The Underground City(22)
10. Tracksuit and Trainers
“Have you ever been jogging, Lewis?” Casimir asked one morning.
Lewis looked at him suspiciously. It hadn’t taken him long to realize that Casimir’s words always had a purpose of some sort behind them. Jogging, however, seemed a fairly safe subject so he answered truthfully. “Yes, of course I have,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought we might go jogging this morning, that’s all,” was the reply.
“In this weather!” exclaimed Lewis, looking out of the window. The snow had melted away but it was still quite a blustery day and the trees in the gardens opposite were blowing in the wind.
“Come on, Lewis,” cajoled Casimir. “The exercise will do you good!”
“Yeah, I suppose …” Lewis said reluctantly. He might as well go jogging, he thought, for he had nothing much else to do. He wasn’t due to start at his new school until Monday morning and life had been a bit dull since the magic carpet episode.
He frowned slightly as he looked back on it, for no one had made a fuss about his late return. Maybe old Casimir had had something to do with that, he thought. But, certainly, his parents and starchy, old Mrs Sinclair just hadn’t seemed to have missed him. When he’d gone down to the kitchen to make some hot toast, absolutely frozen after the journey back, they’d said goodnight to him as though he’d been in his room all evening!
Nor, which was more to the point, had they noticed the painting of the Mona Lisa either, although he’d hung it above the mantelpiece in the library rather than in his room. Bit of a waste of a wish that had been, he thought resentfully. He’d been looking through some of the books in the library and come across one that had really taken his fancy. It was full of pictures of fabulous jewels, gold statues, Persian carpets and famous paintings — including the Mona Lisa. Knowing that it was the most famous painting in the world, he’d made it his wish for the day and been absolutely gutted when Casimir had produced it. He’d have sent it back the next day if it hadn’t meant wasting a wish. As far as he was concerned, it was awful — dark, dingy and the woman wasn’t even beautiful! What people saw to rave about, he just couldn’t imagine.
His father raised his eyebrows as Lewis appeared in his tracksuit at the breakfast table. He was pleasantly surprised.
“Going jogging, Lewis?”
Resisting the temptation to say “No, I’m going to swim across the Forth,” Lewis grunted as he helped himself to toast and marmalade. Shocked at his bad manners, Casimir said hastily, “I thought I’d run round Arthur’s Seat. Lots of people do it and it’s good training!”
His mother nodded approvingly as she buttered a piece of toast. “Bit chilly to go jogging, isn’t it?” she remarked. “Mind and wrap up well!”
“Arthur’s Seat!” his father said, looking at him with respect as he put his cup in its saucer and pushed it to one side. “Well done, Lewis. I’m glad to see that you’re keeping fit.” His eyes twinkled. “Planning to get in the school rugby team are you?”
As he was as thin as a rake, this was obviously the kind of grown-up joke that adults found funny. Lewis, furious that Casimir had butted into the conversation, was about to mutter something unintelligible when he caught his father’s eye. Whether it was because Casimir was inside him, making him more perceptive than usual, he didn’t know, but he suddenly felt the weight of his father’s responsibilities. He bent his head over his plate as it dawned on him that being an adult and holding down a tough job wasn’t all that much fun.
“Come off it, Dad!” he muttered, taking charge of the conversation. “Do I really look like a rugby player?” Then he added with a touch of shyness. “I might go in for athletics, though.”
His father looked at him thoughtfully. “You’d probably do well in athletics,” he nodded. “You’ve the build of a runner. Well,” he said, folding his paper and laying it on his plate, “if you’re set on jogging round the park would you like me to give you a lift? I’ve a meeting there this morning.”
“In the park?” Lewis’s mother looked surprised.
“Close by. An old school chum owns a distillery there, down by the palace. He’s putting on a pantomime for Children’s Aid and I’ve managed to persuade the company to make quite a sizeable donation.”
“Free tickets then?” grinned Lewis, suddenly interested. “Which one are they putting on?”
“Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Actually, I don’t know how you feel about pantomimes now that you’re older but I’ve a mind to see it. He’s managed to get that new comedian, Matt Lafferty, to star in it.”