The Piper

Diary Entry of George Feltham, 24th April 1791

Cottages are still burning. The Piper’s hold over the children was unmatched this time and I needed all of my skill to return it to its cell. This can never happen again. Now, with The Piper secured, I shall make haste with my captive to Plymouth and seek passage to the New World. No. That would be dangerous. There are children in the New World. I shall go further afield. My destination shall be a place where there are no children and all hopes and dreams have long been dashed. I will take The Piper to the convict settlement of New South Wales.

One

The first surprise is finding Brittany Somers sitting on the top step of the veranda of my house.

The second surprise is that she knows my name.

Well, sort of.

‘Egghead!’ She bounds towards me. ‘You’re home. Cool.’

I shrug, nonchalantly (I hope). ‘Of course, I come here every day after school.’

But what are you doing here, oh fair one?

Brittany checks her watch. ‘You’re a bit late. School finished ages ago.’

‘Ah, yes. Slight problem at the sportsground.’

Brittany’s flawless brow creases into a frown. ‘You don’t play sport.’

‘No. But thanks to Mitchell Hayman and his cronies, I got to play the ‘pick up your homework’ game. You know, windy day, vast expanse of open ground. What better way for the geek-about-town to get fit.’

Brittany slowly shakes her head. ‘Those guys can be real jerks.’

I wave away her concern. ‘Don’t worry, I used an old SAS trick - I begged and screamed.’

‘Oh, Jeremy, you’re so funny!’ She laughs. ‘I hope they weren’t too rough.’

‘What can I say? I toughed it out.’

A thought strikes me. A very relevant thought.

‘How-how do you know where I live?’

‘That was easy.’ She smiles.

‘Really?’ 

‘Yeah. Everyone knows where the mad inventor lives.’

That would be my Great Uncle George.

Brittany points over my shoulder at the family junkyard - prized by antique officiandos and spare part dealers from near and far.

‘And the junkyard? That’s famous, too.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s just too bizarre. Too, too bizarre.’ She pauses; tilts her head to the side and gazes at me, grinning. ‘And then there’s you.’

What about me?

‘It’s like you couldn’t live anywhere else.’

‘Ah. I see.’

It’s very reassuring to be so neatly stereotyped. Not! But, no matter. I have the lovely Brittany on my doorstep and I will not disappoint her (with whatever it is she wants).

‘So, what can I do for you?’

‘We-ll.’ She twists a finger through her long blond hair. She actually seems to be nervous talking to me. ‘I was hoping to take up your offer to use your television studio.’

‘My television studio,’ I croak. ‘Ah, yes. That old thing.’

Point One: I don’t have a television studio.

My Great Uncle George has a laboratory and it contains some technical gizmos that very closely resemble the components of a television studio.

‘You mentioned it at one of our meetings.’

‘Uh huh.’

Point Two: I thought she’d hadn’t even noticed I was at her Save Our School meetings. But, to be fair, they’re not that well-attended.

She smiles. ‘And I really, really appreciate all of your help with trying to stop the school from closing.’

‘Oh, you mean the loudspeaker I’m repairing?’

‘Loudspeaker?’ Brittany frowns again; bites her bottom lip.

I nod behind us - at the family junkyard.

‘The one I found in the yard? Remember? I, er, I mentioned it at a meeting.’

‘Um . . .’

She doesn’t remember. Terrific.

‘Oh yes. The loudspeaker.’ Brittany nods. ‘That could be handy at the rally.’

‘So old man Livingstone’s given you the go-ahead?’

‘I saw Principal Livingstone this afternoon and he said I can hold the first Save Our School rally at lunchtime tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow? That soon? Wow . . . ’

I try to organise an inter-school chess tournament and old man Livingstone knocks that on the head, yet a Year 8 student with an over-active sense of school pride wants to organise the whole school to attend a pointless function (words that would never leave my lips in Brittany’s presence) to stop the Government ordained closure and he says ‘yes’. What the devil is going on?

‘Which is why I need to make a broadcast today. Like, now.’ She steps back and squints at the junkyard. ‘Where’s the studio?’

There’s no backing out now. ‘It’s in the house.’

I unlock the front door and push it open. Letting a stranger into the house is a big no-no with Uncle George. Letting a stranger into his laboratory is an offence punishable by death - or worse. But Uncle George isn’t home.

It’s just Brittany and me.

Alone.

Our secret.

Ooh, lah, lah.

I turn and smile brightly. ‘Come on in. Let’s broadcast you.’