The Third-Class Genie (6 page)

He was still running a temperature at the end of school and he slammed his books together and left the yard at twice the speed of sound. He was so aerated that he completely forgot that he had planned today to go home the long and safe way by Station Road.

He was thundering down Boner’s Street before he realized what he was doing. He had reached the end of the street, near the arches, when he heard a yell:

“Bowden! I’m going to get you. Like I promised.”

A
S
G
INGER AND
his mates came charging down Boner’s Street, Alec did not wait to see who was where. He made a beeline for the railway arch and looked frantically for the fourteenth plank from the right.

“There he is, under the arch,” shouted Ginger. “He’s mine.”

Slinging his school bag round his neck and regretting bitterly for the 646th time that day that he’d forgotten his magic can, Alec desperately shoved at the loose board. He squeezed through the opening like a crash-diving worm when the early bird arrives, and sprawled among the weeds of the Tank on the other side of the fence. More shouts and the loose board behind him bulged, as Ginger and his friends pushed at it.

But Alec had recovered his wits. He didn’t really believe that beefy Wallace could get through that gap, but one of Ginger’s friends might be more undernourished and able to slip inside. Or they might manage to force the board back a few inches more.

“Come on, Bowden. We know you’re there behind that fence. Surrender and be destroyed. We warned you,” shouted Ginger.

Alec saved his breath and made no reply. He had spotted a large lump of brickwork, part of a collapsed wall, lying among the weeds. He gave it a quick, test heave. It shifted unwillingly. Another heave and he had it on the move. It lurched on to his foot and he bit his tongue in pain.

“Give up and come out, Bowden.” Ginger’s voice was almost reasonable now. Aha, thought Alec, they can’t get in. Then he heard a crunching sound as someone got to work on the planks with a size nine boot. He took a deep breath and heaved again at his lump of brickwork. How would Abu Salem do it? He’d just wish it over to the fence. So Alec wished and heaved and heaved and wished, and before you could say super-gravitational force fields, he had landed it with a thump against the bulging plank. There was a satisfying curse from someone who had pulled back their fingers too late. The way was blocked.

“Ah, come on, Ginger. We can get him at school tomorrow.”

Alec picked up his school bag and headed across the Tank towards the canal. Another five minutes passed while he found a new piece of planking to repair his bridge after yesterday’s disaster, and then he was over the canal and heading for home. He was climbing the slope above the allotments when he heard his father’s train come along the viaduct.

Mum was still out shopping, but on the kitchen table was a note asking Alec to put the kettle on and to look in the pantry. On a shelf inside the door was a newly baked treacle parkin. He cut himself a fat slice and was just sinking his teeth into it, when Dad and Mum arrived home together.

Alec could see by his mum’s silence that something was up. His mother’s lips were drawn together and there were none of the usual helpful remarks about his personal appearance. Dad, who was busy pouring hot water into the teapot, said nothing either. But Dad never said a lot.

As soon as Mum started to speak, Alec remembered.

“Alec love, I’m sorry, but in a week or two you’ll have to move up into the boxroom and put your things in the shed.”

Alec screwed his face up. He knew it was useless but he made his protest anyway.

“Aw, Mum. Why?”

“Tom, Elaine and the baby have had to get out of their rooms and they’ll have to move in with us for a while again.”

“Well, why should it always be me? Why can’t Kim go in the boxroom?”

“OUR ALEC!” Mum always spoke in capital letters when she was annoyed. “Kim’s older than you are, and she’s working for her living.”

“Well, I can’t help it if I’m not working.”

“No, I know you can’t, but you might try and be a bit less expensive. That’s the second pair of trainers you’ve ruined in twelve months.”

Oh, no. Mum had spotted the trainers already.

“I’m buying a new pair myself.”

“What with, eh?”

“I was thinking of borrowing some dosh from our Kim.”

“You’ll be lucky.”

The back door banged as Kim came in, pulling her scarf from her head and kicking her outside shoes off into a corner.

“Do you have to come in like that?” asked Mum.

There were all the signs of a family row. Dad took his cup of tea and silently moved into the front room. Alec slid out of the kitchen into the passage. Then he remembered the can and rushed upstairs three at a time. He’d discovered only last week that he could do this, and it made him feel seven feet tall. Inside his own room, he dived for the bed, whipped back to the pillow and…

IT WAS GONE.

He scurried round the room like an ant on removal day. Cupboard – no, desk – no, box – no. No, no, NO CAN. He flew to the door, flinging it open. Then he stopped and walked downstairs as casually as he could. The kitchen was quiet. Mum, Kim and Dad were sitting round eating as if nothing had happened.

“Come and have your tea, Alec,” said Mum. “It’s kippers. You like them and you can have another piece of parkin afterwards.”

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Where’s my can?”

“Your what, lad?”

“My beer can.”

“DO YOU MEAN that smelly thing that was stuck under your pillow this morning?”

Kim shrieked with laughter.

“The lad’s reverting. He’ll be asking for his dummy back, soon.”

“No one asked for your opinion,” said Alec crushingly.

“No one ever does,” snorted Kim, “but, being generous, I always give it.”

Alec ignored his sister and turned again to Mum.

“Mum, seriously, where is that can?”

“Seriously, my lad, I took it and put it where it belonged, in the ash bin.”

“OH NO!” spluttered Alec through his first mouthful of kippers. He stood up, kicking back his chair.

“You sit down and finish your tea.”

“But…”

“Can I not have my tea in peace?” said Dad. Alec sat down.

“Have the dustbin men been today?”

“They’re due, but I think there’s a strike on at the depot. There always seems to be trouble down there these days.”

Kim grunted, “If I were a dustman, I’d go on strike for ever.”

“If you were a dustman, you could make a start on that room of yours,” retorted her mother.

“Can I get down?” asked Alec, pushing in the last mouthful of kipper.

Hardly waiting for his mother’s reply, he barged out of the kitchen door and into the back yard. There was no sign of life from the caravan, which meant Grandad was probably down at the senior citizens’ club, rolling them in the aisles with his impersonations of George Formby including some words George Formby never used.

The overflowing dustbin stood in the corner of the yard, and by it stood a pile of cans and bottles covered with an old mat. Alec leapt at the pile and threw the mat aside. Beans, custard, fruit salad. Ah, there it was. Alec picked up the familiar shiny can and looked inside, jerking back as he came face to face with a large earwig. He tipped out the insect, which was very reluctant to leave its new luxury home, and rushed indoors again.

“You’re not taking that filthy thing upstairs,” said Mum.

“Oh, Mum.”

“Well, at least wash it out, then. It’s been standing in the yard.”

“I mustn’t wash it.”

“What do you mean, lad?” Mum took the can from him and marched over to the sink. She shot a stream of detergent through the hole in the top, followed it with a stream of hot water and shook it vigorously. Only after two changes of water, hot and cold, and a brisk rub with a tea-towel was the tin handed back, and Alec, rigid with alarm, was allowed to take it upstairs. He sank down on the bed and said breathlessly. “Salaam Aleikum, O Abu Salem.”

“Aleikum Salaam, O Alec.”

Alec breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re all right, then?”

The genie laughed. “The renowned Shahrazad bathed in milk for the sake of her beauty, but never was there such a refreshing bath as mine. Whence came that mighty wave of foam?”

“Oh, that was detergent. But you are OK then, Abu?”

“IlHamdulilaah, thanks be to Allah. I am, as you say, OK. What is thy will?”

“Abu, I really needed you today.” And Alec told the genie of the day’s disasters from the time he had left home in the morning without the can, until he had rescued it from the dustbin that evening. Abu heard it all in high good humour (which rather irritated Alec), until Alec described the history lesson and Tweedy Harris’s sarcasm over Alec’s version of the Crusades.

“By the Beard of the Prophet. If the great and wise Ibn Khaldun knew the truth of it, why should this miserable worm say different? Say the word and his head shall never see his shoulders again. Nay, better still, we shall smite him with the Great Itch, that he may never sit down again until he has seen the truth.”

Alec collapsed at the thought of Tweedy Harris smitten with the Great Itch, but he told Abu, “Oh, I think I’ll let Tweedy Harris live his horrible life in peace. I’ve got a much more important piece of instant magic for you to perform.”

“Say but the word.”

“Not so fast, Abu. What I want you to do has to wait until dark. Meanwhile, what about a quick shish kebab? Not a feast, but a bit with bread to take away, while I do my English homework.”

“Homework?”

Alec explained as simply as he could. “I have to write my own version of this story we were reading in English today.”

“Ah, a merry tale?”

“Not really. It’s a very modern story, about a girl who’s going to have a baby and goes to live on her own.”

“Aieee, such misfortunes. Nay, Alec, I know a livelier tale than that.”

“What’s that?”

“How Shiraz the Fair outwitted the rich old man that would have her as his bride.”

Alec chuckled. “Tell on, O Abu. But not so flipping fast, so that I can get it down.”

It was a long story and between bites of shish kebab and bread it took most of the evening to write down. By the time Alec had cleared away the tell-tale crumbs and opened the window to waft out the cooking aroma, it was dark.

Mum knocked on the ceiling for Alec to go to bed.

“Now then, Abu, if you’re ready,” he said, when the house was quiet and all lights were out.

“Thy will is my command.”

Alec told Abu the sorry story of Tom, Elaine and the baby, of the boxroom and his own gloomy future. Abu hummed and ha-ed a little. “If you would have me make a new place for thy brother and his family, I fear that may take time.”

“Don’t be daft, Abu. All I want is for you to make an extension to the house.”

“Extension?”

“Oh, Abu, didn’t they ever have do-it-yourself at the court of Haroun Al Raschid?”

“Why, Alec, who would do-it-himself when there were slaves to command?”

“I see your point, Abu.”

So Alec tried to explain with diagrams and much pointing out of the window into the back yard, what he wanted. At last Abu said, “It is well; it shall be done. Now I must depart for a while. Ma’asalaama.”

“Ma’aslaama, Abu.”

There was silence for several minutes. Through the window Alec could see the familiar shape of the railway arch in the night sky.

Suddenly the wall of his room began to tremble. Then it glowed with a strange green light and began to fade away until it had vanished completely, and all that was left was a dark emptiness.

“Hey, Abu. What are you playing at?”

“One moment, O Alec…” The genie sounded breathless.

Out of the dark emptiness came a shape, first of walls and then of a floor extending into the night. Again there was a strange glow, but this gradually merged with the light of the room. Now the room stretched away in front of him. It seemed to be yards long and it was covered wall-to-wall with a luxurious, deep blue carpet; on either side were couches, chairs, and a soft-looking bed under a silk canopy. At the end of the room a big window opened to the sky. Abu had done him proud; it was a do-it-yourself extension palace and no mistake.