Gina got off the bus first, but as Bonnie and Margot lived only a few streets apart they travelled on together and got off two stops later. They walked the rest of the way home, chatting.
"Are you really sure it was Henry Hulg's face you saw?" Bonnie asked for what must have been the hundredth time. She was having a hard time believing that a genius like Henry Hulg would come to Scarley, of all places. It was a bit like the queen opening a Chicken Cottage in Croydon, or the Pope blessing the local duck pond. It just wasn't done.
"I know what I saw," said Margot. She was starting to find her friend's doubts a little exasperating. Why wouldn't she believe her? "If it wasn't him then it must have been his clone, or his doppelganger, or something."
"But why would he want to come here? There's nothing here. He'd do a product launch in London, or Paris or New York, but not Scarley."
"I guess we'll find that out tomorrow evening," Margot said with a shrug. "But honestly, I don't expect it to be anything really big, like a new phone or anything. They'll probably just give away a ten-percent off voucher for the Hulg 7, or something like that." She hoped they were giving out vouchers because that would certainly come in handy. But in truth she was just as intrigued as her friend was. Something strange was going on here, and she was desperate to know what it was.
When they arrived at Bonnie's house, Mrs Green invited Margot in for supper, but she said she was expected home and so she and Bobbie said their goodbyes, knowing they would see each other soon enough. Margot cut down a side street to Parson's Drive. Walking up the narrow street of maisonettes, she was surprised to see one of Mrs Una Cuthbertson's cats – Pumice from the looks of it — slink across the top of no. 37's fence and jump down into the garden. This was odd as she had never seen one of Mrs Cuthbertson's cats outside before. Honestly, Mrs Cuthbertson's cats were the biggest homebodies around. All they did was sleep all day, and when they weren't sleeping they were eating, and goodness each one of them could put away as much food as a hungry Rottweiler. She would ask Mrs Cuthbertson if Pumice had sneaked out while her back was turned when she went around to her house after dinner. Maybe she had accidentally left a door open, or the cat had slipped through an open window. Cats could be sneaky.
Reaching No. 54, she turned the key in the lock and let herself in. She was greeted by the smell of cooking and the wails of her baby brother in the living room.
"Is that you, Margot?" her mother called from the kitchen and when Margot replied that it wasn't, that she was in fact the friendly local burglar come round to steal the silverware, was told her to stop messing around and to be a dear and change Kelly's nappy.
Margot sighed deeply She hated changing her little brother's nappy because it was always contained a lovely smelly chocolate mousse that didn't smell anything like chocolate mousse, and more often than not it oozed out the sides. It didn't matter what little Kelly ate, the result was always a chocolate mousse. In the living room she found the tot crying because the chocolate mousse had grown cold and uncomfortable. Even Fireman Sam on the TV couldn't quell the tears.
"Oh, you've done a good 'un, haven't you" Margot groaned as she picked her brother up. His nappy felt as if it had got a bowling ball in it. Laying him down on a towel she quickly got to work with the wipes and lotion, and all the while little Kelly grinned and gurgled and kicked his little feet in the air. He liked having a fresh botty. At first Margot had complained about having to change her brother, but her mother had reminded her that one day she might be a mother herself so she'd better get used to it, and when she grumbled at having to powder Kelly's bits and pieces her mother had just laughed and told her it was all part of life so she had better get used to that too.
By the time Kelly was done and she had washed her hands and changed out of her school uniform into jeans and T-shirt, dinner was on the table and Margot was glad to see that it was her favourite: sausages, chips and beans. Kelly was already in his highchair, banging the yellow plastic tray with his spoon, looking forward to tucking into a jar of yellow mush so that he could produce some more chocolate mousse. It was his only job and he was very good at it.
"So, how was your day?" Janice Lacey asked her daughter as they ate. "Looking forward to the school holidays?"
Such had been the excitement about the giveaway, Margot had quite forgotten that tomorrow was the last day of school and the start of the school holidays. Six weeks of doing nothing but sleeping in, going late to bed, watching TV (if she could switch over from Fireman Sam without Kelly kicking up a tantrum) and having fun with her friends. Oh, what bliss.
"Any plans?"
Margot shrugged, which meant no. "So, when's dad coming home?" She saw her mother sigh but pretended she hadn't. "Maybe we can actually go somewhere on holiday this year? On Saturday, Gina's going to Greece for two weeks, and Bonnie's going to visit her dad's relatives in Trinidad at the end of August."
"Margot, you know we can't afford it," said Janice, and then when she saw the look of disappointment on her daughter's face, softened. "Dad's contract has only got a few more weeks to run, but when he comes home we'll look into it, okay? We'll sort something out. I promise."
Margot said that was okay, but she couldn't hide her frustration. All her friends went away to exotic places and did amazing things like lie by the pool all day because it was too hot to do anything else; eat delicious meals that weren't chips and beans and dance to music all night, and maybe even meets some boys. The most exotic place she had ever visited was Scarborough, and even then it had rained every day and she had stepped in a big pile of dog mess.
"So, dad's coming home soon?" she asked hopefully.
"That's what he said." Janice Lacey looked up and smiled brightly across the table. "I'm sure he will be. You know how he hates to disappoint his favourite daughter."
Margot rolled her eyes. "Mum, I'm his only daughter!"
Barry Lacey had been forced to take a contract is Aberdeen, and even though he tried to come home at weekends, sometimes he had just too much work on his plate. He hadn't made it home in over two months now and Margot missed him terribly, but if that's where the work was then who was she to complain? After all the money was putting food on the table, wasn't it?
"I heard there was some sort of excitement in town?" said Janice, scooping yellow mush onto a plastic spoon.
Margot told her mother all about the stage that had been put up in the town square, although she omitted Amber's appearance and all of the drama her mother's unexpected phone call had kicked off. She told her that she had looked under the cover and been told off by one of the workers.
"That was very naughty of you," said her mother, who'd just managed to land the spaceship in Kelly's open mouth. "Who did you see?"
"Henry Hulg," said Margot breathlessly.
"What, the Henry Hulg who's on TV right now?" said her mother.
"Who? What?"
Margot looked at the TV and started when she saw that her mother was right: the pretty lady presenter was interviewing none other than Henry Hulg. They were sitting on a big red sofa and Henry Hulg, who was dressed in his trademark orange shirt and skinny olive green jeans, was laughing at something the woman had said. His neatly trimmed red beard was so perfect she wondered, not for the first time, if it was painted on.
"Well," said Henry, massaging his beard, moving his fingers in little circular motions, "I'll admit it is a strange surname, especially for an Icelander, which should be something like Johnson or Magnusson. When my great-grandfather started his company, making those little novelty tin cans that make a 'moo' sound when you turn them over, you know what I mean?" He waited until the pretty lady presenter had nodded her head before continuing. "He needed a brand name that would stick with in people's minds and as the cans didn't much make as much as a 'moo' sound as go 'huuulg', he chose that. He liked it so much he changed to family name to Hulg too."
"That's very interesting," said the pretty lady presenter, laughing politely. "I'm sure this has been asked before, but you hardly sound Icelandic."
"Ah yes, my accent." For a moment Henry almost looked embarrassed. "It's quite easy really. I spent my childhood in Iceland, but my father knew I needed to broaden my horizons, so he sent me off to the States to further my education, first at Harvard – I was the youngest of my year – and later at MIT where I studied computers. Now I spend half of the year in Iceland and the other half in LA, with the odd week in Paris, Tokyo, or here, in London."
"And we're glad to have you. But what is this surprise you've been teasing us with over the last few weeks?"
"Now, now," he scolded her, playfully wagging a finger. There seemed to be a little flirting going on between Henry Hulg and the lady presenter. "It wouldn't be much of a surprise if I told you now, would it?"
The pretty lady went fishing. "There has been a lot of rumours going around that you're launching the new Hulg 8, with a better camera and a completely new operating system. Is that true?"
"Hmm, hmm," said Henry, moving his head from side to side as he fixed her with a mysterious smile. "I'm sorry to disappoint you because it's not the Hulg 8. What I'm unveiling tomorrow is far more revolutionary than that, but you'll just have to wait like everyone else to find out. All I can say is that it's going to change the world."
"That's quite a boast."
"It certainly is, but once you see what I have in store for you, I'm confident you'll agree."
"And will this 'phone', if I can call it that, change the world for the better?"
The beard nodded. "Oh yes, for the better. Much better."
"Well, I can't wait. If it's as revolutionary as you claim it to be then it must be very special indeed. But why did you choose to launch this —" she hooked her fingers in the air "—'revolutionary' new product in Scarley, of all places? Wouldn't the heart of London have been better? Or even Manchester or Leeds. Surely just about anywhere would be better than Scarley, wouldn't it?"
"Oh yes, it would, but for certain operational purposes that I can't really go into now, we had to launch in Scarley. The reason why will become clear very soon, I assure you. We're launching in Scarley first, as a sort of trial run before we commit to a world-wide launch. Scarley's going to be our little Petri dish, so to speak."
After that the interview went into some digging about Mr Hulg's personal life and his recent engagement to a young woman named Trinny Driscoll, but the young tech entrepreneur was as tight-lipped about his love life as he was about his mysterious new product.
"Margot, didn't you agree to help out Mrs Cuthbertson tonight?" Mrs Lacey asked suddenly.
"What?" said Margot, distractedly.
"Isn't it time you got over to Mrs Cuthberton's house?"
Margot had been so engrossed in watching the interview she hadn't noticed the time. "Oh, my God! I'd completely forgotten!"
"Well, what are you waiting for, young lady, it's already seven. You'd better get moving."
By using her knife and fork more like shovels than cutlery, Margot managed to finish her meal in three uncomfortable swallows. Pudding, if there was any pudding, would have to wait until she got back. She hoped that whatever it was Mrs Cuthbertson wanted her to do, it wouldn't take too long.
"I'll help you clear up before I go," she said as she got up from the table.
"No, no, I can do that, love. Now hurry along. You know how grumpy Mrs Cuthbertson can get if she's kept waiting."
Margot knew all right. Mrs Cuthbertson was all alone in the world (she didn't know if there had ever been a Mr Cutherbertson, but had to assume there hadn't been as there weren't any photos of a man in the house, or of anyone else, for that matter) and every now and then the old dear needed help with chores around the house, like doing the washing up or making the bed or mowing the lawn, and Janice had volunteered her daughter. Margot would have complained and moped and dragged her feet more than she usually did, had it not been for two important things: One, Mrs Cuthbertson paid her for her time, and Two, she liked the dotty old lady and her silly cats.
There was no need for a jacket as the evening was warm, and it was still light as she stole out of the house and walked up the road to Mrs Cuthbertson's house, taking only her old Pin-Phone and house keys with her. Mrs Cuthbertson's house was about as typical a suburban maisonette as could be found in the south-east, what with its pebble-dashed walls, green front gate and sign that said NO HAWKERS AND CANVASSERS. As Margot walked up the front path she could not help but take a moment to admire the immaculately pruned pot plants to either side of her, busy lizzies, clematis, purple basil. Stopping by the door she pressed the door bell and heard a bell chime in the hall. She actually had Mrs Cuthbertson's latch key on her key chain, so she could let herself in and out without disturbing the old lady – Mrs Cuthbertson trusted her that much – but she didn't like to use it unless it was really necessary. She didn't have to wait long for the door to open and a familiar round face – like a Cox's orange pippin apple if it had been smothered in cold cream – to peer out at her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said as she entered, dutifully wiping her feet on the welcome mat.
"Oh, don't worry about that, my dear," cooed the old woman as she stood aside. "Well, don't just stand there. Come in, come in." Mrs Cuthbertson was small and slim but always wore clothes that made Margot think of a fruit cake with legs.
"Mum said there was something urgent you wanted me to do," Margot asked as she put her keys and phone on the little mahogany cabinet beside the front door, which was one of Mrs Cuthbertson's only stipulations. She hated all technology equally and didn't even own an iron or a kettle, although she did watch a little TV every now and then, usually just for the local news. Margot wrinkled her nose as the narrow hallways smelled of lavender and cat pee. Four of the Mrs Cuthbertson's seven cats were already swanning up the hall to greet her, purring, and Margot knew them by name.
"Hi there, Pumpkin," she said, tickling the ginger Tom behind the ears as a black cat curled itself around her legs. "Hey, Bracken, it's good to see you. And you too, Marmalade." The tortoiseshell, as always, kept his distance, eyeing her warily. Meanwhile a grey longhair had sat on the bottom stair and was licking a private spot. "You'll have to excuse me if I don't say hi to you, Brandy." It was then that she remembered spotting Pumice slinking over the neighbour's fence. "Is Pumice back yet, Mrs Cuthbertson?"
When Margot told her what she had seen, Mrs Cuthbertson shook her head, looking puzzled. "I think you must be mistaken," she said. "Pumice really is the most dreadful house cat, and I'm sure he hasn't put so much as a claw outside for days, if not weeks. Grass gives him a rash, you know."
Margot shrugged. Maybe she had seen another cat that looked just like Pumice, but she could have sworn it was him.
"Now, come with me quickly," said the old woman as she bustled Margot into the living room. "My guests will be here very soon and I need you to mess up the house for me."
"I'm sorry?" said Margot, wondering if she had heard the old lady correctly. "Surely you mean, 'clean up', don't you?"
"No, no, mess up," Mrs Cutherberston said matter-of-factly. "My friends cannot abide any form of tidiness or cleanliness. They say it's... well, it doesn't really matter what they say, but we have to be quick because they will be here soon, and I don't want you around when they arrive."
Margot felt a little offended. Wasn't she good enough for Mrs Cuthbertson's guests, whoever they might be? But then she thought it was probably for the best if they had such an aversion to soap. She shrugged her shoulders and decided to just get on with the job, as daft as it sounded. What rational person preferred dirty and messy to clean and tidy?
"Okay, whatever you want."
"Excellent," said Mrs Cuthbertson, clapping her tiny hands together. "Come with me."
Mrs Cutherbertson's living room looked exactly how Margot imagined all old peoples' living rooms must look, what with its chintz and doilies, oriental rugs and shelves crowded with porcelain and crystal ornaments. All the furniture was made of the same dark wood and there were potted plants everywhere. A crystal chandelier hung down from the centre of the ceiling as if they were in a grand manor house, not a terraced house.
"Right, so where do you want me to start?"
"Drag out that trunk there."
"What trunk?" asked Margot, glancing about the living room and not seeing a trunk anywhere.
Mrs Cuthbertson pointed. "Under the table."
Sure enough, Margot found a large wooden trunk shoved underneath the table, and it looked just the sort of trunk a pirate would use to keep his plunder in. Grabbing the large brass handle on the side she pulled – and the trunk didn't move as much as a millimetre.
"It's heavy."
"Yes, I know, but I'm sure it'll move if you put your back into it and gave it a little wiggle. Now heave, girl! Heave!"
Margot heaved and wiggled and Mrs Cuthbertson was right, the trunk came out an inch at a time. By the time she had managed to drag the trunk into the middle of the room she was out of breath and sweating.
"Now, open it up."
Margot saw that the old lady was holding a brass key out to her and wondered what could be in the trunk to be so valuable. She was soon to find out. Unlocking the trunk she threw back the lid and whistled in amazement. Her idea of a pirate's plunder wasn't far off the mark as the trunk was full of coins and knives and fork, spoons and trinkets and even cups, and they were all made of...
"Silver," said Mrs Cuthbertson with a nod of her head. "Yes, yes, it's all silver."
"There must be a small fortune here," said Margot, staring at the treasure with eyes that felt at least as large as, if not larger, than one of the silver dishes inside the trunk.
Mrs Cuthbertson shook her head. "Honestly, I have no idea what it's all worth, and I don't care because I have no intention of selling any of it."
"Why not?" asked Margot, only to remember that the old woman had no family to leave them too. She decided it was none of her business. "Okay, so what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to gather up all the silver and scatter it around the house. Put it in the corners of the rooms, up the sides of the stairs; on the door lintels as well as on the tops of the tables and chests of drawers and – and, well, just about everywhere, really."
"On the floor?"
"Yes, but only the coins. I wouldn't want anyone tripping up now, would I?"
"But....why?" The question had escaped Margot's lips before she could stop herself, and immediately regretted it. It was not her place to question the motives of a dotty old lady. "Forget it," she said, giving the old woman a smile that said she would do as asked, even if it was barmy.
For the next hour Margot scattered silver. She threw the silver coins across the carpet and over the tops of tables, chests and cabinets. She placed spoons and forks on the stairs and even on the toilet seat; only stopping short of going into the bedrooms (which she had never been in anyway) because Mrs Cuthbertson had told her that none of her guests would be staying the night. The larger silvers pieces, like the cups, jugs and even a tureen, were placed in the corners of the rooms, and all the while the cats milled around and got under her feet and begged for treats and belly rubs, but they went wanting because Margot didn't have time.
As she dropped the last coin into a pot plant (why not?), Margot once again wondered who Mrs Cuthbertson's guests could be to require such special treatment, and hoped that she might get a glimpse of them before she left, only that didn't seem likely as Mrs Cuthbertson seemed keen to hurry her along. At last the job was done to Mrs Cuthbertson's satisfaction. She thanked Margot with a twenty-pound note from her large black leather purse, which Margot was reluctant to take, but the old woman insisted and so she was bidden farewell in a rather curt manner, and told to see herself out.
Margot was surprised to find that it was growing dark outside (had she really been in Mrs Cuthbertson's house that long?), and as she walked the short distance home she thought about making herself a cup of hot chocolate and settling down for a night of TV before bed. Only one more day of school to go before the holiday, and what with the big reveal in the town square to look forward to as well as the crinkly new twenty-pound note in her pocket, life was looking good.
As she walked up the path to her front door, Margot reached into her jeans pocket for her latch keys, only to — uh oh — find it empty. She glanced back, realising she had left both her keys and mobile phone on the cabinet at Mrs Cuthbertson's house. Oh well, it wouldn't take her a minute to walk back and retrieve them. She didn't think the old lady would mind, if she was quick. Turning around she retraced her steps, singing a song that she'd heard on the radio that morning, only to stop at the gate. Through a small gap in the Mrs Cuthbertson's chintz curtains she could see figures moving to and fro in the living room that were too large and nimble to be the old lady. That was quick, she thought. They must have arrived the second after I left, but I didn't see anyone coming up the road. For a moment she considered going home and calling around in the morning to collect her things, only the thought of missing a text from Bonnie or Gina was too much to bear. No, she would get her key and phone now. She was sure Mrs Cuthbertson would understand.
Walking up the path, she was about to ring the door bell when she saw that the front door was open. Very unusual. With the tips of her fingers she pushed the door open a few inches and crept into the hall. There, right in front of her, was the cabinet with her phone and keys on it. All it would take was two or three steps and she'd have them, and then she'd be able to make her escape. Feeling like a thief she crept up to the cabinet, fearing that at any moment the living room door would fly open and she'd be caught in the act. Stuffing the keys into her pocket she was reaching for her phone when she heard raised voices coming from the living room.
People?
And several people from the sound of it. They did not sound at all like old fogies, and they sounded unhappy about something. In fact they sounded downright angry.
Margot knew she should leave — Mrs Cuthbertson had been very specific about her not meeting her guests — but if the old woman was in trouble...? Maybe she owed them money, or was secretly an international art thief on the run... or even a mob boss on the lam.
Now you're being silly, Margot, she scolded herself. Get your phone and go, before you get yourself into trouble.
Ignoring her own good advice, she crept closer to the living room door which, just like the front door, was open a crack, and turning her head towards the door, listened. Someone was pacing about in boots, talking angrily in a strange-sounding language and Mrs Cuthbertson replied in the same language, although calmly. And then someone said "shush" and everything went quiet.
The hairs on the back of Margot's neck prickled.
The door flew open and a hand grabbed Margot's by the wrist. She just had time to see that the hand was encased in a red gauntlet with thick red hair poking out of the end before there was a bright flash and everything flew into the air, like thrown confetti.
* * *
Thank you for reading these three sample chapters. If you want to read the complete book, you can find it in the Amazon Kindle store - Consumers, Book One: The Big Launch by P.T. Mayes