CHAPTER TWELVE
All the Scrobbler had ever wanted was a bit of attention, a bit of love. He didn’t want to die.
He was one mile high in the sky and holding on. He held on with his grabbers. He held on with his tickler. He even glooped himself to the cold metal side of the aeroplane. He held on almost all the way across the sea that separated him from the British Isles. But it was no good. It was too late. There was no gloop or grab left in the Scrobbler. There was nothing left for him but the long glop out of the sky.
‘Jim!’ he cried. ‘Jim!’ and started to fall, while the plane shrieked onwards, inland from the sea.
With his eyes closed, how could Jim know that the shrieking in his ears was the sound of an aeroplane passing overhead? He thought it was the sound of his own fear. The hat in his hand was empty. The trick had gone wrong. He was going to spoil his Dad’s show. He was going to let his Dad down.
Down down down tumbled the Scrobbler. He plummeted out of the sky and headfirst into a pitch-black rabbit hole.
Jim couldn’t see a thing. He stood in the middle of the stage with his eyes screwed down and his face screwed up. All he knew was that the empty hat was a dreadful heavy weight in his hand, and that six hundred people had just gone aah!
‘They all feel sorry for me,’ he thought. ‘They know I’ve been Flopsied and I can’t do the trick.’ He wished he could just be friendly, like his Dad had said. He wished he could smile and shrug and make a joke of it all. But he couldn’t, he wasn’t brave enough. Yes, he was.
He opened his eyes and stared. Six hundred people stared back at him, their mouths open. It was enough to make a boy scream.
Instead, he flashed the crowd a dazzling smile. ‘I think maybe it would be better for everyone if I kept this trick under my hat,’ he said. And with that he rammed the hat on to his head and bowed.
‘I hope you enjoyed the show. Dad’s a brilliant magician isn’t he? So now, erm… Sally will pass round the hat.’
‘Give me it, then,’ said Sally. ‘I can’t pass it round if you’re blooming wearing it.’
So poor Jim had to take the hat off. The crowd went crazy. Six hundred people leapt to their feet. Six hundred people clapped and stamped and cheered. ‘Bravo!’ they shouted. ‘Bravo! Well done! What a stunt!’
Jim couldn’t understand it. His Mum was clapping. His Dad was clapping. Phil Spit was clapping. Carly Peters was clapping. The whole world seemed to be clapping.
‘Never mind all this clapping,’ said a gruff voice beside his ear. ‘Where’s Jim?’
Only then did Jim realise that his long-lost Scrobbler had dropped from the sky, splat! into the hat he’d just tipped out on his head.
‘Scrobbler!’ he cried, ‘Scrobbler, you’re back! Come down here you wild, magical thing.’
There must have been magic in the air that day at Sunnyside. Everyone was transformed. Scrobbler-haters were suddenly the Scrobbler’s biggest fans. Enemies were suddenly friends. Members of the audience, who should have been sitting quietly in their seats, were suddenly up on the stage, shaking hands with Jim.
‘Our minds have boggled and our eyes have goggled,’ they said. ‘That’s the first time anyone’s ever jumped off an aeroplane into a hat.’
Phil Spit shook the Scrobbler by the grabber, as if they were old pals. And hear this! He actually asked Jim if he’d do a magic show at his next birthday party – for all the world as if he’d never lost a cake and candles in his life.
All this friendly attention was something new for the Scrobbler. It was hard not to be too showy-offy, especially as inside his branbox, his bran was swollen with pride. ‘Who needs to make people shake their fists,’ it sang, ‘when you can get them to shake your hand instead!’
At that moment the magician came up and shook his nozzler.
‘I suppose I should welcome you home,’ he said.
‘Of course you should,’ said Jim. ‘If my Scrobbler hadn’t dropped in out of the blue, I would have been Flopsied. Your blooming white rabbit was no help at all. All the time I was doing the trick she was standing on your head!’
‘Better to be safe than sorry,’ laughed the magician. ‘Your Scrobbler would have squashed her flat if she’d been in the hat.’
He let go of the Scrobbler’s nozzler and shook his grabber instead. Maybe it was the light, but for one second he looked less like a common old conjuror and more like a wise old wizard.
‘You do know that you don’t have to jump out of an aeroplane to get people to like you?’ he whispered.
‘Of course,’ said Jim.
‘Good,’ said the magician. ‘Go be a famous footballer, be a pop star, paint your face blue, wear a kangaroo on your head. Show off in any way you like, just don’t do anything dangerous and don’t do anything bad.’
‘Football? Pop star?’ said Jim in disgust. ‘What are you talking about, Dad? Me and my Scrobbler are going to make magic. We’ve been asked to perform at Phil Spit’s party.’
Well that did surprise the magician. His mouth opened. His eyes widened. He looked as if he’d had a bit of a shock, but not a nasty one. Then Gordon Mayor, boss of Sunnyside council and of a boring office, came up and sacked him.
‘I’ve changed my mind about giving you that office job,’ said Gordon Mayor.
‘What?’ gasped the magician.
Mr Mayor held up a warning hand. ‘I’ll have no unseemly arguments in Sunnyside,’ he said. ‘The tourists don’t like it. But they do like your magic show. I’ve always said that what this town needs is a good magician, so I’ve decided to employ one. Will you take the job?’
‘Will I take it?’ The magician pulled a champagne glass out of his nostril and a bottle of champagne out of his armpit. ‘Of course I’ll take it. Let’s celebrate!’
So that’s it, is it – an all’s well that ends well, happy ending for the Scrobbler and Jim and all of Jim’s family? Everyone’s got what they wanted. Everyone’s going to be good.
Come off it! You know life isn’t really like that. It’s a dive bomber ride of shocks and surprises, a whirling big wheel of ups and downs. So let’s tell the truth. Let’s finish this story like it started.
The family that drove home from Sunnyside that day couldn’t have been more pleased with themselves. In the front of the car, Jim’s Dad was telling Jim’s Mum about the magical new job he’d landed and Jim’s Mum was telling Jim’s Dad about the magical new chainsaw she was going to buy with the money he earned.
In the back, Jim and the Scrobbler were discussing magic tricks and their plans for Phil Spit’s party.
Only Jim’s little sister said nothing. She sat next to Jim on the back seat, with her jumper bundled in her lap and her arms wrapped round her knees. She squirmed. She puffed out her cheeks. She went red in the face. At last she could contain herself no longer. She unwrapped the bundle in her lap.
‘Look what I’ve got!’ she squealed. ‘I found it in the litter bin by the stage, when everyone was making that silly fuss of Jim…. See, it’s got grabbers and a tickler. It’s even got izzbits, like Jim’s one has.’
She held it up. ‘Isn’t it wicked?’ she said.