The Bagthorpe Saga: Ordinary Jack. Helen Cresswell

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      “Didn’t,” corrected Uncle Parker. “You didn’t get Messages. From now on, you will get them. Daily. Well, no, perhaps not daily, not at the start. If we overdo things, it’ll arouse suspicions. No, to begin with, you will just get the odd Message.”

      “What sort of Message?”

      Uncle Parker was not even listening.

      “And hear the odd Voice. But there again, we don’t want to go overdoing the Joan of Arc bit, not at the beginning.”

      “Look, Uncle Parker. I know you’re trying to help. But—”

      “I’ve got the first move all planned. As soon as I get back and change, I’ll prime you up. But you realise –” he started jogging again, and Jack had no option but to follow suit – “that there’ll have to be a bit of discipline and hard work.”

      “Well, yes, but—”

      “I’ve told you. The easier it looks, the harder it is. And to start with, I think you ought to start practising a few basic skills.”

      Jack did not bother to ask what these basic skills were because he knew he was about to hear anyway.

      “One that occurred to me last night when I was lying there thinking about those cursed mottoes, was water divining. Dowsing. Read an article about that only last week, and there’s definitely something in it. Might even give it a go myself. Just think – you and me waltzing about the place with forked twigs leaping in our hands like live fish – give ’em something to think about that will!”

      Jack felt, despite himself, the stirrings of excitement. He too had read about water divining, but had imagined that you had to be the seventh son of a seventh son even to think of taking it up. He said so.

      “Pooh!” returned Uncle Parker. “Anyone can do it. Just takes a bit of application. Or else,” he added, “a map showing local underground water courses.”

      “You mean …?”

      “I mean,” said Uncle Parker, “that we shall both have a good stab at making ourselves into diviners of water. But if all else fails, we shall content ourselves with convincing other people that you, at any rate, are.”

      “Oh,” said Jack. “Cheating.”

      “Being one cleverer than they are,” corrected Uncle Parker. “Isn’t that what it’s all about?”

      “Well, I suppose …”

      “Come on, old son, brace up.” They were entering the garden of The Knoll now. “You stop here, and I’ll be back in a jiffy and let you have the lowdown on the whole thing.”

      He jogged off over the lawn leaving his footprints in the dew.

      “You could try having a ferret round for a dowsing twig,” he called over his shoulder. “Hazel’s best.”

      Jack took a look about, but Uncle Parker’s garden was full of flowering shrubs and rambling roses and did not look half wild enough to house dowsing twigs. After a while he gave up looking, and sat on a stone bench and got Zero to sit in front of him while he took a good look at his ears. He was not really satisfied with what he saw, so he spent the time waiting for Uncle Parker to reappear in giving Zero a pep talk. He told him how the whole thing had been Daisy’s fault, how sensible Zero had been to clear right off out of things instead of hanging around waiting to be burned, and how Grandma had said that the carpet and curtains were getting shabby anyway.

      “By the time the Insurance have paid up,” he told Zero, “our whole dining-room’ll be better than it’s ever been. And it’s all due to you. Good boy. Good boy.”

      He leaned back to survey Zero’s ears and assess how much good his pep talk had done, but just then Uncle Parker came back. He sat next to Jack and produced two loose-leaf notebooks. He passed one to Jack.

      “Here,” he said. “Guard this with your life.”

      Interested, Jack opened it.

      “But there’s nothing in it!”

      “Yet,” said Uncle Parker. “There will be. This is for notes and records of the Campaign. Better not to have one, of course, better to commit all to memory – but there you are. With due respect, I don’t think you’ve got the memory.”

      “No.” Jack was not offended. He was used to this kind of remark.

      “Now, here’s a pen.” Uncle Parker passed one over, the felt-tipped variety. He opened his own notebook and Jack saw that his first page was already full.

      “Write down ‘Create Mysterious Impression’,” commanded Uncle Parker. “And underline it.”

      Jack obeyed.

      “One ‘e’ in mysterious and two ‘esses’ in impression,” said Uncle Parker, “but never mind.”

      “What does it mean?” Jack asked.

      “It means,” Uncle Parker told him, “that from now on you are to behave, now and then, Mysteriously. What I mean by this is that you are to give the impression, now and again, that your eyes are fixed on things invisible to mortal eyes. That you are, possibly, seeing Visions.”

      “How?” Jack asked.

      “Watch me.”

      Uncle Parker laid aside his notebook and looked with a kind of mad intensity at something just to the right of Jack’s head. It was as if he were trying to look Jack in the eyes to hypnotise him, but missing. His look deepened in such a definite way that Jack, alarmed, actually turned his head to see if there were anything there behind him.

      “Aha!” Uncle Parker was triumphant. “Ha! Got you! See what I mean? That’s the kind of look to give ’em! Come on, you do it. Have a go at looking Mysterious.”

      Jack, whose sole dramatic experience to date had been playing Third Shepherd in a Nativity play when he was six, tried to oblige. He fixed his gaze on a point behind Uncle Parker’s left ear and tried to imagine he was seeing a Vision. He kept it up for what seemed a very long time. He tried not to blink because that seemed a good and visionary thing to do, but then his eyes started to water and he ended up having to blink twice as much as usual. Through a blur he moved his gaze on to Uncle Parker.

      “Look,” said Uncle Parker kindly, “it was a good start. Fine. But you did look a bit as if rigor mortis had set in. The whole idea is to look Mysterious and faraway – there was too much stare about the whole thing. Now watch me again.”

      Jack watched Uncle Parker do it and then Uncle Parker watched him have another go. This time Jack decided on imagining a plateful of bacon, egg, sausage, tomato, mushroom and fried bread behind Uncle Parker’s ear.

      “How was that?” he asked, reluctantly letting the picture go.

      “Better.” Uncle Parker was emphatic. “Not far off first class. There was a whole lot of soul about that. You really looked as if you were seeing a Vision that time.”

      “I СКАЧАТЬ