The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  We piled out into the corridor and the headmaster hit Norbert on the side of his head and told him to stop running. He and a few others were off to play cricket in the schoolyard.

  ‘Who’s coming? It’s Yorkshire against Lancashire. I’m Freddie Truman. And when I’m batting I’m Willie Watson.’

  I didn’t want to play cricket. I wanted to get on with my revision. I wanted to go to London. Anyway I never got a chance to bat. By the time it came to my turn we usually got kicked out by the caretaker.

  I don’t know why I went to play in the treehouse. It’s not even on my way home. But I started walking with David Holdsworth and he goes that way through the park. Maybe I wanted to show off to him, I don’t know, but that’s what I did. I pointed to it as we went up the hill past Mrs Jerome’s.

  ‘You see that treehouse. Up there. I’m allowed to play in it.’

  He looked at it. It’s about fifteen feet up in a big sycamore tree.

  ‘I bet you wish you were.’

  ‘I am. Honest.’

  I couldn’t stop myself from smiling and because I was smiling he thought I was lying. I soon showed him I wasn’t. I led the way up the ladder.

  After we’d been playing for about a quarter of an hour I decided it was time to go.

  ‘I’ve got to go soon. I’ve got to get on with my revision.’

  David was pretending to be a commando in Korea.

  ‘Pow, pow! Oh, don’t go yet. It’s great up here. Pow, pow!’

  I wish we had gone. We wouldn’t have been there when Norbert came past. It was David who saw him first, running up the hill.

  ‘Look, there’s Norbert. He must’ve got kicked out by the caretaker. Pow, pow! You’re dead, Norbert.’

  He looked round to see where the voice had come from.

  ‘What are you doing up there? I’m coming up.’

  I tried to stop him. I wanted to get home. Besides, even though I was allowed to play in the treehouse I didn’t think Mrs Jerome would like it if half the school turned up. It was a good job she was away.

  ‘No, Norbert, we’re going now.’

  But he was halfway up the ladder.

  ‘Oh in’t it great. Don’t tell any of the other lads, we’ll keep it for ourselves.’

  Keep it for ourselves. He had some cheek, did Norbert.

  ‘I’m the only one allowed to play here. I know the owner. Now come on, get down!’

  He didn’t get down. He came in.

  ‘Hey, you’ll never guess what I’ve found . . .’

  He started rummaging under his jumper.

  ‘These were in the dustbin we used as a wicket – look!’

  He held out some sheets of paper with purple writing on it but I couldn’t tell what they said because the writing was backwards.

  ‘It’s rubbish this, all the writing’s backwards.’

  ‘It is not rubbish, they’re our exam papers. These are the stencils that Mrs Smylie runs all the copies off . . .’

  Mrs Smylie’s the school secretary.

  ‘ . . . These are the questions we’ll be getting. Look, 1B – Summer Term.’

  Holdsworth grabbed one of the papers. We looked at it. Norbert was right. It was 1B Summer Term spelt backwards.

  ‘Yeah, look – this is geography backwards.’

  He knelt down and started going through the questions, working out what they said. Norbert knelt down opposite him.

  ‘They’re all here. English, Latin, French, Religious Instruction.’

  They started reading the questions out loud . . . I didn’t want to hear them. I didn’t want to cheat. I wanted to do well in my exams. I wanted to go to The Festival of Britain but I didn’t want to cheat.

  ‘Stop. You mustn’t, it’s not right . . .’

  I tried to get the papers before either of them could read any more. I was going to tear them up and throw them away but Norbert stopped me.

  I don’t think he meant to push me that hard. Fifteen feet doesn’t sound very high, but it is when you’re falling out of a treehouse.

  I didn’t do much that summer. There’s not much you can do when you’ve broken both your legs. I didn’t do the exams either. I couldn’t with my right arm in plaster. My mum made me go to school though. She said there was no reason why I couldn’t sit and read while the others did their exams. But I didn’t do much reading. I spent most of the time staring at Bleasdale’s glass eye . . . Thinking about the school trip I wouldn’t be going on.

  My mum used the fifteen pounds to mend the treehouse.

  THE SECOND PRIZE

  I could hear my mum upstairs bustling about, getting herself ready, asking my Auntie Doreen which hat she should wear.

  ‘What do you think, Doreen, the black velvet I wore to Matty’s funeral or the royal blue with the cherries? Which looks most suitable?’

  I heard my Auntie Doreen thinking. You could always hear her when she was thinking – she sucked in her breath and it made her false teeth rattle.

  ‘It’s not a funeral we’re going to, is it? It’s a prize-giving. I’d wear the royal blue.’

  My mum couldn’t make her mind up.

  ‘I don’t know. . . the black velvet’s very stylish and it goes with my two-piece . . . mind you, so does the royal blue . . . I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t wear a hat. I don’t want to be overdressed, do I? You’re not wearing a hat.’

  I could hear my Auntie Doreen sighing now. It’s funny how her teeth didn’t rattle when she breathed out, only when she breathed in.

  ‘Well, whatever you do, you’d better do it fast or we’re going to be late!’

  I was sitting at the top of the stairs listening, my stomach churning. My stomach seemed to have been churning for the last two weeks, ever since I’d heard I’d won the second prize. I’d been ready for ages. I was wearing my best suit, the one my mum had got in the sale at Lewis’ in Leeds, and this was only the second time I’d worn it. The first time was at my Uncle Matty’s funeral and I’d got into trouble with my mum at the tea afterwards. It had been my Auntie Winnie’s fault, Uncle Matty’s wife. She hadn’t seen me for years and she’d come rolling over towards me just as I was about to eat another cream horn. I’d been really careful eating the first one because my mum had warned me not to spill ‘anything’ on my new suit. When I saw Auntie Winnie coming towards me I was more worried she was going to spill her glass of sherry over me and I started backing away.

  ‘Eeh, is that our Freda’s lad? I’d never have recognised you . . .’ And the next thing I knew she was putting her arms round me and giving me a big hug and a kiss.

  It was horrible. It wasn’t just the smell of the sherry on her breath. She had a wart on her upper lip with long hairs growing out of it and I could feel it. I could feel something else too – the cream horn being squashed onto my chest. Onto my new suit. While she was hugging and kissing me and saying how proud Uncle Matty would have been to see me grow into such a fine young man she finished off the sherry and asked me to get her another one.

  My mum had gone mad when she saw the state of my new suit. She’d taken me straight into the bathroom.

  ‘Brand new, and you have to go and get cream all over it! I could cheerfully throttle you!’

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, Mum . . .’ And I’d explained how Auntie Winnie had hugged me and squashed the cream horn.

  She didn’t say much. She just rubbed away with a flannel and muttered something about Winnie and her drinking and something about driving Matty to an early grave. My mum and Auntie Winnie didn’t get on that well. That’s why we hardly ever saw them.

  Anyway it had come back from the dry-cleaners looking as good as new – well it was new, I’d only worn it the once – and I sat at the top of the stairs waiting to set off for the prize-giving, my stomach churning.

  The doorbell rang and I heard my mum going into a panic.

  ‘Ooh, that’ll be the taxi and I’m nowhere ready. If that’s the taxi, love, tell him I’ll be a couple of minutes.�
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  I went downstairs to answer the door. I wouldn’t have minded if she took another couple of hours, I was dreading the whole thing. It was the taxi.

  ‘My mum’s not ready yet, she’ll be a few minutes.’

  It was the same driver who’d taken us to the station when we’d gone to Uncle Matty’s funeral.

  ‘Well, she booked me for quarter-to, I’ll have to charge waiting time. Can I use your lavatory?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s out the back.’

  I showed him to the toilet and went back in to hurry my mum up. Not that I wanted to get there quickly – I wished we didn’t have to go at all – but I didn’t want my mum to get charged too much waiting time.

  ‘It’s only just quarter-to now, he was early. Are my seams straight, Doreen?’

  Auntie Doreen checked my mum’s stockings and my mum checked my Auntie Doreen’s stockings, then my mum straightened my tie, brushed the dandruff off my jacket and off we went downstairs. They were both wearing hats – my mum had the royal blue on and Auntie Doreen was wearing the black velvet. My mum slammed the front door shut and was looking in her handbag for her keys.

  ‘Hey Doreen, I hope we’re not overdressed.’

  My Auntie Doreen was looking in her powder compact, dabbing her nose and making funny in and out movements with her lips.

  ‘I don’t think so. It’s not every day one of the family is summoned to the Town Hall to be presented with a prize, is it?’

  They both smiled at me and my Auntie Doreen kissed me on the cheek. I felt terrible. If they only knew the truth.

  As she was double-locking the front door my mum started going on about keeping my best suit clean.

  ‘And don’t you spill anything on that suit. We don’t want a repeat of last time.’

  I was just about to tell her for the umpteenth time that it wasn’t my fault but my Auntie Doreen did it for me.

  ‘Leave him alone, Freda. You can’t blame him. You know what our Winnie’s like when she’s had a drink. Now come on, let’s not keep this taxi waiting any longer.’

  And we set off down the path.

  We’d just got into the car when my Auntie Doreen noticed that there was no driver.

  ‘Hang on – where’s the driver?’

  I explained that he’d asked to use the toilet.

  ‘He’s probably still out there, Mum. You’ve locked him out the back!’

  She sighed and got the keys back out of her handbag.

  ‘And he wants to charge me waiting time. I’ll charge him toilet time . . .!’

  She scurried off up the path and my Auntie Doreen smiled at me.

  ‘Are you excited?’

  I looked at her. If only she knew how I really felt. Should I tell her the truth?

  ‘Auntie Doreen . . .?’

  ‘Yes, love?’

  It’d be easier to tell her than my mum. She’d get rid of the taxi and we’d go back into the house. I’d go upstairs to my bedroom while she and my mum would go into the kitchen. My Auntie Doreen would make her a cup of tea and gently tell her the truth . . . And I’d sit at the top of the stairs trying to listen . . . No I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t want to listen, I wouldn’t want to hear. I’d lie on my bed and wait . . . And after a while, after Auntie Doreen had gone home, my mum would come up and her eyes would be all red and I’d still be lying on the bed and she’d tell me not to lie on the bed in my best suit and I’d look at her . . . at her red eyes and her disappointed face . . . and I’d wish I’d never said anything.

  ‘Yes, love?’

  I saw the taxi driver coming down the path with my mum.

  ‘It’s the same driver who took us to the station when we went to Uncle Matty’s funeral.’

  It was all I could think of saying. I couldn’t tell her the truth. Not with my mum all dressed up in her royal blue hat and everything, so proud of me and excited. How could I tell her that it shouldn’t be me getting this prize? The driver was laughing to himself as he got in the car.

  ‘I tell you, that’s a first . . . Wait till I tell the wife. I hope you’re not catching a train?’

  My mum wasn’t laughing. She put on her posh voice.

  ‘No, we’re going to the Town Hall. Main entrance.’

  The driver started the engine. Oh, the way she said it in that stupid voice. ‘We’re going to the Town Hall. Main entrance.’ And why did she have to waggle her head like that? And smile as if she had a piece of lemon in her mouth? Knowing that I shouldn’t even be getting this prize made it even worse. If only she hadn’t had to go away to Blackpool none of this would have happened.

  My mum and my Auntie Doreen do voluntary work for the old folk. I don’t know how old these old folk are because my mum and my Auntie Doreen aren’t young. Anyway, not long after I’d started at the grammar school they took the old folk on an outing to Blackpool to see the illuminations which meant my mum staying away. So she arranged for me to sleep the night with Mr and Mrs Carpenter at number 23. I often went to their house if my mum was going to be late back from work or anything like that but this was the first time I’d gone to stay all night.

  ‘You sure you don’t mind? I can try and get someone else to go to Blackpool in my place.’

  I didn’t mind.

  ‘No, I’ll be all right.’

  I liked going to Mr and Mrs Carpenter’s. They’re ever so kind. I think they like me coming because they don’t have any children. They had a son once called David but he died when he was a baby. He came too early or something. Mr Carpenter has this fantastic collection of tin soldiers and he lets me play with them. I think they’re quite valuable.

  ‘Well, it’s only for one night. Are you sure you’ll be OK?’

  ‘Yes!’

  Oh, my mum didn’t half go on sometimes. I wouldn’t have minded if she stayed away a bit longer, but I didn’t say that in case it upset her.

  ‘I’ll be all right. Honest.’

  I think my mum thought I was being brave because she spoke in the same sort of voice she put on when I had to have an injection at the doctor’s.

  ‘Well, I’ll take your things round to Mrs Carpenter’s in the morning before we set off for Blackpool and you go straight there after school. You’ll be all right.’

  I didn’t go straight there after school because Mr Carpenter met me and took me into town for an ice cream and then we went to Dyson’s toy shop and he said I could choose anything I wanted up to two pounds. I didn’t like to at first because I thought my mum might be cross but he said it was his treat and nothing to do with anybody else and I should choose what I wanted.

  ‘But no more than two pound, mind, and don’t say anything to Mrs Carpenter about having an ice cream or you’ll get me into trouble. We’ve got a big tea waiting at home.’

  I chose a box of coloured pencils at first because I’d got art homework to do but Mr Carpenter told me to choose something else.

  ‘I’ve got a load of crayons at home, I’ll give you some. Treat yourself to something you really fancy.’

  What I’d really wanted was this commando that had a string in its back and when you pulled it said different orders like ‘Enemy at one o’clock’ and ‘Do you surrender?’ and other things. It was great. It cost one pound nineteen and eleven and I put the penny change in the box for deaf children. We got back at about half past five and Mrs Carpenter must have known we’d be going into town because she wasn’t surprised how late we were.

  ‘Now – are you hungry?’

  I looked at Mr Carpenter. I couldn’t say, ‘No, I’ve just had a big ice cream.’ Luckily Mrs Carpenter carried on talking.

  ‘Because we can either eat now or you can do your homework first.’

  ‘I’d like to get my homework done, Mrs Carpenter.’

  ‘Good idea. Now, we’ve got roast chicken for tea. Do you like chicken?’

  I loved chicken. We only have it at Christmas and Easter.

  ‘I love chicken.’

  Mr Carpenter got a whole load of
coloured pencils out of a drawer and gave them to me.

  ‘Can I keep all these?’

  ‘Aye, ’course you can. Now what’s this art you have to do?

  I told him the choice Mr Clegg the art teacher had given us.

  ‘We have to draw either a street scene or a woodland scene. I’m going to do a street scene.’

  So he cleared a space at the table for me and sat down to read his paper while Mrs Carpenter went into the kitchen to finish off her ironing.

  I started my picture using the coloured pencils Mr Carpenter had given me. I drew a zebra crossing. Then I drew a car and a boy and a girl waiting to cross. I’m not very good at drawing – I never have been – and I suddenly realised Mr Carpenter was standing behind me, watching. I felt a bit embarrassed.

  ‘It’s not very good, is it?’

  He smiled.

  ‘Don’t use your crayons straight off. Do it lightly in pencil to start, then you can rub it out and change it if you want. Look.’

  He got himself a chair, sat down beside me and started drawing on a new piece of paper. He copied what I’d done, the zebra crossing, the car, the boy and girl, but in pencil like he said. He was a good drawer.

  ‘Now, what else do you want, couple of shops? Someone on a bike maybe? I know, let’s have a police car.’

  Mrs Carpenter came in from the kitchen and when she realised what he was doing she told him off.

  ‘Hey, he’s supposed to be doing that homework, Denzil, not you.’

  ‘I’m just giving the lad a bit of a hand, that’s all. He’s got the hard work to do, he’s got to colour it all in.’

  Mr Carpenter went back to his paper and I started colouring. It took me ages. There were lots of people in it now, a lady pushing a pram, a couple of the old folk going into a Post Office (that was my idea), and a boy on roller skates. And there was a Woolworth’s and a dry-cleaner’s, and a National Provincial Bank. When I’d finished, it was a really good picture. The best I’d ever done. Well I knew I hadn’t done it but like Mr Carpenter said, I’d done the hard work, I’d done all the colouring. Anyway I didn’t think it mattered. As long as Norbert Lightowler didn’t see it. We’d been at High Moor Primary together before we’d gone to the grammar school and he knew I wasn’t good at art. And it wouldn’t have mattered if Mr Clegg hadn’t shown it to the headmaster . . .