Page 14 of A Wish For Wilma
Jinnie’s face scrunched up in bewilderment. ‘He has two names? Oh, I get it. Our genie pals are at odds, as per bloody usual.’ She clapped a hand on her heart, her expression now one of pure horror. ‘Sam, Gran’s in her eighties. The shock of a genie appearing might kill her. We need to at least call her!’
Sam couldn’t argue with that. He fetched Jinnie’s phone from its charging point and waited as she found Wilma’s number.
‘It’s ringing.’ Jinnie paced the floor, muttering ‘Come on, come on,’ under her breath. ‘Damn it, it’s gone to voicemail.’
Sam went to get his car keys. Thoughts of Wilma’s cold, stiff body plagued his mind. Had he played an unwitting part in her sudden demise?
‘Gran!’ Jinnie’s euphoric shriek acted as an unlikely balm for his troubled mind. Still clutching the keys, he dashed back into the kitchen.
‘Are you OK? You sound a bit odd.’ Jinnie’s knuckles gleamed white as she clutched the phone. ‘Is Gus still with you?’
From the one-sided chat, Sam gathered Wilma was very much alive, but something in Jinnie’s tone and demeanour raised alarm bells. He waggled the keys at Jinnie, who shook her head and carried on talking.
‘Well, if you’re sure, Gran. I can ask Mum and Dad to pop by if you’re not feeling well. OK, OK, I heard you. And… Is there someone else there with you? I thought I heard another voice. Just the radio? Right, well, we’re looking forward to your birthday dinner. Take care, love you.’
Jinnie ended the call and Sam waited for her to elaborate. She stared at her phone as if the answers to the universe lay within.
‘At least we know she’s still breathing,’ said Sam. Relief flooded through him, tempered with anxiety.
‘There’s definitely something up,’ said Jinnie. ‘She sounded jittery and desperate to get me off the line. You know what Gran’s usually like — she can gas for Scotland.’
‘We could still drive over and surprise her,’ said Sam.
Jinnie shook her head. ‘She said she needed to pop to the shops for a few bits and call Mum and Dad about her birthday menu. I know she wasn’t impressed with prawn cocktail and coq au vin. She wanted something less “fancy”, like Scotch broth and a nice piece of gammon.’
Tentacles of unease slithered along Sam’s spine. ‘You said you heard another voice. Could it have been the radio … or something else?’
Jinnie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But think about it, Sam. Babies can’t talk.’
‘And genies don’t exist, yet here we are. I don’t think regular rules apply, do you?’
CHAPTER12
‘You’ll be all righton your own?’ Wilma tucked another cushion at the side of Dhassim Junior (she’d decided she preferred that name), now propped up on her sofa with a bowl of Pringles and a flask of diluted Ribena. He might be a genie with the ability to speak and eat her out of house and home, but it still seemed wrong to abandon him.
‘Perfectly fine,’ he replied, half-chewed Pringles spraying in every direction. ‘Can I watch TV?’
Wilma switched on the TV, found the CBeebies channel, and smiled as his wee face lit up with delight at colourful dinosaurs bossing around a cute little girl who reminded Wilma of a young Jinnie.
Wheeling her tartan trolley along the street, Wilma focused on the job at hand: getting some proper nappies and more oven chips for her new lodger. And a box of wine wouldn’t go amiss, under the circumstances.
When Jinnie called, it had been on the tip of Wilma’s tongue to reveal all. But the words stuck in her throat as if something — or someone — had created a blockage. She’d waffled instead, knowing that Jinnie had kept her in the dark. Did that make her angry? No: she could never be angry with her darling granddaughter. Wilma counted herself lucky to a) have a loving family b) be approaching ninety with all her faculties and c) have Gus back in her life. She halted at that one, a passer-by grumbling as they collided with her trolley. Wilma firmly believed that things happened for a reason. ‘Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye.’
Entering Mr Harrid’s brightly lit emporium, she found him up a ladder, stacking a shelf with gluten-free goods. He prided himself on keeping up with the big supermarkets in terms of product ranges. Unfortunately, he seemed to assume that anyone wanting gluten-free bread or cereal would be over seven feet tall.
‘Good morning, Wilma,’ he said in his deep, heavily accented voice. ‘How are you on this fine day?’
Wilma suppressed a smile. Even when the wind threatened to toss pedestrians in the air and the rain came down in buckets, he always used the same greeting.
‘Very well, thank you, Sadiq,’ she replied.Apart from having a baby genie in my living room and realising that my granddaughter and her partner have been harbouring an enormous secret.
Parking her trolley and picking up a basket, Wilma ambled round the shop. A new selection of pies and pastries caught her eye: minted lamb, chicken tikka and vegetarian with a twist. The only twist that interested Wilma was it containing delicious chunks of meat. She slid open the door of the freezer cabinet and located a bag of crinkle-cut chips. Next, baby stuff. Not a section she normally frequented.
Peering at the variety of disposable nappies on offer, Wilma figured she needed the largest possible. Not because of Junior’s size: his adult eating habits were likely to produce a greater volume of poo.
‘My goodness, are you already a great-grandmother?’ Wilma jumped at Sadiq’s voice behind her. ‘I thought your granddaughter had many months to go, but I am getting forgetful these days.’
Wilma stuttered something about planning for the baby’s arrival. ‘I thought I’d put together a basket of bits and pieces. Like these’ — she grabbed a jumbo pack of nappies — ‘and a couple of these.’ Wilma added two dummies, which might come in useful if the wee guy gave her earache.
