by Chris Hawley
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BREAKFAST NEWS
Sonia and I were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a bowl of cereal, while my mum was pottering about the kitchen. Dad had gone for his usual Sunday morning walk in the park. It was a ritual he had followed for as many years as I could remember. He would stop at the newsagents and pick up the newspapers on the way back. He would always buy the local paper and one national paper, it could be the Telegraph or the Times or one of the tabloids, depending on the attractiveness of the front page. He was not one of those who would stand up and die for his favourite paper, not Dad! He was neither right nor left but somewhere in the middle when it came to politics. ‘All tarred with the same brush,’ he would say of politicians in general. Sometimes he would complain when the Telegraph got too patriotic and started beating the drums and waving the Union Jack. He was one of those who hailed Tony Blair’s victory in 1997 but thought he had made the biggest mistake of his political career when he had followed his friend to Baghdad. Dad was an admirer of Winston Churchill and was fond of recounting his own father’s exploits in the Second World War. He had some respect for Margaret Thatcher but disagreed strongly with her policies.
We heard the front door slam.
‘There’s your father now,’ said Mum. ‘I wish he wouldn’t slam that door. Move along Sonia and make a space for him. He’ll be hungry for his breakfast after his walk.’
Before she could move Dad appeared in the doorway. He was as white as a sheet. He just stood there, with the newspaper in his shaking hand, looking into space.
‘What’s up, Stan?’ cried Mum. ‘You look deathly.’
Dad threw the newspaper onto the table, knocking the spoon out of my cereal bowl and splattering milk over the table.
‘That’s what’s up,’ he said, pointing at the newspaper with a shaking hand. ‘Read for yourself.’
Before I had even looked at the paper lying on the table in front of me I knew what had turned him pale. Albert Smith had carried out his threat!
There it was, a banner headline, the size normally reserved for the deaths of kings.
LOCAL BOY DATES MARTIAN GIRL
Underneath the headline was a picture of me, with Barclays Bank in the background and the clock on the wall above, the hands pointing at 10.05.
I looked up at Dad and then at Mum. She had approached the table and was peering over my shoulder. She said nothing, she just stared disbelievingly. Sonia had also gone a lighter shade of pale and her eyes were open wide.
‘Do you mind telling me what this is all about?’ said Dad menacingly.
‘Dad, I can explain,’ I said feebly.
‘You’d better have a good story, my boy!’ He almost shouted the words.
‘Dad, I……’
‘In all my life I have never had a shock like this,’ he went on, waving his arms in the air.
‘Stan! Let the boy speak,’ Mum said, trying to calm him down. She turned to me.
‘Bill, what is this all about? She said quietly.
Dad was still fuming but he stayed quiet.
‘Can you let me read it?’ I pleaded. ‘How do you expect me to explain if I haven’t even read it?’
‘Go on, read it out loud,’ said Mum.
I cleared my throat, which was suddenly clogged up. I glanced at Sonia. Bless her! The look she gave me helped me to go on. I started to read.
SCHOOL BOY ADMITS INTER-PLANETARY ROMANCE
‘By Sunday Post Reporter-
A local boy, William Steadman, a senior student at Mill Road Secondary School, is corresponding with a Martian girlfriend by e-mail.
Steadman, whose photograph appears below ………… writes to his alien friend in English. This newspaper has a letter written by Steadman to the girl, whose name is Michu. The letter is reproduced below.’
I looked down the page and there was my letter reproduced in full. My emotions were mixed. In one way I was disgusted at Albert Smith’s claim that I had admitted having this relationship. I had never admitted anything. I also felt great sorrow for the feelings of my parents and I could imagine how they would feel when the full force of this revelation hit them. There were also other emotions. I was sad that Sonia had to see the father she had always loved and trusted turn into an avaricious liar and cheat. And there was the pride in me that surfaced for an instant, the pride that told me I had become famous overnight.
‘Go on!’ shouted my father.
‘Steadman, who claims in his letters to have visited Mars recently, brought the extraterrestrial to his home in Dover Street. The girl left behind a tunic. Tests carried out on the cloth used to make the garment have proved that it was not made on Earth. The specialist who carried out the tests told this newspaper, ‘We can only conclude that this cloth comes from a source yet unknown to any recognised cloth manufacturing industry in the world.’
‘This astounding news is likely to shock the world. NASA, the US Space Agency, which has been in the forefront of the race to locate extraterrestrial life, is likely to step up its efforts to find the answer to the hottest question ever posed to the human race. The US Government is likely to increase funding for an early manned landing on Mars.’