The Remarkables (The Remarkable Owen Johnson, part 1) (10 page)

“Quite a rare thing on the island back then, anything with pistons that is
,” added Ken.

“Indeed,” Mrs Argyle agreed.
“Well, a quick peak outside revealed that sure enough there was a motorbike coming up the lane, with a sidecar I might add. The rider was in army uniform, but sitting beside him was a thin, balding man in a very sharp suit and a rather mismatched pair of goggles.

“Both Ken and I went to greet him, expecting to be carted off to the asylum or locked
up for witchcraft or what not. We had an escape plan for such eventualities of course, ever since the early days. But that involved either crossing the water or going over the hill at the back of the house, both of which would be quickly seen by our new visitors.”

“Why would people still come after you when it had been so long since the comet and stuff?”  Owen asked.

“Well, there was a war on and every young man – and woman - was being called up to do his duty,” Ken explained. “For all intents and purposes I looked like a chap in his early twenties, despite my birth certificate stating that I was in fact in my fifties by then. So even though it was just the two of us running the farm, officials would have expected Cee to run it on her lonesome. Well, that I was our fear, anyway.

“So we chose to
see what the two chaps wanted. After all they might have been sent to collect the young seaman in a more efficient manner then the good Commander.

“We g
reeted the man on the doorstep. He introduced himself as Colonel Robert Blake, and made some idle chit chat about the weather and so forth, making no mention of the half drowned serviceman lying on my bed, or the catastrophic events of the night before.

“He just stood there bouncing on the balls of his feet and smiling as he surveyed our cottage and the land surrounding it.

“Well as you can imagine, Cee cracked first and let him in.”

“Poppycock!
  You cracked after about five seconds of silence!” Mrs Argyle corrected her brother, with a blow to the arm for good measure.

“If you say so,” Ken conceded, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Well the man came in and sat down, whilst the soldier riding the bike remained outside. After yet more silence Cee once again crumbled and offered him a tea.”  Clearly disagreeing with this version of events, Mrs Argyle rolled her eyes and shook her head, but remained silent.

“
How can I help you
? I asked. To which he smiled and after accepting the tea and having a very controlled sip he leant forward in his seat and said:
You can help us to win the war
. Cee and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows but said nothing else. The man continued saying that he was responsible for a rather specialised branch of the military, who actively sought out the greatest and brightest young minds in the land to help in the war effort. This usually meant frequenting universities and private laboratories, and you couldn’t find somewhere more dissimilar to these than our living room.

“
But through the most fortunate stroke of serendipity
, his words I must add, he said that he happened to be across the water, with a young engineer that he had taken under his wing, looking at the possibility of building some barriers or such to protect His Majesty’s fleet from such diabolical attacks such as the one on the previous night. He was present when the good Commander, to whom we made such a lasting impression upon, gave his garbled report to the C.O. He had already recruited a couple of our kind, one of whom had been caught red-handed trying to break into a bank.

“After that he went on about confidentiality and such for some time and said he’d be back the following morning to
take us to the mainland. I argued, saying that I couldn’t leave the farm unattended, but he merely said that would be taken care of. Further protestations were batted away with an avuncular chuckle or two, until he silenced us with a raised hand and simply said:
It is in your interests to join us tomorrow.  We
will
be working together.  It would be preferable to do so as friends
.

“
And with that he bid us good day, complemented Cee on the front garden and walked out of the front door.”

“So did you go with him?” Owen asked.

“We had little choice but to do so,” explained Mrs Argyle. “The next morning an official from the Ministry of Food arrived to take an inventory of the farm. Ken was worried about Myrtle as she could have a temper around strangers. As it happened the man wasn’t interested in the cow, as that particular livestock would be accompanying us.
Most irregular
, the official called it, saying that the rules stated that all animals should remain on the farm, but it had come from
up high
that the cow was being taken by eminent domain. Less than an hour later we were on a boat for the mainland and the three of us made our way to our new home for the next six years”.

“Where was that?” Owen enquired.

“Oh that’s a story for another day. You’ve had fifty years of our lives, where relatively little happened.”

“
Relatively little?
  You were hit by a comet and a ship was sunk?!”

“Yes, yes.
However things didn’t get interesting until we left the island. But-” (Mrs Argyle help up a finger to halt Owen’s imminent protestations) “-that will have to wait. We have dallied for far too long. Best get some rest; I feel we have a busy day ahead.”

“What happened to the U-Boat,” Owen asked.

Mrs Argyle smiled. “That will also have to wait. Stories such as that should be told somewhere more befitting their magnificence, and not in a lay-by at the side of a road.”

With that Mrs Argyle and Ken put their seatbelts back on and
they resumed their journey.

“Shall we have a little music?” Ken asked.

“If we must,” Mrs Argyle begrudgingly agreed.

“Marvellous. A bit more Nina I think, especially for the sinful man that you two are going to see.” Ken laughed at his comment
and popped a cassette into the car’s player, Owen and Mrs Argyle both shaking their heads but for different reasons (Owen, as usual, had no idea what Ken was talking about).

Owen settled back in his seat and tried to imagine how a flying, wind conjuring woman and
the walking geyser beside her could have helped the war effort. He also mused on how his own powers could have been used to good effect.

Captain Owen Johnson: war hero
. To Owen it had a fanciful and pleasing ring to it.  He was unaware as to how prophetic this description would be.

10

Despite his best efforts, Owen fell asleep and had episodic dreams that alternated between him saving stranded soldiers in some far-off battle field, to him sweeping Katie in a one-armed lifting embrace into the sky, as he effortlessly manoeuvred amongst the clouds. It was during one particularly pleasing moment that he was abruptly awoken by Ken slamming the car door.

Owen opened his eyes to a bright day, the sun shining through the grubby w
indows of Ken’s Land Rover. “Where are we?” Owen asked.

“Stanmore T
ube station,” Mrs Argyle explained, opening the back door. “Ken has to run a few errands out here and we have a visit to make in the city. So shake a leg and hop to it, you’ve rested for long enough.”

Owen noticed that his improvised seatbelt had been untied for him so
he eased himself out the car, expecting to be stiff and bruised from his adventures the day before. To his surprise his joints felt supple despite the cramped and twisted position that he had slept in, and his energy levels were such that he felt that he could reach central London with leaps and bounds, rather than by using the Underground.

“Chop-
chop, do keep up,” Mrs Argyle called from up ahead.

Ken rolled his eyes at his sister.  “Good luck Owen,” he said.

“What do we need luck for?” Owen asked, suddenly concerned regarding whom his neighbour was dragging him to see.

“Oh, probably no
thing,” Ken said dismissively. “It’s just London and my sister don’t have the best history with one another.” He placed his hand on Owen’s shoulder.  “Best to do just as she says; Cee gets rather tetchy when she has to deal with certain individuals.”

“Who
?” Owen attempted to ask but Ken swiftly interrupted him, a skill that both siblings had an uncanny knack of pulling off.

“Right, must dash
. I’ll see you later today. Best run if you don’t want to be at the end of Captain Argyle’s legendary dressing downs.” With that he spun Owen around and pushed him towards his departing sister, before climbing back into his Land Rover.

Owen caught up with Mrs Argyle at the ticket office as
today she was evidently intending to be a paying customer. They both used the bathroom facilities at the station and settled into a waiting train. “Just gone seven a.m.,” Mrs Argyle announced, looking at her watch. “We should have time to get to him before he goes a-wandering.”

“Who are we going to see?” Owen asked.

Mrs Argyle seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “An old colleague.”

“From the war?”
Owen asked, hoping to have some more light shed on his former babysitter’s military escapades.

“Yes.
We haven’t been in touch for some time, so don’t expect the friendliest of welcomes.”

“Did you
have a falling out? What over?”

“A difference of opinion.
I’ll let him explain it to you, lest he accuses me of clouding your opinion of him. And he
will
be very interested to know what you think of him believe me.” Mrs Argyle settled back in her seat and turned to look out of the window behind her. Owen recognised that this was her way of telling him not to pursue any further questions. But he tried a few nevertheless.

“What’s his name?” he started with. It was met with a few moments silence so Owen did not expect an answer, but
for once Mrs Argyle released a snippet of information.

“Clive. Clive
Merryfield. The most inappropriate name, if you ask me, the grumpy old sod,” she said, repeating her description of her brother from the day before.

“Does he have powers like we do?” Owen asked.

“Quiet!” she said harshly. “No talk of that sort of thing in public.”

“Sorry.”
Owen studied the graphic opposite him displaying the route of the Jubilee line, which they were travelling on. “Where’s our stop?”

“Green Park.”

Owen counted the stations that lay ahead. Fifteen stations to go. “What about Dad? Will this Clive bloke be able to help us get Dad back?”

“
Yes, and that’s what Ken’s sorting out as well, so try not to worry.”

Owen settled back in his seat and watched as the outskirts of London passed by the train’s windows.

~
ρ ~

Having arrived at their destination, Owen and Mrs Argyle disembarked from the train and made their way to the exit. Coming out of the station they walked down the edge of the park which at that time of day was shared with people making their way to work, and joggers going round and round. Owen realised how hungry he was so they grabbed an unhealthy breakfast from a stall. Owen’s bacon sandwich received a particularly poor appraisal from the fitness fanatics as they sped by.

Owen had only e
ver been to London once before (on a school trip to the Natural History Museum) so he made the most of the opportunity to take in the sites around him, admiring Marble Arch and catching a glimpse of Buckingham Palace between the trees. Mrs Argyle was either familiar with these tourist trappings, or was too engrossed with her task in hand to look about her, as her gaze did not alter from the path ahead as she continued her steady pace.

To their left was a long terrace of grand town houses, all
painted white. She turned down a narrow path which led to a small square between two particularly impressive properties and walked a short way before following a snaking road. They passed a large van as they walked up the road, the driver too preoccupied at shouting at a man in a black car that it was driving along side to take any notice of Owen or Mrs Argyle. Owen watched as the van stopped and then suddenly sped away followed swiftly by the car, the screech of tyres causing Mrs Argyle to emit a disapproving “
tut
”.

Striding to the end of the street they were now on,
Mrs Argyle stopped at the bottom of the steps that led up to a slightly shabby house before them. In fairness to the property, in Owen’s street it would look like a palace, but in its present company it clearly was in need of a lick of paint.

Mrs Argyle took
a deep breath and walked up the steps. She knocked on the door and waited for a few moments before knocking again. She then turned to Owen, a concerned expression on her face. She pushed the door which opening with a creek. “Stay close to me,” she said quietly, slowly entering the dimly lit hallway.

“Clive?
” she called out softly.

No answer.

Owen followed in behind Mrs Argyle. The hall stretched upwards towards the roof of the three storey house, with a dark brown wooden staircase wrapped around its edges. The hallway floor was composed of black and white square tiles, positioned with their corners pointing towards the walls of the house. Down the hall to the left was a large closed door, in the same dark wood as the staircase. Further along at the end of the hall was a similar door which stood open, the light behind illuminating the kitchen that lay beyond.

Mrs Argyle proceeded cautiously towards the open kitchen, checking the closed door as she passed
and finding it locked. Owen witnessed what he could only imagine to be the soldier in his elderly neighbour being resurrected, as she was stealthily keeping to the walls and continuously checking the door that they had entered though, the landings above and the kitchen that lay ahead.

Upon reaching the room, she slowly peered
inside. Apparently satisfied that it was safe, she silently beckoned Owen to join her and once he was in the room placed her arms on his shoulders and gently pushed him against the wall behind the door. She bent down and examined a puddle of brown liquid on the floor a few paces in front of Owen, next to which he noticed a broken mug.

Removing her gloves she felt the wet pat
ch and sniffed her finger. “Coffee, still hot.” She stood back up. “Where is that blasted man?”

Exiting the room, she held onto Owen by the wrist and led him back into the hallway which looke
d no different to how they had left it. Seeing the front door still open, Mrs Argyle let go of Owen and strode towards it, cursing to herself for leaving it open. As she closed it, there was a click behind the previously locked door to the side that now stood between Owen and Mrs Argyle. Mrs Argyle leant back on her left leg instantly, as if she was going to pounce on whoever lay behind it. The door opened and Owen moved to see who was there.

A tall
young man with blonde hair stood in the doorway with a serious expression on his face. He was dressed in a pin striped suit and had the look of a government official about him. On his left lapel was a small metal badge, shaped like the letter ‘p’, surrounded by a circle.

“H
ello Captain Argyle,” he began, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I am DCI-” Mrs Argyle reacted immediately to this movement, thrusting her arms in front of her and blasting the man back into the room from which he had emerged.

“RUN!” she bellowed.
Owen sprinted to her side as she was opening the front door. On the steps stood two very agitated looking police officers. Slamming the door in their faces she grabbed Owen and dragged him up the stairs.

All of the doors on the first landing were open but Mrs Argyle ignored them, heading for
the second and uppermost floor. There were three doors available and she chose the one furthest away. Owen could hear shouting and loud footsteps from the floor below.

Through the door they sprinted, Mrs Argyle evidently being awa
re of the layout of the house. The room was a large but sparse bedroom, with a single bed at one end and a small wardrobe with drawers beneath it at the other. There was also a closed door just beside the wardrobe, towards which Owen was being hauled. Mrs Argyle turned the round handle but the door was locked. Stepping back and showing remarkable agility, Mrs Argyle kicked the door open with one swift movement of her right leg.

Through the door they went into another room, which would have probably served as a dressing room in days gone by, but today was just an empty
white room with a patio door.

Mrs Argyle opened the ha
ndle of the door outwards leading to a small terrace on the roof of the building. Between themselves and a three storey drop was a small metal railing.

Mrs Argyle turned to Owen, pointing at a house on the opposite side of the street, some thirty me
tres away. “We need to get to the roof of that building. On the other side is a metal stair down to the garden, then a hop over the wall and we should be able to hide amongst the tourists near St James’s Palace.”

“How are we going to get there?!”
Owen asked.

“Well I’m going to fly over;
you do whatever it is you do.” With that she positioned her hands so that they pointed down and she accelerated into the sky with amazing speed, moving in a graceful arc. Less than three seconds later, she landed on the roof of the opposite building. “Come on!” she called over.

Owen looked down at the street below him; his le
gs suddenly feeling quite weak. His previous experiences with his new found gift had been instinctive, with little thought or indeed knowledge about what he was about to do. Now, however, he had to consciously put faith in his abilities. The footsteps were audible again, and Owen guessed that they had reached the bedroom.

“You can do it Owen!” Mrs Argyle was now
becoming very animated from the rooftop opposite, flapping her arms about in encouragement. Whereas the previous day she had resembled a wicket keeper in a cricket match, today she was doing her best impersonation of a cheerleader during the Superbowl.

“Okay,” Owen
said to himself, “here goes nothing.” He turned and jogged to the furthest point on the terrace behind him. Then adopting the stance of a runner at a starting line, he sprinted forward.

He could feel the now familiar tingling sensation in his hands which made him more confident he wouldn’t soon resemble
road kill on the street below. Just as he was about to use the metal railing to vault into the air, the man in the pin striped suit appeared at the open patio door and made a grab for Owen. Owen took a wide step to the left and caught his foot in the railing. He fell forward in a somersault, knocking his leg on the guttering of the roof below. He then slid down the tiles and with nothing to stop him he fell towards the pavement, Mrs Argyle’s shouts audible over the air whizzing past his ears as the ground loomed up to meet him.