Page 13 of A Wish For Wilma
During the whole excruciating process, the baby stayed remarkably quiet. In fact, he gave what could only be described as a sly grin as Wilma removed the layers of squidgy poo. At one point she tickled his tummy, and he gave one of those glorious baby chuckles that could melt the hardest of hearts.
‘Right, I’ve done my best,’ she muttered, folding the makeshift nappy and securing it with the pin. ‘How can something that small produce so much crap?’
The unsavoury job complete, Wilma scooped the baby up and headed back to the lounge. She’d deal with the detritus once her nose and eyes recovered from their sensory assault.
In the short time it took to settle into her chair, the baby fell fast asleep. His little chest rose and fell, and piglet-like snorts puffed from his puckered lips. Wilma gazed in awe, her initial shock tempered by the motherly instinct she had felt when she cradled Rob in her arms for the first time. Decades might have passed, but some memories never faded.
As her own eyelids drooped, a much more recent memory prodded at her consciousness — finding the other two lamps at Sam and Jinnie’s house. Two larger lamps that had provoked an unusual reaction from the pair of them. A reaction she’d tried to ignore, but which had niggled her as persistently as a bout of shingles. Surely it couldn’t be?
Wilma’s eyes snapped open. Lamps. Creatures emerging from them. References to Mama and Papa. A family of three, each inhabiting their own tiny piece of property. That was pretty much the status quo in these difficult financial times, though. The genie equivalent of bedsit land. Wait a minute — had she just used the wordgenie?
‘You are, aren’t you?’ Wilma stroked the downy cheek of her house guest. ‘You’re a teeny-weeny genie.’
In response, the baby hiccupped and snuggled closer into Wilma’s shoulder. She stroked his head, her thoughts turning to his parents, if that was what they were. Wilma had no doubt that Jinnie and Sam knew the whole story, but hadn’t chosen to share it. Hardly surprising. ‘Oh yes, Gran, just thought I’d mention that we’ve got a couple of genies rattling around the house.’ Wilma considered herself open-minded — dead people reappearing being an exception — but genies didn’t exist.
‘Feed me.’
Wilma sat up straight, sleepiness dispelled. Her small companion frowned and fixed Wilma with a steely stare. He had extraordinary eyes like chunks of amber, framed by unfeasibly long lashes.
‘Feed you what?’ Wilma didn’t keep a supply of formula at home, and popping into the corner shop with a talking baby didn’t seem the smartest idea.
‘Chips.’
‘You can eat chips?’ Wilma poked a finger into his mouth and immediately regretted it as sharp little teeth clamped round it. ‘Ouch! That hurt.’ Babies didn’t develop teeth until much later. Then again, this was no ordinary baby. Normal rules did not apply.
Carrying her biting bundle into the kitchen, Wilma propped him up on a chair with a bundle of cushions for support. Not that he seemed at all floppy now, sitting erect and continuing to glower at Wilma.
Wilma pulled out a bag of oven chips and spread them on a baking tray. She switched on the oven and leaned against the worktop. ‘Do you have a name?’ she asked, as if striking up a conversation with a titchy genie was an everyday occurrence.
‘Papa wants to call me Dhassim Junior, but Mama doesn’t like it.’ He crinkled up his button nose. Personally, given the biting incident, Wilma felt Jaws might be more appropriate.
‘So what does Mama prefer?’ She stuck the chips in the oven, although it hadn’t reached the right temperature yet.
‘Gorka,’ he replied. ‘She fancies some dancer on a silly TV show.’
Twenty minutes later, Wilma watched as Dhassim/Gorka wolfed down his chips, grabbing fistfuls in his pudgy hands. She’d poured herself a stiff drink, contemplated ringing Jinnie for an explanation, then decided this wasn’t something to discuss over the phone. She’d just witnessed a genie baby’s entrance into the human world. Better to have a face-to-face chat. In the meantime, she needed to locate more clean tea towels, ready for the next bowel movement.
CHAPTER11
After Wilma’srapid exit with Gus, Jinnie cornered Sam in the kitchen, her eyes wild and her arms flapping maniacally.
‘The lamp’s gone!’ she screamed, shrugging off Sam’s attempts to calm her down. ‘It was next to the toaster and now it’s gone. And no, I didn’t put it in the bloody cupboard, which I should have done!’
They checked the cupboard together. The two original lamps sat there, but there was no sign of the little one. Sam didn’t know if the lamps were occupied or not. What he did know was that hiding the truth from Jinnie was no longer an option.
‘I didn’t tell you everything that happened when I travelled back in time to Arabia, because…’ Sam faltered, unsure how much to reveal. Jinnie already suspected what he knew to be a fact. Now she’d confirmed the ‘lucky’ recipient of another wish. Unless Gus had snaffled the lamp, but he hadn’t left the lounge and Sam didn’t have him pegged as a kleptomaniac. Whereas Wilma…
‘Then tell me now!’ Jinnie screamed, loud enough to shatter Sam’s eardrums.
‘Please calm down, and I’ll tell you everything.’
With Jinnie nursing a mug of camomile tea, Sam related the entire story of travelling back in time, who he’d met, and how Wilma could well be nursing something far more terrifying than a herbal brew.
‘But she’d have to rub the lamp to release the genie, wouldn’t she?’ Jinnie gave Sam a beseeching look. ‘If we drive over to her place now, we can take back the lamp and Gran will be none the wiser.’
Thoughts of stable doors, bolts, and horses sprang to mind.
‘I think it’s more than likely that Dhassim Junior or Gorka is already acquainted with Wilma. His parents were quite clear that she was the chosen one and Wilma taking the lamp suggests they already had some connection.’
