Justtin

Justtin-by Steve Newhouse
Part One
Chapter One-The End
All the best tales start at the beginning, and this is no exception.
Although it must be said, the best tails belong to animals, and I think, personally, that the animals prefer it that way, and who am I to argue. But to help us with this tale, we must start at the end.
The end of the washing machine, the end of the fridge, the old television and the old wireless radio, and the whole ‘old thing’ in general, ( because we learned to move on,) but more importantly, the end of the Apple Mac.
For it was, with these ageing machines, that dad Trotter, with or without the help of his amazingly clumsy son Barry, had somehow managed to build the first mega-droid class 1.
They didn’t bother giving it a name, thinking it wouldn’t last, and not wanting to get too attached. This sorry robot was the prototype for the now popular class 6.
The first five attempts had all met with distasteful destruction, and dad didn’t want to talk about it.
But this time, it was right.
Apparently.
This time, everything was A-OK. Top notch. Tickety boo. Top sausage. Apex
Chipolata. Hot dog, even.
Apparently.
But as you can see, there is still a need to go back to those early days. Mostly, to get away from the food references, and try to establish the plot.
***
It was the mid to late 70’s, and a 10 year old Barry was rushing home from pretending to be at school, as always, to help his father in the garage, which was attached to the side of their home, in the sunny hamlet of Romford, which is attached to the east side of London.
Barry was short for his age, but well built. He had bright ginger hair, which was always cropped, to keep down his school’s head lice problem, and always flat on one side, due to the fact that Barry could only sleep properly on one side, having a nasal disorder which was being looked into. Much to Barry’s disgust. Barry was a likeable lad, who would part with the time of day for anybody, and he adored sweets. But then, show me a ten-year-old that didn’t like sweets and I will show you a liar.
Barry was still rushing. He’d done this a thousand times before, and usually with the same result.
He rushed up the road, he rushed up the drive and he rushed towards the house.
CRASH!!! He went through the front door. CRASH!!! He went through into the kitchen. CRASH!!! He went through to the garden. “ OUCH!!!” He yelled, as he banged his elbow on the doorframe. Barry’s instant lack of concentration and sense of direction saw him crashing head first into the two dustbins, which his mum had just deposited lunchtime’s leftovers.
Dazed and confused, Barry sat up rubbing his knee, smelling of fish heads, mash and ketchup.
“ Why me?” he mumbled as he got up, and brushing himself down, he remembered why he was there. So nursing his bloody knee, he limped to the garage to find his dad.
“ Hi dad,” said Barry, as he entered the garage.
“ Hello lad,” said dad. “ What happened this time? You look a right bloody mess, and I’m really sorry to have to say it, but you stink.” “ It’s not my fault,” said the boy. “ Mum moved the bins again.” Mum had a habit of doing this, so to Barry it seemed a good enough excuse, and the obvious fish tail wedged in his nose didn’t need that much explaining, surely? “ Well that’s alright then,” said Barry’s father, not really listening. “ Pass me that screwdriver. We’re almost finished.”
“ Really? That was quick.” “ That’s what she said last night,” said dad, reminiscing. “ What?”
“ Never mind that, lad. Well, what do you think?” They both stood back to view their handiwork, well, dad’s handiwork really. Barry being the clumsy sort, was more of a spectator, but dad would never let him think that. A screwdriver here, a hammer there. But when it came to the technical stuff, Barry was usually at school, playing footy, or playing truant. It was all the same to Barry. He’d already made up his mind to follow in his father’s footsteps, so school seemed like a waste of time. Not that Barry hadn’t taken it all in. In his head, he was a lot smarter than dad had taken him for. He knew just as much about the robot as dad did, but he didn’t want his dad to look a fool, so he kept quiet. Well, that’s the way Barry saw it. Being a ten-year-old who knew everything was such a burden. Then again, there were things he knew, and there were things he didn’t. He just wasn’t sure whether he should let his defences down, and admit he was wrong, occasionally, or just muddle through the day.
Certain things were about to happen in Barry’s life, that would change his life forever. It hadn’t occurred to Barry before, but he had no idea what his father did for a living, so he asked.
“ Dad.” “ Yes son.” “ Where do you work?” “ I can’t tell you,” “ Why not?”
“ Coz if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you. Hush hush, and all that.”
He might have been confused, but that was good enough for Barry, coz it was good enough for his dad.
Barry’s father, dad, always seemed to be at home these days. There was the odd occasion that dad disappeared for a few days, but he usually turned up again, and nearly always in time for tea. Nothing sinister in disappearing for a few days, you would think, but you’d be wrong wouldn’t you. Of course you would. Barry’s father was, or in fact is, a tall muscular man, very much like Pierce Brosnan, during his James Bond era. He had well groomed hair and a six pack to die for. Unlike myself, I have a party seven, bought and paid for. Dad had worked for the Government in Whitehall since he left school.
Originally, a communications officer, he worked his shift of two days, two nights and four days off, which proves to even the dumbest of animals, there are eight days in a week.
As the years went on, he became more and more curious. Here he was, collecting information from one part of the world, and passing it on to another part, and not knowing much else about what happened in between. So one fine day, dad decided he wanted to know where these messages were coming from, or who? And where they were going, and to who?
He asked his superiors, but they told him, ‘All you need to know is, that you are doing your country a great service’. But that wasn’t good enough. He decided to investigate for himself. One particular message came in, going to an address in North London. Dad memorised the address, and the message, and set off to deliver it himself. It was only a short ride on the underground, and twenty minutes after leaving his office one lunchtime, he arrived at the address he had memorised.
In front of him was a wooden door, which had been painted bright red. He knocked, and after what seemed an eternity, the door finally creaked open to reveal a small old man, dressed in a butler’s outfit. He was bent double and staring at his shoes. “ Hello,” said dad. “ My name is Trotter. I’m from Whitehall. I have a message for a Mr. William’s.”
There was no answer. Maybe he can’t see me, thought dad, so he sat on the doorstep to look up into the butler’s eyes.
“ Ah, there you are,” said the old man. “ What do you want? I haven’t got all day you know.”
“I have a message for Mr. Williams.” “ William has a massage. What? At this hour? He doesn’t usually do that sort of thing until after I’ve gone to bed. Thinks I don’t know.” “ No. I have a message for…Look, is he in?” “ What? You’ll have to speak up.” This was harder than dad had expected. Maybe that’s why they use machines, he thought. “ Is Mr. Williams here?” dad asked, raising his voice. “ Who’s there?” asked a man in the background. “ Somebody offering a massage, sir,” said the old man. How come he could hear him? thought dad. “ A bit early, isn’t it? Oh well, they better come in. The library is free. Wait for me there.”
The old butler stood to one side, and let dad make his entrance. The old man closed the door and lead dad to the library. “ Wait in there, sir. He won’t be long. He’s getting changed.” “ What for?” dad asked. “ It’s better with no clothes on, trust me.” Dad was wondering if he’d done the right thing. How difficult could it be to deliver a simple message?
He paced the room and tried to find something interesting to look at, but this was a library, and dad wasn’t particularly a book person, so he decided to take a seat and polish his shoes with a handkerchief that he pulled from his inside pocket. A few minutes had passed, when a stout chap came in the room, closing the door behind him. Dad stood up quickly, remembering his manners and looked at the figure in front of him. The fellow was dressed in an ill fitting, silk dressing gown, and had afghan carpet slippers on his feet. “ Now, what’s this all about? I didn’t ask for a massage.” “ That’s a stroke of luck,” said dad. “ I’m not here to give you one.” “ Well, out with it man. Why are you here? And hurry up. I haven’t got all day.”
He walks around in his dressing gown, and he hasn’t got all day, thought dad. “ I have a message, from Whitehall.”
“ For me?” the man said, looking a little surprised. “ Yes.” “ Well, what is it then?” “ Oh, right. The shipment will be ready on Sunday.” “ Is that it?” “ Afraid so,” said dad. “ Are you sure?” “ Certain,” said dad. “Oh well, thanks for coming.”
“ No problem,” said dad, thinking how easy it had been, and wondering why there was all this need for machines.
“ Before you go, can I ask you something?” “ Of course,” said dad. “ Can you just do my back for me?”
***
When he returned to his office, he was met by a glum looking individual, who pulled him to one side.
“ Ah, Trotter. Glad to see you made it back in one piece. Satisfied the old curiosity, have we?” Dad looked surprised, but didn’t understand. “ Only, that message you’ve just delivered,” continued the glum one, “ has just been handed to the wrong people. A simple mistake to make, but nevertheless, we, that is, the powers that be, want it back. And seeing as you know where it is, we, that is, the powers that be, have decided that you should go and retrieve it.” “ What, on my own?” said dad, in utter amazement. “ Well, old chap. You were curious enough to take it.” “ But, I’ll need help, surely?” “ Ah, help is it? Well, all I can say is, that as much as we like you, and as much as we want to help, I’m afraid you’re on your own. All you have to know are two things. Firstly, if you get through this in one piece, we, that is, the powers that be, may have other work for you, almost definitely in the same field.” “ Sounds good to me. I’m interested already. What’s the second?” “ If you screw up, you’re dead.”
“ Can I think about it?” “ Too late. You’re train leaves Westminster in less than ten minutes. Be on it.” And on it he was. “ Oh bollocks!” he said under his breath, as he sat on the train. He got off at the same stop as he had before, and made his way to the same house. Here we go again, he thought, as he knocked on the door. This time, there was no answer, at all. Now what do I do? He thought. He looked up and down the road. Nothing there. I wonder if there’s a back way, he thought. He walked along the road a little, and found what he was looking for. A small alleyway leading down the side of the buildings, with access to the rear of the properties. Probably here for the dustbin men, thought dad. He made his way along the alley to where he thought the William’s place was. In front of him was a tall red brick wall, with a gate that was almost off it’s hinges. Far too easy, he thought. He pushed his way through the gate and stood in a large, well kept garden. He looked toward the house. No sign of life, so here goes he thought. Dad trod carefully on the immaculate lawn and reached the house with no problems at all. As he faced the back of the house, there was a set of stairs going up on the right. At the top of the stairs was a door. To the left of the stairs was a small window, leading to a basement room, but the window looked shut, so the obvious choice was the door. He climbed the stairs and had a look through a window into a small kitchen. The place looked deserted, so dad tried the door handle. And sure enough, the door opened, and in he went. It had occurred to dad, that he had no idea what he was looking for. He moved through the kitchen, and stopped at the door on the other side. He listened for any sign of movement, but nothing was apparent. Gently, he pushed open the kitchen door and ventured into the hall. He decided to go to the library, where his earlier meeting had taken place. Maybe something was there. He didn’t know what, but it made sense, didn’t it? The library door was open slightly and dad eased inside, but again found nothing, except a faint smoky atmosphere. Somebody smokes too much, he thought.In the centre of the room was a desk, and it drew dad like a magnet. He still didn’t have a clue what he was looking for, but on the corner of the desk was a note pad. Dad picked it up, and in the light he could make out the words Shipment, Sunday scratched in the surface. “ That’s it,” he whispered to himself tearing off the page, and then the few underneath to hide the imprint. He made his exit, exactly the same way he had come in. I would make a good burglar, he thought to himself, as he made his way back to his office, whistling a merry tune.
***
“ Did he pass the test?” “ Yes,” said the glum one, “ but it should have been harder.” “ All in good time. We like this one. We, that is, the powers that be, believe he has what it takes to become a top agent.” “ Still think the test should have been harder.”
“ Oh, do shut up. You miserable bastard.”
And that’s how it happened. Honest. It’s so easy, anyone could do it. But if Barry knew, then it would have explained a lot. The occasional disappearing dad, the time his mum went missing, and dad had to find lots and lots of money to pay for her return fare. A king’s ransom, or something similar dad called it. Barry never did find out where she went. She didn’t want to talk about it. A strong woman, that Harriet Trotter. Barry didn’t want to pry, so he left it alone. Well alone. But there were also the times when strange guests would arrive, unannounced, wearing dark glasses and long over coats, even in summer, which must have looked bloody obvious, and they always wore trilby hats. Why trilbies? Maybe the fedora shop had sold out. I guess we’ll never know. But the 70’s were a bit weird anyway. The glamour. The fashions. The music. Ah! The music. Remember Showaddywaddy, T.Rex or the Rubbettes. Great times. ( Oh shit! Showing my age.) I digress. There were also the black cars, with tinted windows, parked on every street corner, watching every move. But Barry never really took much notice. He was too busy growing up, playing on his roller skates, or helping his dad in the garage. Barry would have loved to have played on the swings, like normal kids. But an accident involving a swing, a doughnut and a pop bottle finally convinced Barry’s mum and dad that playgrounds were not for the Barry Trotter’s of the World, so Barry’s World was slightly different to most other kids. It was a World wrapped up in cotton wool, and Barry hated it. All Barry ever wanted to be, was normal. Why couldn’t he stick gum in girl’s hair like other kids? Mum had explained, that if that was what he wanted to do, then it was ok by her, but she also reminded him, that eventually he would come off worse, for whatever reason, and that she wasn’t always going to be there to clear up the mess, or ultimately, wipe away his tears. And a good little Barry did as he was told. For now.
***
The school summer holidays were approaching fast, and Barry couldn’t wait. The mega-droid class 1 had been completed, and was ready for it’s first real test. But dad had insisted on waiting until the holidays had started, and hoping that Barry was clumsy free, so that they could both dedicate as much time to the robot as possible.
***
It was the last day of term, and Barry decided to go to school, just so he could enjoy being sent home. He sat and yawned his way through all of his lessons, and when he wasn’t yawning, he was drumming his fingers on his desk, to an imaginary tune. A bit like a postman’s whistle. Tuneless. When the school bell rang at the end of the final lesson, Barry was so impatient, he leapt from his chair to make a quick getaway, only to slam his knee into the underneath of his desk, which lifted off the ground and came straight back down on to Barry’s foot, with an almighty crack.
“ OUCH!!!!” screamed Barry, milliseconds before he passed out.
***
“ It’s only a small break to the metatarsal, but he has a cast on it, to support the bone while it heals,” said the doctor. “ A few weeks and he should be as right as rain. All he has to remember, is to keep the weight off his foot. To start with, two days bed rest and then ease him up gently. He should be able to walk on it, with the aid of crutches, I may add, in about a week.”
“ But mum,” whinged Barry, “ what about the robot?” “ You heard the doctor, Barry. Now shut it.” Barry was taken back by his mother’s quick snap. “ Bugger,” he said in his head, but he always took notice of what she said. Barry’s mum was a tall, skinny woman with a long thin face, short mousy brown hair, and some of the biggest breasts you’ve ever seen. If she had ever taken a career on the stage, it would have been balancing. I can see it all now.
“ Ladies and Gentlemen, presenting the incredible, Trying to stand up in one go woman, Mrs. Harriet Trotter.” It has a certain something. Not quite sure what. But it has something. By coincidence, Harriet also worked in Whitehall, which incredibly, is how she met dad. She was the superior who had told him what a great job he was doing for his country. They didn’t even like each other to start with, but through mutual friends, they got to know each other better, and it wasn’t long before they became an item, and were at it, hammer and tongs, every given opportunity. But after a year, they got married, and less than a year after that, Barry came along, and that, as they say, was that. The sex stopped, almost as quickly as it had started. Although, at this point, I must add, that it is a well-documented fact, that if you don’t want a physical relationship with someone, then the best thing to do, is marry them. Marriage. The ultimate passion killer. Who’d of thought it. Barry’s mum had thought it. She wasn’t daft. It was all part of her plan. One child, and no more. She’d got Barry, and that was enough. She couldn’t be bothered with all that baby stuff. No, not any more. She was happy, and that’s the way she planned to stay. If dad wanted more, he was just going to have to adopt one. Pure and simple. No messing. The end. Well, that’s what she thought about it all. But then, we don’t always get what we want, do we?
***
It was a long week for Barry. Nearly the full seven days, and he was bored. Some of his schoolmates had been round to see him, mostly to laugh at his clumsiness. Zed Hercules, in particular, had been to see Barry two or three times a day, and would bring him sweets and comics. Barry’s favourite comic was Dandy, and Zed had loads of them. So as far as Barry was concerned, Zed could come as often as he wanted. Zed was a bright lad, with dark bushy shoulder length hair, and was a tall lad for his age, with lean features. He lived with his parents, a few streets away, and had been Barry’s friend since both of them could remember.
But Zed had a secret, and not even Barry knew. But Barry wouldn’t have been bothered, because he had decided that Zed was his best friend, in the whole wide world. And that suited Zed, because he liked the robot. A lot. Zed would spend lots of time in the garage, talking to Barry’s dad, about all manner of different things, secret or otherwise. And dad was pleased to have the company, while Barry rested his foot. A few days later, Barry was up and about, being his usual clumsy self. He’d already managed to tip his bowl of porridge on the cat’s head, but the cat didn’t mind. It had so many lumps on it’s head from previous occasions, that this time it hadn’t hurt, and the cat had got the milk, so it was happy. When Barry had helped his mum to throw away the broken bowl, he limped to the garage to see his dad. He was a little surprised to see Zed already there, polishing the front of the robot. “ Blimey! You’re early. Did you wet your bed?” Barry asked, trying to be funny. “ None of your……er, No!” said Zed, who then hurriedly continued to polish the same bit of metal he was doing before. Barry ignored him. “ Hi dad,”
“ Hello boy,” said dad. “ How’s the foot?” But before Barry could answer, dad went on. “ Today’s the day we test the mega-droid. I’ll need your help.” “ Cool,” said Barry. “ Can I help?” asked Zed. “ You already are,” said Barry. “ That’s the best bit of polishing I’ve seen this morning.” Zed noticed the sarcastic overtones, but being bigger than that, he chose to ignore them.
“ Easy boys. There’s plenty to do yet,” said dad. “ Like what?” Barry asked. “ Well, nothing really. I was just joshing. No, all we have to do is give it some life. You know, power.” “ Ahhhhh!” said the boys in unison, but Barry’s “ah” was drawn out slightly longer. “ All we have to do, is connect this cable here, to that mains box there,” said dad. “ Zed, would you do the honours?” asked dad. Barry’s pang of jealousy didn’t last long, as both boys became embroiled in what they were doing. Zed connected the cable, under dad’s careful instruction, and Barry took over the polishing. At last, the robot was ready. “ Ok,” said dad, “ stand well back. We don’t want any little accidents, do we?” That sounded fair enough to Barry, so he stood well back, dragging Zed back with him. Dad moved over to the main switch on the wall, and without a countdown, or anything else, he threw the switch.
There was an almighty silence, followed by the loudest bang the boys had ever witnessed. Barry rocked on his heel, the other being wrapped in plaster, and not wanting to be involved. Where as, Zed, after picking himself up, ran off, very quickly, leaving a small puddle behind. “ What’s the matter with him?” asked dad. “ He had one of those little accidents you didn’t want,” replied Barry. “ What now, dad?” “ Buggered if I know,” said a fatherly figure. They both stared at the robot. Everything was intact, except the inner circuitry was a bit burnt out, but that was all. “ We’ll start again after lunch,” said dad, not to be put off by a silly little noise. “ Right-O,” said Barry, equally enthusiastic. “ Lunch is ready,” called mum, amazingly coincidentally. “ It’s only salad though, coz we’ve got no electricity. Where’s Zed?” “ He had to leave,” said Barry, with a smirk, but meaning no malice at all. “ Such a nice boy,” she started to say, but the men of the house were too busy making their way to the dining room to take any notice.
***
“I’m going to change the circuit board, and I thought about adding a voice program this time,” said dad, over lunch. Barry dropped his fork, which pinned the cat’s tail to the floor. But yet again, the cat didn’t mind. It was the fourth time this week, and today was only Wednesday. “ That would be brilliant,” Barry said, spitting lettuce everywhere. “ Steady lad,” said dad, wiping lettuce from his lap. “ It could take ages, and unfortunately I have to go away next week, so I will do as much as I can during the rest of this week. I may be gone for more than the usual few days. Also,” he added, “ mum is coming with me this time. We’ve arranged for you to stay with Aunt Betty while we’re gone. Shouldn’t be more than a week.” But Barry had already stopped listening. Oh no! he thought, not batty Betty. How could they do this? So close to getting the robot finished. Just not fair. I hate her cooking. The stupid countryside. Cow crap everywhere. Thoughts were rushing through his head. How could he get out of this? “ Do I have to?” Barry asked, knowing what the answer was going to be. “ Don’t be silly, Barry,” said mum. “ You’ll have a lovely time. You can go and see that Penny, at the farm. You came back full of stories about her last time.” That was exactly the point. They were stories. Barry had such a dull time at Aunt Betty’s, he’d invented lots of things that didn’t actually happen. He’d failed to mention the fact that Penny would ridicule him about his clumsiness, and the trouble it had caused. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up the pretence. Oh well, he thought. If he could get dad to send the robot to Aunt Betty’s, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He’d have something to keep him occupied. He could keep it in the barn, no problem. “ Dad, can you send the robot to Aunt Betty’s?” Barry asked. “ One step ahead of you lad. It’s already sorted.” “ Brilliant,” said Barry, cheering up. “ Ok, I’ll do it.” “ That’s a stroke of luck,” said mum. “ You had no choice.”
***
And then there was Penny. Penny was twelve, eighteen months older than Barry, but ten years wiser. She was every bit a country lass, having worked with her parent’s on the farm since she could walk. Penny was a pretty young thing, with long blond hair and freckles, but you couldn’t call her little. Throwing bails of hay around from the age of four, she had more muscle than an average fish market. Her parents found it hard to keep her in clothes, so they kept her in the barn. She had to make do with her fathers cast off’s because of her size. But she led a happy life and she knew how to enjoy herself. She was fun with a capital F.
She also had a serious side, and a vicious tongue, but the only person to witness this was Barry. She thought he was an idiot, and she had good reason. He cost my folks a fortune, she thought. I won’t forget. I’ll make him pay. Wait until that pillock comes back here. I’ll smash his face in. She was angry over an incident that happened during the last school summer break, and every day she woke up, and threw another dart at a picture of Barry, that she had taken in happier times, before the clumsy one had done his thing. Penny knew that Barry would be back this summer, and she plotted and planned. She was going to get him, good and proper. But in her heart she knew she wouldn’t harm Barry. She wasn’t that kind of girl, and he was just a clumsy prat, she thought. Little did she know that a lot more trouble was on its way. A lot more than even she could have imagined.