“I think I ought to give Father a miss as well,” Jack said. “He can’t stand it when I look past his ear. It really seems to affect him.”
“You’ve done a jolly good job,” Uncle Parker told him. “Definitely got ’em sitting up. But that lot’s not going to settle for just the Lavender Man and the Mysterious Impressions. They’re going to want some hard evidence. Without that, Jack, old lad, you’ll be a Nine-Day Wonder, and that’ll be it. Relegated.”
“So what will I do?”
“I’m coming to that. What we shall now mount is a Two-Pronged Attack. The first thing we shall do, is get you properly genned up on the whole subject. I shall offer to fetch that Atlanta creature from Aysham tomorrow.”
“They won’t let you,” objected Jack instantly.
“Oh yes, they will. Your father’s out of action, and Laura’s in the middle of her Problems. Right?”
“Right,” Jack assented.
“There we are, then. Only too glad to take me up. You’ll see. They don’t seriously think I’ll ever kill anyone, you know.”
“I think they do,” Jack told him. “And I do as well, sometimes.”
“Thank you,” said Uncle Parker. “I was going to go on to suggest that you come into Aysham with me to a certain shop. But if you feel you’re as good as dead meat the minute you step into my car, we’ll forget the whole thing.”
“Oh no, no!” Jack assured him hastily. “I like going in your car. More like being on the Big Dipper. You know – exciting. And as long as you wear your seat belt you’re all right,” he added.
“So that’s the first thing,” said Uncle Parker. “You must not, of course, be seen accompanying me. I shall pick you up in the village, and you’ll have to take a bus back here.”
“Where shall I say I’m going?”
“Say what you like. No. Wait. You could say, Mysteriously, ‘I have a strong feeling, an urge, to go to Aysham. I feel as if I am being pulled there by an invisible magnet.’ Yes. That’s good. Say that. Pulls in another Mysterious Impression at no extra cost.”
“All right,” Jack said, “though I don’t like leaving Zero unprotected for too long. I’ll have to be back by lunch.”
“You will be. And bring your Campaign Book with you.”
“What about the other Prong of the Attack?” Jack asked.
“Ah …” Uncle Parker looked suddenly hugely pleased and mysterious. “I have a Manifestation lined up the size of a house. I have up my sleeve a Manifestation that will bring the whole tribe of them to their knees.”
“What?” Jack wanted to know. Uncle Parker’s excitement was infectious. But he was shaking his head.
“Later. We’ve been together too long already. We shall be suspected of hatching. Just write Two-Pronged Attack and leave two pages blank. Write Prong One at the top of one page and Prong Two at the top of the other. Got it?”
Jack nodded.
“And now,” said Uncle Parker, “I’d be obliged if you’d go and do something noisy elsewhere. I shall help myself to some of your father’s gin and tonic and sit here with your grandfather and see if I can guess what that abysmal piece of television is about. I do not normally watch, as you know. The whole medium is debased and—”
“Father’s not here,” Jack pointed out. “I know jolly well you watch television. No need to keep up the act with me.”
“I may watch the odd programme now and again,” conceded Uncle Parker. “But to come in halfway through a film with the sound turned down, and work out who’s who and what they’re all at, is a mental exercise on a par with chess, bridge or The Times crossword. Now, clear off and make a noise somewhere.”
“I don’t see why.”
“Because, dear boy,” said Uncle Parker patiently, “you will then be registered as having been somewhere other than in here with me. I am the Lavender Man, remember. Your siblings are not exactly the genii they crack themselves up to be but they can, by and large, add one and one.”
“I’ll go in the garden,” Jack said, “and throw sticks for Zero.”
“The very ticket,” nodded Uncle Parker.
Jack made as much noise as possible in the garden but everyone else was making so much as well that he was probably wasting his time. Rosie was playing the violin and deliberately hitting a lot of excruciating notes, Tess was playing the oboe and William had moved from his radio on to his drums and was doing some of his best tribal stuff. It was at times like this that Mr Bagthorpe would say that he envied Grandpa.
Whether or not Jack was wasting his time making a noise, he was certainly wasting it throwing sticks for Zero, who was notoriously hopeless at this game. It was, Mr Bagthorpe said, his inability to perform this perfectly simple exercise, that marked him out. All dogs could fetch sticks, he said, they were practically born being able to do it.
Jack had never given up trying to train him, though he made sure he never did it when Mr Bagthorpe was around. This was a golden opportunity.
What happened was that Jack showed Zero the stick and then hurled it as far as he could, yelling, “Fetch! Fetch, Zero!” at the top of his voice. When Zero hung back looking confused, Jack raced for the stick and retrieved it himself, at which Zero would become very excited and bark and dance round wagging his tail. He obviously thought this was what the game consisted of, and got some kind of enjoyment out of it. Try as he might Jack could not think of getting through to Zero the message that it was he who was supposed to do the fetching.
After nearly an hour of this, by which time he was exhausted while Zero showed every sign of being able to keep up the game for ever, Jack had a sudden inspiration. It seemed to him that if he got down on all fours he would look more like a dog from Zero’s point of view, and Zero might then identify with him and begin to imitate him. Jack took a quick glance at the house to make sure no one was looking, then began the experiment.
“Fetch!” he yelled, and hurled the stick. He then dropped down on all fours and scrambled as fast as he could to get it. Zero was obviously thrown by this manoeuvre and kept dodging all round barking furiously and getting in his way. Jack doggedly went the whole distance and as a final desperate bid had the idea of ducking his head and coming up with the stick in his mouth.
“There!” he said through his clenched teeth. “That’s the way to do it. Good boy!”
It was very bad luck that Mr Bagthorpe caught him like this. Zero had been making such a racket at the time that Jack had not heard the car until it ground to a halt. He lifted his head, the stick still between his teeth, and encountered the astounded and horrorstruck gaze of Mr Bagthorpe.
He wrenched open the car door shouting, “For God’s sake, Laura, get the doctor! Quick!”
Mrs Bagthorpe, after one disbelieving look, uttered a low moan and disappeared into the house. Mr Bagthorpe advanced hesitatingly one or two paces and Jack was so riveted he did not even let go of the stick immediately.
“Now then,” said Mr Bagthorpe, in a carefully controlled voice, “it’s all right, Jack. It’s only me. Here, boy. You let go of that stick and come here.”
Jack was so mesmerised that he actually did as he was told. He let the stick drop from his mouth and began to advance on all fours towards his father. Zero kept pace with him. He had given up barking now. This was the effect Mr Bagthorpe always had on him. Afterwards, Jack could never understand why he had acted the way he did. It would have been easy enough just to drop the stick and stand up. The only explanation he could come up with was that Mr Bagthorpe’s stare had put him into a state of light hypnosis.
“Good boy,” said Mr Bagthorpe soothingly. Then Jack saw his right arm. It was covered from fingers to elbow with smooth white plaster. It was then that the spell broke. Jack got to his feet and he and his father confronted one another for a few seconds at a distance of about twenty yards. Jack had the feeling that Mr Bagthorpe wished to preserve this distance.
“You just stay where you are,” he said, “and calm down for a minute. You’ll b
e all right.”
“I am all right,” Jack told him. “Come on, Zero. Good boy.”
Mr Bagthorpe dropped back a couple of paces and was right up against the car.
“Look,” said Jack. “I’m all right, I tell you.”
“I know, I know,” said Mr Bagthorpe. Jack was getting irritated by all this soothing. He preferred Mr Bagthorpe as he usually was. He cast round for the best way to get him back to normal. It did not take long.
“I see they’ve put your arm in plaster,” he said. “That’s bad luck. That’s really rotten luck.”
“Bad luck? Bad luck?” Mr Bagthorpe’s voice threatened to rise right out of its actual range. “It’s diabolical, it’s unbelievable. It’s the end. I can’t stand it. I shall go off my head.”
There was a pause.
“And that’ll make two of us,” he said. He gave Jack another uneasy look. “Now you come in, there’s a good boy. Just follow me.”
He turned and Jack followed and so did Zero. Mr Bagthorpe opened the door of the sitting-room. He just stood there in the doorway staring at something and Jack caught up and peered past his elbow.
The television was silently showing a commercial for toothpaste. Seated in front of it were Grandpa and Uncle Parker, both fast asleep. The latter had his feet up on another chair and a half-finished gin and tonic stood by his elbow.
“Asleep. Me at hospital, having my arm amputated for all he knew, and he goes to sleep!” It was Uncle Parker he meant, not Grandpa. “The man’s an emotional cripple. He hasn’t a feeling bone in his body.”
He moved swiftly forward and pulled away the chair from Uncle Parker’s feet. Uncle Parker instantly shot up and stood staring wildly about him and cried, “Fire! Where?”
“You may well ask,” returned Mr Bagthorpe grimly. “This house, containing all my scripts and nearly all my relations, could have gone up about your ears for all you’d have known.”
“Oh. There isn’t one.”
Uncle Parker, relieved, sat down again and took a swig of his gin and tonic.
“Easiest thing in the world to drop off in front of television, of course,” he said, with intent to infuriate. He caught sight of Mr Bagthorpe’s arm.
“Oh, bad luck!” he exclaimed sympathetically.
Mr Bagthorpe was enraged by this.
“If anyone says that again,” he gritted, “I’ll throttle ’em.”
“Difficult,” murmured Uncle Parker, “with just the one hand.”
“I’ve sent for him. He’s coming right over.”
As she spoke Mrs Bagthorpe went straight to Jack and put her hand on his forehead. Jack was touched by this. It was a very brave thing to do, if she really thought he was a raving lunatic.
“He feels very hot,” she told the others, as if Jack were not there.
“That’s because I’ve been running round for about an hour,” Jack said. “Anyone’d be hot.”
“Wait till that doctor comes,” said Mr Bagthorpe, “I’ll sort him out. He’s been in practice long enough to recognise a raving lunatic when he’s right under his nose.”
“What’s happened, then?” enquired Uncle Parker with interest. Then, in slightly awed tones, “Has young Jack had another Vision?”
“Vision my elbow,” returned Mr Bagthorpe. “I return from an agonising and traumatic ordeal at the hospital to find my own son crouched on all fours in the middle of the lawn with a stick in his mouth, for God’s sake.”
“Were you?” Even Uncle Parker seemed surprised.
“I’m all right, I tell you.” Jack was beginning to feel cornered. “If you’ve sent for the doctor, you’re wasting your time.”
“What I always said would happen has finally happened, of course,” said Mr Bagthorpe, throwing himself into a chair. “He has gone round with that pudding-footed, mutton-brained hound till it’s finally sent him clear out of his mind. I said it would happen. I said it hundreds of times.”
Nobody could deny this.
“If you really want to know,” said Jack, not seeing how confessing could make things any worse than they already were, “I was training Zero to fetch a stick!”
“Ha!” Mr Bagthorpe let out a sardonic laugh. “That’s rich, that is. If we needed any proof, we’ve got it now. Anyone who thinks that dopey hound could fetch a stick in a million years has to be loony. Fetch a stick? Ha!”
“He was beginning to get the hang of it,” said Jack sturdily. “I’m sure he was. It’s just that nobody had ever shown him properly what to do before. And that’s what I was doing.”
“Oh dear.” Mrs Bagthorpe sat down suddenly. “I don’t know what to think.”
“None of us knows what to think,” said Mr Bagthorpe. “We’re losing our minds. Insanity is infectious, you know. You’ve heard of the Nuns of Loudon?”
“In that case,” said Uncle Parker, rising with easy grace. “I’m off. No offence.”
“You and that pyromaniac daughter of yours are probably the source of infection,” Mr Bagthorpe told him.
“That Danish girl.” Uncle Parker paused by the door. “I’ve got to go into Aysham tomorrow. Pick her up for you, shall I?”
“We’ve enough on without shipping corpses back to Denmark, thank you,” said Mr Bagthorpe.
“Now, just a moment,” said his wife. “Let me think a moment. You can’t drive, dear.”
“Drive?” he gave a hollow laugh. “Drive? Hold a pen? Pick up—”
“No. And I’m right in the middle of my Problems.”
“Who,” enquired her husband, “is not?”
“And so,” concluded Mrs Bagthorpe, “it really would be a help, if it’s no trouble, Russell.”
“I told you. Got to go in anyway.”
“Thank you. But – you will be careful, won’t you?” she pleaded.
“I shall drive,” Uncle Parker promised her, “like an angel.”
“And probably end up being one,” said Mr Bagthorpe. “Correction. There’s no way you’ll end up in heaven, though your passenger might.”
“Oh, do stop it, Henry,” said Mrs Bagthorpe. “There’s no need at all for that sort of talk. I know you’ve had a trying day—”
“Trying? Trying?”
Grandpa woke up.
“I enjoyed that,” he said. “Yes, I did.” He got up and switched off the television.
“Off up now. Goodnight, all.”
“Ah, good evening, Dr Winters,” Uncle Parker was saying in the hall. “Good evening again. Just on my way out. The patient’s in there, you’ll find.”
Dr Winters came in and looked wearily about him.
“Now,” he said. “What can I do for you this time?”
Chapter Eight
Jack was glad of the excuse to escape from the house next morning. It was not a happy place to be. Mr Bagthorpe had had a row with Dr Winters the previous evening and was in bed sulking. Grandpa and Grandma had also opted to miss breakfast, the former because he said that until television started there was nothing to get up for till he got his new hearing aid, the latter because she said she could feel her appetite going, probably for good. Mrs Bagthorpe was up to her ears in her Problems and Mrs Fosdyke was still fulminating about her Dresden.
The atmosphere at breakfast was so heavily loaded that Jack found it hard to get in his piece about being drawn to Aysham by an Invisible Magnet. He was, however, determined to do so. Now that he had embarked on the career of being a Phenomenon and a Prophet he felt he owed it to Uncle Parker, as well as himself, to carry it through. It would help Zero too, because there had to be a certain kudos attached to being the chosen dog of a Prophet.
Jack had risen early, taken his Plan of Campaign from between the comics, and done his homework. First he wrote a brief account of his Third Mysterious Impression of the previous day as follows:
3. Stared over Father’s ear again and he nearly went wild and made Dr Winters look at me before his arm.
P.S. Also did an accidental MI by showing Zero how to pick
up sticks in his mouth. Father thought I thought I was a dog and sent for the doctor again. There was a terrible row.
LAVENDER MAN BEARING TIDINGS
This went really well. Uncle Parker is a really good actor and no one can possibly suspect us of plotting (yet).
We must be very careful to be seen apart, though.
Jack then set out the next few pages of the book. He wrote CONSOLIDATE at the top of one page, underlined it carefully, then underneath wrote “Create as Many Mysterious Impressions as humanly possible. P.S. Omit Grandma and if possible Father.”
The next two pages he headed PRONG ONE and PRONG TWO, again underlining, and leant back. It was very satisfying to have things on this sort of businesslike footing. It gave a kind of order to something that could very easily be taken for blind chaos. It pulled everything together, somehow.
He replaced the notebook, said, “Guard, boy!” to Zero and went down. It was a relief that Mr Bagthorpe was not at breakfast, but the rest of them seemed tacitly to be ganging up on Jack to try to undermine him. He told himself this was a good sign as people only tend to want to undermine their equals, and at the same time last week they would not have thought it worth their while. They set in on him right from the word go.
“Did you sleep well, dear?” enquired Mrs Bagthorpe. She did not ask this anxiously but in a carefree way intended to assure him that she was not really concerned one way or the other.
“Yes, thanks,” said Jack.
“Didn’t wake up to see a monk on top of the wardrobe, then?” asked William.
“I think you are mixing me up with Uncle Parker’s aunt,” replied Jack, keeping his cool.
“I thought we’d agreed there were no such things as ghosts,” said Tess edgily. (She had slept with her light left on and not had too good a night. She was not, in fact, altogether sure that she hadn’t glimpsed a monk on top of her wardrobe.)
“I wish I could’ve seen you with that stick in your mouth,” Rosie said in tones as muffled as if she were in the same position, only in her case, the impediment was toast. “You must’ve looked really silly. Will you go and do it again so’s I can take a photo of you?”
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