by Shea, Alan
‘Except in the morning there was nothing to show that it had ever happened. You don’t even have the box. It’s still in the window. The same box: the one with the mark on the ribbon. You said so yourself.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘There’s no such thing as magic, Alice. Except in your imagination. I suppose the better your imagination, the more magic you can see.’
‘D’you think I’m lying? About what I saw, I mean?’
‘Alice, I’ve known you since you were three. I know you don’t lie. You’ve told me exactly what you think you saw. What you wanted to see.’ She pauses. ‘With Reggie’s help.’
She puts down her cup and saucer, looks straight at me. ‘Reggie has just played a few tricks. Maybe when he’s good and ready he’ll tell you that it was just a bit of fun. Although I think by now he’s probably even managed to convince himself it’s all real. My mother used to say that if you tell a lie often enough you believe it yourself. Whatever, all he really did was to buy some fireworks you didn’t know about, put invisible ink on a lolly stick, and make a summer storm into a hurricane. Your imagination did the rest. I bet you even dreamed about it.’
She was right, I did. Tidal waves chasing chocolates; Mr Giovanni in a rowing boat; the number twenty-seven written in the sky.
I nod.
‘Well then, when you woke up, the dream became reality. You convinced yourself you had got the chocolates and eaten them. You even thought you’d still have the box. But you didn’t.’ She takes hold of my hand. ‘It’s all part of the same thing. It’s a great story, though. Mind-touching – good name. I don’t know about you, but I’m certainly impressed. Unfortunately, not in the way Reggie probably wants.’
I take a deep breath. It all begins to make sense. The more I listen, the more I know she’s right. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, to be happy or disappointed.
‘Don’t forget your friendship means an awful lot to Reggie.’
‘But he’s tricked me! Lied to me!’
‘No, my love. That’s the whole point.’ She’s still holding my hand. She looks straight into my eyes as if this is really important. ‘In his head it may well be that it’s all happening, just as he says it is. It’s a bit like an echo. He shouted and it bounced back off you. You both heard it and shared in it. In that way you’re encouraging each other. There’s nothing wrong in that, Alice. It’s like I said before. As long as you understand how echoes work.’
She stops and thinks for a while. ‘Some American Indian tribes thought echoes were the voices of their ancestors calling them. Scientists just talk about sound vibrations. The Indians believe they are right and so do the scientists. Can anyone really say who is right?’ She picks up the teapot. It steams from the spout. Hot. Comforting. There’s a look in her eyes. ‘Reggie is on the side of the Indians. Now give me your cup and I’ll pour you another.’
Then, as she’s pouring the tea, she shivers.
‘You all right, Emma?’
‘I think so, dear. Someone walking over my grave. I suddenly thought of something I read as a young girl – I must have been about your age – Shakespeare, I think. Now what on earth could have put that into my head? I haven’t thought about that in ages. How did it go? Something like: “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.”’
She looks up, and there’s a puzzled expression on her face. It makes my stomach wobble.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that in spite of everything I’ve just said there is always the chance that I could be wrong; that what Reggie is telling you is true. Wouldn’t that be a turn-up for the books?’ Her expression doesn’t change. ‘In which case, you have to decide which side you’re on, Alice. Which is it to be? The scientists or the Indians?’
Suddenly I feel scared.
16
Nursery rhymes and breaking ice
The weeks are passing. The nights are lighter now. The days are warmer. I haven’t seen Reggie for a while. I still like him, I always will, but I need to be away from him. When I’m with him it’s like being in a mad dream. And who wants to live in a mad dream?
It feels more normal with my old friends. The way things should be. No one pretending they can do impossible stuff. The only magic we can do is disappearing when the teachers want us.
Things are even a bit better at home. Bert knows I’m not seeing Reggie so he’s leaving me alone most of the time, and he and Mum are really happy what with the new baby coming.
The play is coming along really well too. When I’m writing I can forget everything that’s going on, lose myself. Sister Bernadette said we should try to get some scenery because that will make it more believable. She wants us to organize the whole thing. Scary! So we have to write the programmes, sort out the costumes, design the tickets, everything.
In the play I’m still turning things upside down. Watson’s the clever one, although Holmes still acts as if he is. Veronica is really great as Watson, she’s so funny. George is finding Holmes a bit difficult. He’s learned most of the words, but he’s just not natural at it like Veronica. Still, we’re all different. We’re going to get him a real violin to play. That should be interesting.
Most dinner times we bolt our food down, then head for the hall to rehearse. The word seems to have got around. We were only going to have a few characters, but now there are more kids than parts. I don’t mind – I’ll just write in a few more characters. You have to watch out that it doesn’t mess up the storyline when you do that, though.
We’ve just arrived in the hall again, waiting to start, George pretending to play the piano. I look up to see Reggie standingat the door, looking in. He just stands there, chewing one ofhis nails. I know I shouldn’t, but I still feel angry with him. Then I remind myself what Mrs Gilbey said – that it’s not his fault – and smile.
Josephine Murphy is saying her words now, she’s little Miss Muffet. In the play, instead of being terrified of spiders she acts out of character by really loving them and letting them crawl all over her. I’m trying to get her to say her words a bit louder.
Reggie’s moved from outside the hall. Now he’s standing just inside the door. I concentrate on Miss Muffet for a while, but when I look around again he’s gone.
After break we go back to class. Much as I try to think about other things, I can’t get Reggie out of my mind. It’s like he’s got himself a little corner there, and every now and then comes out and just won’t go away. Maybe he should take the part of Little Jack Horner in the play. The thought makes me smile.
When the bell goes for the end of the day and I walk outside, he’s waiting for me, sitting on the gate across the road. He’s got a piece of string dangling from his hand. Flash is jumping up trying to catch it. I can see he’s not sure what to say. He fiddles with the string – nervous. I feel sorry for him. Must be terrible to feel you have to make up a load of lies to look big.
‘What you doing?’
‘W-waiting for you.’
‘What for?’
‘Thought we c-could walk home together.’
There’s this long silence like neither of us know what to say. After what seems a long time he says, ‘I thought the p-play was good. Veronica’s excellent as Doctor Watson.’
‘Thanks.’
‘What’s the m-mystery Holmes has to solve?’
‘He has to work out why the all the characters have stopped behaving like they should. Prince Charming can’t wake Sleeping Beauty with a kiss. Popeye is frightened of his own shadow. Humpty Dumpty refuses to fall off the wall. Jack and Jill won’t go up the hill and get water, and little Miss Muffet likes spiders.’
Reggie laughs. ‘That’s g-great.’
‘So Sherlock Holmes gets called in to sort things out.’
‘Good old Sherlock Holmes. We could d-do with him ourselves.’
I nod. Don’t say anything. We start to walk home together.
‘What yo
u going to d-do now?’
‘Get some bread and jam, then I’ve got to go to the gasworks to get some tarry blocks for the fire.’
That’s a job I hate doing. I’m sure that’s why Bert makes me do it. I have to take this battered old pram and get it filled with these wooden blocks we burn on the fire. I hate it, mainly because I always bump into loads of kids I know from school. It’s like they’ve been waiting around, just so they can bump into me. They always look in the pram, take the mickey and make these really unfunny comments about what a weird-looking baby or some such stuff. Bert came by once when a load of boys I didn’t know were all standing around making fun. For a minute I thought he was going to sort them out. He just walked past though, didn’t say anything.
‘I’ll c-come with you. I like the gasworks.’
‘Reggie, you’re such a dimwit. Nobody likes the gasworks. All right, tell you what. I’ll let you come if you push the pram.’
‘Great.’
Great? Pushing a pram? You’re such a case!
We go home most of the way together. Reggie stays out on the street while I go inside to get some bread and jam and the old pram. We’ve got to be careful. If Bert thought I was seeing him again there’d be hell to pay.
I push open the door. He’s sitting there. A cigarette burns on the edge of the table. I didn’t expect him to be home. My heart jumps. I step back for an instant. He grins.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ He picks up the cigarette. Taps ash on to the floor. ‘Jumpy as a cat on a roof.’
I look away quick. Feel my cheeks flame. Keep my head down. Pray that Reggie stays outside.
He laughs but it’s not a real laugh. It’s hollow. Something black inside.
‘Don’t forget those blocks for the fire or I’ll give you something to be nervous about.’
He puts the cigarette to his lips, smoke breathes out through his nose.
I get the bread and jam as fast as I can. I can feel him watching me all the time. Not saying anything. Just watching. I get as much jam on my sleeve as I do on the bread.
I stuff the sandwiches into my pocket and hurry out, back to Reggie. I look back, can’t help myself, but there’s no one there. We’re safe.
The sky is flat and grey, like it’s forgotten it’s the sky and thinks it’s the sea. We cross Commercial Road and go down Watney Street towards the gasworks and under the railway arch. I’ve never been on a train – I’d love to go on a train, to the countryside on a bright summer’s day. We pass the pie and mash shop. The smell of the pies cooking drifts out.
‘I saw your m-mum the other day.’
I wonder if he’s trying to get back to all the normal stuff. Maybe he’s realized that I’m not going to believe what he says just because he says it.
‘Did you?’
‘By the sweet factory down by the canal.’
‘She works there now, part time. Think she’s saving up money for the new baby. She fetches some of the sweets home sometimes. They’re sort of like toffee with Brazil nuts in it.’
‘I like Brazil n-nuts.’
‘I’ll save you some next time she gets any.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Only problem is she has to sneak them out in her apron pocket, so they have bits of fluff stuck to them.’
‘Is she s-stealing them?’
‘Perk of the job, she says. They ain’t gonna miss a few sweets, are they?’
‘No, I s’pose not, they’ve got m-millions of them.’
‘D’you think if you owned the factory you’d be eating your own sweets all day?’
‘No.’
‘Why?’
‘Because all my t-teeth would fall out.’ He covers his teeth with his lips. ‘Like thish.’
‘You’re barmy.’
We pass the high wall that surrounds the gasworks.
Afternoon shadows drift out. I don’t see it at first. A shadow turns into a figure. The figure leaps out from behind the wall, a black balaclava hiding his face. He’s got a wooden gun in his hand. Makes me jump.
‘Gotcha. Surrender or die.’
At the moment I need Norman like I need a kiss from Gary Spicer.
‘You gotta stop doin’ that, Norman. You’re gonna give someone a heart attack.’
‘Put your hands up.’
‘Not now, Norman. I’m not in the mood.’
‘Who are you, friend or foe?’
‘The Queen.’
‘Let’s see your identity papers then, Your Majesty.’
I search in my pocket. Give him an old bus ticket.
‘You’re not the Queen. You’re the number 48 to Aldgate.’
‘My mistake.’
‘Wh-where you off to, Norm?’
‘See my uncle.’
I notice he has a black armband on.
‘What’s that for?’
‘My uncle. He got knocked down by a lorry. My mum says I’ve got to go and play my last respects.’
‘What does that mean, Norm?’
‘Dunno. Think he must have been in a band. Where you two goin’ anyway?’
Reggie grins. ‘Some German spies are hiding in the old gasworks. We’re going to flush them out.’
I say, ‘Get some tarry blocks for the fire.’
Norm winks at Reggie, ‘Watch out for snipers.’
Across the road the pub doors open. A group of old ladies come out laughing. He tosses a grenade at them. They explode into fragments of bloomers and fox stoles. One of them puts up her umbrella and Tommy-guns Norman to death. He dies groaning. A hero. She laughs so hard her teeth fall out.
Norman looks up, ‘Here, Alice – just remembered; my cousin Frankie wants to be in the play.’
‘We still need a Prince Charming.’
I don’t tell Norman that none of the boys want to be Prince Charming.
‘Who’s Prince Charming when he’s at home?’
‘He’s a really important character. He starts it all off really, because he kisses Sleeping Beauty but she doesn’t wake up like she’s does in the real story.’
Norman looks interested, ‘Kisses?’
‘That’s right. He has to kiss Sleeping Beauty.’
‘Isn’t Kathy O’Brien Sleeping Beauty?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So this Prince Charming bloke gets to kiss Kathy O’Brien?’
‘Sleeping Beauty, Norman. She’s Kathy O’Brien in the playground.’
‘I know that, Alice, but she won’t let anyone kiss her there.’
‘She does in the play.’
He gets up. Brushes himself down.
‘I’d be a really good prince bloke. Don’t you think?’
‘You are good-looking, in your balaclava.’
‘Thanks, Alice. And I reckon Frankie would be a good Humpty Dumpty.’
‘W-why’s that, Norm?’
‘He likes scrambled eggs.’
‘R-right.’
‘So, I’ll be the prince then.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘Yeah, sure. See you.’
We watch him march off.
‘I’d like to be with him when he p-plays his last respects.’
We both laugh, and suddenly I’m putting on my ice skates and hoping the ice isn’t going to break. I suppose it was bound to happen. You can’t keep walking around the edges of a friendship, afraid to test it. True friends have to bear each other’s weight, if you see what I mean.
‘I saw Mrs Gilbey the other day. I was telling her about all this mind-touching stuff you’ve been going on about.’
‘I thought you m-might.’
‘She thinks that you’re making it all up, to impress me. To make sure we stay friends.’
Part of me is hoping he’s just going to say yes, she’s right, I’m sorry, it was just a bit of fun, I was just teasing you a bit. Another part knows he isn’t. He doesn’t say anything. I try again.
‘You don’t have to do anything to impress me, you know. No magic tricks. No fantas
tic stories.’
He doesn’t stop, but slows down. His voice changes a bit.
‘It’s not a story. I’m not doing any t-tricks. Something’s happening and we’re caught in the middle of it.’
I feel sorry for him. I’m beginning to think that he really does believe all this rubbish.
We reach the tarry block factory. There’s a bit of a queue in front of us. An old lady starts shouting – something about the last lot of tarry blocks being rubbish – tells the man she’s going to see the boss or something. Then she turns, nearly knocks me over, and slams out. The man mutters something after her. Looks up, scowls at us. He’s only got two teeth.
‘What d’you kids want?’
Funny how adults do that. Here we are, standing in the tarry block queue, and he asks us that.
‘Two portions of jellied eels, please.’
‘Don’t be so cheeky, you.’
I give him my money. He pushes the ticket at me.
We go back outside and give our ticket to another man – he’s the one who gives you the blocks. He takes it. Doesn’t say anything. Starts to shovel the blocks into sacks. Every now and again he straightens up, rubs his back, moans and looks at us as if it’s our fault he’s got a backache. He looks at the pram, looks at me, sneers. I stare back at him, tempted to poke my tongue out. But I remind myself I’m not a baby, and do a rude sign behind my back instead. That’ll teach him!
Reggie takes the pram. We walk back. He seems to want to talk.
‘I know it doesn’t m-make sense to you yet. I f-felt like that at first. When I was growing up in that children’s home I was always scared, frightened of my own sh-shadow. My stutter was really bad then. No one knew what I was talking about half the time. When I started mind-touching I got more confident. It was scary, but at the same time it made me feel I could do things the other kids couldn’t. It might help you too, with things.’
‘What things?’
He looks straight back at me. ‘Your stepd-dad.’
‘What you talking about now?’
‘It might help you sort things out. F-face up to him.’
I turn away but he’s still looking at me. I feel tears prick my eyes, but I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to let anyone see. Not even Reggie. Inside, though, I get angry. Maybe it’s because he said what he did. Maybe I’m ashamed that he knows. Maybe I’m just confused. He’s telling me one thing, Mrs Gilbey’s telling me another. The only thing I know for sure is that I feel mixed up.