The Boy in the Biscuit Tin

by Heather Dyer

  “What are you doing?” said Francis.

  “Packing,” said Alex.

  “Packing? Why? Where are you going?”

  “Out-into-the-world,” said Alex grandly. “To seek my fortune.”

  Francis’s face lit up. “Can I come too?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you can’t!”

  Francis watched, crestfallen, as Alex stuffed pyjamas, a fistful of socks and several pairs of underwear into his rucksack. It looked as though he intended to be away for quite some time.

  “But what will we tell Aunt Carole?” said Ibby in distress.

  “Who?”

  “Your mother!”

  “Oh – her. Tell her I’ll send her a postcard.” After a moment’s hesitation, Alex packed his biggest swimming trophy, a survival handbook, and a waterproof coat that stuffed into its own pocket.

  “But how will you live?” persisted Ibby. “What will you do about money?”

  “I’m taking my metal detector. Money always falls out of people’s pockets on the beach – and in the park.”

  Ibby looked at Francis helplessly. It seemed that Alex had thought of everything – or nearly everything. “Food!” said Alex suddenly. He threw his rucksack over his shoulder, picked up his metal detector and marched out of the room.

  CHAPTER 12

  The Intruder

  “YOUR OWN MOTHER WOULDN’T RECOGNIZE YOU.”

  It just so happened that at that very moment the van from Gardens on the Move was pulling up outside. Out jumped the delivery man wearing blue overalls and a baseball cap. He made a note on his clipboard, got Aunt Carole’s box of geraniums out of the back of his van, and was just heading up the garden path when he heard raised voices. He paused. The voices were coming through the open kitchen window. One of the voices belonged to a girl.

  “Aunt Carole will be back in a minute!” said the girl. “She’ll stop you!”

  “No, she won’t,” answered a young man. “She’ll not be back until three o’clock. I’ll be long gone by then.”

  “She’ll call the police!” said the girl. “They’ll send out a search party!”

  The young man laughed. “How will they find me? They don’t even know what I look like!”

  The delivery man drew in his breath sharply. He knew trouble when he heard it. He hurried up the path and peered in through the kitchen window, and to his alarm he saw a man wearing a black top hat and satin cloak. The man was going round the kitchen opening cupboards and drawers and helping himself to the contents. Into his bag went a jar of peanut butter, an unopened packet of ginger biscuits, an apple and the salt shaker. The delivery man gasped. A burglary was taking place – and two brave children were trying to prevent it!

  With trembling hands the delivery man fished his phone out of his overalls pocket and dialled. “Police?” he said. “Come quickly! I’m witnessing a burglary!” He gave Aunt Carole’s address, then peered back in through the kitchen window. To his horror he saw the cloaked intruder open the cutlery drawer, take out a cheese knife and test the blade with his thumb.

  “Hey!” yelled the delivery man, banging loudly on the window.

  Instantly, all three faces looked around – and each looked equally alarmed. For a moment nobody moved. Then Alex dropped the knife and fled.

  The delivery man ran up the front steps and burst in through the front door just in time to see Alex flying up the stairs two at a time, with his cloak billowing out behind him.

  “That’s right!” shouted the delivery man. “Run away!” And he hurried upstairs after Alex, followed closely by Ibby and Francis. But he was too late. Alex had already ducked into the bathroom, slammed the door and shot the bolt.

  Of course, Ibby and Francis tried to tell the delivery man that it was all a mistake – but it was no use. He was only half listening. Every now and again Alex opened the bathroom door a crack and tried to explain, but the delivery man flapped his clipboard at the gap and the door slammed shut again. “Don’t panic, kids,” he kept saying. “The police are on their way.”

  So there was nothing they could do but wait – and they didn’t have to wait long. Within minutes there were voices in the hall, and DI Davies and a lady officer called PC Preston came charging up the stairs.

  “He’s in here!” said the delivery man.

  DI Davies stepped up close and put his ear to the door. “We know you’re in there,” he said sternly. “Come out with your hands up.”

  From the bathroom there was no reply.

  “I’m going to count to five,” said DI Davies. “And if you don’t come out on the count of five, we’re coming in to get you.” He took his baton out, and PC Preston did the same.

  “One …” said DI Davies.

  From the bathroom there came the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing.

  “Two …”

  There was muttering within.

  “Three – I’m warning you! Four …”

  And then, just as DI Davies put his shoulder to the door, the bolt went back, the door opened, and there stood …

  An old man.

  The others gasped. The old man’s eyes were tired and droopy like the eyes of a basset hound, and he had a long white beard and moustache. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he was still wearing the top hat and the satin cloak, the others would never have recognized him.

  “But … but … that’s not him!” spluttered the delivery man. “It was a younger man. I’m sure of it!”

  “I am a younger man,” said Alex hoarsely. He took a few steps forward, staggered and clutched at PC Preston’s shoulder for support.

  “There must be someone else in there,” said the delivery man, and he ran into the bathroom and could be heard opening the cupboards and drawing back the shower curtain. But of course the bathroom was empty.

  “Have either of you children seen this man before?” asked PC Preston.

  The children had to admit that they hadn’t.

  “Where do you live, sir?” said DI Davies to the man-who-had-been-Alex.

  Alex pointed a crooked finger and tried to head off down the corridor. But PC Preston took him by the arm. “Not so fast, sir,” she said. “I think you’d better come with us. We’ll see you home again.”

  Alex protested weakly, but the officers ignored him.

  “Where are you taking him?” cried Ibby.

  “Back to the station,” said PC Preston. “To check the Missing Persons Database. I expect he lost his way. It’s not unusual.”

  “Oh! Can’t we keep him here?” said Francis. “Just until the morning?”

  “Yes,” said Ibby. “Things might look quite different then.”

  “That’s kind of you,” said PC Preston. “But the sooner we get him home, the better, don’t you think?”

  Ibby nodded meekly. There was nothing else to say. She and Francis could only watch in dismay as the police officers helped Alex down the stairs and into the back of their car. The last thing that the children saw as it drove away was Alex’s mournful face, mouthing a silent protest through the rear window.

  CHAPTER 13

  The Baby On The Back Seat

  “THE LIFE CYCLE MOVES IN ONLY ONE DIRECTION: FORWARDS.”

  Alex couldn’t understand what had gone wrong. He’d assumed that if he did the trick again he would revert back to his former self – but instead he had moved forwards into the last phase of the Life Cycle. If only he had read the instructions properly! He had to get back and consult the instruction booklet. It was his only hope.

  Alex leaned forwards and knocked on the glass partition, but the officers ignored him. He rattled the door handle, but it was locked. Then he had an idea. He noticed that if he shuffled sideways a little, he could catch a glimpse of his reflection in the rear-view mirror – and he still had the hand mirror in his pocket. Why not try the trick again? He was in the last stage of the Life Cycle now, so he couldn’t go any further, could he? Certainl
y things couldn’t get any worse. Perhaps it was only when the cycle was finished that he would return to normal.

  If Alex turned around and held up the hand mirror, he could just about make out the back of his head in the rear-view mirror. It wasn’t easy. Every time the car went round a bend or over a bump, he lost sight of his reflection. But he had better hurry. Soon they would be at Little Wittering police station.

  “Ladies and gentlemen …” he began.

  Back at Aunt Carole’s house, the delivery man had driven off again, and Ibby and Francis were sitting at the kitchen table wondering how they were going to explain Alex’s disappearance.

  “If he’s still got the mirror,” said Francis, “he can turn himself back again, can’t he?”

  “I don’t think you can go backwards,” said Ibby. “You can only go forwards.”

  “What if he goes forwards then?”

  “He’s already in Phase Four,” said Ibby. “If he goes any further …” She trailed off uneasily.

  “What’s the matter?” said Francis. “What comes after Phase Four?”

  “Nothing. That’s the trouble. The Life Cycle ends at Phase Four.”

  “You mean … oh!”

  There was a sombre silence while they imagined what might happen if Alex went beyond Phase Four. Would he die? Would he vanish in a puff of smoke? Or would he just crumble away, leaving nothing but a pile of second-hand clothes?

  “Is that what happened to Uncle Godfrey?” asked Francis.

  Ibby looked at Francis, shocked. Now that he mentioned it, Ibby realized that she didn’t really know what had happened to their Uncle Godfrey. Her mother had told her that he’d disappeared – but how, exactly? What if Francis was right? What if one of Uncle Godfrey’s magic tricks had gone wrong? And what if the same thing happened to Alex!

  They were both still sitting there wondering what to do when the doorbell rang. They jumped, and looked at one another in alarm. Was that Aunt Carole back again? Or was it news of something even worse? They both got up and ran to the door to find DI Davies and PC Preston standing on the doorstep. PC Preston was carrying what appeared to be a bundle of clothes with a top hat balanced on the top.

  Ibby gasped and clapped her hand over her mouth. It was just as they’d suspected! Alex had completely disappeared and left only his clothes behind.

  “What happened?” cried Francis.

  DI Davies shifted awkwardly. “Well, that’s the thing,” he said. “We’re not sure. One minute he was there; the next he was gone.”

  At this, Ibby let out a cry, and Francis’s eyes filled up with tears.

  “Don’t worry,” said DI Davies reassuringly. “He won’t get far without his clothes.”

  “What we want to know,” said PC Preston, “is where the baby came from.”

  Ibby looked up. “Baby?” she said. “What baby?”

  PC Preston lifted the top hat and there, swamped in clothes that were far too large for it, was a baby. He had round brown eyes and a dark wisp of hair on the crown of his head.

  “When I put my foot on the brakes,” said DI Davies, “we heard a thump, like something rolling off the back seat, followed by a wail.”

  “And when we looked in the back,” said PC Preston, “there he was. On the floor. I don’t suppose you recognize him?”

  Ibby and Francis studied the baby closely.

  As they peered at him, he smiled and thrust a chubby hand in their direction.

  “It’s him!” said Francis suddenly. “It’s Alex!”

  “Oh!” cried Ibby. “Of course!” And she went to take baby Alex from PC Preston’s arms.

  “Just a minute,” said PC Preston. In her experience, relatives usually recognized their babies much more readily than this. “Are you sure you know this baby?”

  “I’d know him anywhere,” said Francis cheerfully. “That’s my brother, Alex.”

  DI Davies and PC Preston exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Well … if you’re sure,” said PC Preston.

  “We are,” said Ibby.

  And so, since neither PC Preston nor DI Davies wanted to return to the station with a wailing baby, PC Preston put Alex into Ibby’s outstretched arms, then they got back in their police car and drove away again.

  “Now what?” said Ibby, when they were back inside.

  “Now we make him do the trick again,” said Francis simply. “Then he’ll be back where he started!”

  “How are we going to make him do that? He can’t speak!”

  Francis frowned. He hadn’t thought of that. It would be at least two years before Alex was able to do the trick again.

  “This is even worse than before,” said Ibby wretchedly. “What’s Aunt Carole going to say?”

  “Perhaps she’ll be pleased,” said Francis. “She likes babies.”

  Francis quite liked the idea of having a baby brother – and since he was now the eldest it was only fair that he should have Alex’s computer and metal detector. After all, Alex wouldn’t be able to use them, would he? In fact, the easiest solution was simply to swap rooms. A baby would be glad of all his toys, thought Francis, even if a lot of them were broken.

  Francis’s plans were interrupted by a muffled trumpeting sound from the baby’s lower half, followed by an awful smell.

  “Ugh!” cried Ibby. She held Alex at arm’s length and hurried back and forth as though searching for a place to set him down. Eventually, she bolted upstairs to the bathroom. Francis hesitated, then he hurried after her.

  Changing a baby is a messy business – especially when it isn’t wearing a nappy. From behind the closed bathroom door there came exclamations of disgust and groans of dismay – and above it all rose Alex’s wails. But eventually the door opened and out they came with Alex wearing an enormous nappy fashioned from a towel. He was still crying.

  “Let’s put him to bed,” said Ibby. “Maybe he’ll sleep it off.”

  So they put Alex in his own bed, drew the curtains and turned out the light. But no sooner had they shut the door on his wails than there came another sound – the sound of the front door opening and Aunt Carole’s voice calling cheerfully, “Hello! Is anyone home?”

  “She’s back!” said Ibby, turning pale.

  They rushed to the top of the stairs to see Aunt Carole unbuttoning her coat in the hall. “What’s that noise?” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Fine!” said Francis.

  “Fine? It doesn’t sound fine. It sounds like a baby crying.”

  “It’s all right. It’s only Alex.”

  “Alex?” said Aunt Carole, puzzled. And before they could prevent her she had climbed the stairs and marched along the corridor to Alex’s room.

  The crying appeared to have stopped.

  “Alex?” said Aunt Carole. “Are you all right?” She knocked softly and opened the door, and a path of light fell across the bed and onto the pillow. And there was Alex, sound asleep, sucking his thumb – and practically a teenager again.

  Alex finally emerged at dinner time. He’d had a shower and was pale and careful, like someone who is out of bed for the first time after a long illness. He sat at the table with his hair still damp and combed neatly to one side, and ate his tomato soup in silence. Afterwards he excused himself and went upstairs again.

  “Alex doesn’t seem himself tonight,” remarked Aunt Carole thoughtfully. “I hope there’s nothing the matter.”

  “Oh – just growing pains,” said Ibby reassuringly.

  Francis gave a snort of laughter, which made tomato soup come out of his nose and sent them both into fits of giggles.

  “Oh, Francis!” said Aunt Carole, handing him a tissue. She could never understand the sort of things that Francis found so funny.

  CHAPTER 14

  Uncle Godfrey

  “THE PROFESSIONAL MAGICIAN NEVER REVEALS HIS SECRETS.”

  “It’s your last day tomorrow,” said Aunt Carole.

  “Yes,” reflected Ibby. She and her a
unt were playing snakes and ladders in front of the fire. Alex and Francis had already gone to bed.

  “Has it gone quickly?”

  “Yes,” said Ibby. “Quicker than I thought it would.” It was strange to think how much she had been dreading coming here. But everything had turned out all right in the end, hadn’t it? Alex and Francis weren’t that bad, she thought. You had to get used to them, that was all. And they had done nearly all the magic tricks now. The only ones left were the card tricks and the Vanishing Act – but the Vanishing Act wouldn’t work without the padlock, and you couldn’t get into much trouble with cards, could you?

  “Your turn,” said Aunt Carole.

  Ibby threw the dice and moved her counter forwards – one, two, three. It would seem quiet at home, she thought, without her cousins.

  Aunt Carole shook the dice, then cast it on the board. “Five!” she said, and moved her counter forwards. But unfortunately, the fifth move landed her on the head of a snake, which meant she had to go all the way back to the bottom.

  Ibby yawned.

  “I think we can safely say that you have won,” Aunt Carole said. “Shall we call it a day?”

  “OK,” said Ibby.

  So Aunt Carole raked the ashes and put the fireguard on, and Ibby went to put the board game back in the cupboard.

  It was while she was closing the cupboard door that Ibby noticed the photograph on the dresser. It was very like her mother’s graduation portrait – the one where she was sitting against a mottled blue background wearing a black cloak and a flat black hat called a mortarboard. But this photo was of Uncle Godfrey. He was also wearing a cloak, but instead of a mortarboard he was wearing a tall top hat, and instead of a rolled-up degree certificate, he was holding a slender black wand with white tips. He was beaming.

  “That’s your Uncle Godfrey,” said Aunt Carole, smiling. “He’d just been granted entry to the Magic Circle.”

  Ibby knew all about the Magic Circle. Every magician wanted to belong to it. The Magic Circle made its members promise not to tell anyone how they did their magic tricks. Ibby had always assumed that this was because they didn’t want people to know that they were only doing tricks – but now she suspected it was because they didn’t want people to know that they were doing real magic.