CHAPTER EIGHT
It was a pretty cool costume. I had a blue mask over my eyes, and a blue leotard, with blue boots, yellow tights and a yellow cape. Oh, yeah, and the blue leotard had yellow stars on it. I looked at myself in the mirror – I’d never had a full-length mirror in my room, but it was simple enough to wish for one – and thought, Yeah, looks good. The only things missing were the bulging muscles that superheroes tend to have, so I wished for a complete set: pecs, biceps, triceps, an awesome six-pack, the works. I looked at myself in the mirror again, and was impressed. You wouldn’t want to tangle with me.
Now I had to think of what super-powers to have. Ability to fly, obviously, that was a no-brainer. And super-strength, another gimme. What else, what else? The ability to go through walls like a ghost, that was a good one. And the power to run super fast, faster than a cheetah. And keep it up indefinitely. Better than a cheetah, because they get tired after about four hundred metres. I also wished for stretchy arms and legs like Mr Fantastic. And the ability to survive indefinitely without breathing, and to withstand extremes of heat and cold, and to be immune to pain, and have a body that automatically went diamond-hard if anyone hit me or kicked me or smote me a blow of any kind. And I’d better be bullet-proof and bomb-proof and fire-proof too, ’cause as a superhero I was bound to make a few enemies. That made me pretty much invincible. Finally, just for fun, I wished to be able to burrow underground like a mole.
Now I just had to think of a name.
Sam-Man?
Er, no.
Er . . .
Awesome Man?
Now to start crime-busting!
It was the morning after I’d got rid of Ben’s nits and saved Dad’s job, etc. Obviously I’d need the day off school to start my career as a superhero, so I wished the school was closed for the day because the boiler had broken down. I looked out of the window. It was a grey, drizzly day which didn’t look like it would be a whole lot of fun to fly through. So I wished it was nice and sunny, twenty degrees with a light breeze.
I tugged at the window to open it, but it was a bit stiff. So I made a wish and it swung open obediently. I realized then that I’d never need to open a window manually again. Or a door. I could just wish they were already open. Actually I didn’t even need to do that. I didn’t need windows or doors at all. I could just wish to be outside (or inside) whenever I wanted . . .
Anyway, I launched myself through the open window and flew out into the fresh morning air.
I stretched out my arms in front of me like Superman. I felt the wind rushing past my ears and my cape fluttering out behind me. The streets and trees and houses glided past below. I felt weightless and completely free. It was like those flying dreams I used to have when I was a little kid.
I scanned the streets below for crime. Not much going on down there, though. Shops opening their shutters. People on their way to work, driving cars, hopping on and off buses. A few looked up and noticed me, and then more and more, and soon there were crowds of people gawping and pointing up at me. I waved at them.
Well, I flew around for a bit, waiting for something to kick off so I could fly down and stop it. Nothing happened. Well, nothing illegal. Listening to the news sometimes you’d think we lived in some sort of a war zone, with people being attacked and killed all over the place. It’s not till you fly around above a whole town and watch it in action that you realize how law-abiding people are most of the time. They just go round getting on with their lives. No one even jumped a red light.
The morning dragged on. I got tired of waiting. I was sure there must be some crimes going on somewhere.
‘I wish I was wherever the nearest person breaking the law is,’ I said aloud.
Whoosh! I landed on the pavement near a bloke parking his car on double-yellow lines.
Hmm . . . It wasn’t really the type of crime I’d been imagining. I mean, I don’t think Batman gets called on the hotline whenever someone double-parks in Gotham City. I’d have preferred a bank job, to be honest. For a moment I thought of wishing for one, but then I realized that would be pretty silly. A super-hero who only solves crimes he’s wished for himself. Like, Pointless Man.
Oh well. You have to work with what you get.
‘Hold it,’ I said, as the bloke got out of his car. He was a black bloke with glasses and a suit and tie. ‘You can’t park there.’
‘It’s only for a minute, I need to get something in that shop—’
‘Sorry, that’s not allowed.’
‘Look, why don’t you mind your own business?’
‘It is my business, my friend, my duty is to uphold the law—’
‘Are you a traffic warden?’
‘You’ll have to move that car.’
‘They’ve changed the uniform if you are!’
‘That’s the most ridiculous uniform I’ve ever seen. And we’re paying for that out of our council tax? It’s a disgrace!’
‘Look, I’m not a traffic warden—’
‘What uniform is it, then?’
‘It’s not a uniform, it’s a costume.’
‘A fancy dress costume?’
‘No, it’s my costume. The costume of . . . Awesome Man!’
The bloke started to look up and down the street. ‘This is one of those TV programmes, isn’t it? Where they play tricks on unsuspecting members of the public? Where are the cameras?’
‘There aren’t any cameras!’
‘I bet they’re in that van, aren’t they?’ He started smiling and waving at a van on the other side of the road. ‘Hello Mum!’
I was getting a bit fed up. I didn’t come into the superhero game for this sort of thing. Iron Man doesn’t spend his time arguing with people on pavements, trying to get them to take him seriously, does he? It was . . . undignified. And it wasn’t like I really gave a monkey’s where the guy parked his car anyway.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ve had enough of this. You can park your car where you like, but if you get a ticket, don’t blame me.’
And then I launched myself up from the pavement and zoomed into the sky. I glanced down when I was above roof height and the bloke was goggling up at me in disbelief.
I flew on. I should explain about how it felt to fly. It didn’t take any effort at all – it wasn’t like swimming. I just pointed in the direction I wanted to fly and that’s the direction I went in. And I could go faster or slower just by thinking about it. It was like if you decide to raise your hand, and it goes up – you don’t really know how, it just does.
Then, at last, I looked down and saw something going on in an alley. Two figures, one big and one small, and the big one had pushed the little one up against a wall.
‘This looks like a job for Awesome Man!’ I said to myself.
I dived down and landed beside them with a thump.
The bigger one looked round with a start, and I recognized him.
‘Hiya Scorpus. Just thought I’d drop by.’
He had one hand round the smaller boy’s neck, and the other hand clenched in a fist, cocked and ready to go. The smaller boy was a blond kid with spots. Really bad spots. Quite inflamed. And I thought, That’s pretty bad luck, not only do you get a seriously bad skin day but then you get mugged into the bargain.
Scorpus was like, ‘Who are you? How do you know my name?’
‘I’m Awesome Man. Awesome Man knows all kinds of stuff!’
‘Yeah? Well, get lost and mind your own business, and you won’t get hurt!’
‘I won’t get hurt. It’s you I’m worried about.’
I grabbed hold of his arm and squeezed with my super-strength. Scorpus’s pale face went even paler. He let go of the kid.
‘Are you OK?’ I said to the boy. ‘What was he doing to you?’
‘Tryin’a steal my phone. And my money.’
I turned to stare at Scorpus. I was still holding his arm, and I squeezed it a bit tighter. Scorpus sucked in his breath and swore. He twisted and kneed me extremely hard in the privates. There was a painful-sounding thunk. Not painful to me, of course, because thanks to my super-powers my body had gone diamond-hard at the crucial moment.
Scorpus was like, ‘Aaaaghh!’ He reeled off a string of swear words. ‘My knee. I think it’s broke!’
‘It’s not broken at all, Scorpus! It’s just severely bruised. And serves you right anyway.’ I turned back to the kid. ‘Are you OK?’
The kid nodded.
‘Good. You can go then. Oh, just one thing – I wish all your spots were gone.’
All the angry, red spots on his cheeks and chin vanished, leaving his skin all smooth and fresh, like a baby’s bum. He put his hand up to his face and looked amazed. ‘Awesome!’
‘All part of the service. That’s why they call me . . . Awesome Man!’
The fresh-faced kid ran off down the alley.
‘Now, what am I gonna do with you, Scorpus? You gotta stop mugging people. Mugging is . . . well, it’s a mug’s game!’
‘Let . . . go . . . my arm.’ He spoke in little gasps, through gritted teeth.
I let go. His good arm rubbed the bad arm, while the bad arm massaged his knee.
‘Why do you do it, Scorpus?’
He swore at me again. ‘Mind your own business, or I’ll . . .’
‘You’ll never get anywhere being a mugger,’ I told him. ‘No one likes muggers. They never get rich. They never get OBEs or knighthoods. They don’t get streets or buildings named after them. We don’t put their pictures on ten-pound notes or anything.’
‘Who are you? I know that voice.’
‘It’s me.’ I pushed my mask back on to my head. ‘Sam Polkinghorne. I already battered you once, at school, remember?’
He narrowed his eyes and swore at me again.
‘Swearing’s the sign of a small vocabulary, Scorpus.’ (That’s what my dad says, anyway. I don’t know if it’s true but I thought it sounded good.) ‘Now let me ask you again. Why go round mugging people?’
‘Let me put it like this,’ Scorpus began, and then he suddenly jabbed me in the throat, with straight, stiff fingers. My diamond-hard powers kicked in automatically and he broke his fingernails. ‘Ow!’ he howled. ‘Oooooowwwww!’
I started to lose patience. I gripped Scorpus round the middle and rose up into the air, till we were level with the tops of the lamp posts.
‘Answer my question, Scorpus, or I’ll drop you!’
‘Help!’ shouted Scorpus.
‘You can help yourself, if you just answer me. Why do you do it?’
I felt Scorpus go limp. He stopped struggling, and gave a great big sigh, as if he’d just given up on everything.
‘I – I have to,’ he said.
‘What do you mean? ’Course you don’t have to.’
‘I do. I need the money.’
‘What for?’
‘Everything! Food. Clothes. Trainers. My phone.’
‘Your parents are s’posed to buy those things . . .’
Scorpus gave a bitter laugh. ‘Yeah, right. My dad gives me nothing – nothing. Not even dinner money. He says I have to learn to fend for myself. Like he did.’
‘He wouldn’t like it if he knew you were out robbing people.’
‘What you going on about? ’ Course he’d like it.’
Actually, from what I’d heard about Scorpus’s dad that was probably true. ‘But – what about your mum?’
Scorpus laughed that bitter laugh again. ‘If you think my mum would dare to disagree with my dad about anything – well, you don’t know him, that’s all.’
‘Well, what are we gonna do, then? You can’t carry on mugging people.’
‘I dunno. I got to eat, don’t I?’
This was all getting a bit more complicated than I’d expected. In the comics, superheroes just beat the villains up. They don’t have to start solving their family problems. They simply don’t get involved in that side of things.
‘Will you put me down now?’ said Scorpus.
I drifted to the ground again and let him go. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I’ll give you some cash to tide you over.’ I wished for fifty quid and gave it to him. ‘S’pose I go and see your dad – tell him to start being nice to you, feed you properly, give you an allowance. Would that be OK?’
Scorpus laughed. ‘Good luck with that!’
‘Luck doesn’t come into it,’ I said. ‘You’re talking to Awesome Man!’
Scorpus’s home was a two-bedroom flat in a rundown estate on the edge of town. There was litter all over the ground, graffiti on the walls, and scaly, diseased pigeons pecking about among the rubbish. As I flew down, I wished it was all tidied up, with the litter in bins, the graffiti cleaned away and the pigeons moved on. I also wished for some nice flower beds full of tulips, and for all the front doors to be newly painted in bright colours, so I’d done a pretty good job even before I got to knocking on Scorpus’s door.
After I knocked there was a long pause. I hate waiting for things, always have, so I wished he’d come and open the door straight away. (I’d never have to wait for anything again, I realized. No more hanging around at bus stops for buses that never came. Although come to think of it, I’d never need to catch a bus again, either.)
The door was flung open and there stood Old Man – I realized I didn’t know what his surname was, and quickly wished that I did. Bartrum, the newsreader’s voice in my head said. So, there stood Old Man Bartrum.
He was a big man, tall and gangly with a sharp face like a hatchet. His head was shaved and his arms were covered in tats. His biceps were unexpectedly big and meaty and I guessed he probably worked out. But he also had a bit of a paunch so I guessed he probably called in at the chip shop on the way home from the gym. He had a gold tooth in the front of his mouth.
‘Who wants to know?’
‘Me. Well, I don’t wanna know ’cause I already know actually. I’ve come to have a word with you.’
‘Who are you? And why are you dressed up like – what are you dressed up like? Some sort of cheerleader?’
‘I’m Awesome Man and this is my costume—’
‘Step off.’ And he slammed the door on me.
I immediately wished it would bounce back open, of course.
He stood there glaring at me. ‘I said, step off!’
Once again he slammed the door and again I wished for it to bounce straight back open.
‘We can keep this up all day if you want,’ I said. ‘But why don’t you just listen to what I have to say? It’ll be quicker.’
‘I’ll tell you what’ll be quicker,’ Bartrum growled. You often read in books about people growling when they get angry. I’d never really heard it before. He deliberately deepened his voice and put a sort of gritty edge into it, if you know what I mean. ‘It’ll be quicker if you just clear off before you leave in an ambulance.’
‘I need to speak to you about your son—’
‘You leave my boy out of this! He ain’t done nothing, d’you hear me? And if he did it ain’t my fault. And I don’t even have a son, anyway. If you’ve come here to complain about him, I’ll give you something to complain about! You come round here, knocking on my door – the nerve of it! The liberty!’
I could see he was working himself into a fury. ‘Look,’ I said, ‘calm down—’
‘Calm down? You’re asking for a clock on the snotbox, you are!’
‘No I’m not—’
And the next moment, he clocked me on the snotbox. The nose, I mean. Which of course turned diamond-hard at the moment of impact.
Blood spurted from his knuckles. He staggered back, clutching his hand and cursing.
‘I’ll tell you what, Mr Bartrum, why don’t I come in and we can discuss this in a more civilized manner?’
‘We could do that, yeah, or we could try . . . this!’
He hit me as hard as he could in the stomach with his other hand, and then doubled up in agony, each injured hand tucked beneath the opposite arm.
‘Aaaargh!’
‘Look, I’m sorry about this, but if you’d stop hitting me, you wouldn’t keep hurting yourself. Tell you what, I wish we were sitting down in your living room.’
The room was a bit of a tip. Empty beer cans and pizza boxes all over the place. I was sitting on an armchair on top of a plate with crumbs on it, which I had to move out from under me. Old Man Bartrum was on the sofa opposite, staring at me with a combination of fear, hatred and bewilderment.
‘How did you do that?’
‘I’m Awesome Man. It’s all in a day’s work for me. Listen, I want to talk to you about Scorpus. From what I hear, you treat him very badly. You don’t give him any dinner money and he has to buy his own clothes.’
‘That’s none of your business. And it’s all lies.’
‘Why don’t you go away before I smash your face in?’
‘Look, can’t we just discuss this sensibly? What’s the matter with you?’
‘I’ve got anger management issues,’ Bartrum said. ‘That’s what the prison psychologist told me.’
‘Did they? And what did you say?’
‘I didn’t say nothing. I clocked him on the snotbox.’
I sighed. How was I ever going to get through to him? ‘Look, you’ve got to start being nicer to your son, and your wife, OK?’
‘I haven’t got a wife.’
‘Well, your girlfriend or whatever. You gotta be nice to them.’
‘I’m always nice to them.’ He looked at me with big sincere eyes. ‘I’m a good person, I am. Deep down.’
‘Is that right?’
‘I tell you what,’ Bartrum said, suddenly completely changing his manner and smiling at me, his gold tooth glinting. ‘Do you want a cup of tea and a biscuit? I got some Hobnobs.’
I didn’t really want tea and biscuits, but it was the first sign of reasonable behaviour he’d displayed so I thought I’d better go along with it. ‘All right then. Thanks.’
He went out into the kitchen.
I called after him. ‘I just came to say, you’ve got to start treating your son better. Look after him, you know? Also, your girlfriend. I hear she’s scared of you. That’s not a healthy relationship, Mr Bartrum.’
All I could hear from the kitchen was the sound of rummaging around in cupboards.
‘Are you listening to me, Mr Bartrum?’
‘Oh yes, I’m listening. It’s very interesting, what you’re saying.’
Then he ran out of the kitchen with a frying pan in his hand and smashed me over the head with it.
The handle of the frying pan broke. Bartrum howled in pain and collapsed on to the sofa. The vibration of the impact must have hurt his already-damaged hand. And even I gave a sort of grunt of discomfort. Of course the frying pan hadn’t actually hurt my diamond-hard head, but it made a very loud clanging noise, and the blow reverberated in my skull and made me feel dizzy.
What could you do with a person like this? He was an out-and-out psycho. There was no way I could persuade him to mend his ways, unless . . .
Of course. Unless.
‘I wish you’d be nice to your son and partner, OK?’
‘OK,’ said Bartrum mildly.
‘I wish you’d give them money when they need it, OK?’
‘OK.’
There was a bit of a silence. Mission accomplished, I realized.
‘Well, I’ll be off then.’
‘Sure you won’t stay for tea?’
‘Nah, got a few things to do.’
And I wished myself back in my bedroom.
Then I realized that my digestive system was actually feeling a bit cheated, so I wished for a nice cup of tea and a plate of Hobnobs.