Freddie Mole

by Alexander McCall Smith

  Freddie did not hear the other side of the conversation. All he heard was his father agreeing to come as soon as possible. Then Ted Mole put the phone down and turned to his son.

  “You’ll never guess,” he said. “You’ll never guess who that was. Any idea?”

  Freddie shook his head.

  “The ringmaster of that circus you went to,” said Ted with a smile. “They have a washing machine in one of the vans. They use it for the performers’ outfits, apparently.”

  “It’s broken?”

  Ted Mole nodded. “They’re expecting us in about half an hour—so we’ll just get the tools together again and be on our way.”

  As they prepared to set off, Freddie felt excitement grow within him. He had caught only the slightest glimpse of what went on behind the scenes at the circus. Now he would have a chance to see much more. And he would also meet the ringmaster, who might be able to introduce him to the clowns.

  Waiting for something you really want to happen can make time drag. It did drag that afternoon—in fact, thought Freddie, it was the longest half hour he could remember. Eventually, though, they finished, and were off on their way to the field at the edge of town, where the circus was waiting for them.

  * * *

  —

  The ringmaster met them at the entrance. He was not wearing his tail coat and top hat yet, but was dressed in ordinary clothes. He shook hands with Ted Mole and then with Freddie.

  “It’s good of you to come so quickly,” he said. “We need that machine for our costumes. Working in a circus can be a dirty business, and we all need to look smart. So if our washing machine stops working, it’s a big problem.”

  He led them to a large van with double doors that had been left open. Inside the van were several baskets of unwashed laundry standing outside one of the largest washing machines Freddie and his father had ever seen.

  Ted gave a whistle. “That’s a bit of a monster,” he said. “I’ve never tackled anything like that.”

  “I’m sure you’ll have no difficulty,” said the ringmaster. “And while you’re looking at it, I’ll go off and get you each a mug of tea.”

  Circus tea! thought Freddie, and smiled with pleasure.

  Ted Mole rolled his sleeves up and set to work on the unusual washing machine.

  “Can you see what’s wrong?” asked Freddie as he crouched beside his father.

  From under the machine, Ted Mole mumbled his answer. “The thing that goes round and round is caught against the thing that goes up and down,” he said. “And the two things that go in and out are going sideways instead. It won’t take long to sort this out.”

  He asked Freddie to pass him a tool, and then another one. There followed a certain amount of banging and clattering before at last Ted reappeared from under the machine, wiped his face with a cloth, and pronounced the machine fixed.

  The ringmaster had only just returned with two mugs of tea and was astonished that the machine had been repaired so quickly.

  “Come to my office,” he said. “You can drink your tea there and I’ll pay you for the repair.”

  They followed him to a van that was parked near the entrance. This had OFFICE painted on it in large red letters. Inside were a desk, a cupboard, and a large safe for the money from the tickets. Ted Mole told the ringmaster what his charge was and was paid immediately. Then they sat down in two chairs on the other side of the ringmaster’s desk while he told them all about the circus.

  “We’re doing very well,” he said. “We’re a bit short of people, though. One of the ladies who helps about the place has gone off to have a baby, and our assistant—we have one who helps during the school holidays—has decided that he doesn’t want to work anymore. All he wants to do is sit around, I believe. So that’s not much good.”

  “Useless boy,” said Ted Mole.

  “Yes,” said the ringmaster. “Hopeless. Why sit around when not sitting around is so much more exciting?”

  Freddie said nothing at first, but he glanced at his father. Then he plucked up all his courage to speak. “Couldn’t you get somebody else?” he asked.

  The ringmaster shrugged. “I put up a notice,” he replied. “It said HARDWORKING YOUNGSTER WANTED—GOOD WAGES. But do you know what? Not a single person answered—not one!”

  “All too busy sitting around,” said Ted Mole. “Lazy bunch.”

  Freddie looked at his father again. Then he shifted his gaze to the ringmaster. “Some people like working,” he said in a small voice.

  The ringmaster stared at him. “No doubt some do,” he said. “But where are they? I ask myself.”

  Freddie felt his heart thumping within his chest. “There’s one sitting right in front of you,” he said.

  Both men were now staring at Freddie.

  “You mean…?” began the ringmaster. “That is, you’re talking about yourself?”

  “My boy is a very hard worker,” said Ted Mole. “He helps me on his holidays. He passes me my tools, and he’s pretty good at tightening nuts and bolts, I can tell you.”

  “And I clean up afterwards,” added Freddie. “If there’s any oil on the ground, I mop it up. Same with water.”

  Ted Mole nodded. “He’s a very clean boy,” he said. “One of the cleanest boys in the country, I’m told. And I don’t just say that because he’s my son. Everybody says so.”

  There was a silence. Freddie looked down at the ground. He was a modest boy and would never sing his own praises, but he was glad that his father had done so for him. And now, when he raised his eyes a little, he saw the ringmaster looking at him intently.

  The ringmaster cleared his throat. “Would you be interested in the job?” he asked. “The pay’s good, and you’re obviously a very hardworking boy. You’d get a free breakfast, lunch, and dinner—eating with the performers—and one of the circus families will let you have a bunk in their caravan. You can have one day off a week to go home to see your family. How about it?”

  Freddie held his breath. He looked at his father. Please say yes, he thought. Please, please, please!

  Ted Mole hesitated for a few moments. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure that…” He stopped. He had seen the look on his son’s face, and he knew what it meant.

  “All right,” he said. “You can work here, Freddie. Just for the holidays, mind.”

  Freddie jumped to his feet and threw his arms around his father. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  The ringmaster smiled. “That’s what I like to see,” he said. “A boy who knows how to work but who also knows how to say thank you. When can you start?”

  “Tomorrow?” said Freddie.

  “Then tomorrow it is,” said the ringmaster. “First thing in the morning. We’ll be expecting you.”

  Ted Mole dropped Freddie off at the circus bright and early the next morning.

  “You’ve remembered your toothbrush?” he asked.

  Freddie pointed to his bag. “It’s in there,” he said.

  “And your clean sock?” Being poor, Freddie only had one spare sock, which he would change with one of his other socks each day. That way he never had to wear any sock for more than two days in a row.

  Again Freddie gestured to his bag.

  Ted Mole looked at his son. “Be careful,” he said. “And work hard.”

  Freddie felt a lump in his throat. He had never been away from home before, and for a moment he wondered whether he was doing the right thing. His father seemed to sense this, as the next thing he said was that it was not too late for Freddie to change his mind.

  And Freddie almost did—but not quite, and so he stepped back and waved to his father, who waved back before he drove off. Freddie watched his father’s van disappear down the road before he turned round and made his way to the office. There he saw the ring
master standing on the steps, waiting for him.

  “Right,” said the ringmaster. “You can start straightaway, Freddie. Your first job is to sweep up the mess that people left in the tent at last night’s show. Messy bunch—they toss their bits of paper and peanut shells and heaven knows what down between the seats. It’s a terrible job clearing it up—your job, in fact.”

  Freddie took the broom and the sack into which he was to put all the rubbish. Then he went into the tent and climbed between the seats to get to the space underneath. Just as the ringmaster had said, there was a lot of litter. There were ice cream wrappers and empty popcorn containers; there were tickets and scraps of paper; there were half-eaten hamburgers and hot dogs; there was even a hat and a single glove.

  Freddie picked everything up. The hat and the glove he kept separately, as he thought he would hand them over to the ringmaster in case anybody claimed them. The rest he stuffed into the sack, which was soon almost completely full. But he picked up every last scrap of litter, and when the ringmaster came along to inspect his work, he was clearly pleased.

  “Well done, Freddie!” he exclaimed. “The last boy was very idle when it came to picking up litter. He left almost as much as he picked up. Well done!”

  Because he had done his first chore so well, the ringmaster said Freddie could go off and have breakfast in the dinner tent, where all the circus people ate. Afterwards, he was to report to the cook to help with the washing up. And after that, he could help feed some of the animals.

  Breakfast was in full swing when Freddie entered the dinner tent, but a woman pointed to a spare seat next to her and gestured for him to sit down.

  “You’re new, aren’t you?” she said as he took the seat.

  “Yes,” said Freddie, looking about shyly. “I’m the new boy.”

  “Well, I’m Lisa,” said the woman. “And this is Godfrey.” She pointed to the man sitting on the other side of her. He smiled and stretched out a hand for Freddie to shake.

  “We’re the trapeze artists,” said Lisa.

  “I saw you when I came to the show,” said Freddie. “You were terrific.”

  “Bless you!” said Lisa. “What a nice thing to say. Did you hear that, Godfrey? The new boy said we were terrific.”

  “Very civil of you,” said Godfrey, nodding towards Freddie. “The last boy didn’t have your manners.”

  “He certainly did not,” agreed Lisa. “Nor the one before him, and the one before that one. Very rude and lazy boys they were.”

  A man in a cook’s outfit emerged from the back of the tent, carrying a plate. He put this down in front of Freddie.

  “The boss said you did a very good job clearing up,” he said cheerfully. “He says you deserve a good breakfast.”

  Freddie looked down at his plate. He was very hungry—not only because he had been working so hard, but also because money was short at home and they had not been able to buy much food over the last week. Now before him was a plate of sausages, two fried eggs, several rashers of bacon, a tomato, and a large and delicious-looking mushroom.

  “Tuck in,” said the cook. “And after you’ve finished, you’re to come to the kitchen and help with the washing up.”

  Freddie savored every morsel of the delicious breakfast. It was just the right amount, and when he was finished, his stomach felt pleasantly full. It was a long time since he had felt full like that, and he thought it a very good feeling indeed.

  But he was not going to sit around feeling full, and straightaway he left the table and made his way into the kitchen, where the cook was waiting for him. Also waiting was a high pile of dirty plates, saucepans, and cups.

  Once the cook had shown him what to do, Freddie set to work. It was not an easy task—dipping each plate into hot soapy water, giving it a good scrub with a brush, and then drying it and stacking it away. But he worked quickly, and within half an hour every plate was gleaming on the rack, ready for the next meal. The cook was pleased, and gave Freddie a pat on the back.

  “Much better than the last boy,” he said. “The plates were even dirtier when he finished washing them than when he started. Sloppy, greasy boy, that one!”

  Freddie was pleased with the praise. And he was pleased, too, when the cook gave him an apple from the stores as a reward for his good work.

  * * *

  —

  By the time lunchtime came around, Freddie had performed most of his day’s work.

  “You’re very quick,” said the ringmaster. “You can take the afternoons off if you carry on working at this pace. Then you can be on duty again for the evening show.”

  “But what can I do in the afternoon?” Freddie asked.

  The ringmaster looked surprised. “Why, that’s when everybody practices,” he said.

  “Practices?” asked Freddie.

  “Practices their acts,” said the ringmaster. “A good performer practices every day without fail. How else do you think they manage to make hard things look easy? Practice, my boy, practice!”

  “But I…,” began Freddie.

  “Of course you’ll have to practice,” said the ringmaster. “You’re the understudy. Didn’t I tell you that?”

  Freddie looked confused. He was not sure what an understudy was. And if he did not know what it was, then how could he be one?

  “Ah,” said the ringmaster. “I see the problem. You don’t know what an understudy is, do you?”

  Freddie shook his head.

  “Well,” began the ringmaster, “ ‘understudy’ is a word we use in the circus—but it’s also a word they use in the theater, or in any sort of show. Are you with me so far?”

  Freddie nodded hesitantly.

  “So the understudy,” continued the ringmaster, “is the person who takes over in place of a performer who’s ill, for example, or who takes a holiday. An understudy is a sort of substitute. Do you follow me now?”

  Freddie stared at the ringmaster in disbelief. He had never imagined that he would have to appear in the show. The idea was as frightening as it was exciting.

  The ringmaster thought for a moment before he spoke. Then he said, “So this afternoon Lisa and Godfrey will show you the ropes—if I may use that expression.” He laughed at his joke, but Freddie did not.

  “Y-you mean the trapeze?” stuttered Freddie.

  “Yes,” said the ringmaster. “I expect you’ll love it. Not that the last boy did. He kept losing his grip and falling. I can’t understand why. No head for heights, perhaps. Dizzy boy!”

  Freddie swallowed hard. I must be brave, he thought.

  His heart beating hard within him, Freddie poked his head round the flap of canvas at the main entrance to the big tent. It was dark inside, apart from a pool of light around the ring.

  “Freddie!” called a voice from the darkness. He recognized it as Lisa’s.

  And then another voice came from somewhere above. “Lisa will help you up.” That was Godfrey.

  Freddie advanced slowly towards the ring. As he did so, Lisa emerged from the shadows. She was wearing the sparkling costume he had seen at the show.

  “Here,” she said, handing Freddie an outfit made of the same spangled material. “This should fit you. You can change in the ticket booth.”

  Freddie did as he was told, donning the unfamiliar costume. It felt very strange to be wearing something like that when he had no idea at all how to use a trapeze. But, once changed, he went back to the ring and stood, shivering ever so slightly, at Lisa’s side.

  “Don’t be nervous,” she said. “It looks very dangerous, but it’s really completely safe. The net, you see, will catch you if you fall. You’ll just bounce.”

  Freddie cast his eyes upwards. “Are you sure?”

  Lisa laughed. “Of course I’m sure.” She took him by the hand and led him to a
rope ladder. “Look, let me show you. We’ll climb to that platform up there—where the trapeze is—and then I’ll let go and fall. You’ll see how the safety net works. Then you can do the same.”

  Freddie gasped. “Fall?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s very simple. Just let go of the trapeze and see what happens. You’ll fall, of course, but you’ll land in the net and bounce up. It’s great fun, you know.”

  For a few moments Freddie toyed with the idea of running away. If he turned on his heels and ran, then he could just carry on running until he came to the main road. He could catch a bus there and be home in no time at all. But if he did that, then it would be the end of his job at the circus, and he was so looking forward to his wages.

  Then he thought of his mother, working so hard for such long hours on those distant ships. She had to do things she did not want to do—she would far rather be at home, he thought—and yet she never complained. If she could do that for the good of the family, then the least he could do was to try to earn a bit of money. And if that meant he had to swing on a trapeze, then that was what he would do.

  He turned to Lisa. “I’m ready,” he said.

  She smiled encouragingly. “Good,” she said. “Then let’s start climbing.”

  It did not take long to reach the platform up at the top. Godfrey was waiting for them there, holding on to a trapeze with one hand while he used the other to help them onto the platform.

  “Freddie is going to have a bit of practice with the net,” said Lisa. “I’ll go first.”

  “Righty-ho,” said Godfrey, passing the trapeze to her. “Here you are.”

  Lisa placed both her hands on the trapeze. “I’m just going to swing a few times,” she explained to Freddie. “Then I’ll let go and fall. Watch me hit the net down below and bounce back. It’s quite simple, you know—nothing to it!”