The Day the Screens Went Blank

by Danny Wallace

  Dad starts to grip the steering wheel hard again, and Mum strokes his arm to calm him down.

  ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ says Ellie, squinting.

  ‘No!’ says Dad. ‘I thought you knew!’

  ‘Are you sure you’re even a taxi driver?’

  ‘No!’ says Dad.

  ‘Well, where are we?’ says Ellie.

  ‘I have NO IDEA!’ says Dad.

  ‘You’d think a taxi driver might have some idea,’ says Ellie, looking at me as if I’m going to back her up. ‘Ah, look, here we are. I got us here in the end.’

  Up ahead, a big brown sign says

  * * *

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ says Dad, as Mum unpacks the car. ‘We were on our way. We had just enough petrol. And now look!’

  The car conked out the second we stopped outside the front door of Blackberry Manor. We were out of petrol, the exhaust pipe was smoking and we’d lost three of our hubcaps since yesterday morning. Dad was going to have a job explaining the state of the car to his work, said Mum. It looked so bad that Dad had to push it round the corner of the main house because Ellie said it looked untidy out front and would make local property prices plummet.

  Blackberry Manor was enormous. It had a long gravel driveway like in Downton Abbey and lots of windows everywhere. The door was the width of two normal doors and Ellie said it even had a Great Hall. A thought suddenly struck me. This really reminded me of Grandma’s house.

  ‘Do you know a lady called Nanette Bobcroft?’ I ask Ellie.

  ‘Where does she live?’ says Ellie.

  ‘Rendlesham,’ I say. ‘In Suffolk.’

  ‘Never heard of her. Why?’

  ‘Oh, she’s my grandma. We’re on our way to see her,’ I say. ‘We were supposed to be there by now.’

  Ellie makes a face like I’ve said something wrong.

  ‘And then I got in the way, did I? Drove you off course?’

  ‘No!’ I say because that’s not what I mean, but it’s like I’ve insulted her.

  ‘Can I see the Great Hall?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.

  Ellie says no. She says none of us can come in because we might accidentally let all the dogs out. The dogs are not to be disturbed. This makes me sad because there are dogs around and now all I really want is to see them but it sounds like I’m not going to be allowed.

  I guess my face must show how disappointed I am because Ellie takes another look at me, at all of us, tired and dirty and hopeless, and she says look, we can stay in her field, if we really have to.

  Dad’s face falls, but it gives us somewhere to stop while we figure out what to do about the car, so he thanks her. And Ellie goes in, and Dad’s like, ‘Surely there’s one spare bedroom in a place this big? Surely she could have let us have that?’

  But then there’s a whole load of barking from what sounds like about fifty dogs and Ellie is coming outside again, pushing the door shut behind her.

  ‘Normally, we run a camping business at the back. What do they call it again? “Glamping.” ’

  ‘Oh yes?’ says Mum, perking up.

  ‘And, what with no one being able to look at our website, we don’t have any bookings and consequently no guests. So you’ll have the run of the place. There are some fresh towels there, in case any of you would like a wash?’

  She stares hard at Dad when she says that.

  ‘I’ll send some food over. Do sleep well.’

  * * *

  The campsite wasn’t like any campsite I’d seen before.

  First off, forget the fire we lit in that lay-by. Here there was a proper big firepit for us to sit round. We got straight to work lighting it, even though the sun hadn’t quite set yet.

  And there was a big field for me and Teddy to run around in, with hay bales to jump off and roll around on.

  There were alpacas in the field next to it, and bags of feed for us to give them.

  And the tent was HUGE. It was covered in fairy lights and lanterns and the beds looked cosy, with thick duvets and the softest and fattest pillows possible.

  Dad had looked gobsmacked when he saw that right outside the tent was a big outdoor bathtub. He threw his hands up to the clouds and yelled, ‘Thank you!’ and ran a giant bubble bath straight away, and afterwards he said he was the cleanest he’d felt in months!

  Then a man had arrived on a golf cart, pulling a whole trolley of food from Ellie.

  Ham, beef, chicken. Burgers for me and Teddy. Chocolate milkshakes and ice cream. Apart from some Ritz crackers, all I’d had was an egg at Uncle Tony’s farm and I suddenly realized how hungry I was.

  Everything was sort of… perfect.

  ‘This was kind of the lady,’ says Teddy.

  ‘It’s good to be kind,’ I tell him, ‘isn’t it, Ted?’

  And now we’re sitting round the fire on this warm summer night and the stars are starting to poke through the sky. Teddy’s in a fluffy white dressing gown, and it’s just us – just the family, with the dry grass under our feet – and I can’t help but remind Dad of a few things.

  ‘So, did you prefer getting sprayed by mud or being chased into a pond by a pig?’

  Dad starts to laugh. A big surprising laugh. Like he’d been waiting to laugh about so many things for so long, but he’d had to get being annoyed out of the way first.

  And we all laugh, until it slows and we sit in silence, watching the logs burn.

  ‘Dad,’ I say. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Anything, Stels,’ says Dad.

  ‘Did you fall out with Grandma the way Uncle Tony fell out with his sons?’

  Mum raises her eyebrows, like she was not expecting that. But she doesn’t deny it. She looks to Dad.

  ‘I just mean because it seems like, even though you guys are busy with work and all that, and Grandma lives so far away, I just mean maybe it’s weird we never, ever go there? And, like, it takes something mad like this screens thing to make you actually put us in a car and drive us there…’

  Dad thinks for a bit and then nods.

  And he says, ‘I can barely even remember what it was about.’

  * * *

  I woke up the next morning when the cockerels started crowing.

  Believe me, I know I made that sound properly magical because who doesn’t want to be woken up by a massive shouting bird, right? But have you ever heard one of them up close? One second everything is beautiful and peaceful and sleepy and the next it’s like nature’s held an airhorn up to your ear.

  But the sun… the sun was magical. It streamed into the tent. We’d left it open in the night.

  It must have rained while we were asleep too because I could smell that amazing smell. You know the one? The one that just smells of earth and the ground and the water feeding the grass. The one that smells of the planet.

  There were other smells too. Bacon was sizzling on a pan by the firepit. And there was the smell of aftershave or something drifting through the tent. Dad had got up early to have a shave with all the free toiletries.

  I know she’d been a bit annoying at first, but finding Ellie was like striking gold. It gave us that one night we needed.

  Teddy knew it too. I felt sorry for him. His routine was all out of whack. But a burger and a long sleep had been good for him.

  ‘What time are we leaving, Dad?’ I ask, as he hands out the bacon sandwiches.

  ‘Whatever time you want,’ he says. ‘Because I don’t know what time is or what time even means any more. Everything is meaningless and yet meaningful. And those are my thoughts on this beautiful but weird morning.’

  Dad doesn’t usually have a second coffee and now I see why. But I know what he means. Everything felt so urgent at first. So confusing. Since we got to Ellie’s, it’s sort of felt like a Sunday.

  ‘Do I have time to play with Teddy?’ I ask.

  * * *

  I knew Ellie was watching us from the window as we ran around. She had a stern face and crosse
d arms, so I was worried she didn’t want us running about the place, but she didn’t stop us, so we just kept going.

  It’s when we’re exploring the blackberry patches that she turns up right behind us, surrounded by eight dogs. Big ones. Tiny ones. Woofing and yapping.

  I start petting them all straight away. I can’t stop smiling. Which one would I choose, if one day I’m actually allowed one? A tiny dog leaps up at Teddy and licks him and Teddy screams with delight.

  I think Ellie is pretending that she has work to do because she’s carrying a pitchfork. I think she brought all her dogs out because she knew we’d like them. I think she just wants to talk.

  ‘So where are you from?’ she says, not quite looking at us.

  ‘Mousehole,’ I say. ‘It’s in Cornwall. Down by the sea.’

  ‘I know Mousehole,’ she says. ‘Sacked by the Spaniards in 1595! Whole village burned down apart from one house!’

  ‘It’s still there,’ I tell her.

  ‘We always overcome!’ says Ellie, looking into the distance. ‘So, you will see your grandmother today. That’s nice for you.’

  ‘Do you have grandchildren?’ I say.

  ‘Yes, two,’ she says. ‘But they’re in Australia.’

  ‘What about your husband?’ I say, and I immediately regret it.

  Ellie says she had one a very, very long time ago, but that he had died. They had flown all over the world together. He used to be a pilot. He even flew Spitfires. Immediately, Teddy’s fascinated because he knows all about Spitfires. Ellie says her husband had been one of the youngest ever pilots and had flown in the Second World War when he was just eighteen and he lived to be eighty-eight, so that taught Hitler a lesson, eh?

  Ellie’s face completely changes when she talks about him. She looks us in the eye the whole time. It’s like we’re just normal friends.

  And then Dad gets here.

  ‘Morning, Ellie. I was just wondering about petrol…’

  ‘Do I look like someone who would have petrol?’ she snaps. ‘Gin, yes. Sherry, certainly. Champagne, at a push. But petrol?’

  ‘Well… do you have the number for that taxi company?’ says Dad.

  ‘No taxi company in their right mind is going to drive you to Rendlesham,’ she says, like that is the craziest idea ever. ‘It’s at least two hours away.’

  Dad sighs. The car is broken. We have no petrol. We can’t get a taxi. We’re stuck.

  And then Ellie looks at Dad. Freshly cleaned but broken. Freshly shaved but helpless.

  And she says, ‘Why don’t you just borrow my car?’

  And Dad goes, ‘But you said you haven’t driven in years?’

  And Ellie goes, ‘I said I hadn’t driven, not that I didn’t keep my car. Of course I kept my car!’

  And Dad goes, ‘But why did you keep it?’

  And Ellie says, ‘Because, darling, you don’t just get rid of a Rolls-Royce!’

  * * *

  This was the fanciest, sleekest, shiniest, most ridiculous and most purple car in the world.

  It was so wide in the back you could slide around every time you turned a corner. I felt like we were all supposed to be wearing suits and caps or something. I felt like Meghan Markle or someone who’d won a competition on the radio.

  This was the car that Ellie and her husband had driven, visiting their friends all over the country together. It obviously meant the world to her. Each week a member of her staff kept it ‘polished and ticking over’. I couldn’t believe she was lending it to us.

  ‘Yes, well, needs must,’ Ellie says, preparing to wave us off. ‘Better that your grandmother isn’t alone. Just make sure you return it!’

  ‘Thank you for letting us stay,’ I say, and she leans over to ruffle my hair. I don’t know why grown-ups do that, but I guess you have to let them.

  And then Teddy does the most brilliant thing.

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a present for Ellie.

  ‘What’s this?’ she says, taking it.

  And she’s still staring at it as we drive away, polishing it on her cuff and holding this Royal Air Force badge close, and smiling.

  ‘Just like you would do, Stella,’ says Teddy, beaming at me.

  And I squeeze his hand and tell him how proud I am to be his big sister.

  ‘Woooooooooo!’ yells Mum from the front seat. ‘Okay, let me drive now.’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ laughs Dad. ‘If this car gets so much as a scratch, we’ll have to sell our house to pay for it.’

  ‘Come on!’ says Mum. ‘We’ll get there so much faster with me behind the wheel!’

  Dad laughs again. For a second I wonder what life was like for Mum and Dad when me and Teddy weren’t here. Were they always making jokes and messing about?

  ‘Dad, what did you play as a kid?’ I ask.

  ‘What do you mean, Stels?’ he says.

  ‘Did you play Ding Dong Ditch?’ I ask, thinking of Uncle Tony.

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘Because I was not born in 1903. No, we played… Street Fighter 2. And Sonic the Hedgehog.’

  ‘Sounds like you were on your screens a bit too much,’ I say. ‘Doesn’t sound healthy.’

  ‘We played football too. And sure, I guess we must have played Ding Dong Ditch.’

  ‘Ding Dong Ditch?’ says Mum. ‘That’s where you knock on people’s doors and run off before they answer them? We used to call that Knock Down Ginger. That’s naughty! I can’t imagine you doing that!’

  ‘Well, I did actually,’ says Dad. ‘And it was fun. I know it’s naughty, but gosh, the adrenaline! Am I right, Stels?’

  He looks at me in the rear-view mirror.

  ‘Stella?’

  I shrug at him.

  ‘Wait – you’ve never played Ding Dong Ditch?’

  * * *

  Dad has found a small street in a little village just off the main road.

  I look over the field next to it and I can see the rise of the motorway. It’s completely empty. If we got on that road for just a few miles, we’d be able to cut out so much of the journey. A quick left after that and we’d be heading straight for Grandma’s house. But I guess rules are rules.

  We are crouching behind the Rolls-Royce as Dad gives us his team talk.

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘So again, what we’re about to do is naughty. But every kid needs to do it at least once in their life and I’m sad to say we have been failing you as parents if we have deprived you of this experience.’

  ‘Things get busy,’ I say, very understandingly.

  ‘Well, we’re not busy now,’ says Dad. ‘We’re going to do one each. I’ll take house number one. Stella, you take house number three. Mum and Teddy, you go for house number five.’

  ‘And what do we do?’ I ask because I like to get a real sense of the rules before I play a game. I read the rules of Scrabble five times before I committed to my first go.

  ‘We walk up, we knock on the door – and then we run off!’

  I can’t believe Dad is about to do this. And, what’s more, I can’t believe he’s about to do this with me. He’d never have done something like this in Mousehole.

  ‘So, are we ready?’

  We nod, and Mum has to put her hand over her mouth to stop laughing, and we each walk up the path of a different house.

  Dad looks serious, and cracks his knuckles and wiggles his fingers, like this requires real skill and aptitude (word of the month in May).

  I have started to tremble because this is not like me at all. This is the opposite of being a responsible member of society. I can’t seem to walk normally. My back is all stiff and I can’t remember how to bend my knees. But I am so excited.

  Mum can’t stop giggling.

  We each reach a separate door and raise the doorknockers before looking at each other, ready to slam them down and run.

  But then a middle-aged man in a cardigan opens the door of the house Mum’s at.

  ‘Oh, HELLO!’ yells Mum, surprised, which make
s the man jump, and then she bursts out laughing in shock.

  ‘Now, Stella!’ yells Dad and he KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCKS his door, so I do the same.

  BANG BANG BANG!

  ‘Aaaargh!’ screams Mum, still laughing. ‘Bye!’

  Now we’re all running for the car, and I’m starting to laugh with relief, but Dad trips over and goes head first into a bush because that just seems to be his life now.

  As he gets up, the door of his house opens and he stands up and waves at them.

  ‘I’m just looking at this lovely bush!’ he shouts, dusting mud off his shoulders.

  ‘Ruuun!’ yells Mum, and Dad laughs as he runs, and he shouts, ‘Start the car!’

  Dad’s letting Mum drive?!

  She leaps into the driver’s seat and starts trying to crank the weird old gearstick thing, as I do Teddy’s seatbelt. Dad dives in through the window.

  The tyres spin as Mum hits the gas and we all laugh as the people outside their houses scratch their heads and wonder who on earth this weird family is, and before we know it Dad is shouting, ‘No!’ as Mum makes a sharp turn and we bounce up on to the motorway that no one’s allowed to use.

  Mum cranks up the music on the radio and we zoom down the middle lane of the empty motorway in a purple Rolls-Royce which has old-fashioned dials and no screens so I can see clear as day that we’re going a hundred miles an hour and now all you can hear is us cheering.

  * * *

  ‘Well, here we are then,’ says Mum, who seems to have got quite good at driving a posh car like this. ‘Rendlesham. I bet everyone is ready to stretch their legs, eh?’

  I don’t know why, but I feel nervous. Well, I do know why. I want this to go well for Dad. And so does Mum because she’s holding his hand. I am sure things become very complicated when you’re a grown-up, especially when you can’t just use an emoji to explain how you feel.