Frankie Fish and the Sonic Suitcase

by Peter Helliar

  This. Is. Not. Good!

  ‘I’m fine,’ muttered Frankie, as he hurried away. But he wasn’t fine. Frankie’s head was full of thoughts, none of them very funny at all.

  He knew that Grandad was upset that Nanna was possibly going on a date with his arch nemesis, the arrogant, dim-witted Clancy Bumface.

  He also knew that Grandad, for all his flaws, was crazy about Nanna Fish, and would do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

  Which could only mean one thing: Grandad was on his way to talk to Young Alfie Fish. He was either going to make the same mistake all over again – or worse yet, he might confess EVERYTHING about their time-travelling, in which case the authorities would lock him up forever and throw away the key, because he would sound INSANE.

  Either way, it meant that Frankie – and his family – would disappear forever.

  Worst. Ice-Cream. Ever.

  Frankie Fish ran as fast as he could through the Glaswegian streets, following the swarms of race fans in their raincoats on their way to the speedway. What those excited motorsport fans didn’t know, and what the boy panting as he ducked and weaved around them knew only too well, was that there was a lot more at stake today than the reputation of a couple of racecar drivers.

  Without ONE BIT OF INTERFERENCE WHATSOEVER, Young Alfie simply had to skid his car through the oil spill and crash into the wall in order to allow Clancy Fairplay to win. The Big Race was no longer just a race. Frankie’s life – and the lives of the entire Fish family – depended on Grandad crashing.

  Frankie HAD to find Grandad before he said anything to change that outcome.

  Frankie darted around the waists and past the legs of excited race-goers, all the time looking out for the old man. ‘Grandad!! Grandad Fish!!!’ he screamed.

  The closer he got to Pit Lane, the denser the crowd became – it seemed everyone wanted to catch a glimpse of the fast cars and the brave men who drove them. Then Frankie spotted a child tugging on Clancy Fairplay’s sleeve for an autograph, only for the driver to swat him away like a fly.

  What a jerk, Frankie said to himself.

  The crowd was building by the second. Frankie couldn’t squeeze any closer, so he headed for the nearby grandstand. He knew that if he got up a little higher, he’d have a bird’s eye view and a better chance of spotting Grandad. And sure enough, halfway up the stairs he spotted him – but the news wasn’t good.

  Grandad was standing in Pit Lane, where all the cars and their drivers were lined up, talking to Young Alfie Fish.

  Frankie filled his lungs full of air and screamed, ‘GRANDDAAAAAAADDD!!!!’ as he waved both arms in the air like somebody drowning at sea.

  Maybe Grandad couldn’t hear his grandson bellowing or maybe he conveniently chose to ignore him. Either way, he didn’t move a muscle.

  Frankie felt his heartbeat quickening. There was a lump in his throat the size of a pineapple. This had disaster written all over it. He had no way of knowing whether Grandad Alfie was instructing Young Alfie to avoid the oil spill so that he could marry Nanna, or telling him about their time-travel mess-ups – either way Frankie Fish was basically dead, and that would not be good at all for Frankie OR the future of this book series.

  ‘Nooooooooooooooo!!!!!’ screamed Frankie as he leapt down the grandstand steps, knocking over the man selling soda and sweets.

  Frankie darted his way through the crowd, puffing and panting all over again. It got harder and harder to squeeze past the people, until out of sheer desperation he dived to the ground and began crawling through the legs of the buzzing fans.

  ‘Grandad!’ Frankie cried out.

  Both Alfies turned to see their grandson on his knees.

  ‘You need to STOP MEDDLING!’ Frankie yelled, before turning his attention to Young Alfie Fish, who looked very dashing in his racing uniform, helmet tucked under his arm. ‘Don’t believe a single word he says,’ Frankie told him furiously. His eyes felt rather hot all of a sudden. ‘He’s just a crazy old man, selfish and rude and mean and deluded!’

  Young Alfie Fish looked extremely confused. ‘He was just asking for an autograph for his grandson, Frankie. Who are you?’

  Frankie looked up as sheepishly as a sheep dressed in sheep’s clothing. ‘Oh. Um, I’m Frankie.’ Frankie looked at Grandad, who looked like the cat that used ice-cream to trick his grandson. ‘Are you sure that’s all he said?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Alfie, shooting him a devilishly handsome grin, before adding, ‘He gave me some good advice, too.’

  Gulp.

  ‘What was the advice?’ Frankie asked, wincing.

  ‘To drive as fast as he possibly can,’ Grandad said quietly. ‘Full throttle, like this is his last race. Don’t leave anything in the tank.’

  ‘I never do, old chap,’ Young Alfie said, clapping Grandad on the back. ‘I never do.’ Then he handed his autograph to Frankie.

  Frankie stared at it, feeling his tummy slowly unclench. ‘Huh,’ he said. Then he looked up and said, ‘Can I post this on Facebook when we get home?’

  ‘Uh, you can post it to whoever you like,’ Young Alfie replied, a little confused. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you, chaps.’

  As his young grandfather turned to go, Frankie suddenly found an image of Roddy flashing through his mind. Before he had a chance to reconsider, he blurted out, ‘You know, your brother really looks up to you.’

  Young Alfie – and Grandad – stared at him in surprise. ‘You know Roddy?’ said Young Alfie.

  ‘Er, we’ve met,’ said Frankie. He knew he should stop, but the words just kept coming. ‘You know, you should pay him some attention. Because one day he might vanish for good and then you’ll realise what you’ve lost. I mean, I always found my sister super annoying, but now she’s gone …’ He finally managed to stop, feeling strangely choked up.

  Young Alfie looked at him weirdly, then nodded and offered his hand to Frankie. Frankie took it, remembering to make it a firm grasp like his dad had taught him. Then Young Alfie reached out to Grandad, who stared at the perfect right hand for a second before taking it in his own.

  Three generations of Fishes, meeting in a fashion that no three generations had ever met before, and will probably never meet again. Frankie silently instructed his brain to remember this moment forever.

  ‘Are you going to watch the race?’ Young Alfie asked.

  Frankie understood that this might be a painful event for Grandad to watch, so he shook his head. ‘We’ll probably just stream it later,’ he said hopefully.

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Grandad, as politely as he’d ever interrupted anyone before. ‘Yes, we’re going to stay here and watch the whole race. Make sure we get the result we need.’

  ‘Great,’ said Young Alfie. ‘But, er, can you let go of my hand now?’

  Grandad and Frankie managed to find two seats looking over the final corner – the infamous corner where Alfie Fish lost control of his beloved machine before it careered into the wall. Frankie was so nervous that he felt like he’d swallowed a jar full of bees.

  As the smell of engines and gasoline danced around Frankie Fish’s nose, the racetrack’s loudspeaker buzzed and crackled to life.

  ‘Untimely and unexpected grey skies overhead won’t dull the thousands of fans who’ve flocked to the track today to see the much anticipated Big Race. I haven’t been this excited since my wife allowed me to eat black pudding in my undies on my birthday, but that is probably too much information for now. Many believe the Big Race is down to just two competitors, Clancy Fairplay and Alfie Fish …’

  A roar rose from the crowd when the commentator mentioned Alfie Fish’s name. Little did anyone know there were two Alfie Fishes at the track that day. Young Alfie in racecar number 42, and Grandad Alfie, who was watching with his grandson in the grandstand – and what a grand occasion it was.

  It’s super weird to hear the crowd cheering for Grandad, thought Frankie. Almost like hearing the students at St Monica’s cheering and whooping for P
rincipal Dawson at assembly. The crowd had the exact opposite reaction to Clancy Fairplay’s name being announced. There was moderate applause sprinkled with boos and jeers, and some rude Scottish words that can’t be printed in a nice book like this.

  The commentator’s voice became more excited.

  ‘Mark this date down in history lads and lassies, today will be remembered as the birth of a famous sporting rivalry. In years to come when people talk about motorsport they won’t be able to avoid talking about Fairplay versus Fish in the Big Race. There is NO doubt about it, today will be a CLASSIC!’

  Grandad’s knee was shaking like a leaf stuck to a milkshake machine in an earthquake. Frankie tried to stop it by covering it with his own hand, but unfortunately Frankie’s hand was shaking too so it was no help at all.

  Frankie glanced upwards at the sky. The rain seemed to be holding off, but for how much longer?

  In his short life, Frankie had been nervous many times. Like when they dissected a frog in a Science exam. Or when he’d performed as a Wise Man in a nativity play. And there was the time he’d had to tell his dad about the D- he received for his Biology project about electric eels (which Ron Fish had helped with, which made it worse). But Frankie had NEVER been this nervous.

  His nerves felt like they were full of electricity. All the hairs on his body stood at right angles. It was like every single part of his body knew that if this race didn’t end with Grandad crashing and losing, then Frankie might just vanish into thin air.

  As the cars drove up to the start line, Frankie looked up at Grandad with a sense of pride. All these people were here to see his grandad, to cheer him on! But Grandad didn’t seem to notice the cheers. He just sat there with his eyes closed, gripping the ruby suitcase tightly.

  ‘Would you like to leave, Grandad?’ asked Frankie.

  ‘No, kiddo. I’m OK, but thanks for asking,’ replied Alfie.

  And with that, the race began. CRACK!

  The crowd roared as Alfie and Clancy immediately began vying for the lead. It was beyond loud at the track, louder than a fireworks display in a barnyard. And with every lap, every daring move, the noise of the cars and of the crowd seemed to intensify.

  Each time a car turned through that final corner, Frankie kept looking for the fateful oil spill that would hopefully send Grandad spiralling out of control. But lap after lap the oil spill failed to appear.

  ‘Grandad,’ Frankie asked, ‘you don’t happen to know when the oil got spilt on the track do you?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Grandad barked, like a dog at a kite show. ‘If I knew that I would have avoided it in the first place.’

  ‘Of course,’ Frankie mumbled.

  He felt uneasy and very, very weird, which is not surprising, considering that this was undoubtedly the single strangest moment in the life of Frankie Fish. Here he was, sitting in the grandstand of a car race that happened many decades before he was born, watching his grandad (whom he was ALSO sitting next to!) race a car that he hoped would crash.

  It was even weirder than the day the Yo-Yo Team came to school to perform tricks and ended up sparking a gastro outbreak. (Long story with too many yucky images to go into here.)

  As the cheers and jeers in the stands got louder, Frankie noticed Grandad’s eyes were shut tighter than ever before, like he was bracing himself for the impact.

  ‘It’s the final lap of the Big Race,’ the commentator screamed excitedly, ‘and it’s Alfie Fish, a quarter of a lap in front of his arch nemesis, Clancy Fairplay. What a famous victory this will be …’

  The frenzied crowd got to their feet to cheer their heroes home. But Frankie’s eyes were fixed on that one corner, which was still missing an oil spill.

  What does this mean? Frankie thought, anxiously touching his face, which luckily at least felt normal.

  At that exact same moment, the clouds that had been threatening to spill all day let loose.

  The heavens opened up as rain tumbled down onto the crowd and the track. The crowd barely noticed, though, as they continued yelling and screaming as if they were competing with the engines of the magnificent cars.

  But then the commentator’s tone changed from excited to cautious.

  ‘Hold on a moment, folks … the rain is pouring onto the track. Visibility out there must be almost zero. This could sound the death knell for a driver. Hometown hero Alfie Fish is approaching now. The officials should stop the race –’

  But it was far too late to stop anything because Alfie Fish was now heading to the final corner. Water sprayed up from his tyres like he had fire hoses under the back of his car.

  The crowd ooohed and ahhhed at this latest twist as the commentator continued.

  ‘Well, Alfie Fish is approaching that final corner, showing no signs of slowing down. In fact, he seems to be waving to the crowd. Let’s hope he is keeping at least one eye on the road as he takes the corner and –’

  The crowd suddenly stopped cheering, and held its collective breath.

  For Frankie, everything went into slow motion: the crowd waving curled-up race programs, Grandad’s car moving towards the final corner, even the rain pelting down on the track seemed to be descending at a warped speed. Frankie looked at Grandad, who was gripping the Sonic Suitcase and staring down at his own lap, his teeth clenched.

  Frankie put his hands over his eyes and peeped through the cracks between his fingers as Grandad’s car spun out of control and slammed hard into the wall.

  CRASH!

  Frankie felt like he hadn’t taken a breath in days. The crowd was eerily silent as debris from Grandad’s car was flung out across the track. The silence was only broken by Frankie Fish, who jumped on his seat and screamed …

  ‘YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!’ with both hands stretched out into the air.

  Grandad’s eyes suddenly opened as he quickly got to his feet and saw his crashed blue racecar on the side of the track.

  ‘YEEEEESSSSSSS!!!!’ he also screamed with joy to the utter confusion of those around him.

  ‘Have some decency,’ the lady in front with a dead fox draped over her shoulders snapped.

  ‘Of course,’ Grandad said apologetically. ‘I guess that probably did seem a little … ah … inappropriate.’ But when the woman turned away, he pulled Frankie into a hug – the very first they’d ever had.

  ‘We did it,’ Frankie said, his voice muffled.

  ‘We did, lad.’

  There was the sound of Clancy Fairplay’s car roaring as it successfully navigated the final corner, taking the winner’s chequered flag. A moment later, paramedics sprinted onto the track, carrying medical bags and a stretcher.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Frankie, peering at the car heap for a glimpse of Young Alfie. A stomach-dropping thought had just occurred to him. What if Grandad actually dies this time instead of just losing his hand? There had been enough disruption to the time path that anything was possible.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ replied Grandad, sounding like the same thought had just occurred to him too.

  Frankie grimaced as he watched Clancy Fairplay pump his fists from the safety of his car. More like Clancy Lowlife, thought Frankie, disgusted. What a sad and ungracious jerk that guy is.

  Then he felt his grandad tugging on his sleeve.

  ‘Frankie. Look.’ Grandad’s voice was hoarse and urgent.

  Frankie turned to see the old man, grey-faced, staring at his right hand. Except that the hand wasn’t there anymore. In its place was the hook Frankie had always known.

  We’ve done it! thought Frankie.

  But his triumph faded when only a second later the hook flickered once, twice, and his grandad’s hand reappeared.

  Frankie froze, his eyes round. ‘Hang on. If your hand is flickering, that means the protective force field is fading. Which means –’

  Grandad glanced up at Frankie and almost jumped out of his seat. ‘Your face!’ he cried.

  Frankie clutched his cheeks. ‘What? What’s happening?’<
br />
  Grandad snatched a little mirror from the lady sitting next to him, who was fixing her make-up, and shoved it in front of Frankie’s face. ‘Look!’

  Frankie couldn’t believe what – or who – he was staring at. He didn’t see his own reflection … but the ghost of a freckly boy with red hair. As he watched, horrified, the boy turned into a girl with long blonde hair, who morphed into a boy with a mohawk, who transformed into a boy with glasses, and so on.

  ‘Aaaarrgghh!!’ screamed Frankie, like an arachnophobe at a Spider-Man premiere. ‘My face!’

  ‘It’s just puberty, dear,’ the lady said, snatching her mirror back. ‘You should have seen how my Hamish looked at your age.’

  ‘Nobody told me puberty involved my face morphing from boy to girl!’ Frankie was freaking out. ‘Why has it turned my face on shuffle?’

  ‘I don’t know for sure,’ muttered Grandad as he dragged Frankie towards the exit, ‘but perhaps the time continuum is confused.’ He spun Frankie around to examine his face(s) again. ‘Or maybe … maybe it’s preparing for a world without Frankie Fish.’

  ‘Coming through, coming through!’ yelled a paramedic as he helped carry a stretcher through St Mary’s emergency corridor. ‘We have the runner-up of the Big Race here, Alfie Fish! He’s in a stable but critical condition, and we’re going to need the surgeon down here stat … ’

  The paramedics whooshed past Grandad Alfie and Frankie, who had just arrived at the hospital. Frankie turned his back momentarily, fearful he might somehow upset the time quantum, or the universe’s gravitational pull, or some other thing he didn’t quite understand. Also, he was embarrassed about his face(s).

  ‘How do I look?’ Frankie asked Grandad, understandably feeling a little self-conscious.

  ‘Hideous,’ Grandad said, ‘but at least your face has stopped changing.’

  Frankie glared at him.

  ‘OK then, grumpy bum,’ Grandad said. ‘Let’s go keep Clancy away from your nanna until she goes into my surgery, and then we can get out of here.’