‘And that’s how you make an electric battery? Acid, metal, carbon?’
‘Well, not nowadays. I mean, that’s the simplest sort of battery. Proper modern batteries are much more complicated.’
‘Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a sort of living battery, that could walk about?’
‘There is. You’re one. I’m one.’
‘Honestly? No kidding? We really are batteries, making electricity?’
Beth sounded so surprised – and it was so unlike her to be excited about such things – that Timothy looked into her face. He sat at his desk. She stood above him. Her expression was open and ordinary, but he thought he could see something hidden underneath it. He said, ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Oh, nothing. You know charcoal? Is charcoal carbon?’
‘Of course it’s carbon, it’s wood that’s been carbonized. You really are ignorant, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Beth said innocently. Her face was suddenly very cheerful. Timothy could not understand why. ‘But then, I’ve got such a clever little brudderkins, haven’t I? So good at explaining!’ To Timothy’s surprise, she bent down and kissed the top of his head.
‘What’s that for?’ he demanded.
‘Euch!’ she replied. ‘You want to wash your hair! What a pong! You’ll get mange, like dogs do.’
At the door she turned and said, ‘You’re sure that charcoal is carbon?’
He glared at her, hoping he looked ferocious. In fact; he was not even annoyed. He liked Beth – more than ever these days. He was so often in a fog. He knew it but could do nothing about it. Beth was his best landmark in the fog.
‘Charcoal is a form of carbon,’ he grated at her.
‘And we’re all walking, talking batteries,’ she said. ‘Even revolting Lisa Treadgold. Volt. Joke. Get it?’
He said, ‘Ha ha, very funny,’ and threw a book at her. But the door was closed. She was gone.
Beth’s diary, next day
… so Timothy was right, you can make a battery that way and we are all batteries in a way because all our most complicated and clever bits are really electricity. And our brains work by electricity although of course there is the skin stuff and blood and everything but it still all comes down to electricity. Mr Wells at school explained it all but he kept giving me funny looks, I don’t blame him, I mean, someone like me taking so much interest. He said, ‘Electricity is the life fluid as much as blood.’
I asked him about spirits (thinking of Lisa’s vodka) but I couldn’t understand what he told me, it is very complicated, something about chemical reactions & sugars & starches. I wish I understood it it could be very important. Let me think, he said sugar = energy and he said spirits help to convert sugar. But I still don’t see how that helps Lisa’s battery, if she’s got a battery.
Of course she ought to have her own battery to make electricity. When she was Grinny she was terrified of electricity but now she is Lisa Treadgold she doesn’t mind electricity at all. Which proves that Lisa is the new improved Mk II Grinny complete with do-it-yourself power station built in inside her.
And the chocolate. Mr Wells said he didn’t see how chocolate has anything to do with batteries, he gave me another funny look because one minute I was asking about electricity & the next about chocolates. He must have thought I was trying to be funny. But then he got all broody and said, ‘Ah, wait a minute,’ and went on & on about biological energy & fats & more about sugars. I just gave up. I could not follow him at all. But chocolate is sugary.
But the chocolate wrappings are all right, they fit in with the Battery idea because the foil is metal. What I mean is, suppose it is lead foil, you can have lead in batteries. Or zinc or copper. And besides, almost any metal will do, the acid eats the metal. The acid is in the lemon juice of course so that fits. The acid is the Electrolyte.
I wonder what the actual chocolate is for, though? Wouldn’t it be funny if Lisa T. was filled with chocolate-coated batteries, I suppose some would be hard centres and the others soft centres, bags I the 12-volt coffee cream. Big joke. Mr Wells is nice but he is married with two sons & 1 baby girl.
Oh I am bored with this stupid diary all I want is to GET Lisa T. I want to KILL her. I will hold a meeting of the Society, we will make plans. We will plan how to use Bunny. She is All Washed Up but all the same she is in Lisa’s house & that could be just what we need. I wish I had a plan. I wish I knew what to DO instead of writing in my stupid diary. Now let me think …
Mac is all right he will help. But he is foggy. Banjo is not foggy I wonder why but he is gone.
Timothy is getting better he is out of the fog quite a lot he is not hypnotized by Lisa all the time & that is a good thing.
Roll on ANTIROLL we will win in the end we will get her somehow just you see.
Timothy’s diary, same evening
… and there she is, scribbling away in her room next door to me and banging her foot against her writing table. Poor old Beth, determined that Lisa T. is the Arch Villain of all time.
I wonder what is wrong with Mr Fisk. His letters are always so dull, nothing but platitudes about Lisa T. Perhaps he is getting old – suddenly becoming senile. His letters read like sermons by some stuffy old Victorian preacher. Nothing but Duty and Service and Obedience to Lisa. D.D.D. Of course Lisa is right about everything but Mr Fisk doesn’t half go ON about her. Still, I suppose that’s worse than what the kids do. Kids like Beth make rude jokes about Lisa T. Even Mac said something rude about her the other day. And he didn’t turn up for the Junior League Rollers’ meeting. I did, of course, wearing my uniform as usual. It wasn’t quite as good as most of the meetings, too many people talking like Mr Fisk. They said nothing new, just kept on hammering away at Decency, Discipline and Dedication. And a very long speech about Being Ready When The Great Day Comes. I quite agree with that, but what Great Day? When is it coming?
Ah, thank goodness Beth has stopped banging her foot against her table leg. Now she’s heading for the bathroom. And so to bed. Peace and quiet at last. Strange how she went on and on about batteries and electricity.
Why? Why would she do that? And why does it make me think of Grinny? I think of her often these days. Grinny was frightened of electricity. But Lisa T. isn’t, so what’s the connection. I bet there isn’t one.
In fact, nothing is connected to anything in my brain. I feel things are changing in my mind but I don’t know what things. I am sitting here typing away only to keep myself company, so to speak. It’s as if there were two of me. Perhaps I am a Schizophrenic, have I spelt that right? (And which is correct, SPELT or SPELLED?) ‘Goodnight, Timothy,’ said Timothy. ‘See you in the morning.’ So he shook hands with himself and went to bed. Joke, ha ha.
Early September
Beth spread the newspaper cuttings in front of her. There were not many but there were enough. For they all told the same significant story …
LOCAL MAN SPITS
ON NATIONAL IDOL
The cutting came from the Gazette. It was about Mr Caswell. Beth knew him. He framed pictures and boarded dogs in his kennels. He was a bit weird but nice enough. About fifty. Rode a big old bike. During a Roller parade in the town, he had jumped out of the crowd and spat at Lisa Treadgold. ‘She’s a menace, don’t you understand, she’s a murdering menace!’ he shouted. The Court fined him £25 and costs.
LISA
DOES NOT PLEASE HER!
The story was about a district nurse, somewhere in the Midlands, who, like Mr Caswell, had tried to disrupt a Roller parade by shouting insults at Lisa. Fined £15.
CHURCHMAN CHIDES ‘BRAZEN IDOL’
A very small story in the national evening paper. ‘There is but one God,’ the Reverend had said, ‘and His Holy name is not Lisa Treadgold.’ He had gone on, during his sermon, to compare her with a Brazen Idol. His superiors in the Church said that the matter was under inquiry.
MAN DRIVES CAR AT LISA’S ROVER
The man was a commercial traveller,
aged twenty-nine. He said he wanted to kill Lisa Treadgold before she killed him and everyone else. Fined £100 and costs, licence endorsed.
LISA SAYS ‘I WILL NOT PROSECUTE’
A woman of thirty-three, an advertising copywriter, was accused of sending offensive and obscene letters to Lisa Treadgold. The police wished to prosecute but Lisa (shown smiling and holding up a handful of letters) refused to take the matter further.
TREADGOLD, TREAD WARILY!
A university student with a .22 rifle was found on the roof of a building overlooking the entrance of a London hotel sometimes used by Lisa. The man, ‘in a highly excited condition’, talked of ‘ridding the world of its most deadly menace’. He was given a suspended prison sentence and a heavy fine.
The Lisa incidents had occurred in widely spread parts of the country. The people concerned had nothing in common except for a hatred of Lisa Treadgold.
‘So not everyone’s mad,’ Beth said. ‘Not everyone’s hypnotized. There are sane people left, but not many. All the same …’
LETTERS FROM LISA
Mid-September
Banjo, to his amazement, got a letter from Lisa Treadgold in her own handwriting. It read:
Dear Banjo,
I feel quite awful about what occurred at our last meeting. I am entirely to blame, both for refusing your not unreasonable request for an improved scale of charges for the band; and for the painful and unnecessary trick I played on you.
Can you – will you – come to my home to discuss money matters? I don’t think you will regret it – I have a most remarkable proposition from an international recording company! I suggest 24 Sept at 11 a.m. Telephone me or my secretary if this is suitable.
With repeated apologies, I remain
Yours most sincerely
Lisa Treadgold
Fanny Bishop, to her surprise, received a letter from Lisa Treadgold. It read:
Dear Miss Bishop,
Do you still have that very pleasant boy, Timothy Carpenter, working for you at the Gazette? I think I have something on the boil that could be truly helpful to him personally – and to young people in general.
Alas, this is not a proper, grown-up ‘news item’, but if anything of interest to you and the Gazette arises (as it well may) I shall give you first bite of the cherry!
If Timothy wishes to bring his intriguing sister (Beth, isn’t it?) and their mutual friend, Mac or Jack (?), they will be welcome. You see, it’s very much a young-people sort of thing. The more the merrier! Do come yourself if you can spare the time.
Time and Date: 11 a.m., 24 September. I feel it to be only polite to extend the invitation through you, but he can accept or refuse my invitation himself.
Yours sincerely,
Lisa Treadgold
Fanny was at her Gazette desk when she read this. Timothy was busily searching some proofs for mistakes. Fanny called out, ‘Oi! An exclusive for you!’ And handed him Lisa’s letter. He read it carefully and said, ‘Wow. Well, I must go, mustn’t I?’
He was surprised by Fanny’s expressions before she answered. First, he saw confusion: then doubt: then a forced brightness. ‘Of course you must go!’ she said. ‘It could be your first step on the ladder to Fame and Success!’
She laughed, but there was no pleasure in the sound. Timothy wondered why. Like Len Sturgeon – like himself – Fanny had changed. She was more like her old self some of the time. But not all of the time.
‘Are you coming?’ he asked Fanny.
‘Yes. I mean, I’d be a fool not to. Anything to do with Lisa Treadgold …’ She lit a cigarette. She had taken up smoking again.
Timothy telephoned Bunny and made his acceptance.
On the day, Banjo hitched a lift from Fanny. Banjo’s hand – the hand Lisa had crushed – was in plaster. ‘Driving’s out till it gets better,’ he said as he rolled his big body into the car. He looked and sounded grim. ‘I’m going to get that cow,’ he grunted as he settled himself and his bulging briefcase in the front passenger seat.
Fanny stubbed out the cigarette she had just lit in the messy ashtray and said, ‘What? What cow?’ Timothy, sharing the back seat with Mac, could see she was tense and a bit flustered. He could think of several reasons why. Like half the people he knew, Fanny was confused. Fogged.
‘Yes, I’m going to get Madam Lisa, the cow!’ Banjo said. ‘Bust my hand, would she? Then write a soapy letter, half bribe and half apology. The stupid, hypocritical –’
‘You can’t speak of Lisa Treadgold like that,’ Fanny said primly. She drove carefully to the big house.
Mac said, ‘Where’s Beth, then?’
‘She’s going on her bike. Travelling under her own steam,’ Timothy replied. ‘As usual.’
Fanny said, over her shoulder, ‘How are your parents, Tim?’
‘Fine,’ Timothy answered. Well, they were fine. His father was still slaving away on the Roman site. Often, he went to London to talk about a new TV series. When he came back he was generally quietly angry. He pretended he was cross about the programme’s complications. In fact, Timothy knew, he was worried about his whole life. Lisa had ‘got to him’. Lisa ruled more than half his mind. His mother’s too.
They reached the gates of Lisa’s house. ‘See this briefcase?’ Banjo said. ‘It’s full of lawyer’s stuff. I’ve got my lawyers on to Lisa. But I’ll need witnesses. That means you and you and you. I can count on you, can’t I?’
Fanny was so alarmed by this remark that the car swerved and clipped the edge of the lawn. But there was no time for her to say anything. Bunny stood outside the pillared, fan-lighted front door, waiting for them. The dogs tumbled and chased around her. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘oh yes … you’re so punctual, I haven’t finished with the dogs. Oh dear … Come in – down, Buster, stop that! – Oh, and here’s Beth.’
A bicycle bell tinkled and Beth was with them. She got off her bike, pinched the rear tyre and said, ‘Feels like a slow puncture. Hallo, everyone. Well?’ She put her hands on her narrow hips and stared from face to face.
‘Well …’ Bunny said, ‘we’re all here. Let’s go in, then.’
They went in. Lisa Treadgold was coming down the stairs, smiling. She looked marvellous. ‘Lovely of you to come!’ she said. ‘And dead on time! We’ve got so much to talk about,’ she said. The famous Lisa Treadgold smile widened.
DEAD ON TIME
‘We’ll start,’ Banjo announced, ‘by talking about Assault. Here’s a letter from my lawyers. Read it. There’ll be more to come.’
They were in the big lemon-and-amber living-room – a long, many-windowed room, as cool and elegant as Lisa herself. She smiled and took the letter from Banjo’s good hand. She read it, always smiling, and said, ‘I love lawyers’ English, don’t you? But these people should buy new typewriters. The E is broken and the N isn’t in line. It spoils the professional effect.’
She offered to return the letter to Banjo. His face swelled and purpled with fury.
‘Take it,’ Lisa said. ‘Go on, take it.’ She stepped forward and neatly tucked the folded letter into the top pocket of his jacket. ‘There,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to learn to take it. I dish it out, you take it.’
The humour of her voice, the curve of her arm, the fall of her many-layered, filmy frock, the radiance of her perfect smile, defeated Banjo. He made a furious choking sound.
Lisa said, ‘We’re here on business. Real business, Banjo, not letters from stuffy old lawyers. Big business.’
Banjo sullenly said, ‘If you think you’re going to bribe me with all this talk of offers from international recording companies –’
‘Oh, bigger than that!’ Lisa said. Her head was on one side. Her hand toyed with the heavy, tasselled Victorian gold chain round her neck. ‘We’re here,’ she said, always smiling, ‘to discuss matters of life and death. As I said, you’re dead on time. And now’s the time.’
She twiddled the tassels on the end of the chain, letting them wind and unwind round her fin
ger. ‘So down to business,’ she said. ‘We’ll start at the top. That means you, Beth.’ Beth stared expressionlessly at Lisa and did not move.
Timothy was lost. ‘But your letter said something about Young People … a plan, or something,’ he said feebly.
‘Oh, that. Well, Beth’s young,’ Lisa said. ‘Very young. Therefore very important. And I’ve got a plan for her. Tell them, Beth. Keep it simple and easy for them.’
Beth, still expressionless, got up from her chair and looked from face to face. ‘Her plan is, to murder you all,’ she said. ‘No, it’s worse than that. She’s going to sort of kill you inside. Then use your bodies. Everyone’s. All over the world.’
Her face was very white and her eyes huge. Her voice failed her. ‘Don’t you see?’ she said. ‘Don’t you understand? She’s just the first! When she’s got us ready, they’re coming!’
The faces stared back at her blankly.
Timothy’s mind spun in his head like the golden tassels on Lisa’s finger.
Lisa Treadgold said, ‘The letters were just excuses to get you here, Timothy. Well, isn’t anyone going to say anything?’ She smiled into Fanny’s face, a stupefied mask; into Mac’s, but his eyes were fixed on the swinging tassel; into Banjo’s blotched, starting eyes, but he could not answer; into Timothy’s startled, urgent eyes. He managed to speak. ‘She’s right,’ he said. ‘Beth’s right.’
‘Good!’ Lisa cried. She clapped her hands softly, applauding Beth. ‘We’re getting down to business! More, Beth! You tell them! They’ll never believe it from me. I’m far too lovable and beautiful.’
Beth was almost crying. She had to jerk the words from herself in gasping spurts. ‘She’s a pig! Filthy pig robot, not real, a machine, hateful! …’
‘Excellent!’ Lisa said. Now the tassels of the golden chain were slapped gently and rhythmically by the right hand into the palm of the left; a soft, heavy sound, like the ticking of a clock.
Grinny Page 17