He continued: ‘So nobody knows what he really looks like, and Adam-9 is just his call sign, so nobody knows his real name either.’
‘Gosh, he is secretive, isn’t he? But he doesn’t have any special powers?’
‘No. But he does have a special briefcase with lots of special gadgets in it.’
The woman moved her skeletal digit to Daniel’s own briefcase on his lap. ‘A bit like this one, I imagine.’
He stared at her. How did she know? Was she an enemy spy?
No, he decided. She was just old, and old people are very wise. Like owls.
‘A bit,’ he said. He went on to explain that Adam-9 carried his briefcase everywhere, and that it was the most amazing briefcase that had ever been made. He told her that it didn’t just hold his disguises and other useful stuff, but that it could also do really clever things, because the top of the handle could flip up and show buttons and dials, and one of the buttons made it fire knockout darts, while another made panels slide out from the briefcase to turn it into a bulletproof shield. And in last week’s story on TV (because Adam-9 isn’t only in comics), Adam-9 was thrown out of a plane, and it looked like he was going to die, but he didn’t die because by pressing the right button on his briefcase he made it release a parachute.
What Daniel didn’t admit to the old lady was that his own briefcase didn’t do any of that stuff. It didn’t even have buttons on the handle. But he could pretend it did. His mum had wanted him to have a backpack or a sports bag like everyone else, but he’d insisted. It was the briefcase or nothing. So they had gone shopping and looked at every single case in town before deciding on the one that most looked like Adam-9’s. This was it, and that was why it was special.
The bus doors hissed again.
‘Oh,’ Daniel said. ‘I have to get up now and wait for the next stop.’
‘Well,’ said the woman, ‘it’s been a pleasure talking to you, young man, but I wouldn’t want you to miss your stop.’
‘Thank you. Don’t miss your stop either. Old people can forget things. My nan used to forget everything. She used to fart a lot, too.’
The woman laughed again, but Daniel didn’t know why.
When it came time for him to alight, he made sure to thank the bus driver. He always made a point of doing so. ‘Politeness costs nothing,’ his mother always told him. That, and ‘Manners maketh the man.’ He never understood why she said maketh instead of make, but he knew she was right. More often than not, his courteous behaviour provoked a smile, and that made him happy.
At the bus stop he looked around to make sure his mother wasn’t there. He had informed her many, many times that he was perfectly capable of getting home by himself now, but she often turned up nonetheless. Sometimes she would lurk in the shadows of a shop doorway and then follow him at a discreet distance, like a spy. Like Adam-9.
He turned off the busy main street and onto Marlborough Road. Home was only a short walk from here. A few minutes, although he didn’t know exactly how many. He wasn’t very good at telling the time. He was good at drawing pictures, though. Today he had drawn a picture of Adam-9 destroying a missile, and Mrs Collins had said it was AMAZING and put a gold star on it, that’s how good he was at drawing. And when she did that, he felt he should say something nice back to her, so he told her that the spot on her nose looked a lot better and that she was wearing a pretty bra today, and Mrs Collins smiled and went red, probably because they were such nice compliments, and she hurried away with one hand on her nose and the other pulling together the top of her shirt.
He was looking forward to getting home and telling his mother all about his wonderful day, and what Mrs Collins had said. He was also looking forward to his tea, which tonight would be chicken nuggets and chips and two slices of bread and butter, and he’d have a diet cola with it because diet meant it didn’t make you fat. Then he’d have ice cream with strawberries, and he’d have five strawberries because he was supposed to have Five A Day. That was his Friday night meal. Not the Friday after next, though, because that Friday would be his birthday, and on that day his diet would go out of the window and he’d have his favourite chippy meal of all time, which was steak pie with chips and gravy, and then his mum would bring out a Colin the Caterpillar cake, because that was his favourite cake of all time.
Halfway down Marlborough Road he crossed over. That was because he could see the Dirty Man sitting on his front step. Daniel called him that because he didn’t know his real name and because his hands and clothes were always dirty, like he’d been working in a coal mine or down a sewer. It wasn’t the dirt that made Daniel cross the road, but the fact that the Dirty Man owned a dog that ran out at anyone who got too near the house, and it would yap and try to bite their ankles. Daniel didn’t like angry dogs like that, so he crossed the road and then crossed back again a few yards farther along.
At the end of Marlborough Road, he turned right onto Pickford Avenue. Mrs Romford was in front of her house, polishing the letter box on her front door. Usually when she was out like this, it was to wash her car, but today it was to polish the letter box.
‘Hello, Mrs Romford,’ he said, being polite.
She looked up and smiled and said, ‘Oh, hello, Daniel. How are you today?’
‘Fine, thank you. I’m having chicken nuggets and chips tonight. Not chippy chips. Frozen chips. I’ll have chippy chips when it’s my birthday, which is very soon.’
‘That’s nice. How’s your father?’
Mrs Romford was always asking about his dad. He didn’t know why, because she saw him often enough. She was always taking her car into his dad’s garage. The last time it was because one of the seats was making a funny squeak, and the time before that it was because one of the wipers wasn’t cleaning the windscreen properly. When his dad said Mrs Romford was his best customer, Daniel’s mum said it wasn’t only her car she was looking to get serviced. Daniel didn’t know what that meant.
‘My dad’s fine, thank you. He said to tell you something.’
Mrs Romford suddenly perked up. She got to her feet, still clutching her cloth and can of Brasso.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What’s that?’
Daniel put a finger to his chin as he tried to recall the exact words. ‘He said, “Tell Mrs Romford that if she ever needs anything lubricating or pumping up, I’m her man.”’
Mrs Romford suddenly emitted a deep-throated chuckle, which startled Daniel. The remark had seemed so ordinary at the time, although he had wondered why his mum had jabbed her elbow into his dad’s ribcage.
When she had finished laughing, Mrs Romford pointed with her oily rag and said, ‘You look very smart with that briefcase.’
Daniel raised the briefcase in the air, offering her a better view. ‘I use it every day. It’s special.’
‘It certainly is,’ she replied, clearly spellbound.
He hoped she wouldn’t ask him why it was so special, because then he would have to answer, and he had already gone through all that with the old lady on the bus.
‘I’m going home now,’ he told her. ‘My mum will be waiting. She gets worried if I’m late.’
‘You do that, Daniel. Tell your dad I’ll see him soon.’
Daniel nodded. Then, feeling the need to pass a compliment, he said, ‘I’ll bet the postman will enjoy putting his package into your lovely letter box.’
Mrs Romford exploded into laughter again. Through her tears she barely managed to get out the words, ‘Like father, like son.’
Daniel didn’t know why she was saying that, or what she found so hilarious, so he waved goodbye and moved on.
The flats loomed into view. Twelve storeys high. Daniel lived on the top floor. There was a lift, but unless he was with someone else he always took the stairs because it was healthier. And because the lift usually stank of wee. He didn’t understand why anyone would want to wee in a lift unless they were trapped in there for a long, long time.
A gang of boys came around a corner, heading towards Daniel. They were on the opposite side of the road at first, but then they saw him and crossed over. He told himself not to worry.
