The Third-Class Genie

by Robert Leeson

  “Now, look here, Joe Blaggett.” Dad’s face suddenly became red. Alec had never seen him look like that before. “I think it’s about time someone talked straight to you because you’re going to end up making this town a laughing stock.”

  The councillor started to speak, but Dad didn’t even notice.

  “There’s hardly a week goes by, without you making some daft statement or other. And this week, you’ve hit the jackpot.”

  “What d’you mean, Harold Bowden?”

  Dad folded his arms. That’s funny, thought Alec, that’s just what Mum does before she’s going to blast somebody.

  “Why don’t you, for once in your life, Joe Blaggett, do something really useful? Instead of pushing around those people down in Boner’s Street, why don’t you go down there and find out what they want? Find out if they want to be shunted off to Moorside? In fact you don’t need to. Just go home and ask your own missus if she wants to go out to Moorside. And instead of chasing black men through this dump, why don’t you have a proper look round Boner’s and Upshaw and those other streets? There’s room for more homes down there, for Bugletown people. And those houses in Boner’s Street could be fixed up and decent homes made out of them. In fact, there’s a lot that could be done to smarten up the place and make it comfortable.”

  Dad raised his hand.

  “Look, I know you’re not responsible for the whole issue, but you do pull a lot of weight. So why not pull it in the right direction for a change?”

  Dad stopped suddenly, as though he were astonished with himself. Alec looked at him in awe. He thought to himself, I won’t forget this for a long time, and I’ll bet Councillor Blaggett won’t either.

  There came a hooting from beyond the big gate.

  “Ah, that’ll be the ambulance,” said PC Hadley

  “We’ll be off, then, our Alec,” said Dad.

  They all walked together towards the gate. The ambulance men passed them on the way down to the canal with a stretcher for Councillor Blaggett. As they passed, one called out:

  “Hey, Harold. How did he manage to get into the canal?”

  Dad shook his head.

  “It’s a long story, Fred.”

  “I’ll look out for you in the Three Fiddlers at the weekend, and you can tell us then. It must be good.”

  “Why, it’s almost unbelievable,” said Dad.

  At the gate Alec turned to Ginger. “I’ll come over and see you later, Ginge. OK?”

  Ginger shook his head.

  “No, best not come over.” He jerked his head back at the Tank. “One of these bright boys might have his eye on you. I’ll see you tomorrow in school. Tara.”

  “Tara,” said Alec and Ginger loped off.

  “Who’s that boy?” said Dad.

  “That’s Ginger Wallace from school. Our Kim knows his mother from the biscuit works.”

  “Oh,” said Dad, and left it at that.

  By the allotments, they parted company with Dad’s mate and walked on towards home.

  Alec suddenly remembered something.

  “Dad?”

  “What is it, son?”

  “How did you manage to get down into the Tank so quickly? You couldn’t have come round by the High Road.”

  Dad looked embarrassed. Then he laughed and said:

  “Ask your mum.”

  Alec looked disbelieving, but Dad repeated, “Ask your mum.”

  And they walked the rest of the way in silence.

  Mum was at the gate talking to neighbours when they arrived. News travels fast, and she already had an idea what had happened. The rest of the story came out over tea with Mum and Kim, who had already arrived home, laughing till the tears came.

  When Alec got a chance, he put in a word.

  “Mum, Dad said I was to ask you how he got down into the Tank so quickly from the viaduct.”

  Mum shot an outraged glance at Dad, who looked up at the ceiling. Then Mum laughed.

  “He would. Oh, he would.”

  “Oh, go on, Mum, tell us,” begged Alec.

  “I’m not sure I will. It’s private,” said Mum, but she was still smiling.

  “Oh, go on, our Mum. He’s a big lad now,” said Kim teasingly

  “Oh, all right,” said Mum. “Your dad knows a short cut down from the railway into the Tank, down the side of the viaduct. You probably can’t see it now because of all those elder bushes.”

  Dad hid a smile behind his hand.

  “But, how, Mum. How do you…?”

  “Well, Alec, during the war, they used to make tanks in Bugletown Ordnance. That’s why people called it the Tank, the name stuck to it. Well, after the war I worked there. Your dad was on the railway along with Granddad. We weren’t married then, and what with shift work and all, we didn’t see all that much of each other. So…”

  “Oh, I know,” said Alec, “Dad used to sneak down the path from the railway, and you’d meet him down by the canal.”

  Mum blushed. Kim chuckled.

  “There you are, our Alec. The romantic past of the Bowden family.”

  But Alec had other things on his mind.

  “Mum?”

  “Yes?”

  “Whereabouts did you work in the Tank?”

  Now Mum began to laugh.

  “Where do you think, Alec? Where do you think?”

  Alec looked baffled.

  “In the crane house, of course. How do you think your dad knew how to operate that crane?”

  Alec’s mouth fell open. Kim laughed outright.

  “You’ve shocked him now, our Mum. He’ll never hold his head up again. His mother was a crane driver.”

  They all burst out laughing. What a fantastic end to a fantastic day.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ABU PUTS IN A DISAPPEARANCE

  BUT THERE WAS more excitement at home that night. A reporter and photographer from the Bugletown Gazette came round. The reporter, whose uncle worked in the goods yards, knew Dad slightly and there was a good deal of talk about Councillor Blaggett, Boner’s Street and the Tank. They didn’t leave until the big teapot, usually brought out on Sundays, had been emptied twice. Dad, Mum and Kim sat round the front-room table with the Gazette people; Alec sat on the window ledge and listened to the talk. Mum kept sending him meaningful glances, but didn’t say anything about homework.

  As the journalists left, Alec burst out:

  “Aren’t you going to interview Ginger Wallace?”

  The reporter grinned.

  “We’ll be down at Boner’s Street tomorrow night, Alec. This is a big story. Front page stuff. Besides,” he whispered, “I couldn’t take any more tea this evening.”

  Next day at school Eulalia passed Alec a note.

  Ronnie Carter muttered, “Why can’t I get notes from smashing women?”

  Eulalia heard him and smiled sweetly.

  “Because I’m particular who I talk to, Fat-face.”

  Alec managed to open the note just as first lesson started. “All OK till the weekend. But have to do something drastic then. Salaam from Abu.”

  Alec took the note as a hint and, apart from a brief nod to Ginger in the yard at lunch break, he made no more contact. He relied on Ginger and Eulalia to look after Abu. But it was still worrying. In a day or two the weekend would be here and he hadn’t a clue what they could do. He’d heard in a telly programme that you could get fake passports in the Portobello Road in London. Or was it driving licences? He wasn’t sure, and he didn’t know how to get to the Portobello Road anyway. And what did you do when you got there? Did you walk along, saying out of the corner of your mouth, “How much for a passport for a materialized genie?” Or did you get a slip of paper under your glass in a bar with the address of a backroom over a barber’s shop?

  He didn’t know that either. He’d never been in a bar and he didn’t go near barber’s shops any more often than he had to. No, he wasn’t really trained for emergencies like this. Now, if only he could give his old beer can
a rub, and say, “I want a passport, work permit and insurance cards for a genie who has entered the country illegally.” No, he didn’t know what to do, but he knew one thing. If there was something he could do to help Abu, even if it were something you weren’t supposed to do, he’d do it like a shot.

  “And where is Mr Bowden now? At the Court of Saladin?”

  The mock polite tones of Tweedy Harris brought him back to earth. It was mid-afternoon and he was halfway through a history lesson. What were they doing? Was it the Hundred Years War, or the wool trade? His mind did several hundred revs to the second, but came up with nothing.

  “Er – I was just thinking about what you said, sir.”

  “Very flattering. And what did I say?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  The class rocked. Tweedy, for once in a mild humour, smiled as well.

  The rest of the day slipped away. Nothing disastrous happened, though Alec almost wished it had. He was beginning to know the meaning of the expression “the suspense is killing me”.

  Just after tea that evening, Alec was sitting in the caravan with Granddad, sharing a bag of crisps, when Granddad pointed and said, “Who’s that young feller, just going up to the back door?”

  Alec peered through the caravan window. He recognized the young coin-collector in the leather jacket, right away.

  “It’s Arthur Blaggett, Councillor Blaggett’s son,” he said.

  Granddad looked anxious.

  “What does he want? Is he spying things out?”

  “After a word with our Kim, more like,” said Alec. “I’ll sneak up to the corner and have a listen, shall I?”

  Granddad shrugged. Alec nipped out of the caravan and crept up to the corner of the coalhouse from where he could hear without being seen. It was worth it.

  Arthur Blaggett knocked and waited. After a second Dad stood in the door. He looked grim.

  “And what do you want?”

  That wasn’t like Dad. He was usually a bit more friendly than that. Arthur Blaggett looked nervous. Alec rubbed his hands joyfully.

  “It’s my dad like,” said Arthur Blaggett. “He wants to see you.”

  “I’m not sure any member of my family wants to see any member of your family at the moment.”

  Arthur wriggled inside his leather jacket.

  “Well, Mr Bowden. Dad only asked me, if I’d ask you, if you’d be good enough to, I mean…”

  Dad gave him no help at all. “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “He wants you to go round with him to Boner’s Street to talk to the people there. He reckons that’ll help.”

  “He ‘wants me to do his dirty work for him, does he?”

  “Oh, no, Mr Bowden.” Arthur’s voice went so far up the scale that Alec became alarmed.

  “No, he told me to say that he were – he was very interested in what you’d said and… er…”

  From the kitchen behind Dad, Alec could hear Kim’s voice.

  “Our Dad, don’t torment the lad so. Tell him yes or no.”

  Arthur Blaggett tried to peer round Dad, which took some doing since Dad was broad.

  “Oh, er, hallo, Kim.”

  Alec could see the corner of Dad’s mouth twitching.

  “Tell Councillor Blaggett that if he’d like to see me, on a purely social basis of course, I shall be in the Railway Club at nine o’clock tonight.” Dad paused. “He can ask for me at the door.”

  “Oh, thanks very much, Mr Bowden.” Arthur Blaggett stood there. Dad looked at him.

  “Well, was there something else?”

  “I was just wondering…”

  “Oh, Dad, you are a pest,” came Kim’s voice.

  “Ask him in, Harold,” Mum intervened at last. Alec wasn’t sure, but he had the feeling that she was having a quiet laugh too.

  Arthur Blaggett disappeared along with Dad into the kitchen, and Alec went quietly back into the caravan where Granddad had a can of beer open.

  “Would you like a sup, Alec?”

  “No, thanks, Granddad. I don’t like beer.”

  The old man looked mischievous.

  “But I thought you did.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I’ve seen you carrying your empties about, that’s all.”

  “What empties?”

  “That old beer can you wouldn’t let your mum put in the dustbin.”

  Without thinking, Alec put his hand in his pocket. That was funny. The can wasn’t there. Come to think, he hadn’t seen it since yesterday. He must have left it somewhere.

  He felt a sudden pang of regret and disappointment. The can had no magic power any more, but he’d become very attached to it. He’d got used to it sitting in his pocket, like an old friend.

  “Eh, Alec?” Granddad was looking at him.

  “Oh, ah. That old beer can.”

  “Yes, that old beer can. You’re starting early, aren’t you? I never supped ale before I was fourteen and I started work at thirteen. This is what they call the permissive society, eh?”

  Alec shrugged.

  “Oh, it never had any beer in it. I just picked it up.”

  “Whatever for, Alec?”

  “Well, a sort of good luck thing, that’s all.”

  “And did it bring you any luck?”

  “I’m not sure, Granddad. I don’t know whether to believe in things like good luck, or not.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, lad, never say die. You never know what’s round the corner. Anyway, you’ve had a good week, this week. Interviews and all. I expect they’ll have your picture in the paper: ‘Boy hero of Bugletown. Large councillor saved from fate worse than death.’”

  Alec laughed, though it was really not funny. So many things had happened since that day he had picked up the can at the corner of Boner’s Street. So many fantastic things had taken place. It was hard to believe it had all come and gone in the space of just over a fortnight. He looked at Granddad supping his beer. Granddad would never know what had upset his caravan that night.

  And he, Alec, could never tell him, because it just wasn’t believable. Nor were the Arabian feasts in his bedroom, the slippers, the silver coins, the Great Itch, or the tremendous transformation of Boner’s Street and the Tank, which had only lasted seconds.

  All the same, he mused, perhaps some good has come of it all, if Councillor Blaggett’s having second thoughts about clearing Miss Morris and the Wallaces and the other people out of Boner’s Street. And now Dad was on the warpath, as well. That was a transformation of sorts. Perhaps there was real magic in the can…

  Then he remembered, there was Abu. Abu, not in the spirit but in the flesh, all six foot ten of him, or thereabouts. And to think, he’d once fitted right inside that little beer can. Still, didn’t Mr Jameson once say that there was enough energy in a cup of water to drive an ocean liner to New York and back? Or was it a drop of water? He couldn’t remember. But it was a fantastic idea, all that energy there, waiting to be released.

  Granddad looked out of the window.

  “There’s your dad off to the Club. Hey, and look, somebody else is off somewhere, too.”

  Alec peeped out.

  Kim, towing Arthur Blaggett behind her, was walking off round the side of the house.

  “Where will they be off to?” said Granddad.

  “The Odeon, late show, I should think.”

  “Maybe. That’s a funny thing, now. That’s the last family in Bugletown I thought we’d ever have anything to do with. I remember Joe Blaggett’s father at school. I gave him a black eye once.”

  “What was that for, Granddad?”

  “Oh, I forget now. These days I can’t remember what I had for dinner.”

  The old man looked after Kim and Arthur Blaggett as they disappeared up the road. He chuckled.

  “This is my daughter’s wedding day.

  Ten thousand pounds I’ll give away.

  On second thoughts, I think it best,

  T
o put it back in the old oak chest.”

  “Oh, you are daft, Granddad,” said Alec.

  “I know, lad, but handsome with it. Hey, what’s this, Alec? This place is like High Street on Market Day tonight.”

  “What do you mean, Granddad?”

  “There’s a black boy and girl out there in the entry. What do they want?”

  Alec jumped to his feet. Something was wrong. Eulalia and Ginger would never have come up here, just like that.

  “See you, Granddad,” he called out hastily, as he tore open the caravan door and tumbled down the steps. Ginger and Eulalia stood by the corner of the back yard. Their faces were serious.

  “What’s happened?” said Alec.

  “It’s Abu. We can’t find him anywhere. He’s just gone.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  MA’ASALAAMA!

  “GONE?” SAID ALEC.

  Eulalia nodded.

  “He was in our back room. Dad was working out what we could do about him, but I think Abu was a bit bothered about troubling us.”

  “That’s right,” said Ginger. “When he knew the law could get really nasty over things like this.”

  “Do you mean, he just walked out, like that?”

  “Well, we were all watching something on the box in the front room tonight, Abu was in the back room. Mum gave him his tea earlier on and he decided to have a sleep.”

  “That figures,” said Alec. “His favourite occupation.”

  “When we went in to see him later on, he’d just disappeared. But where can he have got to? He’s got no money. He can’t go anywhere.”

  “Oh, yes he can,” said Alec.

  “Where?” they both spoke together.

  “A pound to a penny, back to the Tank.”

  “You could be right,” said Ginger. “Come on, then.”

  They set off at a run, out of the yard, down the road and past the allotments. They reached the plank fence round the Tank in two minutes flat.

  “They were quick to put the padlock on again,” said Eulalia.

  “Yes,” said Alec, as he walked slowly along the fence. “And, this time, they’ve done a proper job. They’ve nailed up all the loose planks. We can’t get through.”

  “Come on then, round to Boner’s Street,” said Ginger.