Page 65 of A Wish For Wilma
Wilma scratched her hand again. She needed soothing cream. She needed to console Jinnie. She needed Gus’s wise counsel. So many needs, some easier to deal with than others. ‘I know you do, and the feeling’s mutual. Now, as Gus is no longer around, why don’t you bring DJ back here? I’d offer to have all three, but—’
‘Don’t be daft. We’re coping — sort of — and you don’t need that kind of pressure. Oh, DJ’s materialised and wants a word.’
Wilma waited for DJ to come on the line. She glanced at the screen and saw a WhatsApp notification from Gus.Ignore, ignore, ignore.
‘Wilma?’ Despite knowing that genies moved in mysterious ways and DJ had reached adulthood at an alarming rate, his deep voice still sent shivers down her spine.
‘That’s me. Do you fancy making an old woman happy and keeping me company for a bit?’
‘I think that is a splendid idea,’ said DJ. ‘We can discuss your wish once more and I can have a break from nagging parents. And crying babies. Smelly crying babies.’ Wilma refrained from reminding DJ of his own less-than-fragrant entry to the world.
‘You know I don’t want the wish? I made that clear.’ Wishing for new friends would be dumber than dumb. One thing Wilma had learned over eighty-plus years was that family mattered the most. Friends came and went, but blood ties endured. Unless your family was a bunch of drug-dealing, vodka-chugging losers, in which case you were royally screwed.
‘Wilma.’ DJ’s voice dropped an octave. ‘I think I have the key to making everything right. Mama and Papa are not entirely on board, but Sam and Jinnie will understand when I explain. They are good people. You areallgood people. We can fix this.’
Jinnie took back the phone. ‘Sam will bring DJ over in an hour or so, if you’re sure. He’s definitely up to something. He spends hours fiddling with his WIFI and Dhassim and Aaliyah keep giving him dirty looks.’
Wilma ended the call. She couldn’t help glancing at Gus’s message.
Wilma, I need to see you. I can explain everything.
Ha, I bet you can!Wilma wrinkled her nose in disgust. He’d no doubt spin some convoluted yarn about Shirley inveigling her way into his bed, saying he’d been powerless to resist her charms. Not that Wilma had seen much evidence of charm from the twisted old trollop.
She’s lying. Well, one of them is.
To keep her mind occupied till DJ’s arrival, Wilma stripped the single bed in the spare room. She found clean linen and made it up, her back aching as she smoothed corners and wrangled the duvet into its cover. Different parts of her body declined on a monthly basis, even though her GP insisted she was in excellent health ‘for her age’. Still, putting up with the inevitable consequences of ageing was better than the alternative.
Sam arrived with DJ in tow and a basket of goodies from Jo’s café. ‘Jinnie stocked up, knowing how much the lad consumes.’
‘But I will share some of these delicious pastries with you, Wilma,’ said DJ, enveloping her in a bear hug.
‘Don’t squeeze so hard, unless you want my bones to break,’ grumbled Wilma good-naturedly. ‘Are you coming in, Sam?’
Sam shook his head. ‘I had a chat with Jo when Jinnie and I dropped in. She’s come up with an idea for the antique shop. It involves chatting to someone else and it might come to nothing, but—’
‘Ooh, very cryptic. Right, let’s get you settled in, DJ. Thanks, Sam. All my love to Jinnie and Dahlia and the other two.’
Leaving DJ to unpack his meagre belongings, Wilma stuck a few sausage rolls in the oven. She occasionally made her own with shop-bought puff pastry, but Jo’s were on a different level.
Settled with mugs of tea and food, Wilma and DJ chatted about this and that. She kept Gus out of the conversation, having no desire to burden DJ with her woes. Then, six sausage rolls, two cinnamon buns and a slice of carrot cake later — and that was just DJ — they moved into the lounge.
‘When you said you had the key to making everything right, what did you mean?’ she asked.
DJ curled up in his favourite chair, a solemn look on his face. ‘I believe I have found a solution regarding your outstanding wish.’
‘The wish I have made it abundantly clear that I don’t want,’ replied Wilma.
‘The problem is, the Charter for Upstanding Genies has a no-returns policy on wishes. They must be granted, otherwise a genie is trapped on earth. And though I have grown very fond of you — of everyone — that is not a good thing. Genies need to have new masters or mistresses. It is written clearly on the scrolls of the Federation of Benign Intelligent Beings. Well, not actual scrolls any more, that’ssoarchaic. Online documents which we access with our devices.’
Wilma questioned her decision to invite DJ back: all this talk of charters and federations made her head hurt. ‘Get to the point, lad. If you can’t return a wish — and I’m not making one — what do you suggest we do?’
‘My dear Wilma, if you just wished for something —anything —life would be simple. But after many days of painstaking research and a little illegal hacking, I have the answer.’ He paused, either for dramatic effect or because of indigestion.
‘The suspense is killing me, DJ, and if I leave here in a coffin today I’ll no’ be a happy woman.’ Obviously, as being dead tended not to induce happiness.
DJ fished in his pocket for his ubiquitous and troublesome WIFI. ‘Mama and Papa don’t approve, but they are old —mucholder than you — and set in their ways.’
‘Glad you made that clear. Now, please put me out of my misery.’
