The Third-Class Genie (8 page)

Sam Taylor yelled, “Come on, Wallace. Stop mucking about. If you can’t jump, give in.”

Ginger ignored him. Instead he shouted to his team mates, “Down, all of you. Down.”

The run up began. Alec heard in a daze the crunch of Ginger’s boots. The school yard was silent. The sweat ran down Alec’s nose and dripped off in a stream. Ginger jumped and Alec almost passed out as the weight on him suddenly doubled. Ginger had leapt so far forward that he was on top of his team mate and both of them were on top of Alec. His fingers began to slip. Desperately he let go with one hand.

“They’re giving,” yelled Ginger.

Alec twisted his arm inside his jacket, strained an inch or two and touched the can.

“Salaam Aleikum. Give me strength.”

He felt a great rush of power. He arched his back. The weight suddenly vanished. They’d fallen off. He stood upright. He looked round. There was the sound of cheering. Ginger’s team lay sprawled on the ground, all except Ginger, who was perched on the railings and looked dazed.

Sam Taylor crowed like a rooster. “That’s fixed ’em,” he yelled. Ginger leapt off the fence with fury in his eyes. “You lot cheated. You shifted. You humped us off. You can’t even play your own game fairly!”

He hurled himself at Sam Taylor and punching and kicking the two rolled over on to the ground. In a second Ginger’s team-mates were on their feet, wading into the rest of Sam’s team. Alec, his strength suddenly departed, received a clout over the side of his head which sent him reeling to the fence with bells ringing in his ears.

The scrap became general and other kids joined in. Ginger’s team were getting a pounding. Alec stared in amazement as over the wall swarmed Ginger’s sister and her friends, screaming like furies. From the corner of his eye, Alec saw her with Charlie’s flowing locks firmly gripped in one hand, while she battered his nose with the other. It must have been agony.

The inevitable happened.

“Break it up, break it up. Taylor! Wallace!”

Mr Cartwright and the duty teacher, Mr Evans the games master, were rushing across the yard, grabbing at collars and arms, pulling warriors apart. Miss Bentley was there too. She had two girls in what looked like a judo grip. That must have been painful too. Alec felt himself grabbed. Mr Evans’s furious face stared into his.

“You, Bowden, get out of it.”

Alec felt the side of a size fifteen shoe catch him in the seat of his pants and he flew towards the school door.

Ten minutes later, the battle had been broken up and fifteen prisoners had been taken from both sides in the game, plus three girls. They were lined up under guard in Mr Cartwright s office.

“I don’t know ‘what started this, although I shall find out. But I’ll give you this warning. Any more of
this
kind of fighting in the school and someone’s for the high jump. You know what I mean, don’t you? Now get out.”

The prisoners nodded, relieved at the mildness of their treatment and went back to their classrooms.

Later that afternoon, Alec was cross-examined by Mr Cartwright. He tried to explain what had happened and Mr Cartwright nodded. Then he said, “Just as a matter of interest, why do you go home down Boner’s Street?”

Alec hesitated. “Oh, it’s just a habit. I used to go down there when my mate lived in Boner’s, that’s all, sir.”

“There’s no way through to the estate from Boner’s Street, surely?”

“Oh, er yes,” said Alec vaguely.

“Ah, one last question. Wallace swears that you threw him on the railings. Can you explain that extraordinary feat?”

“Oh, er no.”

“All right. Now look, Alec. We’re going to let this matter lie. There’s obviously something between you and this lad, Ginger Wallace. Just keep clear of him and don’t join any line-ups like we had in the schoolyard today or there’ll be big trouble. Now buzz off.”

F
RIDAY TEATIME WAS
always a favourite of Alec’s. There was usually something special, and this week Kim had brought home cream cakes from work. With the weekend round the corner everyone was in a good mood. Dad, who was on the early turn and had slept a little in the afternoon, was in a quiet good humour and Granddad had been persuaded to come in from the caravan and have tea with the rest of the family. All was quiet and peaceful save for the tap of knife on plate or spoon on saucer.

Then Dad, who had finished his tea and had picked up the
Bugletown Gazette
to read, dropped a bombshell.

“I see our family’s been in the wars.”

“What do you mean, Harold?” said Mum.

Dad eased his spectacles on his nose and began to read slowly.

“Poltergeists in Bugletown
? – that’s the headline, with a question mark.”

“Go on, our Dad,” said Kim, impatiently.

“Ghosts and other strange things that go bump in the night are usually associated with stately homes, but it seems Bugletown’s pre-war council estate at Roundhill has acquired a ghost or poltergeist. Senior citizen Harry Bowden, who retired five years ago, after fifty years’ service with the railways, told our reporter of an alarming experience which occurred during Wednesday night
.

“‘I was just about to go to bed, when the caravan in which I sleep suffered a sudden violent shock. For a moment it seemed as though it was turned on its side, then just as suddenly it was upright again. I was tempted to imagine that I had had a bad dream, but it all seemed so real, and bear in mind, I had not yet got into bed.’

“Mr Archibald Forrester, chairman of the Bugletown Society for the Investigation of Psychic Phenomena, who had questioned Mr Bowden closely…”

“I bet he did,” interrupted Kim, “in the saloon bar at the Three Fiddlers. Spirit research all right!”

Granddad looked pained. Dad went on reading:

“…closely, is of the opinion that psychic forces, perhaps from prehistoric times, when Round Hill is reputed to have been the scene of ancient rites, are at work. He has asked Mr
Bowden and any other Bugletown citizens to report to him any similar incidents.”

Kim burst into laughter; Dad smiled a bit; Alec was torn between laughter and the thought that it might hurt Granddad, plus the thought that he was really to blame himself for the incident. But suddenly Mum spoke angrily.

“GRANDDAD! I wonder you haven’t got more sense.”

“What do you mean?” said Granddad. “I only told the
Gazette
reporter what happened.”

“Hasn’t it occurred to you that, thanks to that story, it’ll be all over town that you’re living in that caravan? And noseyparker Councillor Blaggett from the Housing Committee will be round because one of his regulations has been broken? And you know what that’ll mean?”

Granddad was silent.

“You’re supposed to be living in the house with us, otherwise the council will start wanting you to go into the old people’s home on the other side of town. I suppose you’d like that.”

Granddad looked miserable.

“Oh, Mother, don’t go on so,” said Kim. “Councillor Blaggett won’t find out. He only reads the paper to find out if there’s anything there about himself.”

“It’s all right for you, our Kim, but I’m the one who has to do the worrying round here,” said Mum, shooting a glance at Dad, who had gone back to reading the
Gazette
.

“Hey,” said Dad a moment later, “I wasn’t joking when I said our family had been in the wars. There’s our Alec’s school here as well.”

“What does it say?”

“Listen to it:
Race riot at Bugletown Comprehensive
. That’s the headline…”

“Race riot? Get off – never,” exploded Kim. “What’ll they think of next? Why, there’s hardly any black people round here.”

“There’s a lot in Boner’s Street,” said Mum. “Miss Morris is always going on about them. She has a family living upstairs from her. She reckons they put coal in the bath.”

Granddad suddenly choked on his cream cake.

“Hetty Morris wouldn’t know what a bath’s for.”

“That’s very unkind, Granddad.”

“Well, I sat next to her at the Senior Citizens’ Club yesterday and I ought to know.” Granddad wrinkled his nose.

“She reckons they ought to re-house them out at Moorside. Some of those houses in Boner’s Street are real slums.”

“Would Hetty Morris go and live out at Moorside?” demanded Granddad. “You bet your life she wouldn’t. And those houses in Boner’s Street are a long way from being slums. They’re overcrowded, but the buildings are in better shape than some of the houses on this estate. They only need seeing to.”

Alec took a deep breath.

“Anyway, it’s a lot of old toffee. There wasn’t a riot at our school. It was just a punch-up, black against white.”

“And how do you know so well?”

“Because I was in it. There was Ginger Wallace and his mates from Boner’s Street on one side, and Spotty Sam, I mean Sam Taylor, and his mates on the other.”

“What were you doing in it?”

“Well, er, I…”

Dad put his paper on one side. “Perhaps Alec should go up and get his homework out of the way for the weekend. I’m off to the Club for my meeting.” He rose. Mum looked displeased but said nothing. Alec and Kim began to clear the table and Granddad went quietly out of the back door.

“Did you say Wallace?” Kim asked Alec.

He nodded.

“I think I know his mother. She works on our section at the factory. She’s all right. Her daughter goes to your school, a smashing looking girl called Eulalia.”

“Eulalia?”

“That’s right. Do you know her, Alec?” Kim suddenly looked across the table and Alec blushed.

“What are you blushing for? Hey, Mum, our Alec’s blushing.”

“Gerroff,” growled Alec.

“He’s growing up, you know. He’s started noticing the other sex.”

“Shut up, will you?” said Alec.

“Stop it, you two! Leave those tea things and get out of here. You make my head ache with your rowing.”

Alec went upstairs. His homework was done in under an hour. There was plenty of light. But he felt fed up with everything.

All that argument at the tea table had spoilt the Friday evening feeling. Why did people have to row about everything? Why did Mum have to worry about Councillor Blaggett nosing round? He changed into his jumper and jeans and wandered out to the back. Granddad was sitting on the caravan steps looking glum.

“Is it right, Granddad, what Mum said about Councillor Blaggett? Could he make trouble for you?”

“Well, he could and all. I’m supposed to be living in the house, not in the caravan. Your dad’s only supposed to use that for holidays.”

“Well, never mind, Granddad. If he comes round, you can have my room, and I’ll go in the boxroom.”

Granddad ruffled Alec’s hair.

“You’re a good lad, Alec. But you’re forgetting that our Tom, Elaine and the baby are moving back in as well. If I were you, I’d keep that under your hat, too. If some helpful person reported that to the council, there’d be trouble.”

“But couldn’t Tom and Elaine get a flat in one of those blocks out at Moorside?”

“They might. Now Moorside’s a lovely place. Well, it was anyway. But it’s best for peewits and skylarks, not for people. One pub and two shops, no place for the kids and four miles out from Penfold, let alone six miles from Bugletown. It gets parky there in winter, I can tell you.”

Alec was silent for a moment, then:

“Granddad. Do you reckon it’s right, what Miss Morris said about the Wallaces keeping coal in the bath?”

Granddad chuckled.

“How should I know? I’ve never been in the Wallaces’ and I’ll bet Hetty Morris never did. But I’ll tell you something for nothing. When we first moved into these council houses before the war, the people down in Boner’s Street used to say we kept coal in the bath. It’s an old sort of joke, if you can call it a joke.

“Gracie Fields used to sing a song, you know…

“We’ll have a bathroom, a beeyootiful bathroom

And a lovely bath where we can keep the coal…”