What Not to Do If You Turn Invisible

I could go on Instagram and tell Flora McStay, the one who moved to Singapore:

Hey, guess what! I became invisible today! I’m in the picture next to the tree.

Funny.

I am completely on my own. It is not a good feeling.

SO what would YOU do? Come on, it’s not a trick question – honest.

What would you do?

What I decide is that I need to get to hospital, quick. Therefore I need an ambulance. This is, after all, an emergency.

I type 999.

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‘Emergency. Which service do you require?’

‘Ambulance, please,’ I say with a trembling voice. I have never made an emergency call before. It’s pretty nerve-racking, I can tell you.

‘Putting you through now.’

And I wait.

‘North Tyneside Ambulance Service. Can I get your name and number, please?’

It’s a young Geordie woman on the other end. She sounds nice and I relax a bit.

‘It’s Ethel Leatherhead. 07877 654 344.’

‘Thank you. What is the nature of your emergency, please?’

I should have learned my lesson from when I told Gram. It sounded ridiculous when I told her. It’s not going to sound any less ridiculous when I tell an emergency services operator that I have become invisible.

‘I … I can’t really say. I just need an ambulance urgently.’

‘I’m sorry, erm … Ethel, is it? I do need to know the nature of the emergency before I can send an ambulance.’

‘I can’t tell you. It’s just … really urgent, OK? I’m in serious trouble.’

The operator still sounds nice. She’s being gentle.

‘Listen, pet, I cannit help you unless you tell me what’s wrong. Are you calling from home?’

‘Yes.’

‘And are you injured?’

‘Well … not exactly injured, it’s just …’

‘OK, flower. Calm down. Are you in pain?’

‘No.’

‘And are you or anyone else in immediate danger of pain or injury?’

I give a little sigh. ‘No. Only—’

‘And is there anyone else there with you? Are you bein’ threatened in any way?’

‘No.’ I know where this is going.

‘Well, there is another number to call for non-emergency medical assistance, Ethel. Have you got a pen there, love?’

I am close to tears now, and if I was thinking straight I would foresee the consequences of blurting out to her as I do, but, well, I’m not exactly level-headed right now.

‘I’ve become invisible, and I’m really scared, and I need an ambulance now!’

That’s when the operator’s tone changes from reassuring and gentle to weary and tense.

‘You’ve become invisible? I see. Listen, pet, I have had enough. You know these calls are recorded and traceable? I’m logging this as a nuisance call, so if you call back I’m informing the police. Now gerroff the line and make way for genuine emergencies. Invisible? You kids, honestly. You drive us up the wall!’

And with that, the call ends – along with my hopes for an easy resolution to my problem.

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Two hours later, and I’m still invisible.

I have had a long, hot shower, wondering if perhaps the invisibility could be washed off – you know, like a coating or something? I scrubbed and scrubbed to the point that I was quite sore, but still the soap lathered up on what looked like nothing, and when I rinsed off there was still nothing, only wet footprints on the bathroom floor.

Since then, I have been wandering around the house, wondering what to do, how to deal with this, and I’m not making any progress.

The crying has stopped. That’s not going to get me anywhere, and besides I’m tired of it. I don’t mind admitting, though, that I am completely, utterly, one hundred per cent

TERRIFIED.

Terrified squared. Cubed.

Roughly every five minutes I get up and check in the mirror.

And then I go back to my laptop and search the internet again for topics including the words ‘invisible’ or ‘invisibility’.

Most of the things that I try to read are fantastically complicated, involving mathematics and physics and chemistry and biology that are way beyond what we do at school. All the same, it seems that people have been trying to achieve what has happened to me for decades.

On YouTube there’s a clip of James Bond with an invisible car.

‘Adapted camouflage, 007,’ says Q, walking round Bond’s Aston Martin. ‘Tiny cameras on all sides project the image they see onto a light-emitting polymer skin on the opposite side. To the casual eye, it’s as good as invisible.’