, and beyond.

  BZZZZ!

  The creature began a dive-bomb attack, heading directly for Noah’s willy. Noah swerved violently and—

  “ARRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHH! AH! AH! AH! AH! ARRGGGHHHHHH! AHHHHHHH! HELP! HEEELLLPP!”

  Harry was first on the scene, as a stricken Noah covered himself with his hands, eyes watering, lip wobbling. “I’ve stung it on a nettle!” Noah wailed.

  “When you say ‘it’?” Harry said.

  “My WILLY!” Noah squealed. “Get help!”

  “What sort of help?”

  “Get the first-aid kit from the van.”

  Harry nodded and hurried back to the van, while Noah examined the afflicted area. “Oh no!” he cried. “A red spot has come up on it! WE NEED ANTIHISTAMINE!” he shouted back towards the van. “I’m flaring up!” This was all he needed. How much poison was in a nettle sting? Enough to kill your boy parts?

  Harry blundered back through the foliage. “Mick says he hasn’t got a first-aid kit.”

  Noah blinked at him. “Hasn’t got one? Hasn’t got one?! Then what am I supposed to do?”

  “Maybe we can suck the poison out?” Pierre said, poking his head up behind Harry.

  “Ahh!” Noah said, turning away from them both. “Go back! Stay back! There’s nothing to see here!”

  “Shall I look for a dock leaf?” Harry suggested.

  Noah nodded. “Yes, try that! Quickly, though, before the poison takes hold!”

  Harry started foraging around in the undergrowth as Mick arrived on the scene. “What the hell?” he said.

  “You!” Noah snarled. “How dare you not have a first-aid kit! Suppose one of us severed an artery and required a tourniquet? I mean, I’m not expecting a defibrillator, but not even a cold compress and some sterile dressings?”

  “No.” Mick shrugged.

  “Here!” Harry said, holding up a bunch of dock leaves.

  “Right,” Mick said, “well, when you’ve done, we seem to have another problem.”

  “What’s that?” Noah scowled.

  “Van won’t start. Dead as a dodo.”

  “For fuck’s sake. Of course it won’t. Right, well, first things first, in a breakdown situation, you need to get your warning triangle out of the van and place it a hundred and forty-seven imperial feet from the scene, to warn oncoming traffic.”

  Mick stared at him.

  “Oh, dear Christ alive. You haven’t even got a warning triangle! Oh God. We’re dead. We’re as good as dead.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  Noah breathed a sigh of relief as the police car pulled up just ahead of him. What luck! Now they would all be saved.

  “What the hell are you doing?” the policeman said, getting out of the passenger side and walking along the verge towards Noah.

  “There is a broken-down vehicle not one hundred and forty-seven imperial feet ahead,” Noah explained.

  The policeman nodded. “So why are you standing here, waving around a pair of red boxer shorts?”

  “The owner of the vehicle doesn’t have any warning triangles,” Noah said, through gritted teeth. “As a result, we had no way of warning oncoming traffic. This was the best I could do to prevent a major accident … you know? Like in The Railway Children?”

  Of course, it wasn’t ideal. And of course the person who had packed the provocative red underwear had been Pierre, but needs must. And surely Noah had averted some sort of massive disaster through his actions? Maybe his efforts would be recognized… Some sort of community service medal, maybe?

  The policeman sniffed. “A teenage boy waving some red pants in the air on the side of the A46 is more of a distraction tha
n that van is. Bloody idiot. Step back from the verge.”

  Noah lowered his red warning flag and trotted after the officer.

  “Have you phoned for assistance?” the policeman called back to him.

  “Yes, sir, indeed we have.”

  The policeman shook his head. “Right. In the meantime, wait up by the fence, not down here where you could get hit. And put those pants away.”

  Noah tucked the boxers into his front pocket.

  The policeman sighed. “Kids today.”

  Noah watched with a certain amount of awe as a local mechanic, who had introduced himself only as “Ryan”, fiddled about under the bonnet of the van, apparently knowing what all the bits did, and not being afraid to touch them.

  Ryan was a very capable young man.

  He wore some grey jogging bottom shorts, slung low at the waist, so you could see the waistband of his Hollister boxers, along with a white T-shirt that stretched over his ample pecs, that were probably due to lifting car parts about. He also had white socks on and big boots. A good, stout, manly type of boot. Very practical.

  “How bad is it, Ryan?” Mick cooed, leaning against the side of the front headlights.

  “Battery’s dead, but I can fix you up with a new one now.”

  “Ooh, so there’s life in the old gal yet?!” Mick giggled.

  “I’ll sort her out,” Ryan said, and bent back down under the bonnet.

  “Mmm,” Pierre said.

  Eventually, after much fiddling with RANDOM WIRES AND STUFF, and several manly grunts, Ryan slammed the bonnet shut and nodded to Mick, who started the engine with a healthy roar. “Nice one!” Mick shouted.

  “Well done, Ryan,” Pierre said.

  “That’s great, Ryan, congratulations on your excellent job,” Noah added.

  Harry gave him a thumbs up. “Cheers.”

  Ryan shrugged off all the praise like it was nothing, and he wasn’t really SOME SORT OF GOD who knew about stuff and could probably also mend boilers and deal with faulty fuse boxes and things. Ryan was good with his hands. Noah bet he probably made pottery in his spare time, sitting at the wheel, a mound of wet, sloppy clay between his strong hands, gently caressing and teasing the wet… Noah pulled at his collar and adjusted his trousers. That damn nettle sting was swelling.

  “That’ll just be a hundred, then,” Ryan said. “Cash only.”

  Noah looked expectantly at Mick.

  “Lads?” Mick said.

  “What?” Noah asked.

  “Put your hands in your pockets, then.”

  Noah stared at Mick. “But…”

  “All I have is a credit card,” Mick said.

  Noah threw up his arms. “But I only have ten pounds! Harry? Pierre?”

  Pierre shrugged. “I did not ask to come.”

  Noah let that go, but vowed to speak to Pierre later about his attitude problem and his disinterest about being a team player.

  “I’ve got thirty,” Harry said, ripping his Velcro wallet open.

  “So, we have forty…” Noah said.

  “Not enough,” Ryan sniffed. “I’m gonna have to take the battery away again if you can’t pay.”

  Noah narrowed his eyes at evil Ryan. Like most people who wore Hollister boxers, this was all about him. If he didn’t get what he wanted, he was going to turn nasty.

  They needed a plan, else they would have fallen at the first hurdle, just a few miles from home, and Noah’s dad would get away scot-free and sell Gran’s diamonds. Oh, and Eric would find that very damn funny, wouldn’t he?

  “Right! Group conference!” Noah announced, huddling Harry, Pierre and Mick together. “We have to track down and locate my father and Eric. It’s really, really important and it’ll make an old woman very happy if we succeed. Now, what we need to do is put our differences behind us, just for the moment, and work as a team. We have to pool our resources and—”

  “Cool, we’re all done,” Ryan interrupted. “I’ll let you get on your way.”

  “Huh?” Noah said.

  Ryan patted the bonnet of the van. “Sorted. Drive safely now.” He sauntered back over to his pickup truck, slammed the door and drove away, tooting his horn as he pulled on to the road and waving.

  Waving to Eva, who was just sitting on the fence, waving back at him.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  Noah stared hard at the back of Eva’s head as they drove along, hoping (for her sake), that his concerns were getting through to her through some sort of telepathy. It was fine, he wasn’t going to judge her, she could give her number and whatever promises she liked to RANDOM MECHANICS who she’s only known for, like, ten minutes … except it was potentially dangerous!

  Noah cleared his throat. “Eva? I hope, if you do decide to meet up with Ryan again, that you’ll at least inform your parents, or some other responsible adult, of your plans?”

  Eva turned round quickly. “We got the battery, didn’t we?”

  “Yes…”

  “So the problem is what, Noah?”

  He couldn’t see her face, but Noah could hear the little smile playing on her lips. Fine, then.

  “Haha!” Mick chuckled. “I think Noah’s worried you might like Ryan more than him, Eva!”

  “No, that’s not true because I don’t even care,” Noah said.

  Eva shrugged. “I have no allegiance to anyone. I’m a lone wolf.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. God, it must be great being Eva.

  “Welcome to Route 66,” the waitress with a gaunt face and chemically damaged blonde hair sighed as she showed them to their table. “Where all your American dreams come true!”

  Noah glanced across at the OAPs sitting opposite one another, eating their hamburgers in silence, and then over at the baby in a high chair, which was throwing fries on the floor whilst its mother sat on her phone, texting and slurping on the dregs of a cola.

  “Go fuck yourself, Mario!” someone shouted from the kitchen.

  Noah peeled a limp piece of lettuce covered in ketchup from his chair and sat down. Harry cocked his head at the menu. “Well, we’re in the right place.”

  “You certainly are,” the waitress said, maintaining her fixed smile. “Let’s start –” she sounded really bored “– with some drinks. Good news, gang –” it didn’t sound particularly like good news “– we do unlimited refills on all our sodas.”

  “I think we should eat here,” Mick said. “Then we can find somewhere to kip for the night.”

  Noah nodded and glanced at the waitress, who was busy digging a tissue out of the pocket of her stars and stripes tabard. Noah knew he needed to be as charming as possible in order to get this poor woman, for whom the American dream had surely faded, on side. And when it was something he really wanted, Noah was more than prepared to be a total hypocrite. “Howdy, y’all!” Noah smiled at the waitress and slapped his thigh. “I LOVE America!”

  The waitress gave him an empty stare. “Drinks?” she muttered.

  “I’ll have the Mega Choc Super Shake,” Harry grinned, eyes all over the manky menu.

  “Do you want to go large on that?” the waitress said in a dull monotone. “With extra marshmallows, cream, Oreos, Reese’s Pieces, and a whole Snickers?”

  Harry’s eyes were popping out with all the images. “YES! YES!”

  “Make that two!” Noah said. “God bless America!”

  The waitress slowly made a jotting on her pad. “Our special today is the Empire State Sharing Plate – ribs, chicken wings, pork belly, loaded skins and shrimp.”

  “Mmmmm!” Noah said, ladling on the enthusiasm, even though he was dying to tell everyone it should be prawns, not shrimp, because they were not in America.

  The waitress stared into the dark void outside the window. “All smothered in our famous Tennessee bourbon glaze.”

  Noah stifled a smile. Even the inauthenticity was inauthentic. He could only imagine the legal wranglings that had somehow prevented them from calling it a Jack Daniels gla
ze, although it was presumably because there wasn’t a drop of JD in sight.

  “Right,” Mick said, apparently losing patience, “we’ll have the Empire State Sharing plate, three unlimited sodas and two milkshakes, ultimate ribs, spit-roast half chicken – I love a spit roast, me …”

  Noah rolled his eyes.

  “… sesame chicken strips and the tornado steak.” Mick smiled and put the menu down. “Everyone happy?”

  “USA! USA! USA!” Noah chanted, nodding excitedly at the waitress, who just stared back at him like he was crazy.

  “Excuse me, miss,” Noah continued, now adopting his politest tone and most winsome smile. “I don’t suppose you noticed a couple of … friends of mine in here earlier?” He got his phone out and flashed a picture of his dad and Eric at her. “Maybe a couple of hours ago?”

  The waitress looked unenthusiastically at the photo. “Yeah. They tried to make off without paying.”

  “Yes, that sounds like them,” Noah said.

  “Then the lad tried to say there was a hair in his sweet and sour ribs, and the older guy claimed his fillet steak was undercooked.”

  “Fillet steak, my, my!” Noah said. “Someone was pushing the boat out! I don’t suppose they … gave any hint of where they were heading?”

  The waitress shrugged.

  “Any mention of where they were travelling to, after they left?” Noah continued, raising his eyebrows.

  The waitress stared vacantly at him for a few moments. “They were talking about a place to stay the night…”

  “That’s good,” Noah said.

  “They asked me if there was anywhere near here, and I told them no. Not unless they want to stay at the Deathtrap Motel.”

  “Wow, they really called it that?” Noah said.

  “No,” the waitress said. “That’s what everyone round here calls it, after a guest caught an STI from the bedsheets. Anyway, they said they would head a bit further south.” The waitress shrugged. “I didn’t catch anything else. I’ll put your order through.”