The Free Show

By Margaret Swift

The Free Show of the title is an auction. The hero Danny Taylor plays truant from school to attend an auction to buy a tailor's dummy for his handicapped, single-parent mother, who takes in home dressmaking to make ends meet. Danny has been deeply embarrassed at having been seen by a school friend, standing on a stool in a bridesmaid's dress so his mother can arrange the hem. Once Danny gets to the auction, he finds himself in an entirely new world peopled with intriguing characters. Some — such as the villain who takes his money but removes the goods — are bad, but there are two good-natured young dealers whom Danny is able to help and befriend, and who repay his help and set him on the right path. Danny's town is very much like Darlington, and the year is 1997.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Margaret Swift
• Release date: Sep 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201003074

Book preview

CHAPTER 1: The Tailor’s Dummy

Danny! Danny! His mother’s voice broke through his unconsciousness and roused him from a pleasant dream. Danny! It’s time to get up!

Oh why, he thought, do they have to start school so early? They expect you to get out of bed just when you’ve got nice and warm and restful. They ought to start the thing at about half past ten. They’d get more in class then...

Danny! Danny! I’ve been calling you for at least an hour. I need you to help me!

So she wants him to help her. No change. But won’t it make him late for school? Perhaps it isn’t a school day... Hang on, it’s Saturday! Help! John will be around soon to go down town! He’ll be here any minute!

Struggling to sit up, he called downstairs: What time is it? he half yelled, half croaked. His throat was dry.

Half past ten, his mother called back. Come on, I really need you to try something on for me.

He pushed back the bedclothes and sat on the edge of the bed, wondering what to do next and looking down at his feet for inspiration. Seeing some clothes on the floor, he picked them up and straightened them out and shook them, and put them on. The socks were a reject. He tossed them across the room and got some more out of a drawer.

It didn’t take long to get downstairs: he was so drowsy he almost slipped. If he hadn’t had a good grip on the rail, he would have fallen down.

What’s the matter with you? his mother asked sharply, scrutinising him with her forensic look. You look a mess, she went on. You need a bath. And a hair wash. And anybody would think I didn’t provide you with plenty of decent clean clothes. Goodness knows I try. And you need to get to bed earlier.

I’m not tired at night, he said stupidly. Passing through to the back kitchen he splashed some cold water on his face and grabbed a comb from the dresser.

You just can’t get up the stairs at night when you need to, can you? she went on. That’s your problem. Just like your father...

Just like my father, he thought. God, she is in a bad mood today. She never said much about his father and it was always a bad sign, though he did wish she would talk about the fellow, whoever he was.

That was the most she ever managed nowadays, just like your father, usually when he had done something wrong. He didn’t like the way she said it: it sounded so bitter. And he didn’t like the idea that his father had only ever messed things up.

So I inherited all my faults from him, and all my talents from her, he thought. Well, I don’t believe it. He leaned on the edge of the sink and tried to summon some strength.

The bombardment continued: Don’t just stand there! Come on! How much longer do I have to wait? You’re still half asleep, that’s what’s the matter with you!

Danny ignored her and concentrated on thinking about his father, which wasn’t easy as he really didn’t have much idea what his father was like. He needed to ask about him, but somehow never managed it.

He decided to have some breakfast and quickly grabbed the things he needed before being told not to. In a flash he was on his way back through to the living room, carrying a dish filled with cereal and brimming with milk, his other hand brandishing a spoon with which he began shovelling the food down.

Couldn’t you have waited five minutes? she complained. You’ve made me wait an hour when I need to get on... Take that away! she shrieked as he stepped towards the table to glance at the dressmaking she had laid out there. How many times have I told you? I can’t have food anywhere near my work!

He stepped back. Whose is it? he asked between slurps.

It’s Mrs Walker’s, she told him. It’s her daughter’s bridesmaid’s dress. You know that! I told you the other day! Anyway, I promised them I’d have it ready for trying on this afternoon and I can’t get the hem right. So you’ll have to try it on for me whether you want to or not. That’s why I’ve been calling you this past hour.

Oh, Mum! Not again! he protested with his mouth full. Not now! John will be here any moment and if he sees, he’ll start taking the mick...

Take no notice, she responded. Anyway, what does it matter? Who’s he? He’s nobody, just a spoilt boy whose dad gives him everything he wants. I bet his mum doesn’t have to do what I do to scrape a few pennies together. Go on, get on with you. Get yourself a clean T-shirt and try this dress on, there’s a good boy.

Danny sighed. He took his empty cereal dish to the kitchen sink, ran upstairs and got himself a clean shirt as instructed. Then he came down and stood submissively while his mother draped the pink frills around him, and then stepped co-operatively onto a stool so that she could arrange the pins in the hem.

You won’t be much longer, will you? he pleaded, his voice falling plaintively. John is coming and I really would rather... he didn’t... see... me...

For some reason, this started her off again. Very soon she was into one of her interrogations, which she conducted with a mouthful of pins. She seemed able to hold pins in her mouth and talk and work at the same time without apparently ever swallowing any, which he had always taken to be a sign of great skill.

Anyway, she began, and he knew from her tone of voice what he was in for. "What’s he coming round for if you don’t like him?"

I do like him.

Humph, you had me fooled. Isn’t there anybody else you could be friends with?

No.

Oh! she sounded surprised by the decisiveness of this no. You’re not going down town again, are you?

Yes.

What are you going down town for?

Where else is there to go?

That’s not a very good reason for going down town. Perhaps I’m old fashioned, but I always thought the shops were for people to do shopping, not for kids to lark around.

I’m not a kid, and we don’t lark around.

What do you do then?

Oh, this and that.

I can’t imagine what you find to do, she commented cynically, pausing before demanding: "Well, what do you find to do then?"

I’ve told you! This and that!

Can’t you find anything better to do?

What else is there to do?

I hope you don’t get up to anything.

Course not! He was losing his patience. Oh, why, he asked himself, did she have to start up like this when he had only just woken up? It made his head ache.

I’m not so sure I trust that John Woods, she continued. He looks hyperactive to me. You wouldn’t let him lead you into any trouble, would you?

Course not!

Aren’t there any other boys at your school?

Not again! No, Mum, I’ve told you, there is nobody else for me to hang around with.

"Hang around! I don’t know why you just want to hang around. Why don’t you do something?"

Danny felt exasperated. Like what? he asked, but then wished he hadn’t, realising this might open a floodgate of annoying suggestions.

But he was spared an answer to his question: she was thinking about the dress. I’ve nearly done, she said. It’s looking better already. But just keep still a moment longer, will you... There... I think that will do nicely. All right, step down.

With relief, Danny stepped down from the stool and stretched his arms out so that his mother could take the dress off him. But even as they did this the back door opened and a young man of Danny’s age walked in. He began immediately cackling with laughter:

Danny Taylor! Tailor’s dummy!

CHAPTER 2: The Witch

Danny smouldered with rage in response to his friend’s taunt. His head went hot; he could feel his eyes flaming with hatred. His worst fears had been confirmed, and if frustration had not been the better part of it, he could have slid down into despair. But anger galvanized him: John Woods, I’ll get you for this! he declared with conviction, though he had no idea how he was going to do it.

Oy! responded his mother sharply. We’ll have none of that here, thank you very much! And as for you, John Woods, as I’ve told you before, you should knock on the door. And I’m sure I saw you peeping in the window. That’s very rude.

Sorry, Mrs Taylor, replied John, still grinning all over his face.

Danny glowered at him.

And there’s no reason for you to look so pleased with yourself, Mrs Taylor scolded John. Just because I can’t afford a proper tailor’s dummy. That’s what I need, you know!

John frowned and tried to look serious and said nothing, while still fighting to suppress a smile.

I’ll get my anorak, said Danny, backing out of the crossfire and running up the stairs. In no time at all, he leapt back into the room, pushed his feet into his trainers, kneeled to tie the laces, and was soon at the door. We’ll be off then, he announced.

You’re going to the shops, aren’t you? his mother asked casually.

Yes, do you want anything? Danny answered pleasantly. He understood her perfectly: she was still alluding to his apparent idleness and aimlessness, but he didn’t want John to know about the altercation they had just been having and so chose to play the attentive son.

No, not from town, she told him agreeably, playing the same game herself. You can go to the local shops for me when you get back though. Let me give you some pocket money.

She turned to the mantelpiece and picked up an ornamental china pot. Taking the lid off, she felt inside and then pressed something into Danny’s outstretched hand.

Danny and John went out and ran off along the cobbled lane.

How much did she give you? asked John.

A pound, answered Danny, knowing full well that it had been 50p.

Cor. My grandma gives me five pound every week, bragged John. And my dad... He stopped suddenly.

Danny said nothing, but wondered why John had broken off instead of carrying on shouting his mouth off as usual and making out his dad was a millionaire. It was unlike John to display any sensitivity. The two boys walked on in silence.

John just doesn’t realise how little we’ve got, thought Danny. He takes for granted things that we do without. Like a Mothering Sunday card, for example. This was something that Danny felt bad about.

It had been Mothering Sunday a few weeks before. When the day was approaching, his mother had told him, Whatever you do, don’t go spending a pound on a card for me.

Danny didn’t have a pound to spare, without breaking in to his meagre savings, so that had been rather unlikely.

There are a few in the sideboard that you sent me in previous years, she said. You can give me one of those.

I couldn’t do that! he told her. That would be mean!

Of course you can, she insisted. "I can’t remember what any of them looks like, and I’d be quite happy to receive any of them again. It’s the thought that counts. And what’s the