The Taylor TurboChaser

by David Baddiel

  “Yes, it does work,” he said, looking up.

  “No,” said Janet, who had started looking at her phone. “You said it would clean my teeth. Without me having to do anything. But that’s wrong. Because I still have to a) put toothpaste on the brush, and b) move my mouth around so that the brush gets to different teeth.”

  When Janet said these two points – a) and b) – she didn’t do what people normally do. She didn’t hold up two fingers, one at a time, or point to two fingers, or anything.

  She just said it. This was because Janet was one of the laziest people who ever lived, and preferred, whenever possible, not to do anything except look at her phone.

  Which, in fact, was why she had been very keen on the idea of the Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503.

  “It doesn’t work!” said Janet.

  “It does!” said Rahul.

  “It’s meant to be an effort-saving device.”

  “Yes. To save you some of the effort of cleaning your teeth. Not all of the effort!”

  “I wanted to be able to clean my teeth and text at the same time!”

  Rahul sighed.

  “You’re just lazy,” said Janet, which was ironic.

  “No, he’s not,” said Amy. “And he’s going to make this wheelchair into something incredible, aren’t you, Rahul?”

  Rahul swallowed. “Well … I’ll try,” he said.

  Which was good enough for Amy.

  Amy was right: Rahul really was far from lazy.

  The Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503 was only the latest of his inventions. It had been commissioned by Janet. By commissioned, I mean Janet had said, one day, “I hate cleaning my teeth every night, it’s so boring,” and Rahul had said, “I’ve got an idea,” and gone off, designed and made the machine, brought it back to school, and asked Janet to pay the costs of making it – eight pounds – which, so far, Janet had not paid.

  He had also invented:

  The Alarm Clock-to-Dreams Device 4446. (You may have noticed by now that all Rahul’s inventions have random numbers, to make them seem more like proper inventions. This was why he was so interested in the name of Amy’s wheelchair.) The Alarm Clock-to-Dreams Device 4446 was an alarm clock fitted with a recording microphone, so that when it woke you up, before it had a chance to vanish into your head, you could shout out what happened in last-night’s dream. Rahul was working on an upgrade of this invention, whereby the words would become animated pictures, immediately uploadable to YouTube.

  The Toast-Butterer 678X. (Rahul realised while designing this that to sound really like a proper invention, he needed to add letters AND numbers.) This was a knife attached to a toaster, which, when the toast popped up, would automatically start buttering it. This did require quite a powerful spring, because if the toast was only halfway out of its slot, the buttering would only butter the top half. Which was not only not as nice, it could also mean the butter would drip down into the toaster and make it explode. As a result of this happening the first time Rahul tried it, the Toast-Butterer 678X had been banned from Rahul’s parents’ kitchen.

  The All-Weather Brella 778Q. On the basis that the weather in Britain is quite changeable, and opening and shutting an umbrella over and over again can cause it to break, Rahul had created an umbrella into which he had built a sun roof (a polythene window with a zip, basically).

  The Snowman Life-Extender XJ59P. “Have you built a snowman that you’re really proud of? That you’ve spent ages on, and looked out of the window at after a hard and freezing morning’s building? Only for it to melt really quickly and depressingly into sludge? Well, worry no more! Because with the Snowman Life-Extender (bespoke-designed to fit your snowman, cooled to -3 degrees) you can keep your favourite snow guy alive for as long as you like (electricity bill permitting). Maybe he might even come alive and fly with you at Christmas to the North Pole! (Disclaimer: no guarantee this will happen.)” This is a direct quote from the press release that Rahul had written for the Snowman Life-Extender XJ59P. To be honest, he had written the press release for this one before creating the invention itself. But the invention, he always insisted, was on the way.

  The Coffee-Cube-Maker 7777T. This was a box with a funnel at the top, into which you poured instant coffee, and which would then – at the bottom – spit out the coffee as cubes. “What’s the point of that?” said Rahul’s father, Sanjay. This was generally not a question that Sanjay asked. Sanjay was 99 per cent convinced that his son was one day going to invent something incredible, and that the whole family would be rich. Thus, he funded Rahul’s inventions, and let him plunder the family business – a big retail warehouse called Agarwal Supplies, which stocked all kinds of stuff – for raw materials. But this one seemed to test him.

  “To have coffee as cubes,” said Rahul.

  “Yes, I see that,” said Sanjay. “But when you put them in hot water …?”

  “They dissolve.”

  Sanjay frowned. “Like instant coffee always does.”

  “Yes,” said Rahul. “But they’ll look cool in the tin.”

  Sanjay shrugged and nodded, and put this observation down as one of the many that meant his son was a genius he would never understand.

  Bean Pants. This was the only invention that Rahul had made that didn’t have a number, because Rahul felt that it went against its brand, which was – and he often said this doing an inverted commas mime – “fun”. It was pants, the lining of which he’d filled with beans. Not baked beans: whatever the beans are that are in bean bags. Which meant that, wherever you sat, you could feel like you were sitting on a bean bag.

  “Fun”!There were many other inventions on Rahul’s slate, by which I mean in his head, or doodles in his rough book.

  But these were the biggies. Or at least they were until Amy’s wheelchair came along.

  Rahul sighed, and handed the Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503 back to Janet.

  “Eight pounds, please,” he said.

  Janet shook her head, and opened her mouth to continue to protest.

  But Amy cut her off.

  “Hello? Never mind the Whiter-Tooth-Whiz!”

  “503.”

  “What?”

  “The Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503,” said Rahul.

  “Whatevs.” Amy spread out her hands. “This is going to be your best invention ever!”

  Janet frowned at her. “Rahul’s going to invent you?”

  “Not me, idiot,” said Amy, pointing downwards. “This. The wheelchair.”

  “Huh? But it’s invented already …” said Janet. “I can see it very clearly.”

  “Amy thinks I can re-invent it …” said Rahul.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means …” said Amy, “he’s going to make it into … well, I’ll show you.”

  She turned and faced away from them, towards a free section of the playground, where no other kid was fighting, running or skipping.

  “Taylor lines up her car, in pole position on the Indianapolis 500 track.”

  “Who are you talking to?” said Janet. “And why has your voice gone so deep?”

  “She’s being a motor racing commentator, Janet,” whispered Rahul.

  “Oh,” said Janet.

  Amy’s eyes went up. “She’s watching for the chequered flag. A lot of work has gone into this machine since the last race. Rahul, head of her team of mechanics, has turbo-charged its engines, and reworked the tyres, and streamlined the body, and now it’s a speed-machine.”

  She mimed turning a key.

  “Brrrrrrrmmmmmm. Brrrrrrrrrrmmmmm. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm! Listen to that! Even from the commentary box we can hear it. It sounds …” and here her voice went very deep, as she did an impression of one of the men on a TV show about cars that seemed to always be on some channel somewhere “… like the devil clearing his throat.”

  “Right,” said Rahul. “I’m really not sure – even though I am, obviously, great at inventing – that I can make your wheelchair into the kind of vehicle you’re imagi—�
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  “NEEEEEWOOOOOWWWW!” Amy shouted, leaning over to the right, and miming holding a steering wheel (and doing a race-car-speeding-past noise, in case you were wondering).

  “NEEEEEEWOOOOWWWWWW!” she shouted again, leaning to the left. “AWAY SHE FLIES!”

  Then she sat up, pressed the lever forward, and the chair went off.

  At about two miles an hour.

  “What’s going on?” said Suzi.

  “What?”

  They had once again driven into Lodlil, and once again Suzi had parked with difficulty, opened up the back doors of the van and pressed the button to fold down the ramp.

  But then she held up a hand to stop Amy wheeling her chair down it.

  “What’s going on?” she said again.

  “Huh?” said Amy.

  “Don’t play the innocent with me, Ames. Where’s your new chair?”

  Amy looked down as if surprised, as if somehow she’d not noticed that she’d come all the way to the supermarket in her old wheelchair. Which, to be fair, her mother hadn’t. But then again, Suzi was rushed and tired, and outside their house she had been on the phone arguing with Amy’s dad.

  “Oh, come on, Amy. Where is it?”

  “I’m … just getting used to it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes. Um. Turns out that the new wheelchair is a bit … fast for me. When you push the lever forward, it moves forward really quick. So … I thought I’d leave it in my room for the minute. Until I’ve got used to it.”

  Suzi narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “We spent ages on the internet checking out motorised wheelchairs. Specifically: fastest motorised wheelchairs. At your request.”

  “I know but—”

  “And your dad – who I’ve just been on the phone to – paid for most of it. And as Mr ‘I’m Not Made of Money’, he—”

  “Is he still calling himself that?” said Amy.

  “Yes, you know how he likes to … make himself very clear.”

  “Wow,” said Jack. “You actually spoke to him? Is it Christmas?”

  “No, Jack,” said Suzi wearily. “It’s not Christmas.”

  “Oh no, that’s right. Because if it was Christmas, he’d have sent us a depressing card. The one with Santa Claus in an old car, instead of a sleigh. The same one he’s sent us for the last three years.”

  Jack was speaking from the passenger seat, without looking up from his phone, or taking off his headphones.

  “I love that card!” said Amy, wheeling herself down the ramp. “Shut up, Jack.”

  “Well, good,” said Suzi. “But meanwhile, your new chair wasn’t cheap. And if he knows you’re not using it – well – he won’t be happy.”

  “Really?”

  “You know your dad, Amy. He’s not … an easy man.”

  “Oh, I dunno,” said Jack. “He’s easier than, say, the Hulk. Just.”

  “OK,” said Amy, who hated it when the family conversation began to get a bit anti-Dad, which it did quite a lot. “I’ll start using it soon, Mum, don’t worry!”

  “She’s paid someone to pimp her ride, I reckon,” said Jack, finally stretching his long legs out of the car. He was at that teenage-boy age where he still looked young, but had grown very tall, a bit like a stretched-out toddler.

  “Is that a joke? What does it even mean?” said Suzi.

  “It means to make a car all flash and exciting with add-ons and lights and stereo systems and stuff,” said Amy. “And of course it’s a joke. Everything he says is a joke.”

  “Everything he says is a joke,” Jack repeated.

  “Well, it is!” said Amy. “Particularly in this case. I mean, it’s obvious – one ride you could never pimp is a wheelchair!”

  And she wheeled off in her old chair as fast as she could go.

  “Come on …” hissed Amy.

  “Nearly done!” It was Rahul’s voice, calling from inside his workshop. By “workshop”, what I mean is his dad’s garage, which was at the back of their warehouse. Which they also lived above.

  From behind the door came the sound of banging and hammering and scraping. From Amy’s point of view, more banging and hammering and scraping – she had been outside for nearly an hour.

  “Can’t I just come in?”

  “No!”

  “I won’t look.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Hello, Amy!” said Rahul’s dad, Sanjay, coming out of the warehouse, a clipboard in hand. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m making something, Dad!” shouted Rahul.

  “Oh good,” said Sanjay. “Rahul is a very good inventor, you know, Amy.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Amy.

  “One day he’s going to invent something incredible. And it’s going to make us very rich. I’m one hundred per cent convinced of it.”

  “Oh! You’ve gone up a per cent.”

  “I have?”

  “Yes. You normally say ninety-nine per cent.”

  “Ha! You see, my confidence has gone up! What are you working on, Rahul? Is it the Learning-Toast XF514 …?”

  “Is that like the Toast-Butterer 678X …?” said Amy.

  “No!” shouted Rahul. “It’s a piece of toast that you get from the Toast-Butterer, already well buttered. Then you place it on the book or whatever it is you want to learn from. Then when all the words have soaked into the toast … you eat it!”

  “What?”

  “Yes! And then you learn the words!”

  “Brilliant. Quite brilliant!” said Sanjay.

  “Right …” said Amy.

  “And anyway, I’m not working on it.”

  “The Robotic Returning-Cup Z45?” said his dad. “I love that one.”

  “Let me guess, Rahul,” said Amy. “A cup that flies back to the sink after you’ve finished your drink? So your mum doesn’t have to pick up lots of cups from your room?”

  “Yes! Well, it doesn’t fly back, it walks back.”

  “Walks …?”

  “It’s got little legs that come out automatically when your cup’s empty. Well, it will, when I’ve finished it. But no, Dad!” he said, raising his voice again. “I’m not working on that either!”

  “Oh. What are you working on?” said Sanjay. “Something better than all those?”

  “Better than ALL my other inventions …”

  And with that, Rahul pressed the button to open the garage door.

  With a metallic groan, it began to rise.

  Unfortunately, Rahul’s big reveal didn’t work that well, as the door creaked and stuttered and, halfway up, got stuck.

  “Have you thought about inventing something to make the garage door open easily, Rahul?”

  “No, Dad. You need to get that fixed by a grown-up.”

  “OK. Try pressing the button again.”

  Rahul did. The door creaked and stuttered again, but then jerked up, opening all the way –

  – to reveal Rahul standing by something.

  Actually, it wasn’t quite recognisable as anything at first.

  Somewhere in there – definitely – was Amy’s wheelchair. But it was hard to see, as three more chairs had been fastened to it (not wheelchairs – ordinary chairs: one next to Amy’s chair, and two behind it).

  There was a series of pipes and wires connecting all the bits of it together. And over the whole thing – to make a roof and glass windows – had been placed what looked like two enormous upside-down fish tanks.

  “The Taylor TurboChaser …” said Rahul proudly, gesturing to it with a big arm movement. Amy and Rahul’s dad looked on, open-mouthed. “… ZX115,” Rahul added.

  “You really must get on with the Robotic Returning-Cup,” said Sanjay eventually.

  “Don’t you like it?” said Rahul. “I got all the stuff from the disused bits of the warehouse. I mean, it’s not finished. I want to add loads more things.”

  “Um …” said Amy.

  “That means no,” said Rahul, looking sad.


  “No. I mean, it doesn’t,” said Amy, wheeling herself into the garage. “It’s amazing. But I thought you’d just be … making my wheelchair … more flash.”

  “It is a bit more flash.”

  “Yes, but I mean, I thought you’d do: some lights … maybe painting it silver … boost the engine a bit … a few accessories … I didn’t think you were actually gonna make it into a …”

  “Car.”

  “Yes …” said Amy. She wheeled slowly, all the way round it. Then she turned to her friend, shook her head and laughed. “Well … all I can say is thank you!”

  “Don’t say that,” said Rahul.

  “Why not?”

  Rahul smiled. “Because you haven’t driven it yet …!”

  It took a little while to get Amy into the driver’s seat of the Taylor TurboChaser – Rahul, with a lot of difficulty, had to hold up one of the fish tanks, and Amy had to crawl out of her old chair and lift herself into her new one – but her arms were strong from so much wheeling, and eventually she got there.

  Rahul sat in the seat next to her – the passenger seat – and then brought the roof down again. They sat side by side, looking out through the garage door, where there was a tarmac drive leading up to Agarwal Supplies. On one side of the drive sat a full skip with a fridge standing next to it; on the other, six or seven dustbins.

  Amy looked down at the direction lever – still there, still part of her original wheelchair.

  “So … do I just press the lever forward as normal?” said Amy.

  “Wait a minute …” said Rahul, who was rummaging around in a box underneath his seat. “I have a few add-ons yet.”

  He sat up, holding a steering wheel. He leant across Amy and attached it to a metal bar in front of her.

  “Wow … is that from …” she began.

  “An Xbox, yes. But it’ll work. And here on the dashboard I’ve added some buttons …”

  Amy looked down. There was a series of switches with pictures on them: one looked a bit like a motorbike, another like a teepee. She shook her head, assuming she would work out what they were when she needed them (which, to let you in on a secret, is also what all grown-ups do when they see buttons with strange designs on them in cars).