Man-Young had made himself comfortable on the sofa
watching Richard and Judy, he couldn’t make head nor tail of what
they were saying but watched with excitement while dunking some
Hobnobs into a cup of tea and enjoying the life of a housewife.
Derek didn’t crave a biscuit right now, he was more concerned
with the current state of his affairs. He might have his job, but
where was his family? He hadn’t a clue how to wriggle himself out
of this one. There was no point letting Honey cool down, it was
obvious she was going to be traumatized for life. Maybe she
thought it was all part of his new found sexual habits when she had found them both lying in bed wearing prison jumpsuits?
Stuck between a rock and a hard place, thought Derek. How
ironic.
His Korean friend was rolling about laughing at the
Teletubbies now. It was likely he had never seen a television
before after a life of seriously hard labour.
“Man-Young, don’t you miss your family?” Derek asked
curiously.
Between laughing and dunking, it was hard to get any sense
out of him.
“Wife big like Sumo, like Teletubbie, any more hob hobs?”
Derek sighed, at least he had company for a while. He decided
to head upstairs and log onto the internet to see if anyone else had ever been abducted from their bed by aliens and zoomed across the
world and then found by their wife in a compromising position.
He searched for a while but only found the same links pointing
to the National Enquirer so that didn’t help. There were quite a few UFO hunters out there but, with no grainy images of green aliens
flying hubcaps, he had nothing to hand over as evidence. He
believed in alien lifeforms but he still couldn’t understand why,
even now with silly sized megapixel cameras, no one could
manage to get a good shot of them!
He had pondered on divine intervention but it was more like
divine molestation. He couldn’t see the reasoning as to why he had ended up in these places. Camel dung, musk and lumps of rock
were hard to classify as signs.
Even so, Derek felt a little special. He had dreamed of far off
galaxies and fabulous new worlds since he was a small boy and,
like everyone else, had pondered on the meaning of life – except
maybe for his Korean friend who was dreaming of chocolate
biscuits and Cash in Your Attic by now.
Derek walked into his observatory. He had missed spending
time in his special den for the past couple of weeks; every man
needed a shed, if only to get lost in their own thoughts for a while.
Blaming a nagging wife, noisy kids or work stress was only really
an excuse to escape for a short while.
He eyed all his instruments and gazed at his star maps. Maybe
out there somewhere was a planet without tin cars, fat necked
bosses or pensions, just a simple place to park a shed and dream.
Gloria was standing rigid with her ear to the toilet door,
“Honey dear, pull yourself together, it’s no use locking yourself in there! I told you he was no good, nothing good has ever come of
him.”
She could hear sobs and the blowing of a nose into tissue. The
twins had gone into hiding in the spare room without a clue about
what was going on. Jack, who was too young to have a clue
anyway, was busy running around with his favourite crocodile.
“Grrrrrr.”
Honey was in the land of bewilderment and it wasn’t a very
nice place to be. She was quietly blaming herself for all of Derek’s new found sexual habits. She looked at herself in the mirror, she
was quite pretty with a shock of blonde hair quite suited to her
name, a small button nose and full lips but even so she looked
horrendous right now, like a tap that wouldn’t stop running.
“You’re better off here, dear, with me, you can stay as long as
you like. It will be nice to have my grandchildren around,” she
called back.
There was no reply. Honey loved her mother but, like Derek,
she was in the wrong habitat and it was only temporary.
Gloria gave up. She would be running out of Andrex quite
soon. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me, I’ll make you a cup of
tea.”
Tea appeared to solve all of the world’s ills as, after a while,
Honey gently prised the door open and walked down the stairs to
claim it.
Her mother took hold of her as she came into the kitchen and
plonked her down onto the chair.
Honey was first to speak, “Mother, I don’t understand it, who
was that man and did you see what they were wearing?”
“Perverts,” cried her mother.
“No, no, listen to me. Don’t you think it’s odd that he ended up
in a white sheet drinking water from a spout or was lusted after by women or dressed like a convict in bed with another man?”
Gloria had made her mind up about Derek from the first
moment she met him. It would take men in black with a shiny pen
to erase the hatred she had built up for him over the years.
“He was always strange, I never liked the look of him, his eyes
are too close, shifty.”
Honey slammed her hand on the table to be heard, “Enough,
Mother! I am well aware of your feelings for him, you’ve told me
enough times …”
“All of them true dear; Brian was the man for you, a good
dependable solid man.”
“Shut up about Brian and let me speak!” shouted Honey.
“Derek is predictable, I know where I am with him, it’s one of the reasons why I love him.”
Gloria gritted her teeth, Derek and love didn’t come in the
same parcel. “Love? What do you know about love, you need a
good strong man with a backbone, not some bloody nerd with a
telescope!”
Honey started crying again. “Mother, I think there’s something
wrong with Derek …”
“You don’t say!”
“I think he’s had some sort of nervous breakdown, all of these
things I’ve seen must have been caused by stress. I’ve been going
on at him over a conservatory, he obviously doesn’t know what he
is doing, I need to go back and sort it all out.”
Gloria was taken aback by the thought. “You will do no such
thing dear, I don’t want you going round and witnessing any more
of his shenanigans, the dirty little man.”
“But I need to see him! I need to find out what’s wrong with
him!”
Gloria could see no way out of this, she was going to have to
relent just to save her daughter. “Honey, listen to me, if it’s what you say it is then I will go round and find out for you.”
It was like unleashing a pitbull on a kitten, thought Honey.
“You can’t go round; you’ll only make it worse. Lord knows what
he will do next.”
Placing a comforting hand on her daughter’s arm, Gloria said,
“If you love him then so be it, I’m not going to stand in your way.
I’ll go round and talk sensibly with Derek, tell him you miss him
and see if he needs some professional help.”
If Vlad the Impaler was a Samaritan he would look just like
Gloria right now.
Gloria had made her mind up. “Give him a day to think about
his actions, and then after he comes back from work, I will smooth things over for you.”
Honey was even more confused than before; she never thought
her mother had it in her. Maybe the Cold War was finally over
after all.
Of course, Gloria could never be as forgiving as that. She took
a sip of her tea, looked back over to her daughter to see the tears had stopped and thought about how all the pieces were falling into place.
Derek had spent the evening staring at the stars, it was a
beautifully clear night and he could make out quite a few of his
favourites at this time of year. He dreamed of reaching out and
touching them all in their twinkly glory and wondered what would
happen to them once he was gone from this world.
He was busy adjusting his Celestron X35 to get a better focus
when he was tapped on the shoulder. Man-Young had lifted the
Cadbury’s Fingers from the children’s stash and was hovering one
in front of him with a smile.
“English chocolate very nice,” cooed his friend.
Derek forgot all about his children’s predictable cries, he
would buy them some more tomorrow, and took one himself.
He could see his friends’ mind working overtime. “Derek, I
decide one thing.”
Continuing to look through his telescope, Derek replied,
“What is it my partner in grime?”
“I like here, I think I stay, Top Gear great show.”
His mentor took a deep breath. How could anyone base their
decision on biscuits and television?
“Man-Young, you have a wife and children to think of. You
need to go home, you can’t stay here. I have a wife and kids of my own too.”
It didn’t seem to make one iota of difference to the Korean.
“Wife, pah! Get another, kids grown up now, out to work.”
Derek couldn’t understand his logic. “But you are young, Man-
Young. Bloody Hell, I wished you had a different name! How can
your kids be grown up?”
“They nine and ten, plenty old, look after themselves on new
fishing boat, wife a pig.”
He understood it now, his family thought he was still hitting
rocks or washed overboard at sea.
“You can stay here ‘til my wife comes back and then you must
find your own place.”
Man-Young had already beaten him to it, “I found place, wood
house at end of garden.”
“You mean Jack’s tree house?”
“Plenty big, may build extension.”
If only life was as simple as this, thought Derek. He took a few
more fingers and decided to show his best friend some new stars
high above.
The morning had come quickly, chasing all of the stars away.
Man-Young had revelled in the fact that he wasn’t woken by the
tugging arm of a prisoner in the early hours and was fast asleep in Jack’s bed. He’d had a choice to pick from, but the Toy Story
cartoon wallpaper had swung it for him.
Over in the corner, a man peeked through the half opened
door. Derek could see Man-Young wasn’t about to be woken any
time soon and there were plenty of snacks to keep him going until
Derek arrived back from work.
He slowly crept out of the door and jumped into his Montego
once more, at least this car had some grounded familiarity to it.
He reversed back off his drive.
“Holy cow!” cried Derek and slammed his brakes on.
Behind him on the other side of the road sat, not one, but two
cars; the same Mercedes Sedan as before but it had found a new
friend, a shiny looking Lexus, long and sleek like the first and the same uniform black.
He couldn’t make out the occupants but it was obvious they
had all popped into Dollond & Aitchison together and bulk
ordered. Who were they? wondered Derek. He had never heard of
a detergent watchdog looking for dodgy quality control practices
before, it was most strange.
The clock was ticking down for Derek. He was going to be late
for his first day back so he pumped the pedal to the metal and got a shift on. The two cars followed in hot pursuit, just like the first one had done before.
He tried to lose them down narrow, twisty country lanes,
pulling away on red lights and other such nonsense but the
Montego was such a distinctively bad car that it was impossible to lose in traffic. No one owned one any more … or maybe owned up
to owning one.
Derek pulled into the car park of Supersuds and tried to drive
into his space but a dirty brown Austin Maestro had gotten there
first, forcing him to park in the adjacent spot.
As he got out he could see the happy snappers pointing their
big cameras at him again and now it seemed at each other as a dark haired, tanned man clicked off a few rounds at the dark haired, pale man who did the same in return before they jumped back into their
cars and drove off.
Derek stood for a few brief moments taking in the whole
scene. He tried to fathom it, putting it into context with all the other strange incidents that had happened to him lately, but
decided there was no point dwelling on it. He literally had seconds to don his overall and stand at his line ready for the plastic march.
Running inside, he could see all his workers ready for another
dull, monotonous day. They didn’t seem at all bothered about his
absence, it was most strange.
“Nice holiday, Derek?” called a voice at the far end of the line.
“Hello, Mavis, erm, yes, thank you, refreshing,” he replied,
although wielding a pickaxe for ten hours a day couldn’t be called anything like that.
The conveyor started rolling and the soldiers made their way
down the track, ready to be inspected.
Derek eyed his boss in the glass office but was astonished to
see him wave a cheerful greeting. It was most unusual, if it stayed like this he could see a bit of light at the end of the tunnel.
The day wore on with no sign of the General blustering his
way around the troops barking his orders. It wasn’t a good day
however. A lot of hands were being raised to signal a tick on his
trusty clipboard.
“I don’t need this, I really don’t. Please Lord, no more rejects,”
cried Derek to no one in particular.
Even with all this commotion Mr. Driver sat like a resting
statue upon his leather backed chair. He appeared to be in fine
spirits today and Derek was beginning to think he may have had
one too many.
The day ended horrifically with one hundred and forty-three
rejects, quite a record for Supersuds. Derek was beginning to
sweat; it was a strict rule to report anything over a hundred instead of placing the sheet in the tray as normal.
His workers looked worried as they signed off in another line
in front of the clocking machine. Derek smiled and nodded to them
all as he made his way into Mr. Driver’s office, looking like a man set for the gallows.
“Poor Derek,” said one of the workers as they left for the day.
Derek gave a very feeble knock at the door. He didn’t need this
at all, he really didn’t.
“Come in.,” called his superior.
With a tentative push he walked in and sat down on the plastic
chair in front of his Uber-Fuhrer.
“How are you feeling Derek?” asked the smiling man with the
bulging neck.
“Fine, sir, but I thought you might want to see these figures?”
Derek handed him the figures and sat there quietly while Mr.
Driver pored over the statistics with humming sounds. His neck
was wobbling slightly with the vibration reminding Derek of a
bullfrog or heron.
Derek almost fainted when Mr. Driver simply placed the sheet
in his processed tray with not a care in the world. “Can’t be helped, Derek.”
Can’t be helped? Had Davros been taking happy pills, thought
Derek.
His boss leaned over his desk and looked at Derek with the
most sincere of gestures. “Now Derek, you’ve worked here for
quite a long time, from my recollection, fifteen years, is that right Derek?”
Derek gulped. “Yes sir, fifteen years.”
“Commendable Derek, I think it’s time to recognize your
achievements. I have something to give you for the work you’ve
put in all these years for the great institution that is Supersuds.”
Mr. Driver reached over and dialed a number on his phone,
“Miss Mandible, could you pop over with Derek’s prize please,
thank you. Oh, and bring Mr. Petiole with you.”
He put the phone down carefully on its hook and smiled at
Derek.
“Fine weather outside Derek, I love this time of year. It leaves
Supersuds gleaming in a soft glow when the sun goes down.”
Derek sat there with complete surprise. It appeared there was a
God after all. Whatever it was that had turned Mr. Driver into
Woodstock’s happiest hippie it was lost on him but he didn’t care
anyway. He imagined a big fat cheque, enough to pay for a
conservatory to lure Honey back into his arms.
A pretty secretary walked in with a rather gaunt weedy man
who looked like he had just won Runcorn’s Nerdiest Nerd contest.
Derek didn’t have a clue who he was.
His boss spoke to the secretary in his kindest voice, “Hand
Derek the lovely letter would you Miss Mandible.”
Derek held the envelope, it was quite a large, grand looking
one and printed on top of it were the words, “Derek Hill, for
services rendered.”
“Open it, Derek, I couldn’t have wished it upon a better
person.”
Derek’s fingers felt its contents first. It definitely felt like a cheque. Supersuds, although dreary, had apparently been generous
over the years to long serving staff who managed to simply not
keel over and die from the boredom. He had heard of someone
receiving £30,000 over at the packing department but he’d never
believed it.
Mr. Driver spoke once more. “Open it, Derek, you deserve it.”
He could see his boss grinning like a Cheshire cat.
Ripping the envelope open, Derek’s world spun around
quicker than it had ever done before. He stared at the cheque, he
couldn’t quite believe it, he really couldn’t.
On the front were written no lines, no bank logo, no signature,
there wasn’t even an amount, it simply read …
“Derek Hill, your services have been terminated immediately
for gross misconduct. You are a disgrace to the good name of
Supersuds, Mr. Horace Driver, Executive Manager, Q&A,
Supersuds.”
Derek’s shocked and pitiful eyes looked up to meet his boss’s,
whose own eyes seemed to have turned into red fiery coals. Mr.
Driver was grinning with the most sublime satisfaction.
“Mr. Hill, when you lost control of your line the other day I
was forced to continue your shift. There were many rejects that
day, a very sad day indeed for this fine establishment.”
Mr. Driver raised his arm to gesture at the wimpy man before
him. “Meet Mr. Petiole, the owner of that rather nice Maestro
parked in your spot, sorry, his spot now. He is the new line
supervisor, now get out Derek, I don’t want to ever see your face
again.”
A rather teary eyed Derek tried to fight back. “You, you can’t
do this, sir, how can the rejects be my fault? I wasn’t even there.”
His boss jumped up from his chair, he had heard quite enough,
“Immaterial, Derek, you neglected your duty by going home early
and leaving no one to command the line!”
Shaking and bewildered, Derek tried to understand the evil
plot against him. “But you sent me home sir!”
“I did nothing of the sort, Derek; you ran off and left me to it.
Whatever trouble you’ve been having outside of work, I don’t
expect it to be brought in with you, especially when you have a
duty to uphold our great tradition.”
Mr. Driver continued ranting. “Miss Mandible has recorded
your wanton dereliction of duty, Derek, so you will receive no
payout, now get out and leave that overall here, it’s company
property.”
The very large rock that Derek had pushed relentlessly up the
hill for no sensible reason had rolled back and crushed his little soul, but the pace of industry must be kept up and it was only right that a new worker ant had taken his place to continue that push.
Derek slowly walked out of the room doing his best to ignore the
laughter that had broken out behind him. It was a great day for Mr.
Driver.
Sad, depressed, lonely, distressed and any other numerous
words of woe couldn’t sum up the feelings that now plagued Derek
as he walked out of the factory for the last time. He stood next to the brown Maestro but didn’t have the spirit to run his key down it; he simply got into his car and slowly pulled out of the car park
through the gate. He couldn’t look back at the huge brick and glass building that dominated the skyline of Runcorn in all its soapy
glory.
It was all too much to bear as Derek’s numbed body drove on
and away from his only livelihood.
The silver Montego navigated the roads and lanes well below
the speed limit. Derek looked back through his rear view mirror
and could make out the unmistakable shapes of his earlier pursuers once more. He had ceased to care about them as the lead car
aggressively slip-streamed his own.
“Go away, leave me alone,” he called eventually as if he was
swotting a fly but they kept on coming.
He was mere yards from his drive when he saw the Mercedes
quickly drive past and pull up to a screeching halt on the roadside in front of him.
As Derek pulled onto his drive he saw two sunglassed
desperados leap out from their car. They looked like Arabs but
what shocked him most was the pair of machine guns that were
pointing at him from the curb.
In complete synchronization, the other two leapt from their car
also. They looked a bit like his good friend, Man-Young.
Sunglassed to the hilt and appearing just as menacing as the first ones, they pulled out an arsenal of guns and got ready to tear up
the street.
For some reason known only to Derek, he remembered the
80’s cop show ‘TJ Hooker’ where the great William Shatner
always ran in slow motion wherever he went and found himself
doing just that as he inched his way to the front door, key
nervously thrust in a direction towards the lock.
The men raced in slow motion too, although probably wishing
they were a little faster, reaching Derek’s Montego just as he
managed to unlock the front door.
He could hear Arabic and Korean voices mixed into one giant
menacing scream to stop; it was just a question of who got to him
first.
Derek dived into the hallway as a mighty crack of thunder was
heard overhead. In the same instance he could hear the sound of
gunfire and splinters of his freshly painted front door shot right past him.
“Man-Young! Get out!” he cried. He threw himself into the
living room just as some more bullets smashed into his kitchen
cupboard doors ripping them to pieces; it was a good job he hadn’t upgraded them or else he’d be crying.
Fighting for his own life now, his friend was nowhere to be
seen … probably hiding upstairs or sitting on the loo after a
Cadbury’s overconsumption.
Derek’s assailants pushed their way through the beaten up
opening and into the hallway, still spouting words he didn’t
understand. He knew he only had a few seconds to get out of there
before it was too late.
Getting up from the shag pile carpet, Derek quickly ran
through the dining room where a large letter sat propped up next to a candle. He had no time to pick it up, running straight into the
laundry room.
The Yemenis didn’t know who the Koreans were but through a
common bond of secret service they nodded to each other as the
aviator clad Arabs decided to head upstairs to see if Derek was
hiding there while the Koreans chose the living room.
It sounded like the heavens had opened up outside. Derek
could see flashes like lightning streak across the heavens through the windows. He was trying to quietly open the back door with the
loudest key and lock combo ever known to man. He was almost
there when he looked back and noticed the barrel of an AK47
poking slowly through the doorway.
“Christ!” shouted Derek and flung the door open to escape. It
wasn’t the stealthiest of escapes and he was quickly followed by
the rattle of gunfire as it made mincemeat of his double glazing.
Derek had barely made it to the postage stamp lawn at the back
and sat down on the grass awaiting his fate. He could see the
Koreans staring at him through the door and the other two peering
out the bedroom window. They all had guns trained on him and
they had all adjusted their sunglasses for maximum