* * *
Our car has started to rattle now, on top of the wheezing. I heard someone on a medical TV show once talk about something called a death rattle. I think that’s what our car has. Like all the other disasters, Dad is completely ignoring it, but he is gripping the steering wheel so tightly it looks like he is trying to strangle it. I wonder if you can go to prison for strangling a car.
Mum is humming a happy tune and I know it’s to try and cover the rattling.
I have no idea where we are but I am pretty sure it is nowhere near where we need to be.
‘I’m hungry,’ says Teddy. Dad grips the wheel even tighter.
I know he doesn’t want to stop the car and I think it’s because he’s worried it won’t start again.
‘It is past lunchtime,’ says Mum.
We didn’t bring sandwiches because we were supposed to go to the service station as a treat, remember. Which means all we’ve had is a packet of cheese-and-onion Pom-Bears and a melted Twix.
‘Do we really need food right now?’ says Dad.
‘I’m hungry!’ shouts Teddy. ‘I’m hungry! Hungry! Hungry!’
‘He looks pale,’ says Mum.
I get a bit jealous of Teddy sometimes. If I misbehave, I’m told to control my behaviour. If he misbehaves, there’s always a reason to feel sorry for him, like he’s ‘tired’ or ‘hungry’ or ‘looks pale’.
‘We wouldn’t want him to be sick,’ says Mum, doing a grimacey sort of face. ‘That might only add to the… smell.’
‘What smell?’ asks Dad, and no one wants to say.
Then we all gasp because we spot an old pub called The Rose up ahead. It looks like a little old cottage, with pink flowers in baskets and a sign saying
This is an incredible piece of luck. Of all the places we could have ended up, we have ended up at the place with the best food in the country!
Of course, there is a chance they are lying. But that would be false advertising, and I’m pretty sure they would be in jail for that, alongside all the car stranglers.
‘Fine,’ says Dad, and the car rattles and thumps and bumps into the car park.
* * *
We sit at a table by the window and watch Dad outside as he opens the bonnet of the car. Even Teddy must know that Dad has no idea what he’s doing. Normally, Dad would call a mechanic, or use Google to see what might be the problem, or maybe ask someone on Twitter. But now he has to rely on his own knowledge and, like I say, he doesn’t have any.
He slowly closes the bonnet and walks sadly inside.
It’s silent and empty in here, which seems weird to me considering it serves the best food in the country. There’s a TV in the corner but they’ve put a black sheet over it, like it’s died and they’ve done a funeral for it.
A lady with tattoos stomps over. Teddy holds a menu over his face because he still thinks that makes him invisible. The lady is wearing slippers and seems quite angry about everything. She says she couldn’t print any *rude word* specials menus so she just wrote the specials on the *rude word* blackboard.
I see that today there’s a choice between the best fish and chips in the country or the best spaghetti Bolognese in the country. For dessert you can have the best apple crumble in the country or the best ice cream in the country. I opt for the best spaghetti Bolognese in the country, and then if I’m allowed I think I’ll have the best ice cream in the country.
‘You know it’s the environmentalists what broke the screens,’ says the woman, like she’s worked it all out and it’s obvious.
‘The environmentalists?’ says Mum.
‘Yeah. The Gretas and whatnots. It’s all to do with liquid crystals. Once a screen cracks, the crystals escape and make the clouds disappear which means less rain so the world gets all hot. They’re always moaning about it being too hot, that lot, but I say, what’s wrong with a tan?’
She nods at us, all wise and that, but she is forgetting about global warming, not to mention skin damage. Mum gives me a Look which I know means I’m not to say anything to make the lady more cross.
Dad comes back from the toilets, thank goodness, where he has tried to wash all the mud and cow pats off his face and hands. He has not done a very good job. If anything, he has just smeared it around his face, like it’s a dirty moisturizer. But at least the smell is less bad now. Now it’s just like a light aftershave, maybe called Eau de Cow, or Eau What’s That? or Eau, Dad, You Stink!
Dad points out to Mum what it says on the board below the menu.
NO CARDS.
‘It’s okay,’ Mum whispers. ‘We don’t need the debit card. I brought the cheque book.’
She taps her head like she’s a genius. I have no idea what a cheque book is, but then Mum says it’s a book full of forms that you fill out to promise you’ll give someone some money at some point soon.
I mean, really? And people BELIEVE that? No wonder no one uses them any more because that seems like some risky business right there.
We wait for our food but then the lady comes out and says she can’t do the best Bolognese in the country because she forgot the *rude word* microwave isn’t working, on account of her not being able to tell what’s on the screen. Dad asks if maybe she could cook it the normal way but she just makes a face like Dad has suggested she change the name of the pub to The Badger’s a Butthead.
Teddy begins to slowly bang his head on the table. Normally, this would be a case for a child psychologist but I get it: he misses his normal routine. Paw Patrol. Roblox. Planes on YouTube. All of these things are better than waiting for some food from a tattooed woman in slippers in a weird pub.
I feel a bit sorry for him so I get a comic out and ask him if he wants to read with me. I start to do all the voices, and slowly he starts to forget that his screenless life is totally worthless.
While I’m doing that, Mum and Dad start to talk really quietly to each other because they think I’m distracted. But I can still hear them.
Dad is saying what if Grandma actually doesn’t have enough food? She doesn’t drive so she can’t get to a supermarket and, even if she could, she might not have actual cash. They closed her local bank recently because people forget that some older people don’t use banking websites, and she doesn’t have friends nearby or neighbours. He says he’s worried about the car, and some of the stuff that’s going on in the cities sounds mad.
Mum says once we get on to the motorway we should be fine, let’s not worry anybody (she looks at me and Teddy when she says this), let’s just get there and hope Grandma’s in a good mood.
Then BANG. A plate of fish and chips is dropped on the table. Without being rude, I have to say it doesn’t look anything like how I imagined the best fish and chips in the country would look. I turn to Mum and Dad who are both smiling broadly at me, which is when I know stuff is really wrong.
* * *
‘We don’t accept cheques,’ says the lady.
‘Oh,’ says Mum with a smile, looking at our empty plates. ‘Oh dear!’
‘It’s the *rude word* banks,’ says the lady. ‘It’s cash only.’
I think under the circumstances this is very sensible, but Dad looks infuriated. He nods to himself as he thinks.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Cash only. Thanks.’
Mum makes an awkward face at him. But I know Dad will sort this out. Like Mum, he can be very effective in a crisis. I have to say that as parents they are very capable and generally set a good example.
‘Could we get a round of ice cream?’ asks Dad, smiling. See what I mean? The lady turns round to fetch it.
Mum nudges Dad like he’s done something wrong.
‘We don’t have enough money for lunch, let alone ice cream,’ she whispers.
‘Kids, get your stuff together,’ says Dad, quietly standing up.
Wait. What? What about the ice cream? What about the bill?
Mum’s eyes widen as she realizes what Dad’s saying.
‘We’re off. Now. While she�
�s in the kitchen,’ he says.
Now, we have not paid for the best fish and chips in the country, but I hear what Dad is saying, and I like it. We are now involved in an ‘escapade’ (thank you, word of the month for January). An escapade is like an adventure but not as adventurous. It’s just exciting and can sometimes involve mild law-breaking.
‘We can’t just leave!’ says Mum. ‘We have to explain.’
‘She’ll make us do all the washing-up to pay for the food and we’ll end up living here,’ says Dad. ‘She does not seem a very kind woman.’
‘And I don’t even think she was telling the truth about the fish and chips being the best in the country,’ I add.
Mum and Dad suddenly remember I’m there.
‘What are we teaching the kids if we do this?’ says Mum and then she nods at the camera above the bar. ‘And we’re on CCTV!’
‘CCTV? The screens don’t work!’ says Dad. ‘Now come on!’
* * *
We are making a run for it!
This is MADNESS!
We reach the car, Dad flings open the doors and I climb in and pull Teddy behind me. I put on his seatbelt and then do my own while Dad turns on the ignition.
Dad has never done anything like this before. He once had to go on a speed-awareness course because he got caught going too fast in his car and he was so ashamed he volunteered to set fire to his licence there and then, but the course instructor said it was fine and could he put the matches down. That’s why he drives so slowly now.
I don’t think the car is going to be good for a quick getaway though, cos instead of starting it just goes WAW-WAW-WAW-WAWWWWW!
‘Come on!’ yells Dad. ‘Don’t let me down now!’
But the car is stuttering and yawning and it won’t wake up! So Dad says he’ll push and Mum should get it going. He runs round the back and Mum takes his place in the driving seat and I keep looking out of the back window for the woman with the best ice cream in the country.
Then she’s there. She’s standing at our table, staring at where we’d been sitting, with a tray of ice-cream bowls in her hands and a confused look on her face.
And then she turns and we lock eyes!
‘Now!’ yells Dad, as Mum turns the key so hard it looks like she’s trying to put the car in a headlock.
The car wheezes – then moves!
But.
We are moving at perhaps four miles per hour.
Dad is pushing the car as hard as he can. We are nearly out of the car park.
But really not very quickly.
The lady who was inside is now outside, literally walking alongside us, shouting VERY rude words at Dad. She caught us in about three seconds flat. It is incredibly awkward. I keep mouthing, ‘I’m so sorry.’
Dad seems unwilling to look at her, I think because he is so ashamed of what we are doing and maybe because this is honestly the slowest getaway in history. It just goes on and on. You can hear the wheels slowly squeaking.
The lady has her hands on her hips and is yelling things like, ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ and calling us ‘thieves’ and ‘pirates’!
Now no one is looking at her and I start to worry that she might follow us all the way to Rendlesham.
And then the car finally finds its power!
‘I’m so sorry!’ yells a happy Dad as the engine comes to life. ‘I’m so sorry!’
‘You *rude word* *rude word* *very rude word*!’ shouts the lady, and now I know a new rude word!
‘I’ll pay you back!’ shouts Dad as he jumps into the passenger seat. ‘I have to see my mother!’
And he slams shut the door and Mum jams her foot on the accelerator!
* * *
‘Your driving is too aggressive!’ says Dad, as Mum speeds down the road.
‘Well, I’m driving now!’ she yells, snapping her fingers right in front of his face.
The car is still very bumpy but Mum has taken full control, including turning down the heating so we don’t feel like we’re in the Sahara.
‘Watch out for that car!’ shouts Dad. He is a terrible passenger. He is very jittery and thinks everything is dangerous. Whenever he is in the passenger seat, he is always pressing his foot down like he’s trying to find the brakes, even though he doesn’t have any.
‘That car is a quarter of a mile away,’ says Mum.
Dad is right: Mum changes really quickly when she is behind the wheel. She is usually so polite and in control, but when we’re in the car she turns the music up really loud and either acts really silly or starts shouting at old men she thinks are driving too slowly. Once she did that rude sign with her hand. You know the one.
Dad, on the other hand, becomes really serious when he drives.
Although, when I think about it, he has been quite serious for a while now, even when he’s not driving.
As we speed away, I see all these vans at the side of the road, in a lay-by. Delivery vans. Brown ones and white ones and yellow ones. All the drivers are standing around with their hands on their hips. Two of them are playing football, but not with a football. They’re using one of those plastic handheld screens they make people sign for stuff on.
‘I’m BORED,’ says Teddy. ‘And I feel sick.’
‘Slow down,’ says Dad. ‘If he throws up, those fish and chips will go to waste and we’re not stopping again.’
‘Which way is the A30?’ I ask because that makes me feel very grown-up and also I feel it’s important to get everything back on track.
‘BORED!’ says Teddy.
‘Don’t worry if they go to waste,’ says Mum, turning to Dad. ‘It’s not like we paid for them, you criminal mastermind!’
‘I am going to pay that woman back,’ says Dad. ‘And keep your eyes on the road!’
‘Lighten up,’ says Mum. ‘What else can go wrong?’
It’s Teddy who sees it first.
‘There’s a police car!’
It’s coming towards us very fast and its blue lights are flashing.
Dad gulps.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you drive,’ he says, and Mum slaps his arm because it’s not like it’s her fault!
‘Okay, are we all going to prison?’ I ask. ‘What do I pack?’
‘Just act normal,’ says Dad, as the siren wails louder. ‘Just look like a normal family.’
‘Our car is in bits and you’re covered in cow pats,’ says Mum.
But it’s important we try, and so we all smile and wave as the police car gets nearer…
And zings right past us.
‘He’s probably going to The Rose,’ says Mum. ‘She’ll tell him what car we’re in and he’ll turn round and get us because we were looting!’
‘We were not looting!’ says Dad. ‘We were trying to pay by cheque!’
‘BORED!’ yells Teddy, which is MAD because we’re almost literally in a Hollywood-style police pursuit, and we’re getting away, fast.
It’s weird being in some random little village.
Dad reckoned we had to keep off the road for a bit. Lie low.
There aren’t many people here. The ones I can see are just darting around nervously. I never would have thought that just losing some technology could have such an impact on people’s behaviour. I mean, there are still parks, right? And people can still go out, or walk their dogs, or play with friends.
There’s a small shop on the corner. A few people are walking out of it with big huge boxes of stuff. Toilet rolls piled up high on top of bags of frozen chips and bottles of water. Inside, I can see someone has just bought the last of the lettuce.
Me and Teddy find some squeaky swings on a small patch of grass, as Mum and Dad pace round the car, trying to work out what they should do.
‘We need a map,’ says Dad.
‘The kids are bored,’ says Mum. ‘And you need a wash.’
I jump off my swing and give Teddy a few pushes on his. He wants to go higher, and higher, and he’s absolutely loving it. He�
�s properly laughing. I love it when he laughs because it makes me laugh too.
We used to go to the park more when we were younger. He’d toddle about and I’d pretend to be a dinosaur and we’d laugh and laugh together. Mum says Teddy would look at me like I was his hero. But then somehow it was winter and we stayed in and maybe we just got used to staying in and doing our separate things.
We’ve got a small garden round the back of our house, and I remember when I was little it was muddy and overgrown and fun. Then we had the garden done and even though it looks much nicer, and I like the artificial grass and all that, it really hurts your knees if you skid along it.
But I feel like we laughed more before. In the jungle garden days. I hope I’m still an okay sister.
‘Hey, Ted,’ I say, because I’ve spotted something. ‘Come with me.’
* * *
Teddy has never been in a place like this.
The first thing he said when I pushed open the doors was, ‘Huh?’ Kind of confused, but kind of amazed.
I love these places. They say there used to be loads of them.
‘This is a library, Ted,’ I say. ‘It’s like a massive real-life Amazon.’
Teddy just looks at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about.
‘Imagine someone downloaded every book you could think of, printed them out, and put them all in here so you could read whatever you liked, for free.’
He starts laughing.
‘I’m serious,’ I say, leading him in. ‘Like a Black Friday deal or something.’
It doesn’t look like anyone else is here. All the computers have bits of paper stuck to them saying Doesn’t Work. Then I see an old lady in a drifty long dress is behind a desk and she looks up at us, and raises her eyebrows.
‘Hello,’ she says, like she’s shocked to see someone in a place that literally lets you do whatever you want for free.
The Day the Screens Went Blank Page 4