Freddie Jones: The Four Assemble

By Nicholas Cariello

Freddie Jones is lonely, friendless and misunderstood. His father has gone missing and his wicked grandmother is now in charge. Only eleven years old, yet feeling like he wants to give up on life, Freddie opens his heart to the universe... and the universe hears him.

To his amazement, Freddie is carried off to a strange world where he forges new friendships. However, even his newfound friends can’t replace his dear father; he longs to see him again. But perhaps his friends can give him some clues about his father’s sudden disappearance...

Armed with some terrifying and unbelievable information, will Freddie dare to go on the adventure of a lifetime... and will he survive it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nicholas Cariello
• Release date: Nov 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781999350611

Book preview

Chapter One

Father & Son

Silence dominated the evening drive home. Freddie Jones sat hunched in the passenger seat with arms bitterly crossed along with a face matching his mood. He scrunched his eyes tightly together as the intermittent flashes of the street lighting flickered over his sullen features.

His father glanced down at him, undeterred by his attempt of pretending to be asleep. ‘It’s only for two nights,’ Mr Jones stated. ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’

Freddie wished to continue his game, but he soon realised it wasn’t actually getting him anywhere. ‘Why can’t I come with you, then?’ he pleaded, his sulking face fading. ‘I won’t get in the way, I promise. You won’t even know I’m there.’ Freddie dipped his chin and widened his eyes, optimistic that Mr Jones would cave in to his puppy dog impression.

‘Son, we’ve been over this a hundred times now. If it were a social visit, then yes, of course you could come, but it isn’t, plus you have school—’

‘But I hate school,’ Freddie interrupted, still clawing for sympathy, ‘and, let’s be honest, will anyone even know I’m gone?’

Mr Jones took a deep breath and paused for a brief moment. His son was right – no one would know he was gone.

Freddie Jones wasn’t exactly Mr Popular at the secondary school he attended; most people wouldn’t be, having a father who was not only a science teacher but also the new deputy headmaster. This, along with being Freddie’s opening year at senior school and being new to the area, all made one giant cocktail of making friends quite an impossible challenge.

Still, this was far from being a good enough reason to accompany his father on the trip. Mr Jones stuck to his guns. There was no way he could take his son on this expedition, as unknown to Freddie it could be quite dangerous.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Mr Jones cleared his throat to replace that loving fatherly tone with a sterner, more authoritative instrument: the schoolteacher’s voice. ‘You’re not coming, Freddie, and that is the end of it! Have I made myself clear?’

Freddie knew when it was time to shut up, and that time was now. With his father’s orders bellowed out, he answered with a subdued nod followed by a defeated slouch, sinking slowly into the depths of the chair.

There was an uneasy silence before Mr Jones spoke again, this time back to his loving father’s voice. ‘When I get back, we’ll have a boys’ night, yeah? We’ll get the telescope out, get a pizza, watch some films. What do ya reckon?’

Beaten, Freddie slumped deeper with the safety belt wrapped loosely under his chin and his bottom nearly sliding off the seat. He forced a half-hearted grin and mumbled, ‘Okay, I’ll settle for a boys’ night when you’re home. I won’t mention it no more, I promise.’

Mr Jones’s eyes flicked back to the road and a victorious smile suddenly sprouted. But it didn’t stay for long; it was quickly diminished and replaced with one of uncertainty and gloom. Mr Jones had a bad feeling, a feeling that he might not be coming home at all.

As they arrived home, the street was dull and motionless. A moth repeatedly hit the streetlight outside their house and a muffled barking in the distance was all that seemed to be happening near their dwelling in East London.

Mr Jones pulled the car up to the drive and switched off the engine. Freddie blankly stared at the moth. He wasn’t going to mention the trip any more. His father looked at his son attempting to catch his eye but to no avail, so instead he opted for some humour. ‘You know there’s no Wi-Fi out in the desert, don’t you, son?’ Mr Jones’s thick eyebrows raised. ‘And we both know there’s no way you could go a day without your phone… Is there?’

Freddie pinged out of the car to save him from any more of his father’s embarrassing, cheap wit. He slammed the door behind him and marched to the front door, his father casually following. Freddie stood at the door lingering like a dog waiting to wee as Mr Jones interrupted the tense silence with a big bunch of keys that jangled at his fingertips. He found the key for the small oak door and barely had it open before Freddie managed to squeeze himself through.

Upon entering the house, they were hit by a strong odour of old wood mixed with a subtle blend of men’s stinking feet. A familiar smell that forever lingered in their home – a smell, and sign, of men living alone.

Unfortunately, Freddie’s mother died in a tragic skiing accident when he was just a baby. Growing up, Freddie’s father regularly spoke of his mother and at times often talked as if she were still there. He reminisced about the good times they had, how they met, their first date and he even used to bring up the tales of how they both dreamt of one day becoming astronauts.

The house, narrated with stories of Freddie’s mum and the walls lined with her beautiful face, helped to dampen his loss, but he still wanted a mum.

So, Mr Jones had played the roles of both parents for the last decade, and a good job he had done too. Substituting for his mother’s absence, it was as if Freddie’s father was putting in twice the love.

Freddie idealised his dad; he was everything a boy could wish for.

Nevertheless, the idealised Dad was going alone on this journey.

Freddie raced upstairs to his bedroom. Although he’d agreed not to mention the trip any more, it did little to stop him thumping his feet up the stairs in small but bad-tempered steps.

As the old wooden staircase creaked and groaned under the frustrated pressure, Mr Jones was sure that half the neighbours heard.

Freddie entered his room still making as much noise as possible and ripped off his clothes. He put on his pyjamas from the mountain of creased clothes dumped in the corner of the room. He then leapt into bed, set his alarm clock and switched off the lava lamp leaving just the radiant figures of the time lighting the room in a faint crimson shade. He gave a yawn as the drowsiness grew heavier on his eyelids and then gradually drifted off with the thought of wishing he were going to Egypt with his father.

Morning arrived as a screeching robotic siren echoed from beside him. He reached out. First to be knocked off was his favourite picture of his parents and him as a baby posing at Stonehenge on a crisp English morning. Next off was a glass, but luckily it only had a drop of water floating in the bottom. Finally, his hand found the snooze button, putting an end to that awful racket plaguing his ears.

Freddie gave a frustrated sigh. Getting up for school was a struggle, especially if you spent all day with no friends and no one to talk to. Hardly something to eagerly get you out of bed every morning. Still, he had to go. Didn’t he?

He rubbed his eyes and threw off the covers still huffing and puffing. Eventually, after four more snoozes and a few shouts of ‘You up yet?’ from under the floorboards, he eventually surfaced. A stretch and a yawn were called for before Freddie stiffly strutted to the window and tugged at the curtains. The morning sun came flooding through, lighting up the treasures of the room like Aladdin’s cave. But this was no ordinary bedroom. This bedroom belonged to an eleven-year-old child who was obsessed with the universe, and everything in it.

Near the window a thin blue telescope, plastered with Panini football stickers, aimed out towards the midst of the sky. Model spaceships lined the wonky shelves that Freddie had proudly assembled himself along with the odd planet and its customary rings dangling from fishing lines above. The corner housed an enormous globe of the Earth set on its axis. A shiny black Darth Vader helmet sat on the windowsill looking out as if on guard duty. The walls were plastered with an assortment of posters and magazine cuttings, ranging from the solar system planets to the picturesque images taken by the Hubble Space Telescope. Arranged tightly together like a giant jigsaw, they concealed nearly every square inch of the dull magnolia wall beneath.

‘You up yet?’ came the repeated voice from downstairs.

‘Yes, Dad,’ came the reply, for the fifth time. Freddie grabbed his dressing gown along with a matching pair of moccasin slippers and made his way down the stairs past the vibrant picture display of his mum, which really needed a good clean as it was always planted with a wet kiss every time he passed, and then down into the kitchen where Father was already sat waiting.

Mr Jones was always up at the break of dawn, usually with a hot beverage in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He was a short, stocky man who wore the smallest pair of glasses that sat comfortably on the tip of his button nose. He also had a head of thick brown curly hair who Freddie, to his displeasure, had inherited, just like he had inherited his love for science and the ever-expanding universe.

Mr Jones beamed his son a notable smile. ‘Morning, my little prince.’

Freddie’s eyes widened. The kitchen table was swamped with a breakfast feast fit for a king. There were fried, scrambled and boiled eggs cooked to perfection. Piles of smoky bacon and sausages sizzled on the hotplate. Muffins with chocolate chips. Pancakes with treacle. It had it all. There was even a bowl of fresh fruit with whipped cream garnished with a cherry on top. With so much to choose from, Freddie didn’t know where to start.

Mr Jones impatiently pulled over a chair for his son and urged him to tuck in. ‘Orange or apple juice, champ?’

Freddie looked at his father a little unsure. ‘Erm… orange, please.’

Mr Jones cleared his throat, which was usually a sign that bad news was on its way. ‘Nanny Maureen is coming over this afternoon,’ he said bluntly while pouring them both a glass of juice. ‘She’ll be looking after you for the next few days.’

‘I know,’ Freddie muttered, ‘and this breakfast doesn’t make up for it either. Why do you think I’ve made such a big deal about wanting to go with you. I knew she would be coming over to look after me. You can’t leave me with her. There must be someone else?’

Mr Jones scanned the food, unable to look his son in the eye. ‘She’s not that bad, is she?’

Freddie sighed and piled up his plate with a mountain of eggs and sausages hoping it would somehow drown his sorrows. ‘Not that bad? Yeah, when she’s asleep maybe!’ he joked. ‘Seriously, Dad, she has me running around like her slave whenever she comes round. Looking after me for the next few days! Ha, more like I’ll be looking after her! She reminds me of that grandmother in George’s Marvellous Medicine. Hey, that’s a thought, I wonder what concoctions I could mix up for her?’ Freddie thinned his mischievous eyes and lashed his fingers together; all he needed now was the evil laugh.

Mr Jones looked worryingly at his son. ‘Don’t let me come home to find you’ve made some mad, marvellous medicine and Nanny’s head is protruding through my roof! Although, that would be a funny sight.’

They both chuckled away together scoffing down more sausages and bacon. It was the best breakfast ever.

‘Make sure you take plenty of pictures when you see the pyramids, won’t you, Dad, and send them to me, and the sphinx – well, what’s left of it.’

‘Don’t worry, son, I’ll keep you up to date with things. I’ll be sending so many texts and pics you’ll think you’re there with me.’

Freddie, settling for this being as close to Egypt as he was going to get, finally stopped sulking. It wasn’t often his dad would go off without him, especially to another land. The pair of them often went off gallivanting together, thinking they’re were both Indiana Jones hoping to unearth some of this world’s lost secrets and treasures. As far as fathers and sons went, these two were almost inseparable; both sharing the same passions, they were like best friends.

Freddie mopped up what was left of his breakfast with a thick slice of bread and washed it down with the last of the orange juice. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, which made his father wince, and then set off back upstairs to get ready for school.

Breakfast consumed most of the morning, so it was a mad rush to get out of the door. Mr Jones, thinking it would make his son hurry, was already in the car with the engine running. Staring through the window deep in thought, he mumbled to himself, ‘Passport, check. Money, check. Tickets, check.’

Freddie jumped in catching the last of his checklist. ‘Money for a takeaway every night,’ he suggested, holding out his hand. ‘Check?’

Disturbed, Mr Jones drifted from his list. ‘I’ve left forty pounds in the letter cupboard for you to get a takeaway one evening,’ he said. ‘Oh, I jotted the emergency number for the airline in case I’m delayed for some unknown reason. But I’ll have my mobile on me most of the time, so you’ll be able to catch me on that.’

The car made a screech as he tried to find the right gear.

‘Takeaway!’ said Freddie slyly. ‘What, like a vindaloo for Nanna?’

Mr Jones gave his son an uneasy look. ‘I’m starting to think this is a bad idea me leaving you with her.’

‘I’m joking, Dad, don’t worry. Seriously, we will be fine.’

The journey to school took about ten minutes. The conversation didn’t move off the subject of making sure Freddie looked after his nan, which was quite ironic since the purpose of her coming over was for her to look after him.

The plan for Mr Jones was to drop Freddie off at school and then it was straight to the airport, allowing him plenty of time to catch the midday flight. He was off to Cairo for two days to investigate an array of new cavities that had just been discovered in the Great Pyramids of Giza. Funding for this little adventure came from the local university where he had the odd evening lecturing on ancient structures and their connection with the cosmos.

Freddie always made his father drop him off around the corner from the staff car park, for obvious reasons.

As expected, the day dragged on a lot longer than usual. Especially as science was the last of the day’s lessons and there was a substitute teacher in his father’s place who, instead of teaching them, opted for everyone to read The Origin of Species while she played on her phone all lesson.

Finally, the long and tedious day came to an end.

Freddie took his time to walk home. Plagued with the thought that his grandmother was waiting with a list of jobs did little to motivate his short legs.

Nanny Maureen – or Nanna as she insisted on being called – had been at the Joneses’ household since this morning and had more than made herself at home. Accompanying the old lady was a bug-eyed goldfish, a budgerigar, which made more noise than her, and a white red-eyed hamster that looked like the Terminator. Freddie always had the pleasure of cleaning the animals’ homes whenever he was made to visit her. As this wasn’t often, it allowed for a mass of excrement and leftover food to pile up. This, believe it or not, was actually a nice job compared to the time he was made to take off her socks and wash her feet – probably the worst experience of his life, and he hoped never to have to do that ever again.

Freddie opened the garden gate and took a nervy stroll to the front door, taking in what could well be the last of the day’s fresh air: Nanna Maureen unfortunately reeked of boiled cabbage and mothballs. He approached the door, took a deep breath and rang the bell. As he stood there waiting for an answer, flashbacks of Nanna’s feet along with those long, black, curling toenails came flooding into his mind. He shuddered at the thought.

It was no surprise that Nanna didn’t answer the door. What hearing she had left was selective.

After standing there for so long, Freddie went around the back, jumped the gate and found the spare key under the cactus pot. He then pinched his nose and let himself in. ‘Nan!’ he shouted with squeezed nostrils. ‘Nan, it’s me!’

‘There’s no Nan here,’ replied an old, groggy voice. ‘Only Nanna!’

Freddie rolled his eyes before entering the living room where the old lady was already curled up on the sofa watching one of her favourite reality programmes. ‘Hello, Nanna.’

‘Shhh, boy,’ Nanna hissed, gesturing her finger to those dry old lips of hers. ‘Candice has just found out that Justin has been seeing Scarlet behind her back.’

Nanna was so consumed by the TV that she didn’t even bother to look in Freddie’s direction.

‘Anything I can get you, Nan…I mean Nanna?’

‘Yeah, put the kettle on, there’s a good boy. Oh, and get me another slice of that carrot cake from the kitchen,’ she demanded, her eyes still glued to the TV.

Freddie licked his lips thinking about the carrot cake. The old girl’s done something right, he thought. He picked up the teacup that she had bought with her and then nearly dropped it in disgust. ‘Nanna, don’t you think it’s time you got yourself a new cup? This one’s awful. Look, it’s all stained and dirty.’

Not amused, Nanna’s selective hearing kicked in again.

Freddie took the foul piece of china with him, doing his best not to get in the old girl’s way of the TV with a sharp duck and dive as he squeezed his way through. In the kitchen, he found the cake sitting on the side. ‘There’s only one slice left,’ he shouted out, waiting for a reply.

‘I only want one slice,’ she yelled, a slight snigger with her comeback.

Freddie looked at his watch. ‘Forty-six more hours,’ he mumbled. ‘Forty-six more hours.’ He brought the cake and tea back into the living room and placed them down on the table next to where his nan looked like she had spent all day.

Finally, she looked up at him. Her eyes squinted, scanning him up and down as if she were looking for something. ‘You’ve shrunk since I last saw ya. You’ve not been eating your greens, have you, boy? And look at ya hair, all thick and curly, the mess of it. You wanna get some Brylcreem on that, done your grandad wonders that did.’

Freddie took a deep breath. How did Grandad put up with you? he thought to himself.

Since Freddie got home from school, he had hardly left the kitchen as he slaved away making his nan thirteen more cups of tea – every one making him gag a little more as he touched the grimy, stained cup she insisted on reusing. In between trips, he was either screamed at to hurry up or shushed if he made any noise while she got more comfortable in front of the box.

The evening dragged as long as the day. Fortunately, Freddie had ordered a pizza. The only highlight of this boring, glum night. The doorbell rang bringing a chime and relief to Freddie’s ears.

‘Who’s that at this time of night?’ Nanna grumbled whilst Birdseye, her budgie, went into a fit of squawking.

‘That, Nanna, is tonight’s dinner.’

Freddie walked to the door smiling in hope that she wouldn’t want any after scoffing all that cake. He paid the delivery driver and gave him a subtle nod in a gesture to keep the change. He felt all grown-up tipping the pizza man, even if it was only fifty pence.

The boiled cabbage and mothball smell was soon masked as the ham and pineapple pizza came bowling through the front room. Freddie carried it in over his head like a waiter.

Nanna looked over with her long, crooked nose raised in the air. ‘Pizza?’ She sighed. ‘What ever happened to boiled cabbage and spuds?’

Freddie ignored her. He was already tucking into a slice of this Italian delicacy totally oblivious to her moans. Nanna’s constant nagging all evening had done wonders in fuelling Freddie’s appetite. He demolished the whole pizza to himself, leaving nothing but a few crumbs scattered around the cheap cardboard box. Leaning back in his chair stuffed, he felt his pocket vibrate, followed by a loud ping. He had received a text message: Flight was delayed an hour, got here in one piece though. Just eaten and checked into my hotel which is far from acceptable – but hey, it’s free. Gonna get my head down soon ready for a big day tomorrow. Hope all is OK there and you and Mum are getting on like a house on fire! P.S. that’s just a figure of speech, plsssss don’t let me come home to a house on fire!

Freddie laughed even though deep down he was still annoyed that he wasn’t there.

‘Who’s that? Your father?’ Nanna cheekily interrupted. ‘What’s it say?’

‘Just saying he got there okay, checked in, you know, the usual.’

Nanna sat upright in her chair huffing and puffing. ‘Egypt. Now why would you wanna go there?’ she spluttered. ‘I would’ve chose Benidorm, me. Sun, sand—’

‘Nanna, he went there on…’ Freddie took a deep, controlled breath, reassuring himself that he could do this. ‘You know what,’ he continued, now trying to laugh it off, ‘it’s getting a little late. I’m gonna head up to bed. Night, Nanna.’

Nanna gave him a dirty look and turned back to the TV. ‘Make me a cup of tea before you go,’ she barked, throwing the cup at him without a glance.

Freddie woke early the next morning to the humming of a hoover repeatedly banging on his bedroom door. His eyes pinged open wondering what all the racket was. Turning to the clock, realising it was only six in the morning, he scuffled back under his covers and folded a pillow over his head, hoping it was a bad dream.

‘Get up, boy… Get up, you lazy little git,’ she whined.

His pillow did little to filter the noise. Pulling himself up, he sighed miserably. One more day, he thought, one more day.

His nan’s voice and racket continued to echo relentlessly behind the walls. There was no lying in bed all morning in this house, not under her watch anyway. Eventually, Freddie got out