Free A Slip in Time by Maggie Pearson Page B

mugger. But he was brandishing an old garden broom in a very purposeful way.
    Jack thrust his hands deeper into his pockets, keeping a tight hold of Mum’s purse. He wasn’t going to hand it over without a fight. Not to a snotty little kid half his size.
    â€˜Cross the road?’ Fadge asked again, less hopefully. The customer was looking at him in a funny way. Like one of them might be soft in the head.
    Jack looked up and down. There wasn’t a car in sight. Not even the sound of a car. But maybe the kid had been told very firmly by his mum not to cross on his own.
    â€˜You want help to cross the road?’ he said doubtfully.
    â€˜No,’ said Fadge, puzzled. ‘I thought p’raps you might.’
    â€˜No.’
    They stood and stared at one another.
    Foreign, decided Fadge. And soft in the head. Why would anyone think he – Fadge – needed helping across the road? He’d crossed that road more times than he’d had hot pies. A lot more. He looked the strange boy upand down. Good clothes. Maybe there’d be a reward for handing him back safe and sound, when his minders came looking.
    Sometimes the only thing that kept Fadge going was the dream of one day getting a reward for handing in some piece of valuable lost property. A ring, a watch, a dog. He wasn’t fussy. The idea that the lost property might come walking up to him on its own two legs had never occurred, but Fadge prided himself on being adaptable.
    â€˜Er,’ said Jack. ‘This is Garland Street, isn’t it?’
    â€˜It is,’ said Fadge. ‘End to end, both sides and straight down the middle. Yes! Garland Street.’
    Jack said, ‘Everything looks different in the fog. But if this is Garland Street, the supermarket must be just along there, on this side. Right?’
    Fadge shook his head. ‘Wrong. No market down there.’
    â€˜I don’t want a market. I want a shop.’
    â€˜You said the market.’
    â€˜I said the supermarket.’
    â€˜You’ve got me there.’ Fadge had a bit of a scratch while he paused for thought. Stickwith him, he decided. If he was so keen to see a shop…
    â€˜There’s only one shop down here,’ said Fadge. ‘Come on. I’ll show you.’
    And though the smell of Mrs Tidy’s Hot Pie Emporium was calling him in quite the opposite direction, Fadge set off, broom in hand, with Jack trailing behind.
    The blinds had been pulled down over the shop windows by the time they got there, shutting out the dull, dank evening. But there was still enough light showing round the edges for Jack to read the lettering painted on the glass.
    â€˜Jas Rowbotham and Sons. Ironmongery. Hardware. Household Sundries. I’ve never seen this place before.’
    â€˜How do you know what it is,’ demanded Fadge, ‘if you’ve never seen it before?’
    â€˜It’s written up, stupid. Can’t you read?’
    â€˜No.’
    â€˜Not even a bit? You must go to school.’
    â€˜I’ve got no time for school,’ Fadge said stoutly. ‘I’ve got to work. If I don’t work, I don’t eat.’
    â€˜Oh.’
    â€˜I’ve got my own broom!’ added Fadge, brandishing it.
    â€˜Er, yes,’ Jack agreed. He squinted up at the flickering streetlamps. ‘Are those gaslights? I don’t remember gaslights.’
    â€˜They’re new,’ said Fadge.
    â€˜And where are all the cars? There are always cars parked, all along here. Are those cobblestones? They are, aren’t they? I don’t believe this.’ He was beginning to get the uncomfortable feeling that he’d wandered into one of Grandad’s
Sherlock Holmes
videos. No! Daft idea. Try something else. ‘Are you a ghost?’
    â€˜No. Are you?’
    â€˜Course not. Look; I’ve got to go.’
    â€˜No!’ Fadge saw his hopes of The Reward getting ready to fade back into his dreams. Then