Cy kept on eating and didn’t reply. Well, he had been told often in the past that it was rude to talk with your mouth full. Lauren lolled her head from side to side and crossed her eyes. ‘Oh, Mother,’ she sighed, ‘you’re not trying to instigate a,’ she held her fingers up and made an inverted-commas sign in the air, ‘“Happy Family Talking At The Table” scenario. Please know that The Waltons we’re not.’
‘Our children are rehearsing with their friends for the TALENT TV competition,’ Cy’s dad replied on their behalf. ‘We heard some lovely singing from Lauren’s room.’
‘And what about you, Cy?’ asked his mum. ‘What are you and your friends doing for the talent competition?’
‘It’s a secret,’ said Cy. ‘I’m preparing things privately, and,’ he glared at Lauren, ‘no one had better go into my room and start nosing about.’
‘I don’t need to go into your grotty room again,’ said Lauren. She gave Cy a superior smile. ‘When I was in earlier to get the storage basket I had a good look around. Nothing escapes my eagle eyes. I know exactly what you were up to in there this afternoon, Cyberboy.’
CY’S STOMACH GRIPPED in cramp and some rice lodged in his throat. He gulped and tried to swallow.
‘Your childish attempts at concealment are futile,’ Lauren said loftily. She addressed everyone at the table. ‘When I was in Cy’s room earlier there was a strange whiffy smell and I know why.’
‘You do?’ Cy squeaked. He held his breath so tightly that his chest creaked with the effort.
‘You’re making magic potions!’ Lauren declared triumphantly.
Cy breathed out through his ears.
‘Concocting secret spells that make strange smells. Hey! That rhymes!’ Lauren giggled. ‘I must have natural talent. I’m doing the lyrics for our song for the competition.’
‘Well if that’s an example, then don’t bother entering,’ said Cy. ‘And another place you’re not supposed to enter is my room.’ He looked at his parents and deliberately used a whiney voice. ‘What’s a person supposed to do to get privacy in this house?’
‘Lauren, if you go into Cy’s room without waiting for him to open his door to you then I’ll allow him free run of your room,’ Cy’s dad said severely. ‘Cy’s bedroom is his own place. Everybody in this house has to be respected as a person and we hold privacy as an absolute right. It’s not as though it’s something dangerous that Cy is doing, is it, Cy?’
Cy waggled his head from side to side in what he hoped his father would interpret as a negative, but hopefully also did not commit himself to a lie exactly. Anyway, Grampa always said, the truth of things depended on your point of view. Grampa was a big fan of Einstein and held that all things were relative. So flying a magic carpet couldn’t be considered dangerous if you received proper instruction. And before he attempted to do it Cy intended to receive proper instruction.
‘There’s nowhere really private any more,’ said Cy’s mum. ‘I read in the newspaper that some surveillance satellites can zoom in on an individual person walking in the street.’
‘You see, Cyberboy?’ said Lauren. ‘We’ve got you covered.’
‘The police say that there’s nowhere you can hide anything that someone won’t find it,’ Cy’s mum went on.
‘What?’ Cy stopped with a forkful of food on its way to his mouth.
‘They say burglars know all the favourite hiding places that people use.’
‘No!’ said Cy.
‘Yes,’ said Cy’s mum, ‘under the edge of the carpet, behind the cistern in the toilet.’
Cy relaxed.
‘I remember one of my hiding places,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘When I was young I thought no one knew about the space under the bottom drawer of a chest of drawers.’
Cy sat right up in his chair.
‘Oh, everybody knows about that place,’ said Cy’s mum.
‘Nobody would be stupid enough to hide anything there,’ said Lauren.
They all laughed. Cy smiled weakly. The Dream Master had been right when he had told him to find a new hiding place for the piece of dreamcloak. Cy felt for the piece of dreamsilk in his top pocket. He patted the outside of his shirt and then took his hand away and glanced furtively around the room. Where could you hide something so that it would be safe? There was always the top of the curtains, or . . . Cy’s gaze came to rest on a painting hanging on the wall.
‘Of course,’ said Cy’s dad, ‘there was a programme on the telly the other night about places where people hide things at home and how professional burglars know all these hiding places. Hidden in the freezer, behind the curtains or a picture hanging on a wall . . .’
Cy’s stomach fell lower and lower as his dad rhymed off the list.
‘Maybe it could be a double-bluff?’ Cy suggested. ‘Like, maybe thieves know that people know that they hide things there, so they don’t look in those places . . .’ His voice tailed off.
Cy’s dad shook his head. ‘Don’t think so, son.’ He ruffled Cy’s hair. ‘It would only take them a minute to check all those spots first. That’s not where I would be hiding anything valuable.’ He grinned. ‘So you’ll have to find a different place to plant whatever treasure you might have.’
‘Dad,’ said Cy. ‘It’s not treasure I’ve got. But I would like a safe place to keep our props for the competition.’
Cy’s dad went to the row of hooks at the kitchen door and took down the garage key. ‘Here, Cy. You can use the garage until after the talent competition. The weather is fine enough to keep the car outside at the moment.’
‘And even if it wasn’t,’ said Cy’s mum pointedly, ‘the garage is so full of old junk that you couldn’t put the car in it anyway.’
‘It’s not only my possessions that cause the clutter in there,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘Everybody else in this family has abandoned stuff in there over the years.
‘We need to sort out the storage in this house,’ said Cy’s mum. ‘Speaking of which. Did either of you find anything useful for your act in the old Ali-Baba basket I took down from the loft?’
‘Ali-Baba basket!’ A spatter of rice shot out from Cy’s mouth. ‘Why are you calling it an “Ali-Baba” basket?’
‘That’s what those tall straw baskets used to be known as,’ said Cy’s mum. ‘Your dad and I were given that one as a wedding present when we got married. I guess it’s to do with the shape. It looks a bit like one of these tall baskets in the Arabian stories. Was there anything worthwhile in it for either of you?’
‘I got some old jewellery and a couple of scarves,’ said Lauren, ‘and Baz and Cartwheel brought some things over so we’re almost fixed up.’
‘How about you?’ Cy’s mum asked him.
Cy shook his head. ‘Lauren took the basket away before I had a chance to look through all of it.’
‘Well I’ll leave it outside your door tonight,’ said Lauren. ‘Though what use you could make of our parents’ antique clothing beats me.’
‘Less of the “antique”,’ Cy’s dad protested. ‘Your mother and I are not that old.’
Lauren rolled her eyes at the ceiling. ‘Spare me,’ she muttered.
‘I saw those fantastic high-heeled boots you used to wear,’ Cy’s dad went on, glancing fondly at his wife. ‘You looked terrific in those.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Cy’s mum. ‘Remember when we went to that big folk music festival? You were such a good guitar-player, dear.’
‘Folk music festival.’ Lauren screwed up her face and mouthed the words silently at Cy. ‘Luvellee. Not.’
‘You know . . .’ Cy’s dad said slowly. ‘This TALENT TV competition is an open-to-all event, isn’t it.’ He winked at Cy’s mum. ‘Maybe us “antiques” should get some trendy gear on and enter.’
Both Lauren’s and Cy’s jaws dropped simultaneously.
‘Well,’ said Cy’s dad smugly. ‘That made them pay attention, didn’t it?’
Lauren found her voice first. ‘You’re not serious? Please tell me that y
ou are not serious.’
‘Why not?’ asked Cy’s mum.
‘You’re doing this deliberately to embarrass me, aren’t you?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘It crossed my mind when I saw that old boot on Cy’s bed. We used to beat out a mean tune or two, your mother singing, me strumming a few chords on the old guitar.’ He mimicked someone playing a guitar. ‘There are some skills that you never lose.’
‘I’d be humiliated in front of my friends,’ Lauren said.
Usually Cy did not totally agree with Lauren’s take on family situations, but he was with her on this one. Could there be anything worse than seeing your parents dress up and perform in public?’
‘Cringe Factor Five,’ said Lauren. ‘Please excuse me from the rest of this meal. There’s a TV show I want to see.’
Cy recalled that he had left his bedroom earlier with the contents of his chest of drawers tumbled out showing the space below. As Lauren flounced into the living room to watch her television programme he gobbled up the rest of his food. Now that dinner was over he needed to get to his room, find his mum’s boots, hide the dreamcloak, and check that the Princess Shahr-Azad had been safely returned to her own Time.
‘It’s school tomorrow, Cy,’ his mum reminded him as he got up. ‘You have to pack your bag and make sure your homework’s done.’
Cy’s dad reached for a magazine. But Cy’s mum was there before him and had it in her hand before he had time to pick it up.
‘Darling,’ she said, ‘would you like to clear the table and stack the dishwasher please?’
‘Well, not really,’ said Cy’s dad. ‘I was hoping for a wee look at the Sunday papers before starting the working week.’
‘OK,’ Cy’s mum said sweetly. ‘I’ll do the clearing up . . .’
‘Why, thank you dear,’ said Cy’s dad with a grateful, but slightly puzzled, look.
Oh-oh, thought Cy, danger, danger, you’re probably being outflanked here, Dad.
‘ . . . and you can do the ironing,’ Cy’s mum continued. ‘In addition to the clean bed linen, tea towels and tablecloth, that will include all the shirts, blouses and other things that you and the children will wear over the next seven days.’
‘Uh.’ Cy’s dad stood up and began to stack the dinner dishes.
Cy melted from the room, galloped upstairs . . .
. . . and stopped at the top.
A trail of dainty white footprints led out of the upstairs bathroom across the landing and into his bedroom. Cy wrenched open his bedroom door and stopped just inside. His room looked as if a hurricane had hit. All his books were tumbled from the bookcase and his chair overturned. Clothes, games and sports gear were mixed together on the floor. Among all of this Shahr-Azad sat serenely on her magic carpet, combing tangles from her hair. A very stressed Dream Master was pacing up and down the room.
‘What is going on?’ demanded Cy. ‘Why have you not returned the Princess to her own TimeSpace?’
‘There is a problem,’ said the Dream Master.
CY GRABBED THE chair from the front of his desk and jammed it under the door handle.
‘What is the problem? Why is the Princess Shahr-Azad still here?’ he asked the Dream Master. ‘If it’s because she won’t leave without the magic carpet then that’s OK, let her take it with her.’ He glanced anxiously at his bedroom door. ‘Quite soon my mum will appear with my clean ironing for the week. And she always wants to chat on a Sunday night. She likes to ask me how I’m getting on at school and if I’ll need any help during the week.’
The Dream Master looked keenly at Cy. ‘Are those two bullies, Eddie and Chloe, still giving you bother?’
‘They give most people bother,’ said Cy.
‘I thought your school had an anti-bullying thingamajig?’
‘The Head started a campaign called “Beat the Bullies”. There’s posters and leaflets giving advice about what to do if you get picked on or see anybody being bullied, and the teachers hold special sessions each week about personal guidance. It works . . . a lot of the time.’
‘But not always?’
Cy shook his head. He supposed that part of the reason that Eddie and Chloe often picked on him was that he stood out for being clumsy, and slow to absorb information in class. But then he’d noticed that the Mean Machines also went for some of the children of asylum-seekers who had come into school. They seemed to target anybody who was a bit different or who wasn’t good at defending themselves. Which made them cowards, as his Grampa said. And though Cy knew this was true, it didn’t help if he was having a bad day at school. He was glad his Grampa still met him after school each day and walked home with him.
‘Bullies are better avoided,’ said the Dream Master. ‘Best to be where they are not.’
‘That’s what my Grampa says,’ said Cy. ‘But trouble follows me around. I seem to spend most of my day trying to sort out some mess I’ve made. Although this time,’ he pointed at Shahr-Azad, ‘it was your job to look after the Princess.’
‘I was doing my best,’ said the Dream Master.
‘Then why are there white footprints on the landing?’ demanded Cy.
‘That may be talcum powder,’ the Dream Master said, avoiding meeting Cy’s eyes.
‘Talcum powder!’ said Cy. ‘Who was using talcum powder?’
‘I was,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘Your toilet is intriguing, but very unhygienic.’
‘You went to the bathroom!’
‘I had to.’
‘Anyone might have seen you as you went from one room to the other!’ Cy cried out.
‘I opened the door. I listened,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘I heard you all eating dinner and discussing important things. I took my opportunity, although I have to say that I found your toilet precarious to climb upon.’
‘You climbed onto the toilet,’ Cy began. Then he stopped. ‘I’d rather not go there,’ he said.
‘Indeed, I too found it difficult,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘And your bathroom is inadequately furbished. There were so few toiletries to choose from.’
‘Our bathroom has tons of toiletries,’ said Cy. ‘Well, Lauren and Mum do at any rate. Dad and I have only a single shelf for our things, but Mum’s, and especially Lauren’s, take up the other four shelves.’
‘It was not enough for my requirements.’
‘Not enough for what requirements?’ Cy asked. ‘Omigosh! You didn’t take a bath?’
‘I merely washed my hair.’
‘What were you thinking of?’ Cy almost shouted at the Dream Master. ‘You let her wash her hair in the bathroom! It’s not good enough!’
‘I agree,’ said Shahr-Azad. ‘It was not very satisfactory. There was not the choice of unguents and oils I would have at home in my palace. No sandalwood oil, no attar of roses, but I made do as best I could.’
Cy took the chair from the door handle, darted out of his room and ran across the landing into the upstairs bathroom.
‘Omigosh!’
A scene of complete devastation met his eyes. The bathroom was strewn with wet towels, cotton wool, wash cloths and sponges. Empty bottles of shampoo, conditioner, bath oils and scent were upended everywhere. Dollops of shaving foam and hair gel clung to the mirror. Among it all Shahr-Azad’s footprints tracked through the thick snow of talcum on the bathroom floor.
‘Omigosh! Omigollygosh!’ said Cy.
Downstairs he could hear the noise of the television programme Lauren was watching, and from further away his mum and dad having a conversation in the kitchen. He reckoned he had about twenty minutes or so to clear this lot up before anyone came upstairs. Cy scooped up handfuls of talcum powder and emptied them into the bath. Then he ran the water to wash them away. He took several fresh towels from the linen cupboard on the landing to wipe up Shahr-Azad’s footprints and clean the mirror and the rest of the gloop sticking to the walls. He rammed these down into the bottom of the laundry bag which hung on the bathroom door. Then he gathered up all the empty bot
tles and jars, stuffing the largest into his trouser pocket and carrying the remainder into his own room.
There he found the Dream Master pacing up and down. Shahr-Azad had braided her long hair into several plaits in the same style as Lauren and was quietly reading one of Cy’s comics. Cy dumped the empty bottles he was carrying onto his bed. He opened his mouth to say something when there was a gentle tap on his bedroom door.
‘The cupboard? Once more?’ enquired Shahr-Azad.
The Dream Master leaped into position behind the door.
Cy opened his room door. His mother stood on the landing. She was holding some of the wet towels that Cy had buried in the laundry basket.
‘Cy . . .’
‘What?’ said Cy.
‘Lauren’s complaining that someone has used all her bubble bath and bath salts, and her special aromatherapy lavender powder, and her tea-tree oil, and her essence of jojoba plant shampoo and conditioner, and her body lotion, and her hair mousse, gel, wax, spritzer, curl-enhancer. You name it. It’s been finished.’ Cy’s mum was trying not to laugh. ‘Cy, did you use all of these to have a bath?’
‘As if,’ said Cy
‘Mmmmm, I thought it didn’t sound quite right. Although . . .’ Cy’s mum hesitated.
‘What?’ said Cy wearily.
‘Well, your dad was saying that when he was in your room earlier he noticed you seemed to be wearing some very strong aftershave.’
‘So?’
‘Well, your dad was saying . . .’ Cy’s mum paused awkwardly and then went on, ‘that maybe you felt that you needed aftershave even though you weren’t shaving.’
‘And?’ Cy was anxious to return to his room and deal with the chaos there.
‘Well . . . your dad was saying . . . that perhaps your hormones had started changing . . . that you were . . . well, that you might appreciate a little chat.’
‘What about?’ said Cy
‘Em . . . growing up.’ Cy’s mum smiled, and then said seriously. ‘You can always speak to me you know. It doesn’t have to be a man-to-man thing.’ She leaned over and tried to give Cy a hug.
Dream Master: Arabian Nights Page 4
