Flight of the Gazebo

Chapter 2 - Darkness

Drome's wail cut off as he landed and air exploded from his lungs.

He gasped for breath and waited for his body to start sending pain signals. When they didn't come, he gingerly moved his arms and legs. They appeared to be in working order. He tried opening his eyes and realised they were open already.

It was dark. For a horrible moment, he thought he was blind. He'd read about this sort of thing: people getting knocked on the head and ending up not able to see for the rest of their lives. His fingers explored his skull and found his helmet still firmly in place. He couldn't feel any brains leaking out from under it. The other parts of his body felt all right when he ran his hands over himself. Apart from the bulges in his pockets from a few coins and a compass nothing spoilt its normal smoothness. No broken bones poking through his skin, no wetness of blood.

He sat up and looked around. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he made out faint gleams coming from the tops of buildings and cars.

Why is it so dark? Is it night already? I must have been knocked out for hours. Strange there were no street lights. No lights in the houses either.

Someone was sobbing nearby.

Still dazed, he felt around himself trying to work out where he was. His hands brushed against something cold and hard. A vertical sheet of metal next to his hip - the low metal side of a trailer, he realised - and he was lying on something soft and damp. He seemed to have landed on a pile of grass cuttings and hedge trimmings in the back of a trailer.

Mr Klammer's...

He remembered the old man cutting his hedge that afternoon. Lucky for him Mr Klammer had left the trailer out the front of the house.

Drome frowned. Why would everyone leave him lying in the trailer all afternoon? Perhaps they assumed he was dead and were going to throw him out with all the other waste. He clambered out of the trailer and stood next to it, gripping the side to steady himself.

It was too dark to see properly, but the sobbing came from where he thought the other side of the road should be.

"Hello?" he called.

The sobbing stuttered and tailed off. "I've lost Pip," said a woman's voice.

"Mrs Dillinger?" It was her stupid little rat-dog he'd swerved to avoid. Everyone must have spent the afternoon looking for the dog rather than attending to him - a human being! - unconscious in the trailer.

"Oh, my poor Pip!" As she said the dog's name, Mrs Dillinger began to cry again.

"Mrs Dillinger! What time is it?" Surely his mother would have been looking for him if he hadn't come home for tea?

He felt his way across the road and tripped over the kerb, landing on Mrs Dillinger who had plumped herself down on the pavement in a distraught heap. She shrieked, shoved him off with a mighty heave and fetched him a blow on the side of the head with one of her meaty hands.

"Pervert! Fancy trying to take advantage of a poor, helpless woman! And me all upset at my poor Pip. I know who you are. You're Jerome Watkins and I'll be speaking to your mother about you."

Despite the distraction of the odd circumstances, it was strange to hear his proper name. Usually only his mother ever called him Jerome. To everyone else he was Drome.

"No, I... Oh, forget it. Look, what happened? How long have I been unconscious?"

But the only answer he got was another bout of sobbing.

There was the sound of a door opening nearby and a voice called, "Hello? Who's that?"

"It's Drome. And Mrs Dillinger. Is that you Mr Banks?"

"Yes. Dora's here too. What on earth's going on? One minute I'm carrying in the washing, the next I'm flat on my face on the floor and it's dark. Bloody strange storm if you ask me. The clouds must be as thick as soup to make it this dark, but it isn't raining."

"Hang on," replied Drome. "Isn't it nighttime?"

"Don't be daft. How can it go from the middle of the afternoon to the middle of the night in an instant?" said Dora.

"I had an accident. Came off my bike. When I got up, it was dark. I thought I'd been unconscious for hours."

"No, it's still the afternoon. The storm seems to have knocked out the power," she said. "We can't go on fumbling around in the dark. I'll fetch a candle."

A few moments later Dora came back to the door holding aloft a lighted candle. Its warm glow revealed Mrs Dillinger sitting on the kerb, hugging her ample knees.

"Are you all right Mrs Dillinger?" asked John.

"She's lost her dog," said Drome.

"And he tried to take advantage of me," said Mrs Dillinger pointing an accusing finger at Drome.

"No, I tripped in the dark," protested Drome.

All eyes turned to Drome. There was an uncomfortable pause, then John spoke. "We'll find Pip presently, Mrs Dillinger." He helped her to her feet and gave Drome a frown. "Just as soon as the storm passes over and it gets light again."

More people began drifting up, attracted by the voices and glow of the candle. A few carried electric torches.

Drome thought the darkness was far too deep to be caused by storm clouds and was about to point this out, when a shaky voice from an onlooker said, "Look at the sky."

As one, the crowd turned their faces upward.

The ragged edge of a large cloud drifted away leaving an open patch of sky behind it.

But what a sky.

There was still no daylight. Through the gap in the clouds was a hazy patchwork of pale browns, greens and blues.