The Touchstone Read online

  ‘I asked him about the money, last night, as well,’ said Douglas. ‘He told me that buying the last bits for the robot would cost about three hundred pounds.’

  ‘Three hundred pounds!’ Ivo nearly fell off the drum. ‘Where are we going to find that sort of money?’

  ‘It's all right,’ said Douglas. ‘I'm sorting it out this evening.’

  Mr Paterson's car turned into the drive at exactly seven o'clock and he tooted the horn to let Douglas know he had arrived, then waited for his son to come out and join him. He preferred to wait outside when he was collecting Douglas. It meant he didn't have to meet or talk to Mrs Paterson.

  They drove to an Italian restaurant – Douglas's favourite food was spaghetti – and after they had ordered, Douglas said he'd like to talk to his father about money.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Paterson reached for his wallet. ‘How much do you want?’

  ‘I wasn't really asking for any,’ Douglas said. ‘It's just I've got some money in my Post Office Savings book and I know it has the advantage of being very safe there and the interest is tax free so I get a gross return percentage, but it seems to me that I could get an even better return if I invested the money in stocks and shares.’

  Mr Paterson blinked. It was not the sort of speech you expected to hear from a twelve year old and he hadn't realized that Douglas even knew what stocks and shares were.

  ‘Dealing in shares can be risky,’ he said eventually, ‘unless you know what you're doing.’

  ‘Yes, but you can't get the rewards without taking the risks, can you?’

  It was a phrase Mr Paterson often used himself and something he fervently believed. In fact a lot of his quarrels with Mrs Paterson had been about the sort of risks they should be prepared to take with their savings.

  ‘What I'd like to do,’ Douglas went on, ‘is read up about it, work out what might be a good investment, and then go to someone and tell them what shares I want to buy. I've found a financial broker…’ he reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper, ‘… whose office is on the way to school, but I need yours or Mum's permission before I can do anything.’

  Mr Paterson did not say so, but he was impressed. His son had obviously thought the whole thing through. He had done his research, found a financial advisor, worked out a plan…

  ‘What happens if you lose your money?’

  ‘Yes.’ Douglas spoke the next words very carefully. ‘That's what Mum said.’

  Gedrus had insisted he must use exactly those words and had made him practise saying them several times during the day.

  ‘You've spoken to your mother about this?’

  ‘I asked her,’ Douglas nodded, ‘but she said it would be silly to take the risk.’

  Mr Paterson felt a surge of annoyance. His wife had always been far too cautious about money. He hated the idea of his son growing up believing that the best thing to do with your savings was keep them in the Post Office.

  ‘I tell you what I'll do.’ Mr Paterson peered at the name on the piece of paper Douglas had given him. ‘On Monday I'll go and see your Mr Parrot and if he looks honest, I'll lend you a hundred pounds to buy any shares you want. In a year's time, we'll see whether you've made a profit or not, all right?’

  ‘That's great, Dad.’ Douglas beamed across the table. ‘Thanks!’

  He could hardly believe it. The whole thing had been even easier than Gedrus had promised.

  It was late when Douglas got home, but his mother was waiting for him in the kitchen. She was always waiting for him when he got back from being out with his father, to ask where they had been, what they had done and what they had talked about.

  Douglas told her about the restaurant and what they had eaten, but did not mention buying shares or the hundred pounds. He knew his mother did not really like him going out with his father, although she never said so, and he tried not to give the impression that he had had too good a time. But these days whatever he said about his father seemed to upset her, so he usually wound up saying as little as possible.

  It was only when he climbed into bed an hour later that he suddenly realized he had the answer to Ivo's question. When Ivo had asked what he was going to do with Gedrus he had not been able to say but now, he realized, he knew exactly what it was that he wanted, though he was not sure it was the sort of thing Gedrus could help him to get.

  His fingers reached for the Touchstone and the librarian appeared, sitting at his desk in a dressing gown, holding a mug of cocoa.

  ‘Hi there!’ He gave Douglas a nod. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I was wondering,’ said Douglas, ‘about my parents.’

  Gedrus pursed his lips. ‘What about them exactly?’

  ‘Well, I'd like them to be back together,’ said Douglas, ‘like they were before. With Dad living at home like he used to. Would it be possible to make that happen?’

  Gedrus scratched his ear as he considered this. ‘Shouldn't be too difficult,’ he said eventually. ‘Take a bit of time, mind you.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘A few weeks, probably.’

  ‘A few weeks?’ Douglas could not hide his astonishment. ‘You can get my parents back together in a few weeks? Are you sure?’

  ‘Can't see any real problems with that one.’ Gedrus sipped his cocoa. ‘As long as you do what I say.’

  ‘And then it'll be like it was before?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ the librarian nodded. ‘Exactly like it was before.’

  Douglas lay back on his pillow with a deep sigh of satisfaction. That was what he really liked about Gedrus. He made even the biggest problems so simple.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Douglas's parents separated because of a supermarket trolley. There were other reasons as well, of course, but the trolley had been the final straw. It was the trolley that made Mr Paterson decide to leave.

  Mr Paterson was a businessman. His main job was managing a garage that sold second-hand Mercedes but in his spare time he also ran a company that rented out drinks machines, and a small shop that made T-shirts with slogans on the front.

  He made what most people would regard as a very good living – but it was not enough for Mr Paterson. He had always wanted not just to be well off, but to be rich. Very rich.

  It was something Mrs Paterson found difficult to understand. They lived in a lovely house in one of the nicest parts of town, so why didn't they sit back and enjoy it? Why did her husband keep coming up with schemes to make more money when they had quite enough already?

  Mr Paterson's latest idea had been for a new supermarket trolley. It had been invented by one of the mechanics at the garage and could steer in a straight line even when fully loaded. Mr Paterson was convinced that every supermarket in the world would want to buy it, but the idea needed money to get it started. About sixty thousand pounds, he thought. And he had suggested they raise it by mortgaging the house.

  Mrs Paterson said no. If the business failed, they could lose the house. Mr Paterson pointed out that if the business succeeded, they would both be millionaires – but Mrs Paterson would not budge.

  They had disagreed about such things before but this time the disagreement had been particularly painful. So painful that Mr Paterson had announced that he was leaving, and moved out.

  For Douglas the change was less dramatic than for most children whose parents get a divorce. He still lived in the same house, went to the same school, and saw his father, if anything, more often than he had before. He did not like it but he accepted it. After all, there was nothing he could do about it.

  Nothing, that is, until now.

  ‘The plan,’ Gedrus explained, ‘is for a three-pronged attack.’ He was dressed in combat fatigues and a red beret and was standing in the library beside a blackboard with ‘Three-Pronged Attack’ written at the top. ‘One, personal appearance. Two, non-communication. And three, school. We start by getting you to look a bit scruffy – dirty shoes, uncombed hair, mud on your clothes – that
sort of thing. Then you stop talking to people, except in mumbles and grunts while you're staring at the ground and looking miserable. And last, you start getting into trouble at school. You turn up late, don't hand in work on time and we generally make it clear things are going downhill.’ He looked expectantly at Douglas. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘That's it?’ said Douglas. ‘That's all I have to do?’

  ‘I told you it was simple.’ Gedrus sat down at his desk and took out a large ring binder from one of the drawers. ‘The precise details of what you'll have to do each day are in here. If we run through it together you can let me know…’

  ‘How about…’ Douglas interrupted hastily, ‘you just tell me what I have to do whenever I have to do it.’ It looked as if there were several thousand pages in the ring binder and he needed to get some sleep. ‘I'm sure whatever you've worked out is going to be fine.’

  ‘Well,’ Gedrus looked suitably modest as he closed the ring binder and returned it to the drawer, ‘I think it'll do the job.’

  Ivo, when Douglas told him about it the next morning, was less convinced. He said he could not see how being untidy, mumbling a lot and turning up late for school could get anyone's parents back together.

  ‘The point is to make them feel guilty,’ Douglas explained as they sat on the battered sofa in Ivo's shed. ‘Gedrus says if I can make them think that splitting up is causing me a deep emotional trauma, eventually they'll feel so bad they'll want to go back to how they were.’

  Ivo frowned. ‘When do you start?’ he asked.

  ‘I've started already.’ Douglas pointed to a mud splash on his trousers. ‘And I'm going to stay here all day if that's all right. Gedrus says if I'm out all day, it'll make Mum worry about me and then when I go home and she asks what I've been doing I won't tell her and she'll worry even more.’

  Ivo was still doubtful, but if it meant Douglas would spend the whole day in Raglan Road helping to build the robot, he certainly wasn't going to argue.

  Building the robot turned out to be something they both enjoyed. Ivo did most of the practical work while Douglas provided, through Gedrus, the instructions on what should be done – and the wonderful thing about having Gedrus to help was that you never had to sit and wonder what to do next. Gedrus told you. He always knew exactly what piece to fit next. He knew where it was and how to cut it to the right size. He knew what spanner you would need to fit it and where you'd left it. With Gedrus in charge there was never a wasted second. And the result was that progress was extraordinarily fast. Ivo could not have been more pleased.

  When Mrs Radomir finally came in and told them it was time to pack up, Ivo asked Douglas if he would be able to come round the following day after school and do some more.

  ‘I'm planning to come round every evening next week,’ Douglas replied. ‘Gedrus says it's important to keep Mum worrying about why I don't want to be at home, but on Monday I might be a little late.’

  On Monday after school, he explained, he had an appointment to see Mr Parrot.

  Mr Parrot's office was on the top floor of a tall, narrow building in Castle Street. It was a small office and the financial advisor himself was a big man, with a large, round body that only just fitted behind his desk. Above him the roof sloped inwards so steeply that, when he stood up to welcome Douglas, he had to lean forward to avoid bumping his head on the ceiling.

  ‘I talked to your father this morning,’ he said. With a podgy hand, he motioned Douglas, who seemed to have a large food stain down one side of his shirt, to a chair. ‘He told me you wanted to invest some of your savings in shares.’ Mr Parrot smiled approvingly. ‘Very sensible. Did you have any particular stocks in mind?’

  ‘Yes. I'd like to put a hundred pounds in the Travers Mining Company, please,’ said Douglas.

  Mr Parrot had never heard of the Travers Mining Company but he looked them up on his computer.

  ‘Ah…’ His smile faded. ‘I wouldn't advise getting involved in that one. It's a gold mining company in Canada and hasn't registered a profit since 1973.’

  ‘I know, but those are the shares I want to buy.’ Douglas took out his calculator. ‘I've worked out that, for a hundred pounds, you should be able to get three hundred and forty-five shares, including your commission.’

  Mr Parrot leaned his bulky frame over the desk. ‘If it hasn't made a profit in thirty years, it's not likely to make one now, you know. My advice would be to…’

  ‘Thank you,’ Douglas interrupted him. ‘But those are the only shares I want to buy.’

  When Mr Paterson had called into the office earlier in the day, his instructions to Mr Parrot had been very specific. He said he wanted his son to be encouraged to make his own decisions even if it meant losing his money. Being prepared to make a gamble and learn from it, he said, was a lesson we all had to learn.

  ‘Well, it's your decision.’ Mr Parrot tapped on the desk with his pencil for a moment. ‘You're quite sure you don't want to hear any other suggestions?’

  ‘It's very kind of you,’ said Douglas, ‘but no.’

  Mr Parrot watched Douglas leave and sighed. He liked his work but some days it felt like an uphill struggle.

  Half an hour later, however, he was astonished to notice on his computer read-out of the latest market reports, an announcement by the board of the Travers Mining Company of the discovery of a large deposit of bauxite on their territory. As a result, their shares had jumped to three pounds fifty each, and were still climbing. The stock he had bought for Douglas twenty minutes before was now worth well over a thousand pounds.

  Mr Parrot rather wished he had bought some of the shares for himself.

  In his bedroom that night Douglas held the Touchstone as it lay on his chest under his shirt. He had recently discovered that the picture of Gedrus and the library did not always have to be exactly a metre-wide square. If he asked, Gedrus could make the picture larger or smaller or, as he had done now, expand it so that it filled his entire vision.

  To Douglas, although he knew he was still sitting in his bedroom at home, it felt as if he was actually in the library with Gedrus, surrounded by bookshelves. The librarian himself was at his desk doing a jigsaw of the Flying Scotsman by the soft light of a table lamp.

  ‘I wanted to ask,’ said Douglas, ‘how you knew those mining shares would suddenly be worth so much more?’

  ‘It was very simple.’ Gedrus studied the lid of the jigsaw box before putting another piece into place. ‘The company did a geological survey a month ago and the report was delivered to the board last Wednesday. The size of the bauxite deposit meant they had to make money.’

  As he spoke, the area to the right of the librarian's desk was suddenly filled with a group of men in suits, sitting round a long mahogany table. At the far end one man was talking enthusiastically, pointing to a map as he spoke.

  ‘What's that?’ asked Douglas. ‘What's happening?’

  ‘That's the surveyor giving his report to the board,’ Gedrus answered without looking up from his puzzle. ‘I thought you might like a visual display. You can have the sound as well, if you like.’

  Douglas walked over to the office scene and stared at the group of men as they listened attentively to the surveyor. ‘This is what actually happened? This is them having the meeting?’

  ‘If you don't want it,’ Gedrus had got up from the desk and walked over to join him, ‘I'll get rid of them.’

  ‘No! No, I don't want you to…’ Douglas paused. ‘Does that mean you can show me anything? Anything that's ever happened? In the world?’

  ‘In the galaxy.’ Gedrus gave him a mildly reproving look. ‘I keep telling you, it's a very big library.’

  ‘You can show me anything?’ said Douglas. ‘Anything at all? Like… if I wanted to see what I was doing on my sixth birthday, you could show me that?’

  The men round the table disappeared and were instantly replaced by a kitchen. It was the kitchen from his old house, Douglas realized, before they moved,
and directly in front of him, sitting at the head of the table with a party hat on his head was a boy he recognized as himself, at six years old. His friend Paul, who had moved to Australia, was sitting on his right, looking impossibly small, his eyes wide and shining. There were half a dozen other faces gathered round the table, eating, laughing… and at the far end were his parents, his father with his arm round his mother's waist, smiling happily.

  If he reached out his hand he could touch any one of them. It was as if he were a ghost, haunting his own past.

  ‘If you'd rather see a different bit of the day, you've only to say.’ Gedrus had come over to stand beside Douglas, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, gazing out at the scene before them.

  It didn't stop, thought Douglas. Right from the start, it had never stopped.

  The whole thing just got more and more amazing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  For Douglas, it was the start of one of the most extraordinary and exciting times of his life. When Gedrus had shown him his sixth birthday, he had finally begun to comprehend the almost unimaginable size of the library at his command, and it changed everything.

  The librarian could show him whatever he wanted to see. Gedrus could take him to a million planets circling round a million different suns. He could show him the civilizations that had risen there and died. He could tell him stories that spanned a billion years and thousands of civilizations, more stories than Douglas could ever know about even if all he did was sit and read their titles between now and the day he died. And to see them, all he had to do was ask. At school or at home, all he had to do was touch the stone and he could be, literally, in another world.

  There were so many choices that usually he would let Gedrus do the choosing, and the stories that Gedrus most frequently told and the ones Douglas liked best, were stories about the Touchstones – perhaps because they helped him understand a little more about the extraordinary object that had fallen into his possession.