The Third-Class Genie by Robert Leeson Read Free Book Online Page B

its lights and its great window vanished so suddenly that Alec seemed to be left floating on air. Then he dropped with a bump that shook the sense out of him. He looked wildly round. He was standing in his pyjamas by the caravan, which was now back in its place. The door opened and Granddad stood on the steps in his nightshirt and flashed a little torch.
    “Hey up, Alec. What are you doing, lad? You’ll catch your death. Come in here.”
    Granddad stretched out his hand and hauled Alec inside. Then he fiddled about lighting a little lamp by his bunk.
    “Hey, lad. It looks as though we’ve both had nightmares. You wandering about in your pyjamas and me dreaming the caravan was tipped over and I was shouting for help.”
    “Oh, you were shouting for help, Granddad. That’s why I…” Alec stopped. How could he possibly explain even to Granddad just what had happened?
    “It’s a wonder we didn’t wake up the whole street between us, then,” said Granddad. He peered out of the window. “Well, your mum and dad didn’t hear anything. Mind you, with them sleeping in the front bedroom, they wouldn’t anyway.” He ruffled Alec’s hair.
    “Well, I never made you out for a sleepwalker, Alec.” He paused. “I reckon you’d best stay here. If you go back now, they’ll hear you and then there’ll be no end of argument. Look, lad, you get up on my bed and I’ll sit in the old armchair. Now don’t fuss, I’m quite comfortable. Up you get.”
    Alec climbed up and lay down on the bunk. The bedclothes were still warm and he soon felt drowsy. Granddad pulled a blanket over him and, putting out the bedside lamp, sat down in his chair. As Alec’s eyes became used to the dark, he could just see the old man’s face.
    “Granddad?”
    “What is it?”
    “Tell us something.”
    The old man chuckled, shifted in his chair and cleared his throat.
    “’Twas Christmas Day in the workhouse
    And the snow was raining fast
    And a barefooted lad with clogs on
    Stood sitting in the grass…”
    Granddad’s voice grew slowly fainter.
    “The bees were making beeswax
    And the skies were dark and dear
    ’Twas a June day in December
,
    In the middle of next year…”
    Alec was asleep.

Chapter Seven

H IGH N OON AT B UGLETOWN C OMPREHENSIVE
    A LEC WAS LATE to school next day. By the time he had finished explaining to Mum how he came to be sleeping in the caravan, it was gone nine o’clock. He missed Registration and Assembly, but he caught Miss Welch in one of the corridors, gave her his homework and managed to make his excuses to Mr Foster, his form teacher.
    “All right, Alec, but get a grip on yourself, laddie. I don’t think you’re quite with us these days. People are beginning to talk about you. I hear whispers from the English Department and the History Department that you’re going funny in your old age.”
    That was a laugh. Mr Foster who taught Religious Instruction was as old as the hills and well known for his faraway look. The story went that he tied a piece of wool round one finger to remind him to come to school and another piece round the next finger to remind him what the first piece was for! But he shook his head at Alec in a friendly way and sent him off to maths in good spirits. Alec had other reasons for good cheer. First, by coming late he had missed Ginger Wallace and Co.; second, he had remembered to put his can in his jacket pocket when he got dressed. So far, so good, Bowden. Disasters one, triumphs nil, but there was still a chance to equalize before half time.
    His chance came in English just before lunch. Miss Welch walked round the class giving out exercise books. As she handed Alec’s back, she stopped.
    “Well, Alec, I enjoyed your story. It wasn’t much to do with
‘The L-Shaped Room
, but it was funnier.”
    Alec’s head began to swell slightly.
    “I liked the part where Shiraz the Fair left the old man sitting up the palm tree in his nightshirt. But did you make it up yourself?”
    Alec