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Long after Cthulha’s departure, Sally fixed the last foam rubber square to the last caravan. She ran her palms around its edges and pressed its centre. She held the pose then checked her watch; nine-thirty and daylight fading.
She dismounted her step ladder and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Perfect. She looked left. She saw caravans. She looked right. She saw caravans. She turned half circle. She saw caravans.
And she’d done it. Every caravan in that park, all fifty-eight of them, was now covered from top to bottom in green foam rubber.
She looked down. The ground was too hard. Tomorrow she’d have workmen dig it up and replace it with foam rubber; likewise the trees that dotted the camp, and the perimeter fencing. Soon this would be the softest, bendiest, bounciest caravan park on Earth.
And the hanging baskets some guests had hung up to make their drab lives more bearable, she’d confiscate them in case someone got tangled in their chains and strangled to death.
And the caravan whose tyres were a dangerous shade of black; first thing tomorrow she’d paint them grey.
And that nervous-looking cat needed tying to something.
Barely able to wait for tomorrow, she untethered the cow from the ladder. ‘Come on, Daisy.’
‘Moo?’
‘Let’s see if your mistress has had as great a day as we have.’
‘And what’s this?’ Archie Drizzle stood outside the offices of Flaccid and Placid’s Caravan Park.
The manager stood beside him, a young man far too pleased with himself for Drizzle’s liking. Drizzle decided he must be Flaccid, though there was no sign of Placid. Flaccid said, ‘As you can see, we’ve covered the entire site with foam rubber. I’m sure you’ll agree this is the safest park, not only in Wyndham but the whole world.’
‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ He thrust his Gladstone bag into the chest of Flaccid, who took hold of it while Drizzle stepped forward to inspect the nearest caravan. It was indeed completely covered in foam rubber; green foam rubber. A nice safe colour.
As Drizzle tugged the foam to check it was properly glued, Flaccid said, ‘Take as long as you like. We’ve nothing to fear from close inspection.’
And it seemed he was right.
But then …
… a thought struck Drizzle.
He stepped back and took in the entire view; a whole caravan park covered in foam – not just caravans but offices, trees, the ground.
‘You fool,’ Drizzle demanded. ‘Don’t you realize what you’ve done?’
Flaccid shrugged blankly.
Drizzle said, ‘You’ve turned this entire camp into one big sponge. If an asteroid were to hit this site, immediately after heavy rainfall, the impact could squeeze out a tidal wave so huge it would deluge the entire North Yorkshire coast, drowning us all.’
Flaccid frowned. ‘Isn’t that highly unlikely?’
Drizzle slapped a sticker on Flaccid’s forehead.
It said FAILED.
‘No, Gary. No one could be having a worse time than I am. I’ve been locked out of my mobile home, my assistant’s out of control, I’ve a giant rabbit sitting on him, my host’s a psycho. How could you be having a worse time than me?’ Teena paced Sally’s kitchen, arguing with her cell phone.
The phone said bzz.
‘Baboons?’ Teena said. ‘How can you have been kidnapped by baboons? There are no baboons in Blackpool.’
The phone said bzz.
‘Tanzania? How the hell did you get from the Pleasure Beach to Tanzania?’
Bzz.
‘What giant squid?’ she said.
Bzz.
‘Captain Nemo?’ she said.
Bzz.
‘Jules Verne?’ she said.
Bzz.
She stood still and frowned. ‘Gary, are you making this up?’
Bzz.
‘All your holidays are like this?’ she said.
Bzz.
‘Then why do you keep taking them?’
Bzz.
‘Gary, there is such a thing as taking optimism too far.’
Bzz.
‘Right! That’s it! If this is what holidays are like, you can keep them! I won’t be taking another!’ She prodded the phone’s Off button like it was the eye of her worst enemy then held the phone like she was about to throw it at the wall. She thought better of it and placed it on the table. She stood fuming until she noticed Sally leaning against the doorpost, watching her. ‘You heard that?’ Teena asked.
‘Every word.’ As far as Sally’d been able to work out, Gary was Teena’s lodger. He was also her bridesmaid. She’d wanted him as her best man but the vicar wouldn’t stand for it. He’d said it might cause confusion if both bride and groom had a best man. She’d said that was easily solved. She’d have a best man and her fiance wouldn’t. But the vicar had insisted – even after a prolonged bout of finger proddings and Do-You-Know-Who-I-Ams. He’d said it would be the same at any cathedral. It was a standard part of the wedding ceremony.
So now Gary Yates was her bridesmaid. She’d said it would do him good since he was totally besotted with her. Seeing her marry another man would give him a sense of closure and finally convince him there was never going to be anything between her and him. He might blub now but he’d thank her for it later.
‘I take it you’ll be staying in a hotel for the rest of your holiday, what with your host being a psycho!’ Sally said.
‘And not be able to keep an eye on those two? No chance. I’m staying right here.’
Daisy doggie-paddled upside down between the two girls.
Teena glared at it as though ready to punch it. ‘And what’s that doing in here?’
‘Because she’s been such a good girl, helping me foam rubber the camp, I’m letting her live indoors from now on.’
‘And do I get a say in this?’
‘None. You don’t live here, remember?’
Teena fumed some more. She opened her mouth to say something then thought better of it. She opened her mouth again then thought better of it. She glanced around as though seeking inspiration. Then at last she said, ‘His reputation’s built entirely on me, you know.’
Sally frowned. ‘Your bridesmaid has a reputation?’
‘Not Gary – Landen.’
She frowned deeper. ‘Mr Landen has a reputation?’
‘Because he was my first college lecturer, the scientific press said he’d discovered me – like I was some lost tribe. I wasn’t lost. I knew precisely where I was – Oxford. And I’d discovered myself long before he came along. He thinks he’s so clever. Well … well …’ Her clenched knuckles turned white by her sides.
‘Well what?’
She just stood there, anger stopping her conceiving the revenge she thought he deserved. Then she spotted something, something on the worktop by the sink. She headed for it, ravenous strides devouring the ground between her and it.
At the worktop she unplugged the TV aerial, opened the window, shoved the TV out then shut and fastened the window. She clattered aside unwanted items, the electric tin opener, the whisk, the coffee blender. Each hit the floor with a clank until at last she lifted the one object she wanted. A yank at its cable tugged its plug free of the wall socket.
‘Could you treat my property with a little more respect please?’
‘Never mind that.’ She eagerly studied the object’s black plastic. ‘Let’s see how clever he is when this gets through with him.’
‘Teena?’
‘What?’ Her gaze was fixed to the thing like Cthulha’s had been fixed to her.’
‘That thing you’re holding?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Your deadly revenge?’
‘What about it?’
‘You do know what it is?’
‘Of course.’
‘And it’s …’
‘A sandwich toaster.’
Just so long as she knew.
Teena?’
‘Uh huh?’
‘What’re you doing to my sandwich toaster?’
‘The usual.’
‘Which is?’
‘Making a mind control machine.’
Sally sat facing Teena across the kitchen table as Teena reassembled the sandwich toaster. She’d already reassembled it five times, none of which had produced whatever result was desired. Each time, she’d point the thing at Sally, press its ON switch then look at her like she was a major let down. Then she’d start scrabbling away at the thing again. Frankly, Sally didn’t think she knew what she was doing.
In order to scavenge parts for her mind control machine, she’d dismantled every piece of electrical equipment Sally had and left it in pieces around them on the floor; her fridge, her microwave, her coffee blender, her radio, kettle, electric blanket, video recorder, her plastic flower that danced when you shouted at it – and the rest. If she wasn’t determined to be the best caravan park manager on Earth, Sally would have swung for her.
At a table covered with cogs, wires and assorted circuitry, Teena held a screwdriver to the sandwich toaster. Daisy watching intently over her right shoulder, she said, ‘It’s a simple yet complex device incorporating one connection for each connection of the human brain. Much as I’m loathe to take such action, finding it a plain nuisance, drastic steps are required if I’m to re-enter my mobile home.’
‘But mind control?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Is it really that urgent you get back inside?’
She stopped screwdriving and watched Sally across the table. ‘Have you seen my face?’
‘It looks okay to me.’ Sally shrugged.
‘It looks okay? Do you know how beautiful I am?’
‘I’m sure you’re gorgeous.’
‘Yesterday morning I was one hundred and forty-seven per cent too beautiful. A burden but bearable. Now, according to Browning’s Attractivity Index, I’m two hundred and ninety-three percent too beautiful. Three hundred percent is the figure at which female beauty would kill.’
‘How can you be getting more beautiful? We’re all stuck with what we’ve got.’
‘Adversity makes a woman more attractive. Once I’m back in the mobile home and my adversity level retreats, so my beauty levels should normalize.’
‘You’re not a nuclear reactor, you know.’
‘Some forces are stronger than any nuclear explosion, Sally.’ She resumed screwdriving. ‘This sandwich toaster will turn Landen into a walking robot. Then I’ll make him open the door.’
‘And then?’
‘I’ll hit him.’
‘?’
Teena tightened a screw deep within the machine. ‘Concussion therapy’s a valid part of any psychiatrist’s toolkit.’
