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  ‘Hello, Parker’s Mum,’ she said as she squeezed in behind Parker’s chair. ‘Let’s have a look at your spear.’

  ‘Hello, Pushy,’ said Mrs P, ‘and you can get your hands off. This is a precision instrument.’ She wiped some more gunky looking fluid into the handle.

  Pushy poked her tongue out and giggled. ‘Come on, guys,’ she said, ‘we’re not hanging around here all evening. Let’s go down the canal and watch the fishing freaks.’

  Parker groaned but shuffled to his feet anyway. It was staying light until late, now that the clocks had gone forward, so they had plenty of mucking about time before homework (and stuff).

  ‘You ain’t going out with that on,’ said Mrs Parker and tugged at his fleece.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’

  ‘This,’ she said, waggling the fawn-coloured hood that was sown into the neck. ‘T’aint legal no more. Go and change.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Lewis, glancing down at the date on the newspaper to check if it was April Fools.

  ‘Don’t you ever listen to the news?’ she said and headed out of the door with all her kit in the direction of the garage.

  ‘What’s she on about?’ asked Push.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Parker, ‘Let’s go.’

  * * * * *

  The Permanent Under Secretary for Science and Technology stood nervously before his new Prime Minister. Colonel Jackman had Mrs Bootles on his knee and was busy making cooing and clucking noises. ‘Ooos a booty ickle girl, den?’ he said and tickling her belly. He repeated it several times but the cat just scowled.

  The Permanent Under Secretary cleared his throat. He was beginning to suspect that the PM had forgotten he was there.

  ‘Stand still, man,’ the Prime Minister boomed. ‘I can’t stand people who fidget.’ The Permanent Under Secretary flinched.

  ‘Now,’ said Jackman, ‘I want you to fix something up for me. When I was in the army I read some very interesting reports about what you johnies were getting up to in your secret bunkers and your expensive laboratories. Mind control. That’s the game. I want something that will control the minds of all the little brats on this island and I want buckets of the stuff. What d’ya say, um?’

  The Permanent Under Secretary was confused. The Prime Minister of England had asked him to produce illegal drugs to poison the children of England. He must have misheard.

  ‘Well, it’s true, Prime Minister, there are some pretty sophisticated Behavioural Adjustment chemicals in our research facilities, but it’s all on paper, really. Never actually make the stuff. Except to test on monkeys and things. All academic really. And totally illegal.’

  ‘But I’m asking you to make the stuff,’ said Jackman, and he looked up from under his bushy eyebrows and fixed the secretary with a cold stare.

  It must be a test, thought the Permanent Under Secretary. A test to see if he was a good and honest servant of the people. Of course. That was it. Just stand firm and the PM would respect him for it.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly do that, Prime Minister.’ He swallowed hard.

  Jackman lent forward and pressed a blue button on his desk, still holding the official in his gaze. Two very large soldiers appeared at the door. They had red caps and large white belts round their middles. The Cabinet Secretary was bobbing about behind them, trying to see round their considerable bodies.

  ‘Take this worm away and stick him in the cells. He’s not to speak to anyone on the way and he’s to stay there until I say different.’ He turned to the Cabinet Secretary.

  ‘And bring me a new Permanent Under Secretary for Science and Technology. One who knows how to obey orders.’

  * * * * *

  They soon got bored with watching the Fishing Freaks. No one was catching anything. They walked along the canal to where the footbridge crossed. It was grey and rusty and shaped like a rainbow. They skipped some stones for a while and watched Arseface Morton smoking a cigarette and spitting.

  ‘He’s well ‘ard,’ giggled Push and dug her elbow into Lewis’s ribs.

  ‘Shhh, he’ll hear,’ said Lewis. Arseface looked at his watch and left. A police car slithered across the flyover bridge and came to a halt above the towpath.

  They found a bottle and floated it into the middle of the cut and started trying to sink it with whatever came to hand. Another police car edged into sight on the bridge behind them. Two officers got out and started ambling along the path.

  Parker said it was pizza night and he ought to think about going. Lewis gave up struggling with a broken paving slab when he noticed a third police officer approaching from the flyover direction. It was time to go anyway.

  As they neared the two officers, Lewis began to get a flutter in his tummy. Were they looking for them? Had they seen them lobbing things in the canal? Or had Arseface finally done something criminal instead of just talking about it? He glanced around and saw that they were cut off by the third officer.

  ‘Any of you lot got a watch?’ said the one with stripes on the shoulder of his jersey.

  ‘It’s ten past eight, Sergeant,’ beamed Parker and he held out his wrist watch for inspection.

  ‘Yes, it’s ten past eight, sonny, and what does that mean?’ He didn’t sound amused.

  ‘That you’re missing Eastenders?’ asked Push and she smiled sweetly.

  ‘It means you are out after curfew, that’s what it means.’

  ‘It’s worse than that, Sarge. Have a look at this.’ The third officer had caught up with them and was holding Parker’s hood out sideways for the other to see. ‘He’s wearing Han Hillegal Headgear.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ said Lewis and immediately regretted it.

  ‘Think it’s funny, don’t you,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Out after curfew. Wearing a hoody in a public space. It ain’t funny and you lot are going to find out the hard way.’

  He started dragging Parker by his hood towards the waiting squad car on the Belgrave Road bridge.

  ‘Hang on,’ said Push. ‘What are you doing to him?’

  The police woman barred the path. ‘You two can bugger off. Go straight home and don’t stop on the way. And don’t let us catch you out after lockdown again.’

  ‘But, but...’ Lewis fizzled out as he watched them marching Parker away. Parker was twisting his head to look back at them and looking just a bit scared.

  Push and Lewis stumped after the retreating officer and got to the bridge in time to see Parker being driven off. He looked kind of small.

  ‘His Mum wasn’t joking,’ said Push. ‘Hoodies are illegal. Durrr!’

  ‘What curfew?’ asked Lewis.

  ‘Must have been what they were going on about in assembly. My Dad is always telling me to pay attention. Now I think about it, my Dad was going on about it too. Something about a new Council rule. A byelaw. Something they only do round here. Said it was within their power now and they would be setting an example for the whole country. He could have said he meant me too!’

  ‘What are we going to do about Parker?’

  ‘Nothing. Nothing we can do. He’ll be alright.’

  Lewis didn’t think she sounded too convincing.

  * * * * *

  The new Permanent Secretary was much more to Jackman’s liking. Despite being recently elevated to the Head of Science and Technology, Professor Bloodlinker still wore a white lab coat and smelt of hydrochloric acid. He had a purple stain spreading across his breast pocket, presumably from one of the leaky pens lined up there. He had a monocle in one eye and a bad cough.

  ‘Not possible, I’m afraid, Prime Minister.’ Jackman looked up from the paper he was reading and squinted at the professor. Perhaps he’d made the wrong choice after all. His hand edged towards the blue button.

  ‘What do you mean, not possible?’

  ‘Not possible on children,’ said the professor. ‘You see, it’s their brains. They have not stopped growing yet. All sorts of neurons going ping and pong all over the place. If you try to control their mi
nds their brains just find a new way round the problem. Not possible with children, Prime Minister.’

  ‘I’m disappointed, Professor.’ His hand hovered over the button again. ‘They told me you were the right man for this job. The children of this country are out of control. How am I going to complete my plans if I can’t brainwash the little blighters?’

  ‘Not possible on children, Prime Minister, but perfectly feasible on adults. You see, adults are much more susceptible to control than children. They are set in their ways, they already have their brains fully developed. We can design all sorts of drugs to control adults.’

  ‘And what blithering use is that?’ said Jackman. He was beginning to lose his patience.

  ‘Well, you need to do something about the children, but you don’t want their whinging parents writing to the newspapers about mistreating their darling children all the time, do you? So why not just drug the parents? Then they won’t care.’

  A light went on in Jackman’s head. All sorts of possibilities sprang into his mind in a nanosecond.

  ‘So we can do what we like to their precious brats and we won’t get a peep out of the parents?’

  ‘Certainly, Prime Minister.’

  ‘When can you start?’

  * * * * *

  Parker got an ASBO – an Anti Social Behaviour Order – and a good telling off from an inspector. They confiscated his fleece and returned it ten minutes later minus the hood. It looked pathetic. His mother had to come down to the station and sign for him.

  ‘I told you not to go out with that thing on, didn’t I? You sat at that table and I told you. I said, “Don’t go out with that thing on. It’s illegal,” didn’t I? I said to him, “Don’t go out with that thing on,” didn’t I? I told him.’ Mrs Parker was kneading the table with balled fists. Her muscles bulged.

  ‘We’re sorry if we got him into trouble, Mrs P,’ said Push. They all looked a bit sheepish.

  ‘Oh, it’s not your fault, Petal,’ said Mrs Parker. ‘It’s this bloody Government. Ridiculous! Turning children into criminals just for wearing the wrong sort of hat.’

  Up until this point, Parker hadn’t appreciated that he was a criminal now. In his mind, he began to swagger a little bit. But mostly he was just embarrassed. All his mates would know.

  Chapter Three

  The whole country was barking. Vigilante groups took to the streets armed with bats and clubs. They strutted up and down the leafy avenues of English towns bringing their own brand of law and order. Anyone was fair game – so long as they were kids. Bikes were no longer ridden on pavements (or anywhere, for that matter, since the roads were so full of enormous cars that looked like Armoured Assault Vehicles that it was too risky to go beyond your front gate). Skateboards were confiscated and skateboard parks were flattened. Ball games of all descriptions were discouraged, especially if it involved Banging That Bloody Thing Against My Wall All Day And Night.

  Fun was officially banned.

  The newspapers said that Grannies could once again roam the streets at night without being fearful of Little Hooligans. And they did. Thousands and thousands of old age pensioners exercised their right to mill about in public well past the time when they would normally be tucking into a Horlicks and a custard cream. They hung around on corners and made nuisances of themselves. They congregated by bus stops and jeered at the young adults. But at least there were no Disgusting Little Yobs about because curfews were popping up in towns and cities all over the land.

  Jackman and his government were finding it difficult to keep up. In his dreaming moments he thought it was he who would be leading the country from the front, setting an example, setting the agenda. Except it was ordinary people, inventing their own laws and waiting for the government to catch up. Every time he thought of a new law to screw down on those pesky kids, he’d pick up a newspaper and find some group of citizens or other already doing it. He was a bit put out.

  So they rushed out new legislation to try and keep up with the mood of the country. The rather mild Skating in Public Places Act only made it official to do what a lot of adults were doing anyway. Now it was legal to stop any kid you liked and make them remove their in-lines. They didn’t even have to be going too fast. And if they had to hobble home in their socks, tough. Serves ‘em right. A bit of dog-shit and a few cuts from broken glass won’t kill them. And quite a few people made a nice little profit in the second-hand skates business.

  And then there was the Homework Act. It was now a criminal offence not to hand your in your homework on time. Teachers still had the usual sanctions, like detention and lines and sarcasm, but now they could apply to have the parents heavily fined if you missed your double geography assignment – even if the dog was sick on it.

  The Maximum Pocket Money Act set the upper limit for weekly allowances at 50p per child. The Children’s TV Act made the television companies remove all the kids’ programmes after five o’clock in the evening. The School Uniform Act made caps compulsory for boys and straw hats compulsory for girls. The lower limit for buying chewing gum became 21 years of age.

  There followed the Reasonable Violence Against Children Act. If that kid is playing you up, give him a whoomp. So long as it’s reasonable. The Act didn’t mention any definition of the word reasonable but it was assumed that judges and the courts would fill in the gaps. Funnily enough, there wasn’t a single case of anyone being taking to court for unreasonably hitting a child.

  And the Sit Up Straight at the Table Act was followed by the Don’t Answer Back Act. The Take Your Hands Out Of Your Pockets Act and the Mind Your Ps and Qs Act were voted through Parliament on the same afternoon.

  Jackman paused for breath. He was well satisfied. The streets of England were free of Annoying Scruffs and the whole country seemed to be sinking back into some comfortable bygone Golden Age that they all thought they could remember but that never really existed. This was New England. A Land Fit For Grown Ups. Hoorah.

  * * * * *

  Government Headquarters (Scientific Research) is situated under some chalky hills near Swindon.

  On the surface, all you could see was a couple of smallish buildings on a rather drab industrial estate surrounded by a suspiciously large car park. Buried below were laboratories, warehouses, offices, and living quarters, all connected by miles and miles of tunnels.

  Professor Bloodlinker was playing with the latest gadget from his spy research team. It was a micro pistol in the shape of a toothbrush. He had strict instructions from the boffins to give it back when he had finished testing it – it wouldn’t do to mix it up with his own toothbrush.

  A knock on the door made him swivel round in his chair. ‘Come,’ he said.

  The Head of Chemistry entered the windowless room. He hovered near the door until he was quite sure Bloodlinker had replaced the toothbrush on his desk. He was holding a block of polystyrene which held a number of test tubes. Each one contained a coloured powder.

  ‘The samples are ready? Good, good,’ said the professor. He lent forward and tapped a test tube with his pen. ‘What does this one do?’

  ‘That one makes you open to suggestion, Professor. If I told you there was a brown bear living in the cupboard under your stairs you would never go near that cupboard again.’

  ‘And what about this one?’ The second powder was black and looked as if it was fizzing slightly.

  ‘This one makes you easy to command. If I say you have to hop around on one leg all day because that’s the law you will hop around on one leg all day. No questions.’

  ‘Good, good, good,’ said Bloodlinker. ‘And what about this one?’ He tapped the third tube.

  ‘This one makes you gullible. If I say “By the way, what about that hundred pounds you owe me?”, you will be straight down the bank at lunchtime with your debit card out.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Bloodlinker. ‘OK. We’ll have all three. Mix them all up and get them ready to ship. What is this powder at the end?’ he said, tapping a fourt
h test tube. It was full of grainy white powder.

  The scientist coughed gently. ‘That is milk powder, Professor. For my coffee.’

  * * * * *

  The long summer holidays were crawling closer. Lewis and his mates were hopeful that the New Regime would lighten up a bit as Flintwick Secondary School began to wind down for the break. It had been a difficult few weeks. The teachers were enjoying their new powers. Even old favourites like Ms Dinsbury had gone uber-strict. There was no talking, no larking, no lateness, no running, no day-dreaming, no cheeking, no nothing. Transgressors were marched directly to the Headmaster’s office. He had recently invested in a brand new cane. Even hardcore nutters like Arseface Morton turned up every day and stayed every day.

  Lewis’s bag was more than usually heavy as he left home. Three assignments were due that morning and another five the next day. His shoulders sagged. As he rounded the corner to Badger Rise Road he almost tripped over Mrs Baker. She was smaller than Lewis and a little stooped. She was pulling a shopping bag on wheels. Everyone assumed she was a bit dotty.

  ‘I wouldn’t go that way today, Lewis,’ she said.

  ‘Hello Mrs Baker,’ Lewis said, untangling his bag strap from where it had caught on the shopping trolley lid. ‘What’s up with that way?’

  ‘There’s some big people down there and I don’t think they’ve got your best interest at heart.’ She cackled a dry laugh and continued on her way.

  ‘OK. Thanks,’ Lewis called. She gets battier every day, he thought, and then thought no more about it.

  In Toaster Avenue he almost ran smack into the “big people”. There were four men standing in the road. One of them had hold of a pair of third years and was dragging them by the collars in the direction of the school. Lewis sank back into a large leafy bush with hangy-down yellow flowers that was spilling over the adjacent garden wall. He watched the scene through the leaves.

  Whatever was going on, it was bad news. The under-arrest kids were struggling and their captor was swearing at them to be still. Lewis was just resolved to take Mrs Baker’s advice when he saw Parker coming round the corner. He yanked him into the hedge.