The Third-Class Genie (16 page)

Dad raised his hand.

“Look, I know you’re not responsible for the whole issue, but you do pull a lot of weight. So why not pull it in the right direction for a change?”

Dad stopped suddenly, as though he were astonished with himself. Alec looked at him in awe. He thought to himself, I won’t forget this for a long time, and I’ll bet Councillor Blaggett won’t either.

There came a hooting from beyond the big gate.

“Ah, that’ll be the ambulance,” said PC Hadley

“We’ll be off, then, our Alec,” said Dad.

They all walked together towards the gate. The ambulance men passed them on the way down to the canal with a stretcher for Councillor Blaggett. As they passed, one called out:

“Hey, Harold. How did he manage to get into the canal?”

Dad shook his head.

“It’s a long story, Fred.”

“I’ll look out for you in the Three Fiddlers at the weekend, and you can tell us then. It must be good.”

“Why, it’s almost unbelievable,” said Dad.

At the gate Alec turned to Ginger. “I’ll come over and see you later, Ginge. OK?”

Ginger shook his head.

“No, best not come over.” He jerked his head back at the Tank. “One of these bright boys might have his eye on you. I’ll see you tomorrow in school. Tara.”

“Tara,” said Alec and Ginger loped off.

“Who’s that boy?” said Dad.

“That’s Ginger Wallace from school. Our Kim knows his mother from the biscuit works.”

“Oh,” said Dad, and left it at that.

By the allotments, they parted company with Dad’s mate and walked on towards home.

Alec suddenly remembered something.

“Dad?”

“What is it, son?”

“How did you manage to get down into the Tank so quickly? You couldn’t have come round by the High Road.”

Dad looked embarrassed. Then he laughed and said:

“Ask your mum.”

Alec looked disbelieving, but Dad repeated, “Ask your mum.”

And they walked the rest of the way in silence.

Mum was at the gate talking to neighbours when they arrived. News travels fast, and she already had an idea what had happened. The rest of the story came out over tea with Mum and Kim, who had already arrived home, laughing till the tears came.

When Alec got a chance, he put in a word.

“Mum, Dad said I was to ask you how he got down into the Tank so quickly from the viaduct.”

Mum shot an outraged glance at Dad, who looked up at the ceiling. Then Mum laughed.

“He would. Oh, he would.”

“Oh, go on, Mum, tell us,” begged Alec.

“I’m not sure I will. It’s private,” said Mum, but she was still smiling.

“Oh, go on, our Mum. He’s a big lad now,” said Kim teasingly

“Oh, all right,” said Mum. “Your dad knows a short cut down from the railway into the Tank, down the side of the viaduct. You probably can’t see it now because of all those elder bushes.”

Dad hid a smile behind his hand.

“But, how, Mum. How do you…?”

“Well, Alec, during the war, they used to make tanks in Bugletown Ordnance. That’s why people called it the Tank, the name stuck to it. Well, after the war I worked there. Your dad was on the railway along with Granddad. We weren’t married then, and what with shift work and all, we didn’t see all that much of each other. So…”

“Oh, I know,” said Alec, “Dad used to sneak down the path from the railway, and you’d meet him down by the canal.”

Mum blushed. Kim chuckled.

“There you are, our Alec. The romantic past of the Bowden family.”

But Alec had other things on his mind.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Whereabouts did you work in the Tank?”

Now Mum began to laugh.

“Where do you think, Alec? Where do you think?”

Alec looked baffled.

“In the crane house, of course. How do you think your dad knew how to operate that crane?”

Alec’s mouth fell open. Kim laughed outright.

“You’ve shocked him now, our Mum. He’ll never hold his head up again. His mother was a crane driver.”

They all burst out laughing. What a fantastic end to a fantastic day.

B
UT THERE WAS
more excitement at home that night. A reporter and photographer from the
Bugletown Gazette
came round. The reporter, whose uncle worked in the goods yards, knew Dad slightly and there was a good deal of talk about Councillor Blaggett, Boner’s Street and the Tank. They didn’t leave until the big teapot, usually brought out on Sundays, had been emptied twice. Dad, Mum and Kim sat round the front-room table with the
Gazette
people; Alec sat on the window ledge and listened to the talk. Mum kept sending him meaningful glances, but didn’t say anything about homework.

As the journalists left, Alec burst out:

“Aren’t you going to interview Ginger Wallace?”

The reporter grinned.

“We’ll be down at Boner’s Street tomorrow night, Alec. This is a big story. Front page stuff. Besides,” he whispered, “I couldn’t take any more tea this evening.”

Next day at school Eulalia passed Alec a note.

Ronnie Carter muttered, “Why can’t I get notes from smashing women?”

Eulalia heard him and smiled sweetly.

“Because I’m particular who I talk to, Fat-face.”

Alec managed to open the note just as first lesson started. “All OK till the weekend. But have to do something drastic then. Salaam from Abu.”

Alec took the note as a hint and, apart from a brief nod to Ginger in the yard at lunch break, he made no more contact. He relied on Ginger and Eulalia to look after Abu. But it was still worrying. In a day or two the weekend would be here and he hadn’t a clue what they could do. He’d heard in a telly programme that you could get fake passports in the Portobello Road in London. Or was it driving licences? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t know how to get to the Portobello Road anyway. And what did you do when you got there? Did you walk along, saying out of the corner of your mouth, “How much for a passport for a materialized genie?” Or did you get a slip of paper under your glass in a bar with the address of a backroom over a barber’s shop?

He didn’t know that either. He’d never been in a bar and he didn’t go near barber’s shops any more often than he had to. No, he wasn’t really trained for emergencies like this. Now, if only he could give his old beer can a rub, and say, “I want a passport, work permit and insurance cards for a genie who has entered the country illegally.” No, he didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing. If there was something he could do to help Abu, even if it were something you weren’t supposed to do, he’d do it like a shot.

“And where is Mr Bowden now? At the Court of Saladin?”

The mock polite tones of Tweedy Harris brought him back to earth. It was mid-afternoon and he was halfway through a history lesson. What were they doing? Was it the Hundred Years War, or the wool trade? His mind did several hundred revs to the second, but came up with nothing.

“Er – I was just thinking about what you said, sir.”

“Very flattering. And what did I say?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

The class rocked. Tweedy, for once in a mild humour, smiled as well.

The rest of the day slipped away. Nothing disastrous happened, though Alec almost wished it had. He was beginning to know the meaning of the expression “the suspense is killing me”.

Just after tea that evening, Alec was sitting in the caravan with Granddad, sharing a bag of crisps, when Granddad pointed and said, “Who’s that young feller, just going up to the back door?”

Alec peered through the caravan window. He recognized the young coin-collector in the leather jacket, right away.

“It’s Arthur Blaggett, Councillor Blaggett’s son,” he said.

Granddad looked anxious.

“What does he want? Is he spying things out?”

“After a word with our Kim, more like,” said Alec. “I’ll sneak up to the corner and have a listen, shall I?”

Granddad shrugged. Alec nipped out of the caravan and crept up to the corner of the coalhouse from where he could hear without being seen. It was worth it.

Arthur Blaggett knocked and waited. After a second Dad stood in the door. He looked grim.

“And what do you want?”

That wasn’t like Dad. He was usually a bit more friendly than that. Arthur Blaggett looked nervous. Alec rubbed his hands joyfully.

“It’s my dad like,” said Arthur Blaggett. “He wants to see you.”

“I’m not sure any member of my family wants to see any member of your family at the moment.”

Arthur wriggled inside his leather jacket.

“Well, Mr Bowden. Dad only asked me, if I’d ask you, if you’d be good enough to, I mean…”

Dad gave him no help at all. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

“He wants you to go round with him to Boner’s Street to talk to the people there. He reckons that’ll help.”

“He ‘wants me to do his dirty work for him, does he?”

“Oh, no, Mr Bowden.” Arthur’s voice went so far up the scale that Alec became alarmed.

“No, he told me to say that he were – he was very interested in what you’d said and… er…”

From the kitchen behind Dad, Alec could hear Kim’s voice.

“Our Dad, don’t torment the lad so. Tell him yes or no.”

Arthur Blaggett tried to peer round Dad, which took some doing since Dad was broad.

“Oh, er, hallo, Kim.”

Alec could see the corner of Dad’s mouth twitching.

“Tell Councillor Blaggett that if he’d like to see me, on a purely social basis of course, I shall be in the Railway Club at nine o’clock tonight.” Dad paused. “He can ask for me at the door.”

“Oh, thanks very much, Mr Bowden.” Arthur Blaggett stood there. Dad looked at him.

“Well, was there something else?”

“I was just wondering…”

“Oh, Dad, you are a pest,” came Kim’s voice.

“Ask him in, Harold,” Mum intervened at last. Alec wasn’t sure, but he had the feeling that she was having a quiet laugh too.

Arthur Blaggett disappeared along with Dad into the kitchen, and Alec went quietly back into the caravan where Granddad had a can of beer open.

“Would you like a sup, Alec?”

“No, thanks, Granddad. I don’t like beer.”

The old man looked mischievous.

“But I thought you did.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve seen you carrying your empties about, that’s all.”

“What empties?”

“That old beer can you wouldn’t let your mum put in the dustbin.”

Without thinking, Alec put his hand in his pocket. That was funny. The can wasn’t there. Come to think, he hadn’t seen it since yesterday. He must have left it somewhere.

He felt a sudden pang of regret and disappointment. The can had no magic power any more, but he’d become very attached to it. He’d got used to it sitting in his pocket, like an old friend.

“Eh, Alec?” Granddad was looking at him.

“Oh, ah. That old beer can.”

“Yes, that old beer can. You’re starting early, aren’t you? I never supped ale before I was fourteen and I started work at thirteen. This is what they call the permissive society, eh?”

Alec shrugged.

“Oh, it never had any beer in it. I just picked it up.”

“Whatever for, Alec?”

“Well, a sort of good luck thing, that’s all.”

“And did it bring you any luck?”

“I’m not sure, Granddad. I don’t know whether to believe in things like good luck, or not.”

“Oh, I don’t know, lad, never say die. You never know what’s round the corner. Anyway, you’ve had a good week, this week. Interviews and all. I expect they’ll have your picture in the paper: ‘Boy hero of Bugletown. Large councillor saved from fate worse than death.’”