Money for the Circus 14

PCSO Arkwright looks uncertain, Marcus's jaw has dropped as he listens to the plum-filled mouth continuing to explain that he has a temporary custody order signed by someone very important. He waves the paper in Arkwright's face but keeps talking until she goes glassy-eyed and says, 'I'm sure it will be alright then' in a voice as devoid of emotion as Miss Spowart's, the head of Safe-guarding at school. Marcus knows that's not her job title. It's something more suitable for someone working for a big international company, where everyone has to sound important. Designated Safeguarding Lead, that's it. Gran calls it all a load of codswallop. Before Marcus knows it, the PCSO is gone – off to the next shout, whatever it might be.

'Vell, do you like my diss-guaysse?' Marcus wonders which voice is actually the Prof's, this one or the posh one.

'You're not my Uncle,' Marcus says.

'I'm somebody's Uncle.'

'But not mine, Mister.'

'Well I'll be a monkey's uncle.' This time the accent is American. Marcus thinks he's heard the expression before, but isn't sure when or where.

'Let's go, Marcus,' The Prof says, in as normal a voice as Marcus has heard him use.

'Where are we going?' Marcus asks.

'The Circus. We're going to the circus.'

'What about Gran?'

'Haven't you worked it out yet?'

Marcus hasn't. He's glad he's got Gran's 'phone in his pocket, at least.

Out on the pavement beside the main road, there's an old black cab of the kind Marcus has only ever seen on the tele in programmes made thirty years ago about events thirty years before that. Daitya is hunched in the driver's seat. Marcus thinks he could always drive the cab instead of the clown car, if the circus is short of clowns. Marcus climbs in the back. The Prof sits opposite him, leaning forward, elbows on knees.

'You von't ever do ziss again, Marcus. Get in a car with a stranger? I know vee are friends, yess, but still. Howeffer, I am your friend, a Dutch Uncle, if you like, eh?'

'Why are we going to the circus, anyway? I want my Gran.'

'So do vee, Marcus. So do vee.'

The Prof stares at Marcus, like he's some kind of exhibit in a museum. Marcus takes out his Gran's phone, hoping to Google 'Cirque D'Argent', but The Prof is shaking his head. 'It von't vork in ziis vehicle, Marcus. Use it as you vill, ven vee get to ze Circus.'

Marcus turns his head to look out of the window, just so as The Prof doesn't see him cry.