The Third-Class Genie (7 page)

He sprang off the bed and ran barefoot into the new room. He sank his feet into the soft carpet and threw himself down on the floor, rolled around, then leapt up on the bed and bounced on it like a trampoline. He didn’t know where to sit next, it all seemed so comfortable. Last of all he raced to the big window and looked out to see how far the extension reached.

As he did, there came a strange noise.

Someone was calling, “Help! Help!”

He looked down into the yard and he gave a horrified shout.

“Abu, come back! Salaam Aleikum… as quick as you can.

“Help! Help! Help!…”

All was dark at the back of the house, but Alec could vaguely see what had happened. Abu’s do-it-yourself king-size extension had filled the back yard completely and there wasn’t room for the caravan any more. It had been thrown on its side, with one wheel whirling madly away. From the window Granddad’s white head poked out with his hair blowing in the night breeze, while he shouted for help.

“Abuuuu!” yelled Alec.

“What is thy will, O Alec?” The genie was completely out of breath.

“Quick! We’ve caused a catastrophe here. Get this extension out of the way and put the caravan right way up again.”

“But this palace was made only at the cost of much effort.”

“Well, you’d better make some more effort and do away with it. Granddad is going daft in there.”

“Thy will is my command,” said Abu, but he sounded very peeved. There was a rushing sound, a creaking and crumbling and the magnificent room, its furnishings, its lights and its great window vanished so suddenly that Alec seemed to be left floating on air. Then he dropped with a bump that shook the sense out of him. He looked wildly round. He was standing in his pyjamas by the caravan, which was now back in its place. The door opened and Granddad stood on the steps in his nightshirt and flashed a little torch.

“Hey up, Alec. What are you doing, lad? You’ll catch your death. Come in here.”

Granddad stretched out his hand and hauled Alec inside. Then he fiddled about lighting a little lamp by his bunk.

“Hey, lad. It looks as though we’ve both had nightmares. You wandering about in your pyjamas and me dreaming the caravan was tipped over and I was shouting for help.”

“Oh, you were shouting for help, Granddad. That’s why I…” Alec stopped. How could he possibly explain even to Granddad just what had happened?

“It’s a wonder we didn’t wake up the whole street between us, then,” said Granddad. He peered out of the window. “Well, your mum and dad didn’t hear anything. Mind you, with them sleeping in the front bedroom, they wouldn’t anyway.” He ruffled Alec’s hair.

“Well, I never made you out for a sleepwalker, Alec.” He paused. “I reckon you’d best stay here. If you go back now, they’ll hear you and then there’ll be no end of argument. Look, lad, you get up on my bed and I’ll sit in the old armchair. Now don’t fuss, I’m quite comfortable. Up you get.”

Alec climbed up and lay down on the bunk. The bedclothes were still warm and he soon felt drowsy. Granddad pulled a blanket over him and, putting out the bedside lamp, sat down in his chair. As Alec’s eyes became used to the dark, he could just see the old man’s face.

“Granddad?”

“What is it?”

“Tell us something.”

The old man chuckled, shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.

“’Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse

And the snow was raining fast

And a barefooted lad with clogs on

Stood sitting in the grass…”

Granddad’s voice grew slowly fainter.

“The bees were making beeswax

And the skies were dark and dear

’Twas a June day in December
,

In the middle of next year…”

Alec was asleep.

A
LEC WAS LATE
to school next day. By the time he had finished explaining to Mum how he came to be sleeping in the caravan, it was gone nine o’clock. He missed Registration and Assembly, but he caught Miss Welch in one of the corridors, gave her his homework and managed to make his excuses to Mr Foster, his form teacher.

“All right, Alec, but get a grip on yourself, laddie. I don’t think you’re quite with us these days. People are beginning to talk about you. I hear whispers from the English Department and the History Department that you’re going funny in your old age.”

That was a laugh. Mr Foster who taught Religious Instruction was as old as the hills and well known for his faraway look. The story went that he tied a piece of wool round one finger to remind him to come to school and another piece round the next finger to remind him what the first piece was for! But he shook his head at Alec in a friendly way and sent him off to maths in good spirits. Alec had other reasons for good cheer. First, by coming late he had missed Ginger Wallace and Co.; second, he had remembered to put his can in his jacket pocket when he got dressed. So far, so good, Bowden. Disasters one, triumphs nil, but there was still a chance to equalize before half time.

His chance came in English just before lunch. Miss Welch walked round the class giving out exercise books. As she handed Alec’s back, she stopped.

“Well, Alec, I enjoyed your story. It wasn’t much to do with
‘The L-Shaped Room
, but it was funnier.”

Alec’s head began to swell slightly.

“I liked the part where Shiraz the Fair left the old man sitting up the palm tree in his nightshirt. But did you make it up yourself?”

Alec was ready for that one. “Oh, no, Miss, I sort of adapted it from
the Arabian Nights
.”

“Funny, I had a quick look through this morning and I couldn’t spot any story like it. Ah, well, a stroke of natural genius, I suppose.” Miss Welch went on her way.

Genius. She didn’t know how true it was, thought Alec, as he made the score in his head, disasters one, triumphs one. Just then the pips went for lunch break. He packed away his books and, without a care in the world, shot out into the schoolyard.

Right into the arms (well, not quite, but near enough) of Ginger Wallace and three of his friends from Boner’s Street. Alec looked madly from side to side, but there was no escape. The duty master was out of sight, as usual, and there wasn’t a sign of anyone from 9F who might stand by him.

“Right, Bowden, say your prayers, man.” It was clear that Ginger was a keen Western fan.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginger,” said Alec as calmly and amiably as he could.

“Mr Wallace to you. You’re not allowed the honour of calling me Ginger. You were down Boners Street last night, after I told you you weren’t coming down there any more. Right? If you hadn’t slipped into the woodwork, we’d have got you then. We don’t like to make a mess in the schoolyard, but it can’t be helped.”

For a second Alec thought of buying off Ginger by letting him into the secret of the Tank, but then he thought he wouldn’t. He was going to keep that secret whatever… ooh, he saw Ginger’s fist double up, big and brown.

“Hey, what’s this?”

Alec looked round him. Behind him were Sam Taylor and two of his mates. Alec disliked Sam Taylor. He was a bully, and as thick as two planks, as well as being spotty, but right now he could have kissed him! Well, almost.

Ginger snorted.

“What do you want, Taylor? Want me to knock some spots off for you?”

Ginger’s mates laughed, but not very loudly.

“Very funny, Mohammad Ali. You’ve got a big mouth, just like him.”

“What do you want, Spotty?” Ginger refused to be diverted.

Taylor became pompous. “You think you’re going to bash one of our lads, don’t you, Wallace? Well, you’re not.

“What do you mean, ‘our lads’? Skinny s in 9F, not 9D.”

“You know what I mean, Wallace, I mean our lads.”

Taylor raised his voice and Alec saw why. Others from Spotty’s form were gathering round, neutral, but interested. Suddenly Ginger and his mates seemed rather thin on the ground. There weren’t more than twenty or thirty black kids in the school altogether. Alec could see why Ginger had to be cock of the walk in Boner’s Street.

“OK, Wallace. What are you going to do? Apologize to Skinny?”

Ginger’s face hardened.

“You can get…” And he moved forward, both fists up.

“Hey, wait a minute,” said one of Taylor’s mates. “If Cartwright catches us now, we’ll be for the high jump. Let’s sort it out outside school tonight.”

“What, and have the law on to us? No, let’s have it now.”

“Tell you what,” Taylor’s mate had an inspiration, “let’s have a game of backers up by the railings. If we win, Wallace says sorry to Skinny. If they win, we forget it.”

Spotty and Ginger looked doubtful, but their friends shouted, “Yes, backers, backers!”

“OK,” said Taylor grudgingly. “How many a side? You’ll have problems raising a team, won’t you?”

Ginger clenched his teeth. “You worry about yourselves. We’ll play six a side, but I’ll tell you one thing. You’ve got to play Bowden on your side.”

“Skinny? Get off with you,” said Taylor.

“Oh, what’s the sweat?” said his friends. “We can leather them any road. Come on before someone comes and breaks it up.” By now a crowd had gathered, some of the senior boys hovering discreetly in the background. Taylor waved his arm in a wide sweep and led the team he had chosen to the railings, followed by Ginger and his chosen five. A spin of the coin and Taylor lost.

“OK, Wallace,” he grunted to Ginger. “Your mob bats first.”

Ginger and the others lined up, their number one man taking a firm grip on the iron railings, then bending down. Number two grasped the first man’s hips and bent down likewise until all six were fined up, crocodile fashion. Alec noticed that Ginger took the middle position, where most of the weight would fall. He admired him for that.

“Go!” shouted Spotty Sam and the game began.

As Ginger had foreseen, most of the weight fell on him. Alec, who was last to jump, landed towards the back of the line. His team-mates were in a clutching heap further along.

Ginger’s team started to count. “One, two, three…” The noise from the crowd became deafening as the count went on. But ten came with Ginger’s men still holding tight. Sam’s team piled off, looking grim.

“Right,” said their leader. “If we hold you lot this time we’ll play two more goes. OK?”

“Many as you like,” said Ginger jauntily and led his men out.

“OK, get fell in,” ordered Sam. “Charlie, you take the railings. Skinny, you can go number two. They won’t be able to reach you there. All you have to do is hold on to Charlie. Get down. Hey, where are you lot going?” he demanded of Ginger as Ginger’s team withdrew to the other side of the yard.

“Just getting a good run up, that’s all.”

Alec, bent double, clutching Charlie’s hips, looked back through his own legs. Ginger’s men had backed right off to the wall that stood between the girls’ and boys’ yards. Above the wall could be seen the heads of girls who had climbed up to see the fun. Alec could see the broad, handsome face of Ginger’s sister, but she was not smiling. Around them in the yard a huge crowd had gathered. Alec could see no teachers but they must have their eyes on this by now.

“OK, go!” shouted Ginger. Alec took a last look as Ginger’s closest friend, a tall, thin boy, began his run up. Alec heard the beat of the footsteps coming nearer; suddenly they stopped. A second more and he felt a terrific thump in the small of his back. Spotty Sam had underestimated the other team. Their first man had made a fantastic leap and Alec got the full weight. He began to sweat and he felt his hands slipping.

“Hold on, Skinny, for Pete’s sake,” muttered Charlie.

The second man began his run. He landed well forward, so did the third man, but the fourth and fifth who were smaller boys landed further back. After the fifth there was a pause. The last man, Alec knew, must be Ginger. Why was he waiting? The weight of the lad on top of him was bearing down in the small of his back. Alec began to feel sick and dizzy. He tried to hook his fingers into Charlie’s pocket. He mustn’t let go, but how long could he hold on?