The Charlie Moon Collection

by Shirley Hughes

“Well . . .” Uncle Owen took the drawing down from the wall and held it in his hands, peering at it.

  “I can have it back to you the day after tomorrow,” said Mr Dix persuasively. And somehow, before they knew it, he had the drawing under his arm.

  “Oh, Uncle!” said Linda.

  It was too late again.

  “I’ll just make another pot of tea,” said Uncle Owen apologetically, as he shuffled off into the little kitchen next door.

  “You needn’t worry, dear,” Mr Dix told Linda. “This drawing’s quite safe with me, you know, safe as houses. In fact, it’s probably a lot safer than with your uncle here, bless him. A dear old soul, we all know, but he’s slipping a bit. Memory isn’t what it was. Wandering.” He tapped the side of his temple. “I’ve noticed it quite a bit recently. He shouldn’t be here on his own, you know.”

  “I don’t think his memory’s that bad,” said Linda. “He’s certainly quite able to make up his mind about selling that drawing. And he doesn’t have to if he doesn’t want to.”

  Mr Dix ignored this remark.

  “Shouldn’t be on his own,” he repeated. “I don’t like it. As his landlord I feel responsible. Never know what kind of damage he’s likely to do now he’s getting so forgetful. And he can’t look after the place properly, you know. The house smells terrible. I shall be in trouble with the Health authorities if I don’t do something about it.”

  “He’s got the home help once a week.”

  “Well, it’s not enough. I wish you’d get him to reconsider a Home. Otherwise I may have to take action. See if you can’t persuade him to be sensible, dear—face up to his age.” He pressed Linda’s arm in a familiar way but she withdrew it quickly.

  “Well, I mustn’t stop. Can’t wait for your uncle to make the tea, I’m afraid,” said Mr Dix coldly. “And get him to watch those messy oil paints, won’t you?” Without saying goodbye he was off, clattering down the stairs with The Stunner under his arm. They all looked at the small empty patch on the wallpaper where she had hung.

  “Perhaps she’ll start haunting Mr Dix for a change,” said Ariadne.

  Dodger was getting restless. All this talk of paintings and people in olden times had begun to bore him. He was inventing a complicated game of hopscotch, using the faded bunches of flowers on Uncle Owen’s carpet.

  “Come on, Charlie,” he said. “My Mum wants me back by half past six. Let’s go and play out for a bit.”

  All three children said goodbye and thank-you to Uncle Owen Bowen before, holding their noses like divers, they rushed downstairs and into the street. It was good to be outside again and take in great gasps of river air. It wasn’t dark yet, though some windows along the River Walk were already lighted and encouraging sounds of supper on the way and snatches of radio music floated out into the dusk. Between the street and the river embankment itself there were some bits of garden with low walls and railings. Some had rowing boats drawn up in them, some had flowers and white-painted seats. The garden opposite where Uncle Owen Bowen lived was full of weeds and tangled bushes. It had an old rotting shed which Charlie and Dodger used as their Club Headquarters when Mr Dix wasn’t looking.

  Charlie and Dodger started a game called “Fire Down Below”. You had to move about without touching the ground, pulling yourself along the railings, balancing on walls, leaping from one gatepost to another. If your foot touched the pavement you were on fire. If it touched three times you were all burnt up. Ariadne climbed on to the shed roof. She was the umpire.

  “You’re burning!” she shouted to Charlie as he stumbled for a second, just brushing the ground with his toe. “You’ve lost one life! You’re on fire!”

  Charlie clung to the railings. It was a very realistic game. He could even smell the smoke. So could Ariadne. From where she was sitting she could see right over the river on one side and all the houses on River Walk on the other. Surely it wasn’t pretend smoke she could smell?

  It was real, all right. And it was pouring out of Uncle Owen Bowen’s front door.

  4 Fire Down Below!

  “Fire!” shouted Ariadne.

  Charlie and Dodger thought this was part of the game.

  “Not fair! I never touched the ground,” called Dodger.

  “A real fire, you pathetic idiot! I can see the smoke.” Ariadne was already scrambling down from the shed. Then Charlie realized what was happening.

  “Come on, Dodger, quick!” he said.

  Together they all ran back to Uncle Owen Bowen’s front door. Black oily smoke was billowing out into the street.

  “It’s from that old stove, I think,” cried Ariadne. “Oh, Charlie, whatever shall we do?”

  “Better not try to go in there ourselves,” said Charlie. “Must tell the others. They can’t have smelled it yet up all those stairs. If only one of these doorbells worked.” He was pressing them all frantically, one by one, but it was no good. He stepped back into the street. “Hey, Norman!” he yelled at the top of his voice. “Lindaaaaah!” Putting his fingers into his mouth, he managed one of his piercing whistles.

  Greatly to their relief, the faces of Norman and Linda popped over the balcony at once. How lucky that they happened to be out there in the dusk.

  “Come down, quick, Norman! The stove’s catching fire!”

  Norman’s jaw dropped. He popped back instantly. Very soon they heard him in the hall.

  “Stand back, you kids!” he shouted.

  They scattered away up the street as Norman burst out through the front door in a cloud of fumes, carrying the old stove at arms’ length. He had thrown a blanket right over it to smother the smoke and stop it from catching fire in the draught and he had wrapped his scarf round and round his hand and arm. He was choking and coughing and his eyes were streaming. He dumped the stove on the pavement and stood well back. After a moment or two he managed to get close enough to turn it off.

  Gradually the smoke subsided. Norman collapsed against the railings, mopping his face with his scarf. The situation was saved. The whole operation had only taken a few minutes.

  “Is the fire out?” asked Ariadne, scared.

  “Yes. It didn’t burst into flames, but it was just going to. Lucky you kids called me in time, or the whole house would have been on fire.”

  “You all right, Norman?” Linda’s white face appeared in the doorway.

  “I’m O.K. You’d better let your uncle know there’s nothing to worry about. But tell him not to have any more old heaters in the house.”

  “Thank heaven the children saw the smoke. Oh, Norman, you’ve probably saved our lives!”

  Norman only grinned at her.

  Norman and Charlie were late for their supper that evening. They’d seen Linda and Ariadne off on the same bus.

  Then Norman had gone ahead on his motorbike while Charlie walked home, saying goodnight to Dodger outside the big block of flats where he lived.

  Charlie’s home was over the shop where his Mum had her hairdressing business. Norman was living with them for the time being because he’d just left college and had come to London to look for a job. He’d been studying something called Philosophy but, although he and Charlie scanned the newspapers every evening, there never seemed to be any jobs advertised for Philosophers. So Norman was being a waiter, part-time, instead.

  Charlie’s Mum was a bit cross about them being late but she’d kept their supper hot: mince, tomatoes and mashed potatoes. Norman and Charlie were tired out. It had been a long day. They ate on the sofa in front of the television. The programme that was just coming on was a magic show. First the screen was full of silver bubbles and then, who should be smiling at them from it but Duggie Bubbles himself.

  “Hey, there he is!” said Charlie, speaking with his mouth full and leaning forward excitedly. “He’s coming to our Book Bonanza. We’re going to see him real, doing his tricks.”

  Duggie Bubbles had shoulder-length blond hair and a black velvet suit and he smiled all the time. He seemed to be all teeth
and smiles. Smilingly, he amazed everyone with lightning card tricks, pulled yards and yards of silk scarves, coloured streamers and live birds out of a top hat and turned a vase of paper flowers into a white rabbit by whisking a cloth over them and tapping them with his little wand.

  “It all seems so easy,” said Charlie enviously. “It never works like that when I try to do it.”

  “Looks as though he’s going to do a Houdini act now,” said Norman.

  Still smiling, Duggie Bubbles removed his jacket and allowed himself to be firmly tied up with ropes and shut into a big wooden box, which was secured with more ropes and even chains and padlocks. Everything went dark, with only a spotlight shining down on the box. There was a tense moment of silence. Then a roll of drums, a loud fanfare of music and the lights blazed again as Duggie Bubbles stepped out from behind some curtains, absolutely free! His hair was a little ruffled and he was sweating lightly, but his smile was as broad as ever.

  “How does he do it, Norman?” asked Charlie.

  “Perhaps there’s a hole in the bottom of the box,” suggested Norman. But it had already been proved to the viewers that this was not so.

  “I’m going to ask him how he does it when I see him,” said Charlie.

  “Magicians never tell,” said Norman.

  5 The Magician Appears

  The next morning Charlie put on his favourite cap with the big peak and his Superman T-shirt, packed his roller-skates and a couple of cheese sandwiches into his canvas shoulder-bag, and set out for the big hall next to the library. He’d promised to help get the Book Bonanza ready. This probably meant running about and fetching things.

  Linda was in command when he got there, and Ariadne was already busy moving piles of books about. Dodger had turned up too, although he hadn’t been asked. This was because he often got rather wild and over-excited at Bonanzas. Strictly speaking, he was also on the library black-list for returning some books late and in a nibbled condition. Dodger had insisted that his dog, Prince, had done it. But everybody knew that no pets whatever were allowed in the block of flats where Dodger lived. Dodger’s dog was an imaginary one, who followed him about. The real-life Book Nibbler was actually Debbie, Dodger’s little sister. But in spite of all this Linda still had rather a soft spot for Dodger, which was why she was letting him be the front legs of the horse. So she sighed and said all right, if he really was going to help she supposed he might as well stay.

  There were books everywhere, beautiful new shiny ones with brightly coloured covers, being unpacked from boxes all ready for sampling. Ariadne kept getting side-tracked by one she simply had to read and settled down on the floor with it, where people kept tripping over her.

  Display stands were arranged all round the hall, and there was a platform at one end with curtains, just like a proper stage. In fact, it had once been a stage because long ago the hall had been a theatre. It had a gallery and boxes on either side of the stage where the audience used to sit. Linda had had the good idea of making some book displays in these boxes. One of them was a Haunted House, for mystery stories. The students from the Art College had made some lovely ghosts and bats and other spooky things out of paper, and rows of hairy spiders on strings. Charlie and Dodger were set to work with a pair of steps, hanging up the spiders. They looked great, dangling all around.

  “Pass us up some more drawing-pins, Dodger,” said Charlie, perched up astride the balcony rail.

  Dodger rushed down the steps, tore about looking for the drawing-pin box, and tripped over Ariadne, who happened to be lying under the steps, deep in a ghost story. The steps wobbled and crashed over, leaving Charlie stranded high above their heads.

  “Ouch! Watch what you’re doing!” yelled Ariadne.

  “Hey! Get me down!” shouted Charlie.

  “Oh, dear, oh, dear!” said Linda.

  At this moment, who should appear as though by magic, but Duggie Bubbles himself! The real thing, in person, teeth and all. He looked much the same as he did on television, except that he was wearing a sparkling white suit instead of a black one. He was still smiling.

  “Gosh!” gasped Charlie. He swung himself over the side of the rail, hung on to a carved pillar and slid down it to join the others.

  “Miss Linda Bowen? I believe you’re the organizer?” said Duggie Bubbles, pumping Linda’s hand.

  “Oh, yes. How do you do? We weren’t expecting . . . I mean, this is a lovely surprise.” Linda was all pink and flustered.

  “I was just passing on my way to the studios so I dropped in to see where you want me to do my act, signing and so forth, and check up on one or two points,” Duggie Bubbles went on. “Is this the stage? Small, isn’t it? You’ll be expecting a big crowd, naturally. I’ll be bringing my own equipment and I’ll need proper facilities for it, storage and so on. There’ll be full press coverage, won’t there?”

  “Oh yes, I’ve told the local paper . . .”

  “I’d rather imagined that the National Dailies would be in on it. And you’ll be laying on television coverage, of course?”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “I usually like—Good heavens! What are those spiders doing up there?”

  “The children were putting them up.”

  “Oh, I see. Great, kids, great!” For the first time he beamed his smile towards Charlie and Dodger. Ariadne, who was skulking in the background, wasn’t included.

  “Coming along to have your books signed, are you? Bring your friends—all the fans! Only you’d better have those spiders down when I’m doing my act,” he said, turning to Linda again, “rather distracting, you know. Want to get everyone’s full attention on me, don’t we? Now, if you could just show me the stand where I’m going to sign the books. You’ve got them all prominently displayed?”

  Talking all the while, he allowed himself to be led over to where Linda was arranging a display of all his books.

  “It’s not quite ready yet, I’m afraid,” she apologized.

  “Well, that’s obvious, dear, isn’t it? I see you’ve got Magic for Boys and Girls here, but what about my other book, Out of My Hat? The one with the big picture of me on the front?”

  “It’s ordered. We’ve got a very good local bookseller here and he’ll have it by Saturday, I’m sure.”

  “It’s a particularly good one of me. The fans all like that one. You’ll see that it’s laid on, won’t you, there’s a good girl.” He paused for the first time and glanced round the hall. “Bit chaotic here, isn’t it?”

  “We’ve only just started to get it ready this morning. Everyone’s working really hard.”

  “Kids under foot don’t help, do they?”

  “Children are supposed to be who it’s for,” murmured Linda.

  “Will you sign my magic book, please, Mr Bubbles?” asked Charlie, inserting himself into the conversation at this point.

  “Afraid I’ve got to rush now, Sunny Jim,” answered Duggie Bubbles, glancing at his watch. “Bring it to the Bonanza and I’ll sign it then.”

  “Are you going to get shut into a box and then get out again, like you did on television?” Dodger asked him.

  But Duggie Bubbles was already on his way, disappearing down the hall.

  “You’ll get all this properly organized by Saturday won’t you?” he called back to Linda. “I like my personal appearances to go off properly. And it gives you librarians a chance to do something else except sit about and read books, doesn’t it?”

  “Goodbye, Mr Bubbles,” said Linda politely.

  “Nauseating,” said Ariadne. “Typical. I might have known it.”

  “He’s ever so good on television,” said Charlie. “And he’s going to sign my book at the Bonanza, he said so.”

  6 Stuck in the Mud

  “Two very rough-looking men called on me this morning,” Uncle Owen Bowen was telling Linda. “Kept asking for Mr Dix. I told them to go over to the barge. Wouldn’t let them in, you know. Mr Dix wouldn’t like it. Oh dear, no.”

  �
��Never mind, Uncle. I don’t expect they’ll come back,” said Linda reassuringly. She was only half listening. Worries about the big Book Bonanza were occupying most of her mind.

  They were all eating a sandwich lunch in the little bit of overgrown garden between Uncle Owen’s house and the river. It was a welcome break after all the hard work they had done that morning. Uncle Owen had set up his easel by the river wall and was painting the view up towards the bridge. It was low tide. The sun was out, lighting up mirror-like patches of water in the black mud. Mr Dix’s barge was moored up high and dry, directly in front of them. It was a smart craft with neat curtains in the port-hole windows and potted geraniums on the deck, more like a bungalow than a boat. Uncle Owen kept glancing anxiously in that direction.

  “He’s found out about my stove catching fire, you know,” he told them. “Made a terrible fuss about it. Said it was all my fault.”

  “But I thought he gave it to you in the first place?”

  “Says I’m getting forgetful. Smells seem to be getting worse too. And the noises. Sometimes I think I’m starting to imagine things.”

  “Don’t worry, Uncle,” said Linda, standing up. “I’m afraid I really must go. There’s such a lot to do. Why don’t you children stay here? I’ll pop back for you at teatime.”

  Charlie and Dodger thought this was a good idea. They were getting rather tired of helping and wanted to roller-skate on the River Walk. The only trouble was that Dodger hadn’t got any skates. He had to take turns with Charlie’s. They set off, arguing loudly. Uncle Owen returned to his painting. Ariadne stretched out on the grass nearby with a book. Suddenly the early afternoon peace was broken as Mr Dix banged open his cabin door and strode up on to the deck of his barge. He stood there looking at them with his legs planted well apart, like a captain on a bridge. He was clearly in a bad temper.

  “May I ask what you’re doing on my private property, Mr Bowen?” he called out. “This garden isn’t a public park, you know.”

  Uncle Owen started guiltily.

  “Just doing a little oil painting, Mr Dix. River scene, you know. Such a good light today.”