Frankie hurried after him. He didn’t fancy being stuck out here – wherever here was – by himself.
You wouldn’t expect there to be a train station in the middle of nowhere – or perhaps that’s the perfect place for a train station – but either way, in the middle of the rolling green hills, there was one. It was only five minutes’ walk from where Frankie and his grandad had landed.
It was a pretty basic set-up: just some tracks, which all good train stations should have, and a kiosk that was closed. All the same, Grandad seemed very relieved when they arrived.
‘I think we just made it,’ he said, puffing and red in the face from the brisk hike. Sure enough, trundling up to the platform was an old-school steam locomotive, like something out of Thomas the Tank Engine. Hissing and whistling, it lurched up to the platform before creaking to a stop.
Grandad sniffed. ‘Well, that’s one thing that’s gone right today.’
Frankie followed him onto the train and into a nearly empty carriage. Grandad went straight for a seat and slid along to the window side. Frankie rolled his eyes. Typical selfish Grandad. Everyone knew grandkids were supposed to get the window seat. Frankie slid into the next row and flopped his arms over the seat, so that he could look at Grandad.
But as the train started chugging along again, the old man’s mind was clearly somewhere else. He was frowning deeply, and gripped the ruby suitcase so tightly that his knuckles were nearly white.
Frankie decided it was time for some answers. ‘You have to tell me what’s happening, Grandad. Please. Where the hell are we?’
(He wasn’t really enjoying saying ‘hell’ anymore. Turns out swearing becomes less fun than you’d think when your parents have been turned into a fish-n-chip shop.)
Alfie Fish looked at his grandson. ‘Francis, this is where I used to live.’
‘You lived on a crappy old train in the middle of nowhere?’ asked Frankie, bewildered.
‘No, you fool,’ Grandad snapped. ‘This is Scotland.’
Frankie sat there, stunned, like he’d just found out that, um … he had travelled back in time to Scotland in 1952.
He’d never been to Scotland. He’d never been to 1952 either.
‘So … why have we come here, exactly?’ he managed to say, pulling himself together.
His grandad was silent for a long time, looking out the window at the fields flashing by. ‘I sometimes feel like I’m losing my mind, lad,’ he admitted. ‘I forget things all the time.’
‘Like that time you rang our house because you couldn’t find your pants?’ offered Frankie, stifling a smirk.
Another time, Grandad famously had forgotten to put his jocks on when he went down to the shops. Apparently it was only when he got to the frozen food aisle that he realised something wasn’t right.
Grandad coughed. ‘I don’t remember that. Sometimes I forget little things, and sometimes big things.’
Frankie shrugged. ‘We can all be a bit forgetful at times. Last week I forgot I had a Maths test.’ This wasn’t strictly true – Frankie just hated studying for Maths tests. But it seemed like Grandad needed some backup.
‘Well, one day I woke up and I couldn’t remember Nanna’s name, and the doctor said it would probably get worse,’ Grandad said, trembling a little. ‘I thought if I went back in time, I could get my hand back and maybe my mind, too.’
Frankie had so many questions that he hardly knew where to start. ‘So you decided to build a time-machine?’
‘Well, actually – it’s been my labour of love for sixty-five years. I once saw a magician make his assistant disappear, and I thought if he could do that, then maybe I could disappear back to before the accident.’
‘And you built it in a suitcase because …?’
‘Makes it easy to carry!’ Grandad smiled briefly.
‘Also easy to steal,’ said Frankie, putting this metaphysical puzzle together. ‘That’s why no-one was ever allowed in your shed.’
‘Of course. If it got into the wrong grubby little hands, it could have been catastrophic.’
‘But it didn’t get into grubby little hands – it got into your old wrinkly hands, didn’t it?’ Frankie retorted. ‘Well, one wrinkly hand and a hook, anyway.’
‘I admit I’m still figuring out some of this time-travel business,’ Grandad said haughtily. ‘There’s a lot of mumbo jumbo about it that I still don’t fully understand.’
‘Well, the good news is that I do,’ announced Frankie, proud that all those hours spent watching Doctor Who and Back To The Future were about to pay off.
Grandad looked Frankie right in the eye, like he was trying to decide if he could trust him. Then, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching, Grandad opened the ruby suitcase a crack and removed a frayed notebook strapped inside the lid. He tapped it and looked at Frankie meaningfully. ‘Do you know what’s in this rule book?’
‘Um – rules?’ Frankie said uncertainly.
‘Exactly. Rules.’
‘How many are there?’ asked Frankie, eyeing the bulging notebook.
‘Look for yourself.’ Grandad handed it to Frankie and then added crankily, ‘But don’t leave any boogers on it. Kids always leave boogers on everything.’
‘Okaaaay,’ said Frankie, deciding this wasn’t the time to get into a generational argument about boogers. He opened the notebook and flicked through. There were pages and pages of complex mathematical sums and diagrams, but on the very last page was a neat list.
Some points were written in blue pen, some black pen, a couple in grey pencil – all in the same delicate cursive handwriting. Frankie began to read:
Important, must-follow rules and instructions for travelling with the Time Computer
‘Time Computer?’ Frankie asked, wrinkling his nose. ‘You call it a Time Computer?’
‘What’s wrong with that? It’s a computer and a time machine,’ Grandad shot back. ‘It describes it perfectly.’
‘You didn’t name the “orange” too, did you?’ Frankie said cheekily. ‘Nah, let’s call it … the Sonic Suitcase.’
‘But it doesn’t run on soundwaves, lad!’ said Grandad. ‘And it’s almost completely silent.’
Frankie groaned. Had the old man never even heard of Doctor Who? ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s a cool name.’
‘Whatever. Ye can call it Gary for all I care.’ Grandad’s Scottish accent seemed to be getting thicker by the minute.
Frankie smiled and read a page with the first instruction.
‘Wait, what force field?’ Frankie asked.
‘Am I going to have to explain every single thing to you?’ snapped Grandad.
‘Trust me, old man, I’ll be the one explaining things to you soon enough,’ Frankie said confidently.
Grandad sighed. ‘The protective force field surrounds the shed and temporarily protects anything or anyone from the effects of changed historical events. It’s so that we always have a place to return to safely.’
Something dawned on Frankie. ‘Is that why I’m still here, even though …?’ He couldn’t bring himself to say: even though Nanna Fish and my parents don’t exist anymore. ‘Is that why I haven’t become Max’s Fish-n-Chip shop? Because I was caught inside the force field when you went back the first time?’
‘I guess so,’ Grandad grunted.
‘But why wouldn’t you tell Nanna to get inside the force field to protect her?’
‘I forgot, OK?’ Grandad yelled defensively. ‘That’s enough questions for one day –’
But Frankie had begun piecing all the fragments of Grandad’s story together. And there was one missing. ‘Grandad … how did you get your hand back exactly?’
The old man closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘Here’s the thing, boy,’ he said. ‘The Big Race of 1952 was the point where everything went wrong for me. Where on the final corner, I drove me beloved number 42 motorcar into the wall in a horrific crash, which spared me life but cost me my hand. So I went back and made sure I won
. I beat me rival and arch-nemesis Clancy Fairplay once and for all. And I saved me hand.’
Frankie was confused. ‘But why did that make Nanna disappear?’
Grandad shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Do ye not know how I met yer nanna?’
Frankie shrugged. ‘It was in a hospital or something, wasn’t it?’ The details of the romance between his grandparents had never held much interest for him.
Grandad nodded. ‘Aye, that’s right. I was in hospital after I lost me hand, and Nurse Hopley cared for me.’
‘Nurse Hopley?’ Frankie replied, confused at this new name. ‘Who the hell is Nurse Hopley?’ ‘Watch your mouth,’ said Alfie. ‘That’s my wife you’re talking about.’
‘Of course! She’s Nanna Fish!’ Frankie exclaimed, smacking his forehead. ‘So if you don’t lose your hand, you don’t meet Nurse Hopley, then Dad isn’t born and if Dad isn’t born … I won’t be born either.’
Frankie went very still for a moment, as all this sunk in. Clearly, his grandad had made a rookie time-traveller’s mistake. One with terrible consequences. And suddenly Frankie was angry. REALLY angry.
‘Grandad – you broke the number one rule of time travel,’ Frankie hissed furiously. ‘You don’t fix things from the past. Mistakes and accidents have to remain mistakes and accidents, otherwise they become bigger mistakes and bigger accidents.’
Frankie gulped. He couldn’t believe his grandad hadn’t known that!
Grandad’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’m sorry, boy,’ he muttered.
But Frankie barely heard him. Something the old man had said was nagging him. The protective force field surrounds the shed and …
‘… Temporarily protects anything or anyone,’ Frankie echoed. ‘Grandad? Any idea how long the force field lasts?’
‘None at all,’ Grandad confessed.
So I’m probably on borrowed time, thought Frankie grimly. Then he sat up straight. Did this have anything to do with Grandad’s comments about his face?
Frankie peered into the window of the train, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection.
It was difficult to make out much, but his eyes looked basically the same. Perhaps his cheeks were a little puffier than normal, but that could have been a side effect of time travel.
When he turned back, Grandad was looking into the Sonic Suitcase with a worried expression. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Frankie, feeling queasy. ‘We need to move quickly,’ Grandad said. ‘The battery is already down to seventy-two per cent, and we need at least seventeen per cent to get us all the way home to 2017.’
Frankie raised an eyebrow. ‘You didn’t bring the charger with you?’
‘Well,’ Grandad muttered, ‘it doesn’t have a charger as such. It only charges at the bench.’
‘The bench?’ Frankie shot back, incredulous.
‘The charging bench in the shed,’ said Grandad, as if it were obvious.
‘That’s crazy,’ said Frankie. ‘Why wouldn’t you just have a charger and a power point?’
‘And what?’ Grandad replied. ‘Plug it into a power point in Ancient Greece? Find an adaptor in the Garden of Eden?’
‘I guess not …’ Frankie said reluctantly. ‘OK, fine, so we need to keep an eye on the battery.’ Then he shivered. ‘You know, this isn’t just about us, Grandad,’ he said, his voice rising above the rattling of the train. ‘This affects the whole Fish family. Nanna, Dad, Mum, Lou …’
‘Aye, yer right,’ said Alfie, biting his lip. He looked a lot older and far less confident than Frankie had ever seen him before. ‘But listen, I have a plan. I can just not win that race, lose my hand and make everything right.’
Frankie sat back in his seat, the full magnitude of the situation horribly clear to him. His family had vanished, and he was in danger of disappearing at any moment, too. And his grandad’s plan to fix things was definitely a long shot.
It was enough to reduce anyone to tears, and sure enough, a lump began forming in the back of Frankie’s throat.
But as the train’s horn bellowed out into the Scottish hills, something shifted inside him. A feeling that maybe he could be … responsible, for a change. Save the day, even.
Frankie swallowed down the lump and slapped his hands on his knees. ‘OK, Grandad,’ he said firmly. ‘Let’s do this. Let’s save the Fish family.’
Grandad looked at him strangely, with something almost like … respect. ‘Right you are, Francis.’
‘Frankie,’ said his grandson. ‘My friends call me Frankie.’
The train soon arrived at a much bigger, busier station than the one where Frankie and Alfie had boarded. There was more hustle and a lot more bustle. People were getting on trains and people were getting off trains. Some in a rush, others in a daydream.
Frankie may have thought he was in a daydream, but he was definitely in a rush.
Alfie tightly gripped the ruby Sonic Suitcase with one hand, and kept the other on Frankie’s forearm as they weaved through the crowd. As they dashed along, a thought occurred to Frankie.
‘How did you win the race anyway, Grandad? It wasn’t you in the car, was it?’ he asked, trying to work out this mental jigsaw puzzle. ‘I mean, the you I’m talking to now?’
‘No no, Frankie – it was the younger me driving,’ Grandad said.
‘Then how did you change the outcome of the race?’
Grandad looked a bit sheepish. ‘I just knocked on my door and when I answered, I gave myself some advice.’
‘You spoke to … you?!’
‘Yep,’ said the old man, fighting a naughty grin that Drew Bird would be proud of. ‘I’d forgotten that I was such a handsome young devil.’
‘What did you tell … yourself?’
‘I simply told me to avoid the oil spill on the final corner. So now all I have to do to put things right is to stop me from knocking on that door!’ Alfie looked at his watch. ‘Which the Other Grandad is going to do in approximately four minutes. So we’d better hurry.’
They dodged the daydreamers and exited Glasgow Central station, with Grandad setting a cracking pace.
‘So how many of you are there right now?’ Frankie asked while running, which is a rather tricky thing to do. It’s for this very reason that schools don’t teach Algebra and Cross Country at the same time.
Grandad thought for a moment. ‘At this point, there are three. Me, the Other Grandad, and the Young Alfie.’
Three grandads! One was bad enough, Frankie thought to himself as he sprinted along.
As they ran, Frankie caught his first glimpses of Glasgow in 1952. He had always imagined history being in black and white, or brown and yellow tint – but amazingly, the world was in full colour. Some of the buildings still had damage from the war that Frankie had studied in History. The whole place looked run-down and dirty. Frankie even saw a couple of rats fighting over a scrap of food in the gutter.
The skies were grey and gloomy, but streets were still filled with people: couples strolling arm-in-arm, families out for the day. There were children on their own, playing in puddles and chasing each other in and out of alleyways, without a parent in sight. Boys poked each other with sticks and girls skipped rope, chanting rhymes. Frankie shook his head, feeling sorry for them. They’d never get to play Minecraft or own a Game Boy. If only they knew what they were missing out on.
‘That’s odd,’ Grandad muttered as they ran. ‘Could’ve sworn it was sunnier last time.’
‘Huh?’ said Frankie.
‘Never mind,’ Grandad huffed as he skidded around a corner. ‘We’re here.’
They were standing on Hope Street: the very street where Alfie Fish had grown up and, in this moment in time, still did live with his parents and younger brother Roddy.
Frankie had never seen anything like it. The houses were all squished up right next to each other, making one giant building that ran down the length of the street. Grandad made a beeline straight to number 42 at the end of the block. From behind him, Frankie saw their
target: the Other Grandad, with the Other Sonic Suitcase swinging off his hook, about to knock on young Alfie’s door.
Frankie could have fainted right there and then. Other Grandad was an EXACT REPLICA of Grandad, and as unsurprising as that was in theory, in reality it freaked Frankie out a little.
‘Alfie!’ yelled Grandad, at the top of his lungs.
‘Don’t do it!’
Frankie joined the chorus: ‘Other Freaky Grandad, you’re about to make a big mistake!’
Other Grandad’s face was perplexed as he saw himself running towards him with his annoying grandson in tow. He had a look on his face like he’d just been busted stealing Nanna Fish’s sweets from her special hiding spot in the pantry. His knuckles hung in midair, just inches away from the Fish family door.
‘What are you doing?’ Other Grandad hissed. ‘And what in blazes is the boy doing here? This is none of his business. And he’ll probably leave boogers everywhere!’
‘This IS my business,’ Frankie hissed back.
‘I’ve got the boogers under control, don’t you worry,’ said Grandad, closing in. ‘Just get away from the door. You can’t go through with this – the effects will be catastrophic!’
Grandad and Frankie stopped a few metres away, like police do in a hostage situation. Other Grandad looked like he was about to withdraw the clenched fist that lingered at the front door of the Fish family house. But then, as Other Grandad glanced down at his twin holding his Sonic Suitcase in his newly returned right hand, his face changed. His left and only fist tightened.
KNOCK KNOCK!
‘NO!’ shouted Grandad. In one swift movement, he tossed his Sonic Suitcase to Frankie and lunged forward, wrapping Other Grandad in a rugby tackle. Then he hustled him away from the door and around the corner to a hidden pebbled alleyway.
‘What are you doing?’ complained Other Grandad, struggling against his attackers.
‘Stopping you from making a big mistake, you old fool,’ Grandad grunted. ‘You changed the course of history and now everyone’s gone – Mavis, Ron – everyone.’
Frankie Fish and the Sonic Suitcase Page 4