Page 25 of A Wish For Wilma
‘Last night a DJ saved my life.’Sam bopped around to the eighties hit, possibly by a one-hit wonder. DJ clapped his hands and Jinnie ground her teeth so hard that they threatened to crumble.
Sam seemed completely at home with their genie interloper. During their chilly time on the beach he’d built countless sandcastles, accepted blows to the head and even rolled up his trousers and paddled in the icy shallows. Almost as if DJ was their own child.
‘Shall I make an omelette for dinner?’ Jinnie knew the fridge’s contents left a lot to be desired. Having DJ around was akin to a plague of locusts descending and devouring everything in sight. But she had eggs, a few rashers of bacon and a red pepper gone crinkly round the edges. And oven chips. Lots and lots of oven chips.
‘Let’s eat at the pub.’ Sam cranked up the volume and Ace of Base’s ‘All That She Wants (Is Another Baby)’ blasted out. What kind of playlistwasthis? She snatched Sam’s phone and hit pause. The Sonos speaker hushed.
‘And who do we say DJ is?’ She looked expectantly at Sam.
‘Another long-lost cousin from the Channel Islands?’ Sam grinned and Jinnie winced. She’d tried to pass Dhassim off as David in front of Sam, many moons ago. Unsurprisingly, Sam’s bullshit meter had been on red alert. Claiming Dhassim had jet lag after flying from Jersey hadn’t helped.
‘I can be anyone you want me to be,’ said DJ. ‘Watch.’
Before Jinnie and Sam’s disbelieving eyes, DJ twisted and turned, morphing into a vaguely familiar figure. Jinnie realised that he featured on DJ’s beloved Cbeebiesshow: an excitable, screechy young man with bleached blond hair who bounced up and down like a demented kangaroo.
‘How did youdothat?’ gasped Jinnie.
DJ gave a sweeping bow that reminded Jinnie strongly of Dhassim. ‘I have other gifts besides the ability to grant a wish. I’m not sure what they are yet, but as I develop they will be revealed.’
‘But someone at The Jekyll and Hyde might recognise you — I mean, the Cbeebiesguy — and then what?’ Jinnie doubted the pub regulars were Cbeebiesfans, but if someone watched it with a child or grandchild… How would they explain hanging out with Anton — or earache, as she privately called him?
‘If DJ has morphing abilities, maybe he can tweak himself a little,’ said Sam. ‘In fact, I have an idea.’ He hurried from the room, returning with his laptop. ‘When I’m writing a new character, I sometimes find photos online for inspiration. Look.’
Jinnie and DJ watched as a complex document appeared on the screen, filled with character descriptions, settings, and timeline details. Some of the character notes included photos: a veritable rogues’ gallery of dodgy types. ‘What do you think, DJ?’
DJ scrutinised the screen. He pointed at a photo of a young man marginally less menacing than the others, also with a shock of white hair and an olive complexion.
‘Where did you get the photo?’ asked Jinnie. ‘Is he famous?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Not as far as I know. He’s a model for an obscure clothing line specialising in sports gear.’
‘But who do we say he is if anyone asks?’ Jinnie had barely finished her question when DJ morphed into the model: an exact replica, down to his baggy charcoal-grey hoodie.
‘Just the son of a friend of mine, or maybe Sean’s. Don’t panic, sweetheart. As long as DJ behaves himself and doesn’t pull any genie tricks, we’ll be fine.’
Once DJ had promised to be on his best behaviour — which did little to ease Jinnie’s jangling nerves — they set off for the pub. DJlookedlike a regular human being, but his mention of ‘other gifts’ didn’t bode well. What if someone upset him in the pub and he turned them into a hedgehog? Or he didn’t like the food and magicked it into a ketchup-drenched mound of chips? Why she’d thought of a hedgehog was a mystery. Perhaps because she felt prickly and had a strange urge to curl up in a ball.
At just after seven on a Wednesday evening, the pub was relatively quiet. Young barmaid Rose, who’d been away backpacking for several months, held the fort alongside Ken.
‘Psst, what’s his name?’ hissed Jinnie.
Sam frowned. ‘Whose name?’
Honestly, Jinnie loved Sam to bits, but sometimes he took a while to get with the programme.
‘DJ’s, you daftie. Should we call him something else?’
‘Let’s not confuse matters. DJ is fine and it fits with his image.’
Unaware of the muttering behind him, DJ had headed straight to the bar. Ken nodded to him. ‘If you’re after alcohol, lad, I’ll be needing to see some ID.’
Jinnie and Sam scuttled forwards. ‘Oh, DJ is over eighteen, Ken, but he’s teetotal. Isn’t that right, DJ?’ Jinnie said.
DJ scanned the array of bottles lined up on shelves or upended on optics. ‘I am not sure what teetotal means, but my favourite drink is Ribena.’
Jinnie groaned inwardly. Just like his father, Dhassim, DJ had put his foot in it.
‘Friend of yours?’ inquired Ken, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
