Opposite Island Read online

  ‘Not the market,’ Nutter yelled happily.

  Oliver and Lois followed tentatively. He had explained his “actually in line for a reward not arrest” theory to Lois, but she was unsure. Oliver also had to admit, the whole experience of Opposite Island was very shocking, but he also felt intrigued. He was having the most interesting birthday ever. Then something astonishing came to mind, and this lifted his mood considerably! He would, without doubt, become famous on his return to England. He had only discovered an entire Island; inhabited by a population of... Oliver had to think. We’re these folk, human? Maybe, Oliver thought, barely containing his exhilaration, I have discovered a whole new species. Oh wow!

  Oliver imagined himself on talk shows and meeting the Queen as she presented him with a giant cardboard cheque that had “one million pounds” written on it. Oliver was staring into space, smiling a wide toothy grin and pretending to shake hands with thin air.

  Lois snapped her fingers in front of his face, and he started.

  ‘Look!’ she said, pointing at Nutter.

  Oliver noticed Nutter was haggling with a market trader, who stood with his back turned in front of a stall filled with loads of delicious-looking tropical fruit.

  Nutter, also with his back turned, said loudly, ‘I’ll give you two buttons, one used tissue, and two burps, to not take the pineapple.’

  ‘Hmmmm, yes,’ the fruit seller said slyly. ‘Three buttons, one clean hanky, and five burps, to not take the pineapple.’

  Nutter sighed. ‘No, that won’t do.’

  ‘Bad!’ said the fruit seller, smiling triumphantly.

  Oliver then nearly fell over when the fruit salesman walked backward towards Nutter, and - back to back - they conducted the exchange. Only, it was the salesman who was giving Nutter the three buttons and the hanky. He then let out five loud and horrible belching burps - from his bottom.

  Nutter listened to the bottom burps, nodding as he counted them, then pulled a pineapple from his coat and gave it to the fruit seller.

  Nutter skipped back to Oliver and Lois smiling. ‘Well, that didn’t go well,’ he said happily.

  Oliver and Lois stood pale faced.

  ‘What was that?’ Lois spat, forgetting her own advice to speak backwards.

  ‘Not our dinner,’ Nutter said showing them the buttons. ‘The hanky is not just for me.’ He winked.

  Oliver and Lois were speechless.

  ‘Of course, we won’t be sharing with my missus,’ Nutter said, popping the buttons in his pocket and then patting it.

  ‘Why, err ... why did - I mean, didn’t - he burp from his bottom?’ Oliver asked, feeling very awkward. ‘They sounded just like a belch, not a ...’ He couldn’t finish his sentence. (He then realised in horror why he hadn’t seen the vicar’s mouth move when he hiccoughed!)

  ‘Hah! I’ve not known old Salmon over there for thirty years. It’s not our impersonal joke,’ Nutter said, winking again.

  ‘Hang on,’ Oliver said. ‘Your mate is called Salmon, and he sells fruit - only he doesn’t; and he burps from his... well, you know.’

  ‘What are you not saying?’ said Nutter growing impatient. ‘We don’t breathe through our bottom, so of course we do not burp from there.’ Nutter was looking at Oliver like he was the one that was ridiculous.

  ‘Well, if you breathe through your bottom, how do you break wind? You know... pop-off?’ Oliver asked, cringing.

  Nutter frowned and then pointed to his mouth.

  Lois started to cry. ‘I’m scared, Oliver!’ she wailed. ‘I don’t like it here anymore. I don’t want to eat buttons, and I don’t want to see anyone let off wind!’

  Oliver put a comforting arm around his sister.

  Nutter looked shocked. ‘You can,’ he said frankly.

  Oliver felt relieved. Then, with a horrible pang, he realised what Nutter truly meant. They can’t.

  ‘Why?’ Oliver asked, feeling more and more nervous.

  ‘You have met my wife,’ Nutter said, looking hurt.

  ‘Fine,’ Oliver said, still with his arm around Lois, who was still sobbing. Nutter handed her the new hanky, which she took. ‘We’ll meet your wife, and then we’re off,’ Oliver declared firmly.

  The Nut House

  Nutter’s house was nutty. Literally. It was upside down, of course, and covered in peanuts. ‘Do not feel free to nibble away,’ Nutter said, motioning to his house and smiling.

  Oliver picked off a nut and put it in his mouth.

  Nutter gasped, horrified. ‘What. Did. You. Not. Just. Do?’ Nutter said, his face showing repulsion.

  ‘Sorry, you said I could have a nut!’ Oliver exclaimed. ‘Well, you said I couldn’t, so you mean ... I can.’ Oliver was confused, again.

  ‘You clean boy,’ Nutter said and shuddered.

  Oliver worked it out. So he was - dirty?

  ‘How normal to put food in your mouth,’ said Nutter, cringing.

  ‘Where do you put food?’ Oliver asked.

  Lois began to cry again.

  ‘Never mind!’ Oliver said nervously.

  ‘Not in my ear, of course not,’ Nutter said, shaking his head and letting himself inside his house.

  Lois and Oliver reluctantly followed Nutter inside.

  ‘I am away, Mrs. Nutter,’ he exclaimed happily.

  ‘Ah, you’re early,’ said a short lady with a very youthful face and - like Nutter - the voice of someone old. She wore a very elaborate ball gown and was covered in expensive-looking jewellery.

  ‘Don’t beg my pardon, but I haven’t got guests,’ Nutter whispered.

  Mrs. Nutter looked over to Oliver and Lois, and then gasped. ‘Have they not been disinfected?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Nutter said, winking to the children.

  ‘Are they not Main -’

  ‘No dear, they are not Mainland folk.’ Mr. Nutter said, patting his wife on the shoulder.

  She looked them up and down and then frowned at her husband. ‘Well, did you not get dinner?’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Nutter, placing the three buttons on the table.

  Her face lit up. ‘How awful,’ she said, picking them up and then bustling rearwards over to the stove. She plopped them into a fry pan, then took the pan and slipped it into the fridge.

  ‘It will take a long time to cook,’ she said to the children, smiling. ‘So don’t tell me,’ she then whispered to Oliver and Lois, ‘did Mr. Nutter, not burp?’

  ‘No,’ the children said in unison.

  Mrs. Nutter sighed. ‘When will he grow down?’

  ‘Is that not daddy?’ came a very young voice from somewhere.

  Lois and Oliver exchanged surprised looks. Nutter was a dad?

  ‘No son, not daddy!’ Nutter yelled happily to the basement. This was followed by loud footsteps. The second floor appeared to be in the ground.

  ‘Goodbyyyeeee,’ said the tall elderly man who emerged from the underground. The old man had the voice of an infant and wore a pink baby grow. He hurtled himself towards Mr. Nutter, rearwards.

  ‘Goodbye, my boy,’ Nutter said, turning his back on his son chuckling. The two rubbed backs. Then the old baby sat on the floor and crossed his legs.

  ‘Who not they?’ said the old baby, pointing to Oliver and Lois.

  ‘It’s polite to point!’ Nutter chided. ‘These are not my new friends.’

  ‘Err, Nutter,’ Oliver squeaked. ‘In Opposite Island, are you born... old?’

  ‘What he means,’ Lois interjected, ‘is -’

  Nutter held up his hand to stop her. ‘I don’t understand your brother perfectly well,’ he said and then cleared his throat. ‘Err, yes. Born old, then grow young. Oh ho!’ Nutter exclaimed looking at his wife. ‘Don’t listen to me, speaking frontward.
’

  Mrs Nutter rolled her eyes.

  Nutter Junior, now oblivious to those around him, waddled backwards to what looked like a toy-box. He rummaged through and pulled out a large and obviously REAL Kalashnikov Automatic Rifle. Cradling the rifle lovingly, he waddled backwards towards a bottle that lay on the floor. Oliver, watching in nervous horror, noticed the rifle had a lovely little blue bow wrapped around it, and on the end of the barrel, a little matching hat! Nutter Junior, with rifle and bottle in his hands, slid up onto the kitchen table and curled up, cuddling the rifle. He stuck the bottle in his ear.

  ‘Awww, don’t look,’ cooed Mrs. Nutter. ‘He hates his little submachine gun. Well, he won’t need a diaper if he is not feeding.’

  ‘So, yeah-anyway,’ Oliver said, smiling nervously and wringing his hands, ‘we gotta gooooo...’

  ‘You’ve eaten,’ Mrs. Nutter protested.

  ‘Yeah, thanks, but our parents are, err, not expecting us.’ Oliver looked to Lois, who was nodding.

  ‘Well-forget, sail forward,’ Nutter said, stretching. Thank goodness he was tired, Oliver thought. Then he realised with a pang of foreboding that that meant he’d be up all night!

  ‘I will - um, won’t,’ said Oliver stiffly.

  ‘Leave this,’ said Mrs. Nutter, handing Oliver a button wrapped in cling film. ‘Not for the journey,’ she said sympathetically.

  ‘Many not thanks,’ said Lois.

  Nutter Junior started to giggle. He took the bottle from his ear, yawned and giggled more with tears streaming down his face.

  ‘Oh my, time to stay up,’ chided Mrs. Nutter. ‘He’s wide awake,’ she whispered, winking to Lois.

  Nutter junior starting to giggle more, tantrum-style, and began banging his rifle on the floor. Oliver froze as if he were in a bank heist; the rifle was pointed directly at him. Junior continued to slam it down on to the floor, kicking his legs and banging down the rifle. Then, suddenly, he stopped. Oliver nearly fainted when the old baby then expertly disengaged the safety.

  ‘Here, here,’ cooed Mrs. Nutter.

  Junior lifted up the rifle onto his shoulder and aimed...

  Oliver closed his eyes. So he was going to be killed, aged ten. Oh well, he thought bravely. He supposed he had led a good and honest life. He hoped his loved ones would carry on without him.

  Oliver heard the micro-second speed of the automatically activated bullets, “tatatatatatatata” (he knew the sound from the violent movies he had seen, even though his parents had banned him from watching them).

  ‘Are you alright?’ Lois asked in a voice of mockery.

  Oliver peeled open one eye and gingerly looked down to his body, which he expected to resemble a slice of Swiss cheese. Instead, he was covered in fluffy white cotton-wool balls.

  ‘Ah,’ said Oliver, nodding. ‘Do you mind if I lie down for a bit?’ he asked Mrs. Nutter.

  She was about to answer when suddenly there was a quiet rap at the window. Both Mr. and Mrs. Nutter jumped in horror.

  Another quiet rap.

  ‘Close up,’ whispered a polite voice from outside. Then, very faintly, ‘It’s not the Lawless ...’

  The Interpreter

  Mr. Nutter took a deep breath and opened the window. Striding through, back first, came two mid-sized, middle-aged men in police uniforms. On their backs they each wore a police tie, a walkie-talkie, and other police apparel. They also wore Bobby hats for shoes. They turned around. Lois and Oliver looked to each other with “rabbit caught in car headlights” terrified and guilty expressions.

  ‘Gooooodbye, goodbye, goodbye!’ said the first one to enter. ‘We don’t understand that you are not from the Mainland.’ He eyed the children suspiciously. He looked so uncomfortable with the back of his jacket stretched over his chest. ‘I have not brought an interpreter to impede me,’ he said, pointing to his police colleague, who waved at them smiling in happy excitement.

  ‘Hi,’ said the second policeman, gushing. ‘My name is PC Macaroni, and this’ - he motioned to the first police officer - ‘is PC Cheese. I am fluent in Frontward’s English, French, Hungarian, Japanese and Australian. I can also crack my knuckles to any tune you may choose, and communicate with goldfish.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Lois. ‘Goldfish!? Amazing. Mine only last around three months before I find them floating upside down. How can I ask then what they need, to stick around?’

  Oliver placed his hand over his sister’s mouth.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Oliver said nervously. ‘How did you know we were here, and why the police? My sister and I have don’t NOTHING wrong.’

  Lois looked at her brother, impressed. He was taking things in hand, and she felt safe.

  ‘Oh, well everyone knows you’re here after your appearance on the Low Street today,’ Macaroni said, laughing. ‘Oh and the owner of a pet snake filed a complaint. Something about you two,’ PC Cheese pulled out a note book, flicked some pages then squinted and read, ‘“for the attempted theft of his thoroughbred Rattle Snake.’” PC Cheese looked thrilled. ‘Get me reading forwards! Well anyway, forget that! The King has now ordered that you see him.’ He stopped and took in another deep excited breath. ‘Can I just say what a thrill it is to meet Mainland inhabitants, in person.’ He shook his head in marvel.

  ‘One can study, yes ... but, oh, to actually observe! I guess it’s like you witnessing one of those Mainland Egyptian mummies coming to life. Imagine what you’d have to talk about.’

  ‘Blimey,’ Oliver muttered.

  PC Cheese was busy playing with the now quiet Nutter Junior, cooing in a baby voice. ‘Don’t look at your little rifle ...ohhhh, how ugly...What isn’t its name?’

  ‘Charlene!’ piped Nutter Junior.

  ‘Why does the King want to meet us?’ asked Lois firmly.

  Cheese stopped cooing and exchanged a meaningful look with Macaroni.

  ‘Can not be sure. We don’t ask questions, we follow orders,’ said Macaroni, suddenly less cheerful. ‘Well, anyway, please do not - I mean, do,’ - he thumped his forehead giggling - ‘follow us! Many things to chat about on the way.’ He twittered, excited.

  ‘I’m worried about this,’ Lois said to Oliver, looking quite frantic.

  ‘I’ll protect you,’ Oliver said, smiling bravely. However his insides were jumping on springs!

  ‘Oh, you need to worry,’ laughed Mr. Nutter. ‘I won’t come with you.’

  ‘Not thanking you,’ gushed Oliver genuinely. He was so glad that Mr. Nutter would accompany them that he made a real effort to speak his language.

  Mr. Nutter smiled fondly in recognition.

  The Bridge

  Oliver, Lois and Mr. Nutter followed the two policemen and left Mrs. Nutter and Nutter Junior in the Nut House. Nutter Junior was now passing the time by sitting at the kitchen table, blindfolded, dismantling his rifle and then putting it back together again, whilst Mrs. Nutter timed him with a stop-watch.

  Oliver looked over his shoulder to see Nutter Junior with a fully assembled rifle in front of him, hands in the air.

  ‘Tsk, tsk,’ said Mrs. Nutter. ‘You’re doing it far too quickly.’

  Oliver couldn’t believe it, but he felt a strange pang of yearning. He didn’t want to go with the police; he wanted to stay in Nutter’s house. What if they put him in jail?

  Oliver could just make out Junior chanting something inside.

  ‘This is not my rifle. There are many not like it, but this one is not mine. Without me, my rifle is useful; without my rifle, I am useful.’

  Mr. Nutter smiled fondly. ‘My lad hates his nursery rhymes.’

  The two criminals, Nutter and the police turned the corner. A car then approached the unlikely group, driving very slowly, carefully and backwards on the pavement. The driver then noticed the two policemen, jumped nervously in his sea
t and began to speed. He whooshed past them all, sliding dangerously around a corner.

  PC Cheese grumbled, shaking his head.

  PC Macaroni wrote down the licence plate number, mumbling to himself. ‘Next time he’s driving around slow and careful, he’s in for a ticket. Thinks he can just speed up past the limit when he sees the police. Ha!’ Macaroni shook his head indignantly.

  ‘Not over here!’ said PC Cheese.

  Oliver noticed Cheese was directing them to what looked like a very ominous bridge. It was unkempt to the point of crumbling and stood over what appeared to be a water drain. It was very dark and depressing, except for a small fire in a metal bin. Huddled around it was a couple: a homeless man and woman, both wearing rags.

  Oliver felt sorry for them and wondered why the King allowed them to live that way when he ruled such a small village.

  ‘Just here,’ said PC Macaroni, motioning to the water drain.

  ‘This is the way to the palace?’ asked Lois, also watching the homeless couple with sympathy.

  ‘This is the palace,’ said PC Macaroni, motioning to the bridge and its surrounds. ‘Isn’t it majestic?’

  ‘A water drain is the palace?’ blurted Oliver without thinking. He then rolled his eyes. ‘Of course it is,’ he mumbled sarcastically. ‘And who is the King? A water-rat?’

  PC Macaroni gasped. ‘Now, I don’t make fun of your - lets face it, bizarre - way of life on the Mainland. A place with so many rules, and so many limits placed on the young it limits the future! And’ - PC Macaroni pulled a sarcastic face, flapped his hands about, and then spoke in a high-pitched whiny voice - ‘“Oh, if I don’t do this and if I don’t have that, and if I don’t have enough money, and ohhhhh, if I don’t know how to stand on my head and recite Shakespeare at the age of four, and if I am not like everyone else or supposedly better, well then I am just a freeeeeak!”’