Ordinary Jack

by Helen Cresswell

  “No,” replied Jack simply. All he had to do was refuse to be drawn. He had Uncle Parker’s promise of a Manifestation the size of a house, and could afford to keep calm.

  “I like to keep records of things,” said Rosie.

  This was true. It was this magpie instinct that had prompted her to secure the autographs of the firemen. It also probably explained why she liked doing portraits.

  “Well, darlings, have you all decided what you’re going to do today?” asked Mrs Bagthorpe almost gaily.

  “Do my Danish,” said Tess promptly. “Just think – at lunch we’ll all be talking in Danish.”

  “You speak for yourself,” said William.

  “I’m going to do a secret portrait of Grandma,” Rosie announced. “I feel really sorry for her, getting both the others spoiled. Especially as it wasn’t even her fault. I think I’ll be able to do it better without her there because she keeps putting me off and asking about her eyes and nose and things.”

  “Which were, after all, conspicuously lacking from the first two,” said William who, when in a bad mood, was not above being sarcastic at the expense of someone only half his age. As it happened, Rosie had an answer.

  “There’s a very famous portrait of Virginia Woolf without noses and eyes,” she said. “So there. It looks just like her, as well.”

  “And what about you, Jack?” asked Mrs Bagthorpe. He was well aware that it was his movements she was particularly interested in. He recognised that this was the only chance he was going to get to pull in a Mysterious Impression. He looked at his plate instead of her, and said:

  “I feel … I feel an urge to go to Aysham …”

  “You what?” choked William through a mouthful of coffee.

  “I feel as if I am being drawn there by an Invisible Magnet …”

  There was a definite silence. Jack kept looking at his plate as if into a crystal ball.

  “Father could be right about him, you know,” said William at last.

  “Oh dear,” said Mrs Bagthorpe, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that, Jack.”

  “Like what?” He did look up now. “All I said was that I felt like going into Aysham.”

  “That wasn’t quite how you put it, dear,” said his mother. “I don’t know whether I should let you go.”

  “I’ll catch the twenty past nine bus,” Jack said. “I’ll have to hurry.”

  “None of you others would like to go in with him, I suppose?” she asked.

  “No,” they replied promptly in chorus.

  Jack was by the door.

  “Mother … I suppose … do you think Zero could lie in your room while you’re doing your Problems?”

  “He’s not ill, is he?”

  “No,” Jack said, “but he might be, if Father comes down and starts calling him names. He’d lie absolutely doggo. You wouldn’t know he was there.”

  “He’d lie quietly chewing up all your letters, but you wouldn’t know he was there,” said William, not without a degree of justification. Zero had been known to chew paper. The only time Mr Bagthorpe had ever praised him was once in the early days when he had chewed up a telephone bill and a Final Demand for Income Tax.

  “You will let him, won’t you, Mother?” pleaded Jack.

  At this point Mrs Fosdyke pushed brusquely by him with a tray.

  “Mr Bagthorpe Senior has gone back to sleep,” she informed them, “and Mrs Bagthorpe Senior don’t want her breakfast. Says she don’t think she’ll ever want her breakfast again. Two wasted breakfasts.”

  “Please?” said Jack again, and his mother nodded.

  He took Zero along to get him settled in Mrs Bagthorpe’s room before leaving.

  “You just lie there and act invisible,” he told him. “And for heaven’s sake don’t chew any paper. Right?”

  Zero’s tail moved in a way that could be interpreted one way or the other, but Jack patted him anyhow, and said, “Good boy!” with great feeling, because he knew that if you trusted people they tended to justify your trust. Mrs Bagthorpe had once explained this to him, and Jack thought the same might apply to dogs.

  Uncle Parker picked Jack up just outside the village to reduce the likelihood of his being seen.

  “If anyone does say anything, just say I happened to be driving by, and picked you up,” Uncle Parker told him. He accelerated with such force that Jack was pressed right back against the seat. “Got to get a move on. Get a good look round this Occult shop before meeting that train.”

  They did not get a move on for long because they caught up with another car. There were another three miles of narrow, winding lanes before the main road and dual carriageway.

  “Look at that!” exclaimed Uncle Parker disgustedly. “It’s always the same! You’ve only got to get on a stretch of road like this and next thing you know you’re sitting on the tail of a perishing Hat!”

  Jack said nothing. He was well acquainted with Uncle Parker’s theories about other drivers. Uncle Parker put all drivers other than himself into one of various categories, none of them flattering. Rock bottom of these, Jack knew, was the Hat Category.

  “The minute you get behind a Hat,” Uncle Parker would say, “you know you’re finished. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman. And a Flat Cap – you get behind a Flat Cap and you might as well reverse back to where you started and try an alternative route.”

  He had actually done this once, on this very stretch of road when trapped behind a flat-capped man driving a 1956 Morris Minor. He had reversed at speed for half a mile. Grandma, who had been persuaded to get into the car only with the utmost difficulty in the first place, had screamed the whole way backwards even though her eyes were tightly shut.

  “If we are stuck behind a Hat,” said Uncle Parker, “we may as well get some notes written. The speed we are going at,” (forty miles per hour) “you could balance a spirit level on your nose, let alone write. Got Prong One?”

  “Got it.”

  “Write:

  Dowsing rod.

  Dowsing Instruction Manual.

  Pack Tarot cards.

  Incense.

  Crystal ball.”

  Jack wrote as directed. Uncle Parker gave a blast on his horn.

  “Out, damned Hat!” he muttered under his breath. The passenger seated by the Hat turned and looked round and Uncle Parker made furious waving signals unrecognised by the Green Cross Code, but unmistakably indicating that he wished, urgently, to pass. This evidently annoyed the driver in front because he reduced his speed insufficiently to allow even Uncle Parker to overtake, but sufficiently to aggravate him further. He in turn responded by blasting on his Special Horn and switching on a battery of head and spotlights, a tactic which sometimes worked with Hats, who could, according to Uncle Parker, fall into one of two subdivisions: Nervous or Obstinate. The present Hat must have fallen into the second subdivision because he maintained his speed and gave an answering blast on his horn, though admittedly not one that could be compared with Uncle Parker’s, which was an extra he had had fitted for such occasions as this, and sounded roughly like the mating call of a hyena.

  “Must be deaf as well as daft,” said Uncle Parker. “Got that lot written down?”

  “Yes. It sounds smashing. Can just anyone see into a crystal ball?”

  “No,” returned Uncle Parker. “In fact, nobody can, as far as I know. It’s merely a useful prop.”

  “Oh,” said Jack, relieved. It was not that he was scared of not being able to see things in the crystal ball, but that he thought he might get scared if he did. “What about Prong Two. What’s this Manifestation?”

  “Ah …” Again Uncle Parker smiled to himself. “Now as to that, I can’t let you in on the whole thing. For one thing, I’m not sure of all the details yet, and for another I haven’t had a chance to judge how your acting’s going on. You seem to be doing all right, judging by the state you had your father in last night, but this particular Manifestation is going to be a stiff test
.”

  “It sounds marvellous. Can’t you give me just a hint?”

  “Oh, I can do that. Got to, in fact. Hello – the Hat’s turning off!”

  The Hat was, indeed, turning into the drive of a small bungalow. On the gate, in large letters, was the legend “DUNROAMIN”.

  “Ha!” Uncle Parker was triumphant. He was so delighted that he even gave the astonished Hat a grin and cheery wave as he accelerated by.

  “See that?”

  This was an extension of Uncle Parker’s theory. He said that nearly all Hats lived in houses called “Dunroamin” or “Chez Nous” or, at a pinch, “Rose Cottage”.

  As they streaked on towards Aysham Uncle Parker gave Jack his instructions for initiating Prong Two of the Attack.

  “You can use the crystal ball,” he said, “or you can look past people’s ears, or just at any space that comes in handy. But what you must do, is keep muttering certain Key Words and Phrases.”

  “Key Words and Phrases,” repeated Jack, and efficiently noted them down on the Prong Two page.

  “Which are as follows,” dictated Uncle Parker, dexterously swerving past a motor cyclist – “look at that fool in front – Where’s his indicator? – Does he think I’m clairvoyant?”

  The Special Hooter was administered reprovingly as Uncle Parker passed the erring motorist.

  “Key Words and Phrases which are as follows … ‘from the sky … message from above … Giant Bubble …’”

  “Did you say giant bubble? Soap bubble, d’you mean?”

  “I said Giant Bubble. Write it down.”

  Jack wrote it down. He then repeated what he had so far:

  “From the sky … message from above … Giant Bubble.”

  “Anything on those lines,” Uncle Parker told him. “Stuff about the heavens opening – anything. Do a bit of improvisation, as long as you stick to the general theme. No details, though – keep it all a bit vague and hazy.”

  So far as Jack was concerned, it was all a bit vague and hazy. He grasped the general theme only dimly and thought it unlikely he would attempt improvisation.

  “Oh – I forgot to mention,” said Uncle Parker. “The Giant Bubble is red and white. Get that in – just a single telling detail, that’s all that’s wanted. That’s it for now. Got to concentrate.”

  They were now approaching the outskirts of Aysham. Uncle Parker did, it was true, concentrate on his driving, but what he seemed to be concentrating on was how many narrow shaves he could achieve without actual impact. His concentration was obviously remarkable because the only casualty in all the years Jack had known him had been Thomas. But people were not fair to Uncle Parker. They held his close shaves against him exactly as they would have done actual accidents. The neighbourhood was by now thickly populated by people who had been involved in one of his close shaves, and of course a lot of them recognised his car and pulled in when they saw it coming either towards them or in their rearview mirror.

  “It’s not so much fun driving round here as it used to be,” Uncle Parker told Jack as for the third time a pedestrian put one foot on a zebra, saw Uncle Parker’s car approaching and hastily withdrew it.

  After the mandatory number of close shaves Uncle Parker finally drew up in a small side street outside a seedy-looking shop. The windows were draped with imitation cobwebs and the centrepiece of the display was a human skull. Above the shop was painted in white dripping candle grease on purple:

  MYSTERIES PROP J. E. FERN

  “Here we are,” said Uncle Parker cheerfully. “Now let’s see what we can find.”

  They spent nearly an hour in the shop. The person who ran it was a white-faced young man with hair that was longer than his beard, and bare feet. When Uncle Parker asked him about his shoes and socks he replied that he did not believe in shoes and socks. He went on for a long time giving his reasons for this, which were apparently something to do with electro-magnetic forces of the earth, but both Jack and Uncle Parker eventually lost interest and began pottering about while J. E. Fern got on with his explanation.

  They really enjoyed this. The shop was quite unlike any they had been in before. Uncle Parker kept picking up books, reading bits out to Jack at random, then laughing and pushing them back in the shelves. In the end this must have got on J. E. Fern’s nerves because suddenly he said abruptly and in distinctly sepulchral tones:

  “You are not, I hope, thinking of dabbling?”

  “Dabbling?” queried Uncle Parker.

  “In my position,” said J. E. Fern, “I have a solemn duty to warn people. The merchandise I offer is essentially for the Believer, for the earnest enquirer into the mysteries of the universe. Hence the name – MYSTERIES.”

  “Well, I gathered that,” conceded Uncle Parker.

  “I warn all who enter,” continued J. E. Fern, “that to dabble is not only unwise, it is positively dangerous.”

  Jack thought that J. E. Fern looked as if he led a pretty haunted life himself, and began to wonder if perhaps they should opt out while it was still open to them.

  “I give you my word,” said Uncle Parker, “that one thing I never do is dabble. Young Jack here will bear me out. If I do a thing I do it thoroughly. Now, you’re obviously a chap who has gone into this whole thing thoroughly. Tell me, what advice would you give us as beginners? Not dabblers, you understand, those who wish to learn.”

  Uncle Parker could get round most people when he made the effort. In no time at all he had J. E. Fern eating out of his hand and he even ended up by letting him have a crystal ball (which was exorbitantly priced) on a seven-day-trial basis, deposit refunded if not entirely satisfied. Jack himself fervently hoped that the crystal ball would not give satisfaction, and not just because of the price. He felt much the same way as Grandma and Tess did about visitations.

  As well as the crystal ball they bore away a dowsing rod plus manual, some mixed incense sticks which the man said were very conducive to Visions and Jack privately resolved to burn only during the daytime, and some Tarot cards which looked interesting, if sinister.

  When they left J. E. Fern’s, Uncle Parker shot up another street and fetched two cream buns from a shop and they sat companionably munching them on a solid yellow line.

  “One last thing,” said Uncle Parker. “The money. We’ll get our deposit back on the crystal ball – we only need it for a week or so just to put the fear of God into them. The rest you pay for.”

  “I didn’t really want a dowsing rod and incense,” Jack said.

  “I can’t buy them for you,” Uncle Parker told him. “They’d rumble us the minute they found out. In any case, I think you ought to invest in the Campaign to show good faith.”

  “It’ll take every penny I’ve got outside the Savings Bank,” said Jack bleakly.

  “I know how much it cost,” said Uncle Parker. “I paid it, remember. You pay me back first chance you get.”

  “All right,” Jack said.

  “It is, of course, your birthday in six weeks’ time,” mused Uncle Parker. “No telling what I couldn’t slip you on that felicitous occasion.”

  “Oh, thanks,” said Jack gratefully. “You see, I was saving up for this model glider.”

  Uncle Parker shook his head.

  “You’re far too normal, that’s your trouble,” he told him. “Any of the others, they’d be saving up for a Stradivarius or some records to teach themselves Swahili. Lord – that reminds me – look at the time. Out – quick! Here – your parcel.”

  Jack had been about to leave it on the back seat of the car.

  “I’ll have to race like hell,” said Uncle Parker with satisfaction, already revving.

  “And watch how you carry that crystal ball!” he yelled out of the window, to the interest of passers-by. “It’s not a cabbage, you know!”

  Gingerly Jack made his way to the bus stop. It seemed to him that if a crystal ball really did have the magic properties described by J. E. Fern, it would be courting disaster to drop it. It woul
d also, of course, cost him the best part of a year’s pocket money.

  Chapter Nine

  When Jack reached home the house was unusually quiet. It had the air of a place in which a lot of people are lying low. Mrs Fosdyke was busy enough in the kitchen, however, and lunch was definitely on.

  “Where is everybody?” he enquired.

  “The Lord knows why,” replied Mrs Fosdyke at a tangent, “Mrs Bagthorpe had to send for that chit in the first place. I’ve always tried to give satisfaction. There’s never been any complaints.”

  Mrs Fosdyke had been tactfully told of the au pair’s impending arrival some weeks previously by Mrs Bagthorpe. She had simply been told that the main reason for the visit was to bring Tess’s Danish on, and to have someone to help with the driving and perhaps do the odd chore.

  Mrs Fosdyke had not been convinced by this. She did not say so to Mrs Bagthorpe, but in the Fiddler’s Arms she said what she really felt, which was that the whole thing was casting aspersions on herself, and could even be the first step towards her herself being made ultimately redundant.

  “They’ll find their mistake, of course,” she said. “I’ve seen one or two films with them Danish orpairs and it’s not chores they do, oh dear me no.”

  Jack was wise enough not to pursue the matter of the new arrival.

  “Is Zero still in Mother’s room?” he asked.

  Mrs Fosdyke, on the other hand, was not prepared to let the matter go.

  “Up in her room,” she said. “Been up there ever since she got here. Weeping buckets.”

  “Crying? What for?”

  Mrs Fosdyke shrugged her shoulders.

  “These Continentals is all the same. I’ve seen some of them subtitle films. It’s no surprise to me.”

  Jack decided against going to Mrs Bagthorpe’s room to check on Zero in case he interrupted a Problem. He filled in the time until lunch by going to his room and unwrapping his parcel from MYSTERIES. After a quick look at the crystal ball he put it back in its straw-packed box in case he should accidentally happen to glance at it and see something in there. There was not much he could do with the dowsing gear, so he lit a jasmine-scented stick of incense and stuck it in a half-finished scone he had brought up the previous night. He watched the tiny red tip of the stick and the thinly wreathing smoke and soon the scent reached him. He sniffed. He rather liked it. He sniffed again. After that he tried to breathe ordinarily because it might, it occurred to him, be the deliberate inhaling of the incense that brought the Visions on. He even got up and opened a window.