The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  Everybody turned round and looked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We have never met?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Please step forward.’

  I felt myself going all red as I went towards him.

  ‘Now, young man, which hand do you write with?’

  I held out my right hand.

  ‘This one.’

  The Yo-yo Champion picked up a red yo-yo and fixed the string on my big finger.

  ‘Just do what I do.’

  He flicked the yo-yo out of the back of his hand towards the floor and it stayed spinning round at the end of the string like before. There was no way that I was going to do that. But I flicked it out of my hand just like he showed me and I couldn’t believe it. It was spinning just like his.

  ‘I don’t believe it, ladies and gentlemen, look at that.’

  There was my yo-yo at the end of the string spinning round and round. It looked like it could have gone on for ever.

  ‘Let’s see if he can “walk the dog”.’

  He turned sideways, let his yo-yo drop to the floor and started walking. With my yo-yo still spinning I copied him. I let it slowly drop down to the floor. It worked. The yo-yo rolled along the ground and I followed it. I was walking the dog just like Don Martell.

  Everybody was clapping as he flicked his yo-yo up in the air and then flicked it back into his hand. He turned to watch me. I flicked my hand just like he’d done and the yo-yo flew up into the air. Another flick and it rolled up the string and I caught it in my hand.

  ‘The lad’s a natural. A future champion, which is very important because next Saturday, a week today, we will be holding a competition here in the store to find the Yo-yo Champion. First prize will be a grand silver cup inscribed with the champion’s name and a Crabtree’s gift token to the value of ten pounds.’

  A silver cup and a ten pound token. I could go in for it . . . if I had a yo-yo.

  ‘And I am selling the world-famous Lumar yo-yo at the special demonstration price of a half-a-crown. Two shillings and sixpence.’

  Half a crown . . . Maybe my mum would get me one . . . My mum! I looked at the clock which was above the lady who took the money in the cash desk. Half past! She’d told me to be back by twenty past. Oh no! I started to run off.

  ‘Oi! I’m not giving them away, young man. Half-a-crown.’

  I still had the yo-yo in my hand. I’d forgotten. I ran back, took the string off my finger and gave it to him.

  ‘Sorry – I’m late for my mum.’

  I didn’t know which would be quicker, the lift or the moving staircase. I looked up at the lights that tell you which floor the lift is on. The ‘G’ was lit up. It was on the ground floor. The lift would be quicker. Come on, lift, come on . . . The ‘G’ went out and a couple of seconds later the doors opened.

  ‘Basement-ah. Toys-ah, Household Goods-ah, Electrical Goods-ah . . .’

  He always talked like that, the man who worked the lift. It makes me and Norbert laugh.

  ‘Basement-ah. Toys-ah, Household Goods-ah, Electrical Goods-ah . . .’

  He only had one arm. His other arm was just an empty sleeve pinned across his chest. I went in the lift and who do you think was coming out in his brand new black suede crêpes? Lucky beggar. He looked at me and gave me one of his sneery lop-sided grins.

  ‘Mind the doors-ah.’

  We started going up. Shoes were on the second floor.

  ‘Ground Floor-ah. Haberdashery-ah, Furnishing Fabrics-ah, Glassware-ah . . .’

  Come on, come on! If we missed our turn my mum was going to go mad. We started moving again, thank goodness.

  ‘First Floor-ah. Ladies’ Fashions-ah, Knitwear-ah, Cafeteria . . .’

  I suppose it was impossible to say ‘Cafeteria-ah’. Come on! Why couldn’t they all hurry up? I could see people going up the moving staircase. I ran out and started running up the moving stairs – it had to be quicker. It would have been if it hadn’t been for these two women. They wouldn’t let me go past.

  I asked nicely.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  They just ignored me.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  One of them looked at me then turned away and they carried on talking. Grown-ups can be really rude sometimes.

  We got to the top and I ran as fast as I could to the shoe department.

  ‘Second Floor-ah. Menswear-ah, Shoes-ah, Gentlemen’s Hairdressing-ah . . .’

  I’d have been better off staying in the lift. Oh no! The clock in the shoe department said twenty-five to. Fifteen minutes late. What was my mum going to say?

  ‘Hello, love, did you have a nice time?’

  She wasn’t cross.

  ‘Yeah, great . . .’

  I couldn’t understand it.

  ‘Seventy-one . . . Ticket number seventy-one . . .’

  That was why. They hadn’t reached us. I was so lucky.

  ‘I’ve been watching the British Yo-yo Champion. He let me have a go.’

  She was reading her Woman’s Weekly.

  ‘That’s nice . . .’

  ‘I was quite good at it.’

  ‘Were you, love . . .?’

  She wasn’t really listening.

  ‘Yeah. They’ve got a competition next Saturday to find the yo-yo champion. The winner’ll get ten pounds and a cup . . .’

  I was just about to tell her that they cost half-a-crown and ask if I could have one when I heard someone calling my name. It was Keith Hopwood. He was with his mum and dad. Keith’s dad’s ever so small, not much bigger than Keith, and his mum’s huge. They looked a bit like Laurel and Hardy. Mrs Hopwood was carrying two big carrier bags and was puffing and blowing. She put her shopping down and sat next to my mum.

  ‘Eeh, I could do without buying shoes this morning, I can tell you. Has your lad been nagging you as well?’

  My mum wasn’t sure what she was on about.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  Mrs Hopwood slipped off her shoes and wiggled her toes about.

  ‘These blessed black suede crêpes they’re all wearing.’

  ‘Ticket number seventy-two . . .’

  My mum looked at me. Mrs Hopwood was still rubbing her foot.

  ‘Still, if they’ve all got them what can you do? You can’t say no, can you . . .?’

  They looked great. I walked up and down like the assistant manager told me.

  ‘They’re very durable, madam. Last for ever. We’ve sold masses of them.’

  I didn’t ask my mum to buy me a yo-yo. I’d got my black suede crêpes. That was enough.

  On the Monday I wore them to school and I felt really good. Arthur Boocock was wearing his. So was Tony, and David Holdsworth and Kenny Spencer and Gordon Barraclough. Keith Hopwood wasn’t. They’d sold out. I’d got the last pair. Even Norbert had got some. He’d got them from Crabtree’s on the Friday night after school. We looked at him. He knew what we were all thinking.

  ‘I didn’t nick ’em, you know. My mam got ’em for me.’

  He must have been telling the truth. Even Norbert couldn’t pinch a pair of shoes . . . I don’t think . . .

  ‘I nicked this though.’

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a yo-yo. It was yellow, just like the one Don Martell had been using.

  ‘This feller was demonstrating ’em. All different tricks. There’s a competition on Saturday. I can’t do it though, I’m useless.’

  I could.

  ‘I can. Let’s have a go.’

  Norbert gave me the yo-yo. I wound up the string and slipped it on my big finger. Everybody was watching. Flick! The yo-yo came out of the back of my hand, went down the string and spun nicely. I lowered it to the floor, nice and slow, and ‘walked the dog’. Flick! The yo-yo went up in the air. Flick! It rolled up the string and I caught it. Everybody was really impressed and Norbert said I could keep it.

  ‘I don’t want it, I can’t even make it go up and down. Anyway, I nicked something better.’
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  He rummaged about in his pocket again and this time he brought out a grey crayon. He’s so stupid, Norbert, he’d risk getting caught for a crummy crayon.

  ‘It’s not a crummy crayon. It’s a good trick, this. I’ll show you. Someone look out for Bleasdale.’

  We had Latin next and Bleasdale was always late. Norbert got on a chair and started drawing on one of the windows. It was a good trick. When he’d finished it looked like the window had been smashed. It was brilliant, dead realistic. Bleasdale didn’t notice it, he just told us to open our books at page forty-seven. Everybody started giggling and when he asked us what was the matter we all pointed at the ‘broken’ window.

  ‘Dear oh dear. Does anybody know how this happened?’

  Norbert put his hand up.

  ‘Yes sir, it was me.’

  Bleasdale looked surprised.

  ‘Well, Lightowler, your honesty is most commendable but I’m afraid you’ll have to go and see the headmaster, tell him what you’ve done. Off you go, lad.’

  We all burst out laughing and Norbert got on the chair, spat on the window and started cleaning it with his mucky handkerchief. Even Mr Bleasdale laughed. He’s a good sport.

  When my mum got home from work that night I was playing with the yo-yo in the kitchen. I told her that Norbert had given it to me ’cos he didn’t want it. Well it was true. I just didn’t tell her that he’d pinched it from Crabtree’s.

  ‘I’m going to go in for that competition on Saturday.’

  ‘What competition’s that, love?’

  ‘At Crabtree’s. The yo-yo championship. First prize is a silver cup with your name on and a ten-pound gift token.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice . . .’

  I knew my mum hadn’t been listening. I went into the front room to practise. I practised every night that week. You’ve got to practise if you want to be a yo-yo champion. Every day after school, I’d go down to Crabtree’s and watch Don. Loop the Loop, Baby in the Cradle, Round the World, all sorts of tricks. Then I’d go home and try them out.

  That’s what I was doing when I broke the blue vase. I couldn’t help it. It wasn’t my fault. I was practising.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mum, I was looping the loop. I can nearly do it now.’

  She looked at me with one of her looks and I thought I’d better shut up quick. I knew why she was so mad. The vase had belonged to my grandma.

  ‘That vase belonged to my grandmother – your great-grandmother. It’s been in our family for years.’

  My great-grandmother! I’d always thought it had been my grandma’s.

  ‘You always said it were my grandma’s.’

  ‘It was and your great-grandma’s before her but it doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s broken.’

  She started picking up the pieces.

  ‘Maybe you could glue it together . . .’

  She gave me another look.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to break it. It was an accident.’

  ‘Just be careful with that yo-yo. I don’t want any more accidents.’

  I wouldn’t have minded but I wanted to win the yo-yo competition for her, not for me. Well that’s not really true. I wanted to be the Yo-yo Champion, ’course I did, but I’d decided that if I won I was going to use the ten-pound voucher to buy her a pearl necklace. She’d been looking at it in the jewellery department after we’d bought my shoes.

  On the Friday I was in the kitchen practising Baby in the Cradle – that’s when you have to get the string in your left hand and make a triangle shape and then rock the yo-yo to and fro inside the triangle. Don Martell makes it look dead easy but it’s not, it’s one of the hardest. Anyway, I was in the kitchen practising when the front doorbell rang. It turned out to be Norbert. He walked straight in. He never waits to be asked, doesn’t Norbert.

  ‘My mam’s not back from work and I’ve lost my key.’

  He usually kept it on a string round his neck.

  ‘It must’ve come off when I had that fight with Barraclough.’

  He’s always fighting with Gordon Barraclough, they hate each other. He saw the yo-yo in my hand.

  ‘Hey, do that walking the dog again.’

  We went into the kitchen and I did Walking the Dog. Then I did the Loop the Loop and Round the World. And I showed him Baby in the Cradle. It was the best I’d ever done it. Norbert couldn’t believe it.

  ‘How come you’re so good?’

  ‘I’ve been practising.’

  And I told him I was going in for the competition at Crabtree’s.

  ‘Well if you win you ought to give me half the prize money. It’s my yo-yo.’

  I told him to sod off and I went through all my tricks again. Norbert had a go but he’d been right, he was useless. Then he brought out his grey crayon.

  ‘Hey, do you want to play a good trick on your mam?’

  He looked around the kitchen.

  ‘We’ll do it on the mirror.’

  We’ve got a mirror on the wall above the fireplace and Norbert stood on a chair.

  ‘I did this on my mam and it didn’t half fool her.’

  He started drawing and when he’d finished it looked ever so realistic. It really looked like the mirror was broken.

  ‘When does your mam get back from work?’

  I put the chair back and looked at the mirror again. It was brilliant.

  ‘About quarter past six.’

  ‘You watch her face when she walks in. You’ll have a real good laugh.’

  I didn’t see her face when she came in and I didn’t have a real good laugh.

  After I’d practised my yo-yo for a bit and lit the fire and peeled the potatoes for my mum, Norbert and me went out to play tip and run in the back alley. We only played for about ten minutes ’cos Norbert hit the ball into Mrs Chapman’s and she wouldn’t give it back.

  ‘I’m sick of your balls coming over here. I’ve told you before. Now go away!’

  She used to be nice, Mrs Chapman. She used to give us sweets and biscuits and let us go in her garden to fetch our ball. That was before Mr Chapman died. Now she’s narky. Anyway Norbert went off home and I went in.

  ‘Is that you?’

  My mum was back. I couldn’t wait to see her face. She came into the hall from the kitchen and I saw her face. It was like thunder.

  ‘You and that bloody yo-yo . . .!’

  I’d never heard her swear before. I was shocked.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘What’s up? . . . What’s up! You’ve smashed my mirror, that’s what’s up!’

  Oh no, she really thought it was broken. And she thought I’d done it with my yo-yo.

  ‘Mum, it’s all right, honest. I’ll show you.’

  I went past her into the kitchen. I’d wipe off the crayon, show it was a joke and we’d have a real good laugh . . . It wasn’t there. The mirror had gone. All that was there was a mark on the wall where it had been hanging.

  ‘Where is it? Where’s the mirror?’

  My mum was shaking she was so cross.

  ‘Where do you think it is? In the dustbin. A cracked mirror’s no good to me.’

  In the dustbin! I couldn’t believe it. Stupid Norbert and his stupid jokes.

  ‘And don’t go looking for that blessed yo-yo – that’s on the fire.’

  On the fire! My yo-yo! I looked and there it was, melting. My yellow yo-yo. I could just make out the ‘LU’ of ‘LUMAR’. I felt sick. I ran out to the dustbin. Everything would be all right. I’d get the mirror, clean it up, tell my mum how Norbert had done it with his trick crayon and we’d have a real good laugh. And I was sure my mum would take me down to Crabtree’s first thing in the morning and get me another yo-yo.

  I looked in the dustbin and there it was – in pieces. Smashed to smithereens. My mum must have been in a hell of a temper when she threw it away.

  We did go down to Crabtree’s next morning, but not to buy a yo-yo. A letter came for my mum in the post. She read it, sa
id ‘Wonderful’ and handed it to me. It was from the headmaster.

  Dear Parents,

  It has come to my notice that a number of boys have taken to coming to school wearing suede crêpe shoes similar to those favoured by so-called ‘Teddy Boys’. I do not consider this to be appropriate footwear for school, nor outside school for that matter, and I am writing to ask you to ensure that your son wears regulation school shoes.

  Any boy who persists in coming to school wearing suede crêpe shoes will be sent home.

  I would request your co-operation in this matter.

  Yours sincerely,

  J. A. Ogden B.Sc.

  Headmaster

  While we were waiting for our turn to buy some ‘proper’ school shoes I went down to the toy department. Copper-nob won the yo-yo championship. He wasn’t half as good as me.

  THE BEST DAD

  You always knew when Norbert’s dad had come out of prison. Norbert would come to school covered in bruises. This time it was on his back. A big red mark that went from his shoulder right across to the bottom of his spine. It looked bad. I saw it when we were getting changed for gym. So did Mr Melrose.

  ‘Turn round, Lightowler.’

  Norbert turned round and Melrose frowned.

  ‘Good God, lad. Who did that to you?’

  Norbert put on his T-shirt.

  ‘Nobody, sir. I fell off a wall.’

  Norbert looked at me. He hadn’t fallen off a wall. His dad had done it. He hadn’t told me but I knew. His dad was always hitting him but Norbert would never tell.

  ‘You fell off a wall?’

  You could tell Melrose didn’t believe him.

  ‘Take your top off, lad.’

  Norbert took his T-shirt off and Melrose had a closer look.

  ‘It doesn’t look like you fell off a wall to me. Looks more like someone’s hit you with a belt.’

  Norbert looked at me again. He didn’t have to worry, I wouldn’t say anything.

  ‘Who hit you, lad? You can tell me, there’s nothing to be frightened of.’

  That’s where he was wrong. There was one thing for Norbert to be frightened of – his dad. That’s why he never told.

  He had done once, years ago, at primary school when we were in Miss Taylor’s class. He’d been late that morning but nobody had noticed till Miss Taylor was taking the register.