The Fleetwood Gang and the Magic Concert Read online

THE FLEETWOOD GANG

  AND

  THE MAGIC CONCERT

  By Chris TIMOTHY

  Published by:

  Copyright (c) 2012-2013 by Chris TIMOTHY

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  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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  Text copyright© 2012 Chris Timothy

  Illustrations copyright© Chris Timothy

  ISBN 9781301880317

  [email protected]

  A big thank you to Anne, Sean, Véronique and Barbara, and Suzanne.

  1 COOKING LESSONS

  SLUSH! A yellowish, gooey thing fell into James’ plate.

  James stared at his plate with suspicious eyes. “What is it?”

  “It’s sausage and mashed potatoes,” explained his Mum, “I have also made a ‘nice’ gravy to go with it”.

  As she said this, she poured the ‘nice’ gravy.

  The lumpy content of James’ plate turned brown.

  James heaved a huge sigh and looked at his Mum thoughtfully. Of course James’ mother -also known as Caroline Fleetwood- was not a very good cook. She tried very hard but her cooking was either tasteless or too eccentric.

  Mrs. Fleetwood was a cello teacher. She spent many hours teaching and practicing. In her free time she did things with James like riding bikes or visiting friends and family. With her busy schedule, there was not much time left for cooking.

  “What do you think?” asked Mrs. Fleetwood.

  “I’m not sure,” said James, “it looks weird.”

  “So… is it good?” asked Mrs. Fleetwood, pressing.

  Poor James never knew what to answer, he didn’t want to hurt his mother’s feelings but he didn’t want to lie either.

  James was slim and very tall for his age. He was turning ten in a few weeks. He had short hair, dark eyes and a friendly smile.

  James looked at his mother, and then he opened his mouth, engulfed a big spoonful of mashed potatoes.

  “GOOD!” he said with his mouth full.

  Mrs. Fleetwood was doubtful. She stared at James for a long minute wondering whether he was being honest or diplomatic. The strange thing was that James finished his plate without complaining, but Mrs. Fleetwood pointed out that the mashed potatoes tasted like soggy paper and the sausage was burnt. No one could possibly eat that. She went on and on until she was in a really bad mood.

  “Mum, you know my friend Maria?” said James.

  “Yes, of course I know Maria,” said Mrs. Fleetwood fuming, muttering and slapping the potatoes with her fork. “What about her?”

  “It’s her Mum… Mrs. Lopez. She took cooking lessons, remember? Maybe… you could try too?”

  Mrs. Fleetwood stopped slaughtering the sausage, stared at her plate with great intensity then lifted her head.

  “Cooking lessons! Yes I remember,” she said frowning.

  “Well… maybe if you took some lessons, you could improve your cooking and learn to make cool birthday cakes and other stuff” suggested James.

  Mrs. Fleetwood was thinking, or rather remembering. Yes, she was remembering the birthday cake she made last year for James’ party. That birthday cake was a disgrace. It had the shape of a volcano, the color of a volcano and if volcano had a taste it would have tasted just like one! Even the birds didn’t want it.

  “That does it!” she shouted. “I shall learn cooking! I’m going to phone to Marias’ mum right away.”

  ***

  The next day at school James made his way to the playground to meet with his two best friends Maria Lopez and Richard Wilkinson.

  Maria saw him first. She ran towards him and almost knocked him over with excitement. She was a tall girl of eleven years old, she had black hair and lovely eyes.

  “So, your Mum is going to follow the same correspondence course as my Mum… right?” she asked.

  Richard joined them quite breathless, dragging behind him his enormous school bag. He was a big blond boy with a happy face. His greatest interest in life was cooking and anything related to food.

  “Right?” asked Richard.

  “My Mum hasn’t told me anything,” replied James. “How do you know?”

  “Because…” Maria took a mysterious look, “I heard my Mum talking on the phone yesterday evening, and if you ask me, modern Mums should always learn new things to keep up with progress.”

  “And modern Dads,” said Richard. “My Dad goes to Sushi lessons.”

  The bell rang cutting their discussion short. Maria picked up her bag.

  “Well, see you guys later,” said Maria already running off to her classroom.

  The two boys started trotting along to their own room.

  “I think what your Mum is doing is great,” said Richard. “I wouldn’t mind learning to cook myself.”

  “Yep.”

  “I am not sure about Maria’s Mum though,” continued Richard.

  “What about her?” asked James.

  “I think she is a bit… odd sometimes.”

  James stopped walking, looking at his friend. “What do you mean odd?”

  “I don’t know, just weird… she does funny things… like witchy things…” whispered Richard.

  “Like what?” asked James frowning.

  Richard rolled his eyes making sure no one was listening. “Like turning pebbles into smarties, doesn’t that seem a little strange to you? I mean, how many people can do that?”

  “OH! That!” said James with a shrug, “that’s nothing. Last week she turned water crackers into Chocolate éclairs.”

  “CHOCOLATE ECLAIRS! WOW! That’s so cool,” he shouted.

  James grabbed Richard by the arm as to make him move faster and they both disappeared into their classroom.

  ***

  James and his mother were living in a pretty little cottage at the end of Pollen Street.

  The cottage was dark and cool inside. There were three bedrooms and a wide living room. The third bedroom was used as the music room.

  James’ father had passed away five years ago. As for his grandmother (Mrs. Fleetwood‘s mother), she was living at LADY BIRD Rest Home, a few minutes away from the cottage. James was always keen to visit her.

  Sometimes he would take his bicycle and pay her a surprise visit after school.

  Life was pretty quiet and agreeable at the cottage… but that was about to change.

  ***

  When James came home late afternoon, his mother was rather excited. She informed him that she had found a school –thanks to Rosita Lopez. And obviously a good and respectable school where one could learn all sorts of stuff including cooking, time organizing, stress management, etc…

  James was impressed. “What’s the name of the school?”

  “GREY SHADOW, Correspondence School of London,” answered Mrs. Fleetwood proudly.

  “WOW, sounds like a name for a cemetery,” scoffed James.

  “Don’t you start being critical. I think
GREY SHADOW sounds very romantic.”

  “Yeah, right… when do you start then?”

  “We filled in all the paper work and registration forms today. It was very nice of Rosita to help me out, there were some tricky questions.”

  “So,” continued Mrs. Fleetwood with a deep and mysterious voice, “I shall get my school books very, very soon.”

  At that point someone knocked on the front door.

  “I’ll get it,” said James rushing to the door.

  “Delivery for Fleetwood,” said the man in the entrance.

  James stared.

  “Very rude to stare at people,” said the man.

  “Muuum, there is a man...”

  “Postman!” he corrected.

  “That’s not a postman’s gear,” snapped James, still staring at the man’s black suit.

  “Special gear is required for special postmen who deliver special parcels to special people,” said the man with a hint of impatience.

  “Yes, yes,” Said Mrs. Fleetwood joining them.

  “Delivery for Fleetwood,” he repeated.

  “For me!” said Mrs. Fleetwood delighted, “a parcel… two parcels!! Marvelous!”

  “Sign here, please.”

  “Er… where do they come from?” asked James.

  The man slowly turned his head to James, looked him in the eyes and said: “GREY SHADOW Correspondence School.”

  James raised an eyebrow, observing carefully the postman’s umbrella and bowler hat.

  The postman pocketed the receipt and disappeared in the street, leaving the two parcels on their doorstep. A long one and a small square one.

  James picked up the long parcel which was quite light and his mother took the other one.

  “Well!” said Mrs. Fleetwood, “shall we open them?”

  “Sure, I’ll get the scissors.”

  The smaller parcel had three brand new books in it.

  “Oh look at that James, my new cooking books!” said Mrs. Fleetwood gently stroking the cover of the books. She looked delighted.

  “Yes, they’re ok,” said James who thought that books (cooking or not) were nothing more than books. “Let’s have a look at the other parcel, maybe it’s a giant wooden spoon or something.”

  James cut the string and tore the brown paper apart. An old fashioned broomstick fell onto the floor. James was clearly disappointed.

  “Why would you need a nasty old broom when you have a vacuum cleaner Mum? I don’t get it.”

  “Hum, it’s probably an antique,” said Mrs. Fleetwood. “I’ll call Rosita and ask her about it.

  For now I’ll store everything in the music room.”

  ***

  2 THE BROOM

  After a few weeks of studying, Mrs. Fleetwood’s cooking hadn’t improved yet. But she changed things around in the kitchen. She installed two new shelves and a narrow cupboard especially for the broom. On one of the shelves, she neatly stacked her new cooking books and on the other one, she put with great care a range of new jars and bottles: some were blue, some black, some long and skinny, some shiny. All together they were very strange looking bottles. The shelves were very high, as high as Mrs. Fleetwood could possibly put them. No-one, absolutely no-one but her (and she made it very clear) was allowed to touch those bottles. To tell the truth, even she wasn’t too confident about touching them.

  “Ah, your broom,” James would say ironically, “you don’t use it very much, do you?”

  “I’m getting used to it,” his mother would reply.

  And that was true. Every night when James was sound asleep she would take the broom out of the cupboard and start using it and it was not as easy as it seemed, nor as quiet. Who would think that using a basic kitchen broom was difficult? Well… Mrs. Fleetwood did.

  ***

  A loud noise woke James suddenly. He lay there, without moving, his eyes wide open. His bedroom was in complete darkness except for the thin light under the door. He wasn’t afraid, just aware that some kind of noise woke him up. He listened carefully and… there it was again, ‘BANG’, like a big crash.

  James got up swiftly, walked to the door and opened it as quietly as he could. He stopped and

  listened again. The banging noise was coming from the kitchen. He moved on tiptoe avoiding all the squeaking boards of the floor. Very slowly he opened the kitchen door and had a look…

  What he saw was most unusual.

  The broom was floating lightly in the air about fifty centimeters from the ground, and James’ mother was sitting on it. She had her two hands clasped tightly on the handle trying to keep her balance.

  “Wow”, she gasped, “steady now, steady.”

  The broom gave a violent jerk and sent her flying at the other end of the kitchen into the cupboard under the sink.

  “Mum! Are you all right?”

  “Oh James, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you sleeping? OUCH!” she got up painfully rubbing her back.

  “I was sleeping,” explained James, “but some weird noise woke me up. What exactly are you doing Mum?”

  “Well, as you can see, I’m trying to have a ride on the broom…”

  “Ride the broom?” said James surprised, “Mum, only witches in books or movies ride brooms.”

  “Tut,” said James’ mother raising one hand, “I don’t like the word witch, it’s common, let’s say Paranormal Engineer, it’s more modern.”

  “Oh right, Parano… whatever, but I think you’re learning strange things at your school!” added James with a shrug, “I could try to help you to ride that thing if you want?”

  James gave a narrow look at the broom which was now leaning casually against the wall.

  “Thank you, that’s very kind of you, but please don’t upset my broom, it’s very sensitive.”

  “Yeh right! It’s a stroppy broom, that’s what it is.”

  The broom startled. Put itself upright, slowly moved towards its cupboard, got in and the door closed itself behind it.

  “Now you have done it!” cried Mrs. Fleetwood.

  “Don’t worry Mum,” said James patting his mother’s back. “I’m going to have a chat with your broom.”

  James came close to the cupboard, put his ear against the door and listened…

  Silence.

  He winked at his mother and started speaking.

  “Hello broom, listen to me very carefully,” announced James with a stern voice, “I’m going to count to ten, and, if by ten you’re not out, tomorrow I’ll destroy your cupboard and then I’ll burn you in the back garden, understand?”

  Then James confidently started to count.

  “One… two… three…”

  Nothing moved in the cupboard.

  “Four… five… six…”

  By seven the door slowly opened a tiny bit, the tip of the broom appeared.

  “Eight…”

  The door opened a mite wider, the broom handle came out.

  “Nine…”

  The door flung open.

  “Ten!”

  The broom left the cupboard.

  “YES!!” cheered James and his mother, clapping hands.

  Practice could now start.

  “ Do you have an instruction manual or something Mum ?” asked James.

  “ Er… I have this book here, HOW TO RIDE A BROOMSTICK IN TEN LESSONS,

  I’m still with lesson one I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry, you’re going to improve quickly with my help. May be you could put on jeans…” ventured James.

  “Excuse me! I have no intention of doing loops,” said Mrs. Fleetwood, “well, maybe you’re right after all. I’ll put on a pair of jeans… back in a minute.”

  James sat on a high stool with the book on his lap. Meanwhile the broom was keeping very still, waiting. James started to read aloud.

  “Lesson one – Hold the broom firmly with two hands…”

  Mrs. Fleetwood came back in jeans with a t-shirt and trainers. She was cl
ipping on her bicycle helmet.

  “I thought it could be useful,” she said, patting the helmet.

  “Sure,” said James, “let’s have a try now. Take the broom with your two hands Mum, the right one on the front and sit on the broom with one leg on each side… no… yes… that’s it.”

  So Mrs. Fleetwood sat astride, ready for a new attempt.

  “Now Mum, listen carefully: you must say ‘UP’ in a strict tone of voice.”

  “Oh dear! –up.” Tried Mrs. Fleetwood.

  Nothing happened.

  “No, not like that,” James got up from his stool and came near the broom, “like this: UP, broom, UP!”

  And then, miraculously the broom slowly rose in the air with James’ mother clutching the handle.

  “Good, very good, relax Mum, you look stressed.”

  “I am stressed, I want to go down now.”

  She was looking terrified.

  “Carry on Mum, you’re doing so well.”

  “Am I really?”

  James kept giving the broom orders.

  “FORWARD broom FORWARD, SLOooowly… that’s it.”

  The broom made a soft move forwards.

  “BACKWARD broom BACKWARD.”

  The broom still very docile, went backwards. Meanwhile Mrs. Fleetwood was starting to relax.

  “There isn’t enough room in the kitchen,” said James who was getting quite enthusiastic, “let’s go in the garden.”

  “No, no, never, the neighbours could see me,” panicked Mrs. Fleetwood.

  “We have big fences and anyway, people are sleeping at this time of night.”

  James opened the kitchen door into the back garden.

  “Forward broom.”

  Gently the broom moved outside.

  “Mind your head Mum!” shouted James.

  James’ mother bent quickly, compromising her balance. The broom started swaying badly.

  “Help! I’m falling!”

  Her body was slipping dangerously to the left. Suddenly the broom gave a little jerk and repositioned itself under James’ mother.

  “Good broom,” said James, “did you see that Mum?”

  “Yes, yes, marvelous.”

  “It’s your turn to give orders to the broom, don’t worry, it looks pretty much tamed now, go on Mum!”

  She was still having a hard time keeping her balance. The broom, very at ease now, was doing little circles around James with some ups and downs, just like a merry-go-round.