by Emily Rodda
He remembered Ruby’s watery blue eyes peering at him. She’d thought he’d been sick. Said he looked “all washed out” – and gave him the horrible lolly to cheer him up. It was a wonder he wasn’t sick, with all the shocks he’d been getting. He’d certainly felt strange and confused all the time he was on that side of the Barrier. Maybe that was the first sign of Trans Barrier Effect.
“Won’t be long now, dear heart,” whispered Estelle, as yet another person was served ahead of her. She clutched at her handbag with nervous fingers, vainly trying to attract the shop assistant’s attention.
Patrick looked at her thoughtfully. She wasn’t getting anywhere. Maybe he should try to help her get served, or they’d be stuck here all morning. He lifted up his hand and gave the shop assistant a little wave, as he’d seen his mother do. She smiled and came up to them. “You next, dear?” she said brightly, and then gave a little jump as she saw Estelle. “Oh, sorry, madam, have you been waiting long? I didn’t see you there.”
Patrick stared. Estelle began to stammer. The shop assistant waited impatiently. On Estelle’s finger Eleanor Doon’s ring gleamed dully as she fumbled in her purse. It was painful to see. Through Patrick’s mind raced words and pictures. Ruby’s croaking voice; himself, stumbling and confused, being teased by Lucky and comforted by Boopie; Wendy buying his lemonade; Boopie Cupid telling him not to worry, no one on his side of the Barrier would care about the missing objects. Everything he’d seen and done on Finders Keepers.
And in a flash, he knew what he had to do. His mind was quite clear. All the arguments he’d had with himself, all his worry, just melted away. He looked at his watch. It was one minute to ten.
“Estelle,” he said clearly and loudly.
She looked down at him in surprise.
“Estelle,” he said. “Give me your ring to hold for a minute.” He held out his hand.
She opened her mouth in confusion, and began to shake her head.
“Quickly, Estelle,” he said, staring straight into her eyes. “Please, give it to me quickly.” He reached over and took her limp hand. He pulled the ring from her finger. He turned and ran.
18
The Show Must Go On
“Patrick! Patrick! Wait! What are you doing? Come back!” Estelle was running after him as he darted through the staring shoppers and made for the escalator. He jumped on, gripping the ring tightly in one hand. He looked at his watch – only thirty seconds to go before ten o’clock. Would he make it? Could he possibly make it?
The escalator was crowded. He couldn’t run up the steps, but had to stand still and let it take him along – so slowly, it seemed to him, with the seconds ebbing away. Looking back over his shoulder, he could see that Estelle was on the escalator too – down towards the bottom. She was frantically peering up, dodging her head right and left to catch a glimpse of him. He bit his lip. No time for second thoughts now.
He reached the top floor, and his feet barely touched the ground as he sprang from the escalator and began to run across the plaza in the direction of the department store. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, Estelle was just reaching the top now. She had seen him. She was running after him. He looked at his watch – ten seconds to go.
And then something caught him just below his knee, and he felt himself falling, crashing to the ground. He sprawled on the cold tiles, the burning in his hands and his knees and the painful beating of his heart nothing compared with the dreadful knowledge that with every heartbeat a second was going by, and with it his chance to make it to the TV set by ten o’clock.
Faces swam into view above him: strange, concerned faces, and then one familiar one. A worried, confused face. Estelle held out her hand to him and he struggled to get up, but his head was swimming and he fell back on the tiles. It was then that he realised it was too late. Time had beaten him. He looked at his watch, and just as he did so he saw the second hand click forward to mark ten o’clock exactly. Lucky would be calling him now. And he wouldn’t be there to answer.
Again he tried to get up, and this time he managed it. He stood unsteadily, brushing his knees, and feeling himself grow red as the kindly faces stared. He realised he was still holding Estelle’s ring tightly in one hand. He hadn’t lost it. Well, at least that was something.
“Patrick–” Estelle was trying to speak to him. The other people began to move back and away, seeing that he was all right and had someone to look after him.
He took a deep breath. Now he would have to explain. Somehow. He dropped his eyes and saw what had tripped him. He’d run straight into the corner of the little white fence that surrounded the big clock. Not looking where he was going. Just like him, he thought disgustedly. He looked up to meet Estelle’s sad eyes, looked away, looked up at the clock. And gasped. Its big minute hand was trembling just before the twelve. Of course. He hadn’t heard it strike. He hadn’t heard it strike ten.
“My watch is fast!” he yelled, and took to his heels. He’d forgotten to fix his watch this morning. In all the confusion and worry, he’d forgotten it always ran fast. But the Chestnut Tree Village clock was never wrong.
“Patrick, where are you going?” screamed Estelle. She threw up her hands in despair and began to chase him again. At the entrance to the department store he turned and hesitated. She was just behind him, and the clock was beginning to whirr, preparing to strike. Patrick ran on.
The TV set was there, at the end of the row. He turned to Channel 8 and crossed his fingers. Estelle was running down the aisle towards him, her wispy hair straggling out behind her, her breath coming in sobbing little gasps. The clock began to strike. One, two, three …
Lucky Lamont appeared on the screen. “So do we have a second Find, folks? Let’s see! Oh, boy, this is exciting! Finder Patrick …”
Estelle was a few steps away. Patrick tensed all his muscles for a final effort.
“Patrick,” cried Lucky. “Are you ready to go on playing Finders Keepers?”
Patrick leaned out and grabbed Estelle’s frail arm, pulling her towards him. He seized her in a bear hug, holding her tight. “Yes!” he yelled. “Yes!”
There was a crash, like thunder. Estelle’s scream echoed in his ears as the darkness closed in.
“Has he got it?” Eleanor Doon was standing up in her seat, wringing her bony hands, screwing up her eyes against the flickering, blinding light that flooded Patrick, Lucky Lamont and Boopie Cupid. She shouted against the audience’s screams of fear and excitement, and against the gradually dying sound of a thunderous explosion and the whirring and popping of machinery. She seemed unaware of anything but Patrick.
Lucky was turning helplessly this way and that, his gleaming smile fixed in place, his eyes rolling. The lights were blinking weirdly, the studio crew were running around in circles, shouting at one another. But Boopie stepped quickly up to Patrick.
“Are you all right, sweetie-pie?” she whispered. Her eyes were wide and frightened.
He nodded dumbly. “What … what,” he stammered, looking helplessly around.
“I don’t know what’s happened,” she said. “It was just as you came back. A huge bang, and everything went haywire. Something must have interfered with the transfer. Oh …” She shook her head in despair, and then pulled herself together.
“I’ll have to try to keep the show going, or the audience will panic,” she said bravely. “Are you sure you’re OK? Can you go on?” She took his arm.
Patrick nodded again, exhausted and confused. He’d been so sure. But something had gone terribly wrong. The noise, the lights … What had happened to the lights? What had happened to Estelle? Again he heard her scream, felt her being pulled from his arms in the rushing dark. He began to tremble.
“Have you got the thing?” asked Boopie, keeping a tight hold on his arm. He held out his hand and unclenched his fist. A shining golden ring lay there, deep old gold, studded with three blood-red, heart-shaped stones. Boopie took it from him and held it out to Lucky, tossing her head
gaily and winking at the audience as if everything was quite normal. “Here we are, Lucky,” she called clearly and firmly over the continuing noise. “The second Find!”
Lucky jumped, and spun round to look at her. The audience began to quieten, watching him.
“The second Find, Lucky,” said Boopie, still in that firm, bright voice. He nodded his head sharply and stumbled forward. He took the ring and held it up. “Eleanor Doon …” he began in a high, trembling voice, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Eleanor Doon, is this your missing object?”
“Yes!” Eleanor Doon pushed her way from behind the Seekers’ desk and strode towards them, to frenzied applause from the audience. She almost grabbed the ring from Lucky, and drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you,” she said to Patrick, as though even to speak was a struggle. Her burning grey eyes looked deep into his, and he glanced away from her nervously. “Thank you,” she repeated. She pushed the ring on to a long, thin finger already crowded to the knuckle with other rings of every kind and shape. She stared at it greedily.
“So, the collection’s complete again, and Eleanor’s happy,” cried Lucky. He seemed to be recovering now that the lights had stopped flickering and the noise had died down. “Well, we’re having some excitement today, aren’t we, folks – a few technical hitches there, eh? – but the show must go on, Boopie, that’s what I always say. How about spinning that wheel?”
“Sure, Lucky,” trilled Boopie, pale under her makeup. “And let’s remember that whatever Patrick wins this time, he gets that wonderful Ezy-way computer as a bonus prize!”
“That’s right,” answered Lucky, grinning rather wildly, Patrick thought. “Providing, Boopie, that he agrees to go on to his third Find. That was the deal, wasn’t it, Pat, old son?”
“Yes,” Patrick breathed. He didn’t care about any of this any more. All he could think about was Estelle, and that scream that had sounded in his ears as everything went black and a sound like thunder roared. He’d caused a catastrophe at Finders Keepers. The audience had settled down, calmed by Boopie’s familiar antics. But the other people in the studio were whispering to each other and glancing around them nervously, and every now and then someone would rush across to the studio door and disappear.
He spun the wheel in a dream.
“Number twenty-seven. Twenty-seven,” grinned Lucky. “Well, Boopie, what has our lucky Finder won this time?”
“Patrick has won a very valuable prize this time, Lucky. This very lovely, very old gold locket and matching chain from Old Charm Antiques,” announced Boopie. The audience clapped and cheered. Boopie took a small box with a trailing Finders Keepers label from the nervous-looking makeup girl, and held it out to Patrick. He opened it. The egg-shaped locket lay glowing inside on a bed of dark blue velvet, with its chain spilling out around it. Boopie showed him the little catch that you pushed to make the locket spring open.
“You put a picture inside, sweetie-pie,” she whispered, bending close to him. “The picture of the person you love best in the world.”
Patrick sneezed.
“Ha, ha, ha, you’re giving Pat hay fever, Boopie. Or should I say feather fever?” bellowed Lucky, laughing madly. The audience laughed with him and Boopie smiled broadly, though her eyes were anxious. Patrick closed the jewel box and pushed it deep into his pocket, out of sight.
“Well, now, Patrick–” Boopie began, as the lights began to flicker again, but Lucky interrupted her.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he cackled, “feather fever – feather fever, finders feathers, ha, ha, ha …” He rocked from side to side with laughter. “Feathers finders, oh boy this is exciting, take your chance, take your chance, let’s spin the wheel, Boopie!”
“We’ve done that, Lucky,” cried Boopie brightly, one eye on the startled audience. She put out a hand to him, but he jumped back just out of reach and stood on one leg.
“Whoops!” he cried. “He can dance too, look at that! Time’s a-wasting, whoops!” He began to hop round in a small circle, his arms flapping, jumping away from Boopie every time she made a dart for him.
Someone in the audience tittered nervously.
“Get him off!” hissed a voice from the side. Two men darted forward and grabbed Lucky Lamont by his arms. He went on flapping, and they stood there helplessly flapping with him.
Then smoke started to float from Lucky’s ears, there was a loud bang, a woman started to scream, and the lights went off.
“Come on!” Boopie yelled. She grabbed Patrick and they ran for the door.
19
“That’s All, Folks!”
“He’s a robot!” yelled Patrick, as they burst into the darkened corridor. “A robot!”
“Of course he is, sweetie-pie,” said Boopie, hurrying him towards Max’s room through groups of jostling, chattering people. “Hurry, Patrick, hurry! We’ve got to get to Max. Game’s over, well and truly. We’ve got to get you home.” Her painted lips trembled as alarm bells began sounding in rooms on either side of them, and she began using her elbows to push violently through the crowd. “Lucky’s had it now, anyway. Needs a total rewire, I’d say.”
“But why?” Patrick still couldn’t believe it.
“Well, can’t you see, Patrick?” Boopie glanced at him quickly. “There’s been a terrible power surge, or something. Heaven knows what caused it this time – but the machinery’s going crazy. The lights have all blown and everything. Naturally Lucky would …”
“No, no … I mean, why is he a robot?” Patrick pulled at her arm. He was exhausted, frightened and confused. He just had to make sense of all this.
“Well, they’d never find a person who could do the job, would they!” Worried as she was, Boopie couldn’t help laughing at this. “I mean, what human being could smile like that for hours at a time, for a start? And say the same things over and over again without cracking up? And be so nasty to people to make the audience laugh?” She stopped dead, causing two men scurrying behind them to fall over their own feet. “You don’t mean to tell me they use real people for quizmasters over on your side!” she exclaimed, eyes wide.
Patrick shrugged helplessly. “I think they do,” he said. Though when he thought about it, he wasn’t absolutely sure.
“Impossible,” declared Boopie firmly. She put her head down and took off again at top speed.
Patrick struggled along beside her. Then an awful thought occurred to him. “You’re … you’re not one too, are you?” he whispered. “A robot?”
She shrieked with rather hysterical laughter. “Me? Not likely. They have to put a human minder on with the quizmaster, you know. Just in case. They’re great machines, but they don’t react well to stress. And when a real disaster happens, like just now … Oh, thank goodness, here we are at last! … Maxie!” She began pounding on the green-painted door.
The door remained firmly closed, and inside there was silence. Boopie bit at her thumb and called again. The lights in the corridor flashed and dimmed, people hurried by, and far away alarm bells went on ringing.
Patrick watched Boopie’s white, set face, his heart thumping, thoughts whirling round in his head. Everything had gone wrong, and he knew it was all his fault. Trying to be clever. Thinking he’d worked it all out. But he’d messed everything up. Estelle – he screwed up his eyes, trying to banish the memory of her scream from his mind. Estelle had gone. He’d lost Estelle, maybe for ever. And – it finally struck him, making his breath catch in his throat, making him understand in a flash Boopie’s panic – he was lost, too. If Max’s computer had broken down like everything else, he wouldn’t be able to get back home for a long time. And that meant … He heard again the words of the workman in the cafeteria. “Trans Barrier Effect … stay here too long and they’re history, mate … just get more and more faded … no memory … no colour … in the end … fade away to nothing …” He gave a choking cry, and just at that moment the door clicked open a little way, and Max’s beady eye appeared in the crack.
“Max! Let us in! We’ve got to get Patrick back. Oh, Max …” Boopie pushed at the door. “We’ve got to hurry! Before all the power goes. I couldn’t stand it if … if it happened again. Max, what’s the matter? Why don’t you say something? Let us in! What’s happening?”
Max opened the door a little further and held it tightly, his fingers white against the wood. His eyes glittered and he panted as if he’d been running. “The boy did it!” he whispered. “Massive overload, Boopie. He pulled someone through with him, Boopie. Everything’s blown. I never had such a shock. Boopie, he …”
“I’m sorry!” yelled Patrick, beating at the door frame with his fists and feeling the hot tears running down his cheeks. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know. I’ve wrecked everything. I got it wrong. I thought … and I tried … but I was wrong. And now … oh … I won’t be able to get home … and what’s happened to her? Where is she? Where is she?”
“Thanks to you,” said a familiar voice from inside the room, “she’s home, dear heart.”
Max stood back and the green door swung open. Through his tears Patrick saw that someone was standing there. Someone tall, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, smiling and crying, holding out her arms. What …?
“Estelle!” squealed Boopie, and she rushed forward, flinging herself into the tall woman’s arms.
Patrick rubbed desperately at his blurry eyes. Boopie – and Estelle, so bright, so changed. They were clinging together, the two blonde heads close, two pairs of blue eyes alight with happiness. They were so alike. How could he not have seen it before? “How – why – what –?” he stuttered. Then he shook his head. He couldn’t go on.
Estelle smiled over Boopie’s head and held out her hand to him. “You brought me home, Patrick, just like you planned to do. You took the ring and ran so I’d follow you and not waste time with questions, didn’t you? You worked it all out very suddenly, when it was nearly too late.”