Free Maggot Moon by Sally Gardner

cigarette. You don’t see many of those. Tobacco was for the few. No freedom fighter would ever smoke those smokes. They have the crest of the Motherland printed on them. The man was a prick if he thought we were that thick.

It was pitch-black outside. Only that eyesore of a building at the end of our road was lit up, starbright, earthbound. I crept towards the waiting car in which the two detectives sat. I made them jump out of their seats. One wound down his steamed-up window, his mouth full of sausage. The car smelled of farts.
    “We have an intruder in the house,” I said. “You’d better come.”
    The supposed Obstructor made a feeble attempt to run.
    We watched as the car did a three-point turn and gave chase. It was pathetic. Even we could see they all knew one another. The “Obstructor” shrugged. The back door of the wasps’ car was opened for him.
    I tell you this, if he had been the genuine McCoy, they would have shot him to where no kingdom comes.
    In the kitchen, Gramps had his coat on.
    “What are you doing?” I said.
    He shook his head and put his fingers to his lips.
    “Taking the rat out.”
    But I knew he wasn’t. He was off. Where, I didn’t know, couldn’t say. I wanted to cling to that coat of his, beg him to stay. He wouldn’t. I could see by the look in his eyes that he was going to go, come what may.

I slept on and off with my head on my arms at the kitchen table. I hadn’t dared move. Call it superstition. It must have been about six that morning when I woke. It was light, had been light for a long time. Still Gramps hadn’t returned. To tell the fricking truth, I was no longer calm. I was bloody terrified.
    The moon man emerged from the cellar, relieved to see me. He still wore his gravity boots, which he didn’t need as there was plenty of gravity there. Too much. In fact, I thought a little less of it might be a good idea.
    I made tea for the moon man while he rinsed his mouth in salty water. It was all the medicine we had to offer. That and the rest of the aspirins. I saw him wince. I knew he shouldn’t be up here, it was far too dangerous. But I didn’t want him to leave, didn’t want to be on my own, waiting. He sat down. I still found it hard to look at the word sewn on his space suit:
ELD9.
    He wrote the word
Gramps
and I said, “He’s not here.”
    I could see that worried him. I tell you this, it worried me too. I wasn’t even going to think of the what-if scenarios.

We sat in silence, the moon man and me. I knew he couldn’t speak but there is silence and there is silence, if you get my meaning. I’ll tell you this for nothing: I was born into a frick-fracking nightmare. The only way out was in my head. In my head there are Croca-Colas, Cadillacs. There is planet Juniper and Hector to rescue us all.
    My bones nearly jumped free from my muscles when I heard a noise in the back garden. The moon man disappeared back to Cellar Street. I washed up the cups, put them away.
    I don’t think I was breathing when Gramps said, “Let me in.”
    “Where have you been?” I asked as I opened the back door. His face was all smoky, his shirt torn and burnt. He wasn’t wearing his hat or his coat. No. Miss Phillips was. She stood behind him. She looked as if she had been beaten up pretty badly.
    “What happened?”
    Gramps just put the kettle on and made tea. Miss Phillips was shaking.
    “They set fire to her house. I knew they would,” he said. “It was only a matter of time.”
    I took a bowl of water to the table. That was one fricking bruise she had.
    Gramps lifted up Miss Phillips’s face towards his and gently wiped away the smoke. I watched all this and felt that there was something more there.
    When she winced, he said softly, “It’s all right, love.”
    I thought I understood. Well, I thought I did, but hell’s bells, I wasn’t that sure.
    I placed the cup of tea near her.
    She put both her hands round the cup and stared at the grain of the table. Gramps