Nicking Time (5 page)

We agreed to meet the next morning outside my flats, early. It’s so early nobody’s up bar the milkman and the postman. We’re the only kids out. Bru didn’t walk home with me the evening before, so I didn’t get the chance to discuss with him what Lemur was up to. I’m desperate to find out.

Hector and Skooshie are the first to arrive. We sit on the steps, trying to guess Lemur’s plan.

“Maybe he and Bru are going to return it to her, like they found it after it was stolen and thought she’d like it back,” says Hector. “Then we’d be in her good books.”

Skooshie and I both screw up our faces in disbelief. I’m tempted to do a (1), (2) list of reasons why Hector is so wrong, but it’s too early and I can’t be bothered.

“Not Lemur’s style,” is all I say.

“True,” Hector agrees.

Bru appears from his flats and we see Lemur coming down the hill at about the same time.

“This way,” says Lemur.

He takes us the long way round to Mrs
Whistle-Blower’s
flats.

“Here,” he says, sitting down in a shady bit and leaning back against the wall behind.

We copy him and find we have the ideal view. Not only of Mrs Whistle-Blower’s window, but also of Mrs Whistle-Blower’s flowerpot, which has somehow found its way onto the roof of the lock-ups. It stands out against the sky, looking quite grand and totally inaccessible. Which is how Mrs Whistle-Blower finds it when she opens her curtains five minutes later. We are perfectly placed to see the shocked expression on her face – just before she turns away from the window in a hurry.

“Quick,” says Lemur. “She’s gone to look outside her door to check if her flowers are missing.”

We take the opportunity to slink off.

“Lemur, I’ve got an idea for what to do next,” I say.

“But we’re done,” says Lemur. “Wasn’t it the best ending?”

“The look on her face was priceless,” says Bru. “I loved it!”

“I think it can be even better,” I say.

An hour later things are a bit livelier – more kids are up and out playing. There’s the usual soundtrack of squealing and laughing and yelling, balls bouncing and
skipping-ropes
slapping the tarmac. Cue Part Two of the plan.

“We’ll need the tennis racquets,” I say.

“To start an argument with her?” says Skooshie.

“Don’t you think we’d be better avoiding her, in case she suspects us?” asks Hector.

“No – we’ll just look guilty if we don’t act normal.” And I fill them in on what’s going to happen.

We stroll casually down to Mrs Whistle-Blower’s flats, racquets in hand. Hector is bouncing a ball up in the air off his – “One – two – three – four…” – like he hasn’t another thought in the world.

“Topspin,” says Bru out of nowhere. “It’s all about the topspin.” And I realise he’s Acting Normal. She’s at the window, looking at us.

I hear her open the window. She shouts down, “You boys!”

We look around as though startled. Who could be calling us? We locate where the voice is coming from, squinting up into the sun and using our hands to shade our eyes and our guilty expressions.

“Yes, you!”

“We were just going to play tennis against this wall, Mrs,” says Skooshie, in a mildly aggrieved tone.

“But if it’s too noisy, we can go somewhere else,” says Lemur, helpfully.

“No – no, it’s not that,” she says.

I want to laugh out loud. Having to turn down our offer to go away – how exasperating must that feel! She has practically invited us to play a noisy ballgame right under her window.

“You see those flowers?” she says.

Flowers? We look around, surprised, amazed, confused – flowers, in the middle of all this concrete?

“There! There!” she says, gesturing impatiently in the direction of the lock-ups.

Oh! We fake astonishment in more or less
convincing ways. Skooshie overdoes it, staggering backwards as though the sight of four plastic yellow roses above his head is too much for him. Lemur grabs him, managing to stand painfully hard on his foot at the same time, to bring him to his senses. Skooshie yelps.

“Sorry, Skoosh. Did I trip you there?”

“Those flowers up there?” I say.

“Yes, those flowers! Would one of you boys go up onto the roof and get them for me? They’re mine.”

“No bother.” Hector thrusts his racquet at me, and next second he’s clambering up onto the roof.

“What are they doing up there?” Skooshie says to no one in particular.

Mrs Whistle-Blower ignores him. We shrug and make
pffff
noises, showing just how puzzled we are.

Hector appears at the edge of the lock-up roof and picks up the flowers in their pot very carefully, like they’re fragile. He looms above us, grinning down.

“Got them!” he calls to Mrs Whistle-Blower. “Do you want me to bring them up to you?”

“That would be very helpful.” She closes her window. We keep in character, knowing that she’s still watching. We clap Hector on the back, like he’s just rescued a drowning puppy.

“All of us?” asks Bru.

“Oh, I think so,” says Lemur.

“But you at the back, Bru,” says Hector. “Just in case she recognises you and makes the connection.”

“What connection?”

“With a boy who had it in for her flowers before.”

She seems quite taken aback at the sight of all five of us, crammed into the small hall outside her door.

“Here you are!” says Hector, thrusting the flowerpot at her. “I think they enjoyed their outing – they’re looking quite fresh.”

She eyes him suspiciously. “Thank you,” she says.

We don’t move. She looks at us. We stand, smiling expectantly.

“Wait here a minute,” she orders. She closes the door, taking the flowerpot with her. We wait. A minute later she opens the door again.

“Here you are.”

She thrusts five biscuits at Hector and closes the door with a loud and definitive click.

We troop down the stairs, keeping our glee in check until we get somewhere safe. Skooshie’s the only one to speak.

“Not even chocolate ones,” he says, taking a disappointed bite. “After all we did for her.”

Well, would you believe it, Wipfipper turns out not to be our only close encounter with oldsters that week. A few days later I’m standing in front of the lift watching the CAR COMING sign. It’s lit orange to say the lift is on its way down, coming from the very top floor. The numbers light up slowly in turn – 7, 6, 5 … So slowly that more than once I think the lift’s got stuck. It’s only that slow when I’m in a hurry.

“Anytime, Mr Murphy,” my mum is saying. “Anytime you need anything, you just let us know. If you need anything from the shops – a newspaper, bread – James can get it for you.”

That gets my attention. It’s an old man she’s talking to. He’s wearing a brown coat, even though it’s quite warm, and a red and white scarf. “That’s kind of you,” he’s saying. He doesn’t seem very chatty, but then my mum doesn’t always leave much opportunity for other people to get a word in.

She’s off again, this time telling him about my new school. I really hate it when she does this.

“James is off to the Grammar in August. He did well
in the exam. He had to do a lot of preparation for it – his teacher was very, very good, really supported him. He’ll need to work hard there, we’ve been telling him. Haven’t we, James?”

“Yes,” I say, my eyes glued on the lift numbers. I’ve found that the best way is not to get into a conversation – if you’re lucky, she then just talks her way into a new topic and no one’s offended. I glance at the old man to work out just how bored he is by my educational history. Unseen by my mum, he gives me half a smile and a complicit wink, as if to say “Mothers, eh?”

I can hear them before the door at the back of the flats is pushed open on its runner. I silently beg my mum not to talk about the Grammar. For once my telepathic message works. Hector, Lemur, Skooshie and Bru tumble in and there’s a noisy exchange of hiya’s. Then there’s a pause: they don’t quite understand why I am there but not coming with them.

“I just need James to help me up with these bags, boys,” says my mum. “We’ve been to the shops. Then he’s all yours.”

“Thanks, Mrs Laird,” says Hector. “Good job you’re back, Midge – lots on today.” He gives me a knowing nod, which is supposed to be a secret sign between us that we will be discussing our Cathkin plan. If he had made a poster saying WE’RE UP TO NO GOOD and stuck it on the side of the local bus shelter, he could not have made it clearer to my mum. She pretends not to notice.

“What’s your plan?” asks Mr Murphy, surprising us all by his interest.

“Football,” Bru says, before Hector can give away anything more. “Training for a very important game.”

“Yeah,” says Skooshie, getting into it. “Need to be fit.” He throws his elbows high and wide in a
muscle-building
move – and catches Lemur right in the chest.

“Ow!” Lemur lashes out at Skooshie with his one free hand. The other hand is clutching at his chest, like an internal organ might fall out if he doesn’t. We all know that if my mum wasn’t there, this offence of Skooshie’s would justify a full-scale fight.

Mr Murphy laughs. “You might want to practise that one away from your pals. Are you all right there?”

“Yes.” Lemur glares at Skooshie. “I’m fine – but he’s a lunatic!”

And when Lemur speaks, Mr Murphy looks at him as if he hasn’t really noticed him before. Then he pushes Skooshie out of the way and grabs Lemur by the arm.

“It’s
you
,” he says. “I know it’s you.”

Lemur tries to pull himself out of the old man’s grip.

“Give it back.
Just give me it back!
” Mr Murphy is shouting now.

“What?” Lemur tries to pull away but the old man holds on fiercely.

“You – have – to – give – me – it – back!” With each word, Mr Murphy shakes Lemur.

Two things happen at once. The lift door opens revealing Kit and her friend Shelagh. And my mum says, “
Mr Murphy! Let him alone!
” in a voice she usually keeps for giving me the most deadly serious kind of row. For a second, everything freezes, then the lift doors start to close and Kit jumps forward to press the HOLD
button. She absolutely does not want to miss any of this performance.

Mr Murphy steps back, dropping Lemur’s arm. He touches his head. He looks confused and unsure of himself. Lemur has turned pure white.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” says Mr Murphy. “He looked just like… I was thinking you were somebody else, another lad… I’m very sorry. I’m sorry.”

The lift doors start to close again. I put my foot in to stop them. The last thing we need is to wait here until it goes up and comes back down again. Kit and Shelagh have got out. My mum and Mr Murphy get in. I don’t.

“There’s not enough room for us all, Mum. We’ll walk up the stairs!”

Lemur is the first to escape. We lug the shopping bags up all twelve flights to the sixth floor. I have to stop on the way for a rest. Lemur doesn’t want to pause. “C’mon – we’re nearly there.”

“We’re not nearly there,” I protest. “We’re only halfway up. Wait just a minute.”

We’re too breathless to say what we are all thinking –
What was that about?
Or maybe we don’t talk because we know we can be heard by anybody further up, anybody crossing the stair landing on the way from the lift to their flat.

By the time we get into my house, my dad has already been told the whole story. Maybe more than once.

“I didn’t even realise it was him at first,” says my mum. “I was looking at the lift numbers. I thought it was one of you lot messing about. Are you all right, eh… Lemur?”

Lemur nods. “But a biscuit might help,” he croaks weakly.

My dad laughs. “Nice move, son. What about your posse? D’you think they need biscuits for the shock too?”

“And carrying the bags up the stairs, Mr Laird,” says Bru.

“He just lost it, Dad,” I say as we sit munching.

“He kept going on about wanting something back,” says my mum.

“Did he?” says Bru. “I don’t think he was that clear – it all sounded a bit garbled to me.”

“He’s one that’ll need to be sent back to the Glasgow Corporation Old Folks’ Factory for repair,” says my dad.

“I wonder what his problem is?” Skooshie dips a finger into his Tunnock’s Tea Cake to scoop out the marshmallow. “You can’t just go around accusing innocent people.”

“Old people sometimes get a bit confused,” says my mum, her forehead crinkling with hard thinking – or possibly disgust at Skooshie’s table manners. “He did look very upset. I’ll pop up and see him later, when it’s all calmed down.”

“Really?” I say. “Is that a good idea, Mum?”

“Why not?”

“Well, if he did get confused, you’ll make him feel bad if you remind him about it,” I say. “You’ll make it seem a bigger deal than it was.”

Hector nods and pauses in his crunching to say, “Good point, Midge.”

My mum doesn’t seem to think so. She can never ever
resist finding out the whole story. And there’s something in the way she glances at Lemur when he helps himself to another Jaffa Cake that worries me. But I can’t risk saying any more. And as it becomes clear that there are no more biscuits on offer, we leave.

Back in the den, my mum and dad out of the picture, no one has to pretend any more.

“So, Lemur. What did you nick from Mr Murphy?”

“It was more than a flowerpot – nobody gets that excited about a flowerpot.”

“You actually went and did it without us?”

“I don’t even know where he lives!” Lemur protests. “Honest, I didn’t steal his flowerpot – or his newspaper – or his hat – or his dog!”

“His dog? He doesn’t have a dog!”

“He doesn’t have a dog
now
.”

“So where is the dog, Lemur?”

“
There is no dog
, Skooshie!”

Lemur holds out his hands. “Stop! Listen to me. The whole Wibfipper adventure – why did we do it?”

“Revenge!” shouts Skooshie.

“Exactly!” says Lemur. “We did it for a reason. Tell me, what’s my reason for stealing anything from that old man? And also tell me why I’d do it on my own, when we’re a team?”

“He’s got a point,” says Hector.

“Oh, no,” groans Bru with real feeling.

“What?”

“If Lemur
didn’t
steal anything from Mr Murphy, it means Mr Murphy must know what we did to Mrs Whistle-Blower. Aw, we’re in real trouble!”

“How could he know? Could he have seen us?”

“Where does he live, Midge?”

“On the floor above – right above our house.”

“No way he could see Mrs WB’s flats from his window.”

“Did he see you two putting the flowers on the lock-up?”

“No – it was really dark when we did it.”

“Mrs WB worked it out – and she told him!”

“We’re being kept in for the rest of the summer, for definite!”

“Aw, no Cathkin…”

“Wait a minute,” I say. “Stop panicking! (1) He was going on about getting something back. Well, she’s got her flowers. (2) If she did think it was us, she wouldn’t waste time telling anybody else – she’d go straight to our parents. (3) If he knew, why didn’t he just tell my mum?”

“That’s true…”

“So the old bloke did just flip?”

“Looks like it.”

“Is his house
right
above you, Midge?” asks Skooshie. “Right above your head?”

“Yeah.”

“Ooof!” says Hector. “Rather you than me!”

“So when you’re lying in bed asleep at night, he could just drop through the ceiling and attack you!”

“Yeah, Skooshie – I lie awake worrying about that.
I listen out for the sound of a saw and try to work out how to defend myself against somebody who’s about 150 years old.”

“Well,” says Bru. “I’m thinking you should use kung fu as a first resort.”

He crouches in a defensive stance ready to demonstrate. I jump into position opposite him.

“
Remember
,” he continues. “
Hurt, but do not kill, Glasshoppa. For life is plecious
.”

He loses his balance and his Chinese accent when my swift kick to the bum has him sprawling on the floor.

I help him up. Hands together, we bow to each other.

“Thank you, Master.”

When I get undressed for bed, I forget to consider the danger that Mr Murphy might drop down through the ceiling. I’m thinking about a caterpillar I’ve just found in my sock. It’s not looking too lively. I give it a wee poke but it doesn’t respond. So I put it on the windowsill in case it’s just a bit shy or shell-shocked and not actually dead.

In the morning, the caterpillar’s gone. Which is good. I don’t bother telling Kit about it. She’s funny about creepy-crawlies. So it’s lucky we live this high up. Very few of them have the stamina for the journey.