“I’m going out,” said Dad.
Alec nipped up to his room, changed out of his school clothes into his jumper and jeans and charged out of the house, ignoring his mother’s shout of, “What about your homework?”
He was heading towards the Tank when he heard someone call him. It was Granddad, busy hoeing a row of beans on the allotment. The old man leaned on the hoe and grinned at him.
“You look as though you’ve lost half a crown and found sixpence. Come here, lad, and tell us about it.”
Alec hesitated.
“Please yourself,” said Granddad, and started to attack the weeds again.
Alec drifted over to the allotment and Granddad stopped work again. Alec told him about the argument in the kitchen.
“Ah,” he nodded. “That’s bad about Hetty Morris, poor old soul. But you remember, last week, she wanted to ship those black people out to Moorside. Well, her wish has been granted, though not the way she wanted. That’s how it goes. But what are you so upset about the Tank for? It’s an eyesore. Always was.”
Alec was silent. Even Granddad wouldn’t understand about the Tank.
Granddad went on, “It’s be more to the point if they cleaned up that canal and had a recreation centre with boats and all on it. And opened up those arches so that people could see a bit what’s on the other side of the railway.”
Alec listened, then thought for a moment.
“Mum and Kim were on to our Dad about Miss Morris. Why won’t he do anything, Granddad? Whatever happens, he just sits there and says nothing. Then he puts his paper down and goes out to the Club.”
Granddad laughed.
“You don’t reckon much to your dad, eh?”
Alec reddened.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, I’ll tell you something for nothing, lad. He didn’t reckon much to his dad either.”
Alec stared.
“His dad… How do you mean, Granddad?”
“When you say your dad never has anything to say for himself, his dad was just the opposite, when your dad was a boy. Always talking, always shouting the odds. There wasn’t a subject under the sun he didn’t reckon to know all about, whether he did or he didn’t. I think your dad had it right up to here,” Granddad gestured at his chin, “with his dad and his talk, talk, talk. Which is maybe why he keeps his mouth shut, now.”
Alec stared at Granddad.
“My dad’s dad. But that’s…”
Granddad grinned.
“That’s right. Your dad used to be right fed up with me at times.”
He turned back to his weeding. Alec wandered off. Life, he could see, was going to get more complicated the older he got.
It was funny, he thought. When Dad was a lad… Granddad was his dad… and when…
He gave up.
Chapter Eleven
ABU PUTS IN AN APPEARANCE
ALEC WAS STILL brooding over everything when he went to school on Monday. He was so deep in thought that he hardly noticed that Ginger Wallace hadn’t come back to school. He mooned his way through lessons that day, fortunately without disasters, and his mind was still churning away when he set out for home.
Lost to the world, he wandered along Boner’s Street. What was he doing there? He’d forgotten his emergency rule to go home by Station Road. Still, he’d gone too far to go back now. He pressed on, keeping a wary eye open, until he reached the railway arches with their dark plank barrier.
He stood still in the road and looked at them. Suddenly the words of Granddad came back into his mind. “Open up those arches so that people can see a bit what’s on the other side.”
Suddenly he knew what he would do. He would ask Abu Salem for one last piece of instamagic. After that he would allow Abu to go back into the can and sleep a million years if he wanted. It would be a bargain and it would be worth it.
He dropped his satchel, pulled out the can, and with a mixed feeling of excitement and regret, he rubbed the top of it and whispered:
“Salaam Aleikum, O Abu Salem.”
“Aleikum Salaam, O Alec. Keef Haalak?”
“IlHamdulilaah.”
“What is thy will?” Abu sounded wary.
“I want one last piece of super, king-size, family pack, transformation magic from you, Abu, and after that I shall resign as your master and you can go to sleep.”
“By the Beard of the Prophet,” said Abu, “that must be a mighty spell. Never have I known a master release his slave before. If it be in my power, it shall be. Speak on, O Alec.”
Alec spoke on, and Abu heard him in silence. At last…
“That is a great wish, O Alec. Since you wish it for others and not for yourself, I shall perform what I can.”
Alec stood in Boner’s Street, holding the can. A minute passed. Then the ground began to heave like an earthquake. In front of him the railway arches began to quiver and shake, like a dream sequence on the telly. One by one the arches opened, showing the blue sky beyond, and on the slopes he saw the estate and his home appear. The Tank, with its mouldering brickwork, its rusty iron, its dank shrubs and weeds, its oozy canal, had vanished like smoke in the air.
In its place was a long low hall with bright windows, a football pitch, tennis courts and archery butts. Beyond it all, a waterway gleamed in the sun and boats bobbed on the water where the crane house had been. The great plank fence had fallen away and instead there were trees and flower beds. From the corner of his eye, Alec saw Boner’s Street and gasped. The tall houses were newly painted, the high stone steps shone white, the windows caught the sun. The piles of rubbish and the broken-down cars had vanished. At the end of the street had appeared a clear space with swings, slides and a high commando climbing net. It was fantastic. Who would have believed Boner’s Street and the Tank could look like this?
He ran forward. One thing he could claim for himself; he would be first to go on one of those boats on the canal. But even as he ran, a fog dropped over the Tank covering everything. In the midst of the fog, someone called him.
“Help, help, O Alec, help!”
Alec turned so swiftly he nearly fell. The fog was clearing, or rather it shrank together into a small space just a yard or two away from him. As it cleared, the outline of Boner’s Street and the railway arches appeared. Alec saw, much to his dismay, that they were just as they had always been, dark, grim, mucky, rubbish strewn. Nothing had changed.
Nothing?
From the shrinking patch of fog, a dark shape emerged, no bigger than a man. But a tall, broad-shouldered man. Alec could see him now.
He was dressed in a long red and white striped robe and flowing burnous, like one of the forty thieves in AH Baba. On his feet he wore sandals and round his waist was a broad shining belt, into which was thrust a wicked curved sword.
But his face was dark brown. A silly thought went through Alec’s head. I thought he was an Arab or something, but of course he was a slave from Africa.
Then Alec burst out:
“Abu, what happened?”
“Aieee, O Alec. The worst has happened. In my great effort to work your will, the magic spell proved too much. In trying to make it work, something, alas, has gone astray, and here I am, materialized.”
Alec looked round in alarm. The idea of a black slave in ancient robes standing in the middle of Boner’s Street was at first quite funny. On the other hand it could be very awkward.
“I think you’d best disappear again and finish off the spell.”
“Alas, if I disappear again, it will take all my power and I will not be able to work the spell. For the moment my powers are so low that I can do neither. I must stay with you, I fear. But that was your first wish, that you should see me,” the genie added cheerfully.
“Oh, Nora,” said Alec. “What am I going to do? You are a flipping nuisance, Abu.”
A hurt look passed over the black man’s face and Alec was immediately ashamed.
“I’m sorry, Abu. I didn’t mean to be rott
en. It’s just that now I don’t know what to do. I mean, I can’t tell you to get back in the can and carry you home, can I? And you can’t stay here in Boner’s Street. Someone’ll Alec. Then they were come along any minute.”
Abu shrugged. “Truly, O Alec, I am sorry, but I cannot help it. In the Great Book of Magic, every genie is warned that there is a limit to his powers. I have been lucky. I have known genies who tried to do too much and they exploded and were never seen or heard of again.”
“Oh, I’m glad that didn’t happen to you. Now what can we do? I could smuggle you home and ask Granddad to put you up in the caravan. No, that would only cause more trouble.”
Suddenly Alec had an idea.
“I’ll take you to my hideout, Abu. Come on.”
Picking up his satchel, he led the way across the road to the arches. Beneath the sign BUGLETOWN ORDNANCE – KEEP OUT Alec found the fourteenth board and gave it a push, but it would not move. Alec remembered that the day Ginger and his mates had tried to follow him, he had blocked up the entrance. He beckoned to Abu and swiftly explained the problem. Abu pushed back the sleeves of his robes which revealed his huge, muscular, brown arms. With one thrust he pushed in the loose plank, shoving aside the brickwork which jammed it.
Alec prepared to slip through. But, what about Abu? He’d never get through. It was too narrow. They’d have to move another board. Abu must have been a thought reader. He dug his fingers under the end of the plank and gave a terrific push and pull. With a shriek, the nails gave and the second plank swung inwards, leaving a space wide enough for both of them to go through.
“Hey. What are you doing down there? Hooligans!”
It was Miss Morris. Her voice screeched down the road and Alec could hear her boots clumping along the pavement.
“Quick, Abu, in we go.”
They wasted no time. In two seconds they were through into the Tank and Abu pushed the two planks back into place, covering the entrance.
“Now where did they go? I could have sworn I saw them smashing the fence in. A big black fella and somebody else.” They could hear Miss Morris muttering to herself on the other side of the fence. Alec beckoned to Abu and they walked over to the main factory buildings where they climbed the rickety stairs and entered the crane room. Abu looked about him.
“What place is this? An ancient palace?”
Alec looked blank. How could he explain factory to Abu? “Oh, it’s just an old place where people used to work. No one ever comes here now.
“It’s not very comfortable, but it’s safe. Did you say the old magic power was completely gone, or will it come back?” he asked Abu.
“I know not. Perhaps.”
Abu looked grim, so Alec changed the subject.
“Well, I’ll have to see what I can do to find you some food and blankets, though where and how I don’t know.”
“Fear not, O Alec. What you can do, you will do, I know.”
“Anyway, Abu, you hang on, while I sneak off home and find what I can. Ma’asalaama.”
“Ma’asalaama,” replied Abu, as Alec went down the stairs.
As Alec crossed the canal, he thought that it was some little time since he had kept his disasters-triumphs score card. Mind you, disasters had put so many in the net that it was hardly worth bothering. Instead he concentrated on solving Abu s problems.
He worked out a simple plan. He would nip into the caravan and borrow two blankets from one of the lockers. Granddad had plenty and the others were only used in the middle of winter when the family needed extra. When he’d done that, he’d have a scout round the larder and see what he could rustle up.
The plan was fine, if it had worked. Granddad was out, and picking up the blankets was not difficult. Alec was in the middle of raiding the larder when Mum caught him. Two minutes of third degree and she’d found out about the blankets.
He couldn’t tell her what they were for, but pretended he had a scheme for camping out for the night. It was daft and Mum clearly didn’t believe it. She said nothing more, but sent him upstairs to get on with his homework and told him he needn’t think about going out again that evening.
Up in his room, Alec counted his money. He had enough (ignoring the fact that he owed Kim seventy-five pence) to buy half a take-away kebab at Nick’s cafe in Station Road. He wondered if they sold half a kebab; perhaps he could put a deposit on one and pay by instalments.
“This is getting us nowhere, Bowden,” he told himself and had to admit that he was right. But what to do? He couldn’t leave old Abu in the lurch, even if he wasn’t the most successful genie in the fourth dimension. Now he knew the meaning of the words “spell disaster”.
Alec sat on his bed and pondered for half an hour. But at the end of it he was still left with the same daft situation. Aladdin never had to look after his slave like that. Funny, the more he thought of Abu as a slave, the more ridiculous it seemed. Abu was a friend, a mate. They’d had some fun together. Now the boot was on the other foot and Alec Bowden had to work the magic.
“That’s life,” he said, addressing the empty can he held in his hand. It was truly empty now.
“One moment you have a genie at your command. Next moment you have an illegal immigrant on your hands.” Yes, Councillor Blaggett was right after all. There was an illegal immigrant around Boner’s Street, and Alec Bowden had brought him there.
“Illegal immigrant” mean Abu had to be kept a secret. But Alec couldn’t just leave him down in the Tank. Abu would be cold and hungry in the crane room. Alec would have to get help. But who could he ask?
Not the family. It wouldn’t be fair to get Granddad mixed up in all this, though Alec was sure the old man would help. Not Kim, either. She was too friendly with Councillor Blaggett’s son these days.
He was on his feet, tramping round the room, when the thought struck him. There was only one person in Bugletown, or rather two, whom he could ask to help Abu. The thought hit him right in the middle of the stomach like a wet fish.
But it had to be, it had to…
It had to be Eulalia and Ginger Wallace.
Chapter Twelve
“POOR LITTLE GINGER”
CORONATION STREET WAS booming away on the telly as Alec slipped downstairs and into the kitchen. All was quiet. He gently eased open the larder door.
“Is that you, Alec?” called his mother from the front room. What a radar system!
“Just getting myself a peanut butter sandwich, Mum.”
“All right, love. Straight upstairs again afterwards.”
Alec didn’t answer. He wasn’t going upstairs but couldn’t bring himself to fib about it. He made two sandwiches, one with fish paste and one with peanut butter, and nicked a plastic bag to wrap them in. He squashed the bag into his jeans pocket.
The back door was open. The evening was still light and not too cold. If he got down to the Tank right away…
“Psst. Where are you off to, Alec?”
Granddad was peering out through the caravan window.
“Nowhere special, Granddad,” whispered Alec.
The caravan door opened. Granddad’s arm appeared holding a blanket.
“Please yourself. Take this with you, though. And hey, tell us about it afterwards.”
“Oh, thanks a lot, Granddad. That’s smashing. But how did you know?”
“I heard your mother talking to you in the kitchen. Now, you’d best get off before the programme ends.”
Waving to Granddad, Alec ran off along the road, past the allotments and down to the plank fence round the Tank. It looked solid enough now, and it seemed impossible that for one tiny moment, all this had disappeared and a supersonic, marine fun centre had been in its place. Now all that was left was the Tank and poor old Abu shivering in his satin nightie.
The thought made him speed up. Up went the loose plank and Alec went through the fence like a Commando. He was over the canal in a flash and the bridge was firm this time. Another few seconds and he ran up the rickety st
airs of the crane house.
“Abu,” he called. There was no answer.
“Abu,” he called again, bursting into the crane room.
To his relief a loud snore answered him. Abu, knees tucked under his chin, was fast asleep on the table. Alec shook him.
“Aieee,” grunted the genie, stretching himself and nearly falling off the table. He looked round wildly for a moment and shook his head in bewilderment. Then he grinned. Alec put the blanket on the table, pulled out the squashed sandwiches from his jeans pocket, and he offered them to Abu.
“Shukran jazilan, O Alec.”
Abu disposed of the sandwiches in four massive bits. He slapped his stomach and, holding out his hand, shook Alec’s hand.
“Look, Abu. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here and keep out of sight for a while.”
“Why, O Alec? Am I not fit to be seen?”
“No, well, er, people like you aren’t…”
Oh, how do you explain about illegal immigrants to someone who’s never heard of race relations?
“Look, Abu, I’m going to see someone, to ask for help.”
“Ah, someone with wealth and power?”
“Not exactly. But someone who might know what to do.”
“I am in your hands, O Alec.”
“OK. I’m off. Keep out of sight. Ma’asalaama!”
“Ma’asalaama!” Abu replied.
Alec rushed down the stairs and out across the waste to the fence on the Boner’s Street side.
It took him a few minutes to pull out the planks which Abu had forced into place that afternoon and push his way out into Boner’s Street. He went carefully, for he didn’t want Miss Morris to catch sight of him. A pound to a penny, the old lady would report what she’d seen earlier that day to someone or other.
There was no one in sight as he hurried down the street to Number 85, but as he came closer, he saw someone whom he guessed must be Mrs Wallace. She sat comfortably on top of the old stone steps, knitting away with two little girls in pinnies and pigtails sitting beside her. Mrs Wallace was calling across the street to a friend who sat mending clothes on the steps of the house opposite. As he came nearer, Alec heard something that stopped him in his tracks.
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