His friends, like Spud, found it hard to believe that Miss Peach, who had seen Thomas jump and hit the beams in the gym, could not now see him fly. It seemed unfair to Thomas that his teachers would get cross with him for acting as though he were playing soccer with four left feet and never seeing that he was amazing, a star. In the air, Thomas had a beauty and a grace that gravity had never given him. All he wanted was for just one grown-up to say, “Look, there’s Thomas Top flying!”
Then one Thursday, not a very remarkable day, he had flown as usual at recess doing a round of the playground and a few spectacular twists before going in with the others. Then he had sat in a very dreary lesson, daydreaming. He was interrupted by Miss Peach shouting at him.
“Thomas Top, are you listening? You are to go and see the headmaster immediately!” She was reading a note that had been handed to her by the school secretary.
“Why?” asked Thomas.
Miss Peach looked very red and blotchy. “Thomas, just do what you are told, and take your coat and backpack with you,” she said angrily.
This wasn’t a good sign.
Sitting in the headmaster’s office was his mom. She had been crying. Thomas felt he must have done something really wrong, but he didn’t know what.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Top,” Mr. March was saying, “I don’t know exactly what Thomas is doing, but whatever it is, it is making all the children over-excited. We can’t cater for a child who is disruptive.”
Thomas couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“I therefore think a suspension is the only course of action open to us, and we can review the case after the school board has had their meeting.”
Mrs. Top said nothing, just took Thomas’s hand and they walked home in complete silence. Thomas knew his dad would not be pleased. He would be grounded for weeks—maybe years. His party would be canceled, he thought miserably, and that would be a shame, especially when there were so many people coming.
“It’s not fair, Mom,” said Thomas when they got home. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I just flew around the playground and got balls out of trees. That kind of thing. I wasn’t bad or anything like that. And everybody liked it, and they all want to come to my party, and now I won’t be able to have it.”
Mom sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands.
“Mom,” said Thomas, “all I want is for someone to see that I can fly and that I’m not making it up. I haven’t been disruptive, whatever that means.”
Mom looked out the window at the birds flying past and said almost in a whisper, “I know, Thomas. I’ve seen you out there flying, and in my heart I am so proud of you. But what could I say when your dad and all your teachers refused to see it?”
Thomas put his arms around his mom’s neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Oh, I know you didn’t. It’s not your fault, Thomas. What I would give to have wings like you and be able to fly!” said Mom.
“I don’t have wings,” said Thomas.
“I know,” said Mom, “and you’re right. You can do something so wonderful and magical that it fills me with envy. What is it like up there?”
“Pretty good. Really good, actually. People don’t notice you. Only children and dogs stare. I have even flown up High Street with my friend Mr. Vinnie,” said Thomas proudly.
“Who is Mr. Vinnie?” said Mom.
“He’s a painter and decorator who can fly like me. There are a lot like us, Mr. Vinnie says, but I have only met him. There’s not so many kids now because they don’t wish for it very often anymore.”
“Why not?” said Mom.
“They wish for things like beauty and brains and long hair and to be the best computer whiz in the world. It’s getting rare, Mr. Vinnie says, for kids to wish for simple things like flying,” said Thomas.
“I see,” said Mom, who was seeing Thomas with new eyes. This was her son, her little baby, this incredible boy who knew all about flying! “Well, I think we should invite Mr. Vinnie around for dessert. I would very much like to meet him,” said Mom, smiling. “Would you like to call him and see if he can come next Tuesday?”
“But what about Dad?” said Thomas.
“I’ll talk to him,” Mom said.
11
That night there was a terrible argument in the house. Thomas had never seen his dad so angry. He wouldn’t hear a word Mom had to say. “Are you crazy, Rita?” he shouted. “Boys don’t fly!”
Thomas’s party was canceled.
Dad phoned Mr. Spoons, who said he was sorry to hear it, but pleased to know that boys these days still got punished for being bad.
“He hasn’t been bad,” said Mom desperately. “He has only been flying.”
“Will you put a sock in it once and for all with all this flying nonsense!” yelled Dad, going blue in the face. “We are an ordinary family. Flying is for fairy tales.”
“I can’t take much more of this, Alan,” cried Mom.
Thomas went to bed with tears running down his face. He could hear Mom and Dad in the kitchen shouting at each other, even when he pulled his pillow over his head.
The next morning things were not much better. Dad didn’t say a word during breakfast and left for work still not speaking. Mom had to call the office where she worked to say she wouldn’t be coming in for a week, or until she could get some child care sorted out. “I’m going to lose that job if I have to take any more time off,” she said to the kitchen wall.
“I’m sorry,” said Thomas, who had just come in and was standing behind her, tears pricking his eyes. Mom turned and smiled.
“It’s not your fault. Come on, don’t look so sad,” she said. “It’s just hard being grown-up. Sometimes we fail to see the magic in the world, and that’s our problem, not yours.”
Things didn’t get any better over the weekend. Although it was sunny outside it felt like winter in the house. Dad was only speaking in yeses and nos. He went fishing by himself after making a huge fuss about a fishing hat that he couldn’t find.
Mom had let Thomas have Spud over to play while Dad was out. They spent their time behind the back of the garden shed.
“What’s in there?” Spud asked.
“I don’t know. Dad doesn’t let me go in. He says it’s just for the lawnmower,” said Thomas, kicking a stone.
The boys talked about Thomas’s party and how bad it was that it had been canceled, especially when it had been the most talked-about party in school for ages.
“Well,” said Thomas, “in a way I’m glad it’s not happening. Can you see everybody sitting there and watching Mr. Spoons’s magic show for babies?”
“You would have to do a lot of flying to make up for that,” said Spud.
On one thing they both agreed: The school was wrong for suspending Thomas just for being good at flying.
“It’s not on the school curriculum,” said Spud. “Too bad.”
“Hey, wouldn’t it be great if Miss Peach had to give flying lessons?” said Thomas.
“I think,” said Spud, “the teachers at our school are the living dead.”
Thomas laughed. It felt good to be outside with your best friend and the sun shining. Thomas soared up in the air and down again, Spud running after him. It looked as if Spud was chasing a kite shaped like a boy. On the last run around the garden, Spud hit the door of the garden shed by mistake and to his surprise it burst open. Thomas landed next to him and they pushed the door open a little farther.
“We shouldn’t go in,” said Thomas. “Dad would explode if he found we’d been snooping.”
“There’s something behind the lawnmower,” said Spud.
Thomas looked again, his eyes getting used to the gloom of the shed. Spud was right. Whatever it was, it was hidden well, with a large tarp covering it.
“Go on,” said Spud. “I’ll keep a lookout.”
Thomas hesitated in the doorway. But his curiosity got the better of him and he squeezed in carefully so as not to di
sturb anything. He lifted the cover gingerly and looked underneath.
What Thomas was expecting he didn’t really know, but he was amazed at what he saw: a beautiful old motorcycle with a sidecar, its chrome shining like stardust. It looked almost new. The boys stood looking at it openmouthed.
“Do you think your dad stole it?” asked Spud.
“No,” said Thomas, “Dad would never do anything like that.”
Still, he had to agree with Spud that it was a bit weird for Dad to have such a great motorcycle hidden in the garden shed. They quickly put the cover back and made sure the door was properly locked this time.
Mom brought them out some lemonade and cookies, saying Spud should probably go home soon. The boys sat eating on the grass.
“A mystery,” said Spud. “Maybe your dad has another life that you don’t know about.”
Thomas didn’t think so. He couldn’t see his dad ever having that much fun.
12
It seemed to take forever for Tuesday to come around. Why is it, wondered Thomas, that the things you look forward to seem to take so long, and then when they finally come, they seem to go so fast? But at last Mr. Vinnie arrived, looking very stylish. He was wearing an old flying jacket.
Mom had put dessert out in the garden on a table laid with a white linen tablecloth and a bunch of flowers. Thomas had helped her make a cake. He had great fun putting in the strawberry jam and whipped cream.
Mom and Mr. Vinnie got along really well, and she asked him all the questions that Thomas thought a non-flying grown-up might ask. Like, Is it safe? Will Thomas hurt himself? Could the wind carry him away? Should he only go flying when it’s sunny? Mr. Vinnie ate the cake, which he said was delicious, and assured Mom that Thomas was doing very well and there was no need to worry.
“Would you like to see what flying is like, Rita?” said Mr. Vinnie.
“You mean fly up there? It’s not possible,” said Mom, blushing.
“Oh yes it is, Mom, it is. Tell her, Mr. Vinnie,” said Thomas in great excitement.
Mr. Vinnie told her about Annie, his wife who was a non-flyer like herself, and how they had flown together.
“You used to fly to France, didn’t you?” said Thomas, who now couldn’t wait to show his mom what it was like.
Mom stood in the middle of the garden. Mr. Vinnie took one hand and Thomas held the other.
“What do I do now?” said Mom, feeling rather foolish.
“Nothing at all, just hold on to us and don’t let go.”
No sooner had Mr. Vinnie said this than Mom realized she was way up above the ground, looking down on the little gardens and houses that lay like a patchwork quilt beneath her.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” she cried. “Oh, this is magic!”
13
“What do you think you’re doing, Rita?” shouted Dad as Mom landed back in the garden.
“Flying,” said Mom proudly.
“And who is this man? What is he doing here?” said Dad. He did not look at all happy. Mom tried to explain and so did Thomas and Mr. Vinnie. Dad was having none of it.
“I’ve had enough of this madness. What has come over you, Rita?”
It had ended very badly. Dad had shouted at Mr. Vinnie, saying he had no right to come here invited or not, and he was going to hold Mr. Vinnie personally responsible for all this flying nonsense. Thomas was sent to bed early, and once again he could hear his parents arguing downstairs.
The next morning he found Mom sitting alone at the kitchen table. Her face had a sad upside-down look to it. Dad had already left for work.
“Why is Dad so angry?” Thomas asked her as he was eating a bowl of Wheetos. Mom looked out of the window and up at the pale blue sky.
“I think it’s Dad’s work that makes him so unhappy. He is probably a bit like you, bullied at work by his boss for not getting the right amount of button sales.”
“I’m not bullied anymore,” said Thomas.
“I know,” said Mom. “It doesn’t work, being ordinary. Being ordinary is harder for some than being extraordinary.”
“I think you’re right,” said Thomas.
Mom made a cup of tea and told Thomas what his dad had been like when she had first met him. He was so different from the other young men she knew, and that was what she loved about him. He was out of the ordinary. Like his motorcycle, which had a sidecar and a name like a movie star—Harley-Davidson.
“What happened to the motorcycle, Mom?” asked Thomas. He didn’t want to tell her he’d seen it.
“Oh, it’s in the garden shed,” said Mom. “But do you know, Thomas, your dad used to be a whiz at magic tricks? He could make flowers come out of his hat and coins from behind his ears.”
“What happened?” said Thomas. “Why isn’t he like that now?”
“Dad wanted so much for you. He was going to make us a fortune. We were all going to live in a grand house. Dad was going to be king of the button sales. Except it didn’t quite work out that way,” said Mom sadly. “He thought he had to be grown-up and responsible, and he just got stuck. Time that goes so slowly for you just flew by for us. We lost our dreams. Anyway, Dad thought dreams were for kids.”
Thomas thought, Well, that explains the mystery of the motorcycle. How weird, he thought, to own such a wonderful machine and keep it hidden in the garden shed. It was not all his dad had kept hidden, Thomas thought miserably.
14
Thomas knew it was bad. His mom had gone to stay with her sister and she wasn’t back. Today was Saturday, his dad’s birthday, and he should have been having his party. He lay in bed wondering what was going to happen. He had made Dad a card and a little present, a painted box for his fishhooks. He was about to get out of bed and give it to him when the front doorbell rang and he heard a familiar voice. He got out of bed and ran downstairs in his robe, forgetting his slippers. His dad was standing in the doorway.
“I don’t know what you want,” he was saying. In front of him stood the Fat Fairy.
“It’s quite simple, Mr. Top. You are Alan Top, Thomas’s dad?” said the Fat Fairy.
“Yes,” said Dad.
“I am here to give you a wish.”
“Is this some kind of practical joke?” said Dad. “Because if it is, I am not in the mood.”
“No,” said the Fat Fairy.
“Dad,” said Thomas, pulling at his sleeve.
“Thomas, not now,” his dad said sharply. “Can’t you see I have some ridiculous salesperson selling something or other?”
“I am not selling anything,” said the Fat Fairy. “Do you want this wish or not? I am not standing here all day waiting. I have other places to go, other wishes to give.”
“What do you mean, a wish?” said Dad.
“Oh dear. It is quite simple. You wish for something. When you’ve wished for it, I give it to you and I can be on my way,” said the Fat Fairy, folding her arms firmly.
“I don’t understand,” said Dad. “Which company are you from? They should know better than to let you go walking around the streets looking like that, your wings all lopsided and your tiara looking like it’s been sat on.”
“Oh give me strength,” said the Fat Fairy. “Have you any notion what I’ve been through to get here? It’s amazing you were given these two wishes. Never known it to happen before in one household.”
“Please, Dad, just wish,” said Thomas.
“You were here for Thomas’s birthday,” said Dad, looking puzzled.
“Yes, I gave your son a wish. Now I am back to give you one,” said the Fat Fairy.
“I don’t need it,” said Dad.
“Please, Dad,” said Thomas again. He could see the Fat Fairy was on the point of leaving.
“Sorry, I can’t hang around, dear,” she said.
“Please, please Dad,” said Thomas, who now felt quite desperate. “Wish to have fun.”
“That’s quite enough of this nonsense,” said Dad. “Just pull yourself together, young man.
”
The Fat Fairy turned and started to walk away.
“You’ve ruined it,” said Thomas angrily, “like you ruin everything.” He was going back inside when he heard his dad say almost in a whisper, “I wish I could have . . . fun.”
It was too late. The Fat Fairy was too far away to hear. Dad was still standing with the door open when suddenly the Fat Fairy turned around and looked at Dad. She gave a loud belch and said, “All this wishing plays havoc with my insides,” and with that she was gone.
15
Dad closed the front door and started saying “You see, nothing has changed.” Then he looked at Thomas as if he had never seen him before and started to laugh and laugh and laugh. Thomas looked at him, worried at first that something had gone really wrong. Then he realized that Dad wasn’t laughing a hollow, shallow laugh, but a laugh that comes when you are enjoying yourself.
“Oh Thomas, oh Thomas, did you see what I saw? The fattest fairy in the world. Well, it’s made my day. Don’t think I’ve laughed like that in ages.”
“Yes, Dad,” said Thomas, “it’s your birthday treat. Happy birthday!” He gave his dad a big hug.
“What did I do,” said Dad, still smiling, “to have such a boy as you?”
Thomas went upstairs to get his card and present for Dad, and Dad went into the kitchen to make breakfast for them both. When he came down Dad was standing there looking at the wall.
“Awfully dull this room is. I never noticed it before”, he said.
“Yes,” said Thomas. “Mom wanted to paint it full of color.”
“I stopped her,” Dad said sadly. “What an idiot I’ve been. Is it too late?”
“No, Dad,” sais Thomas. He went over to the drawer where Mom kept her scrapbook full of all the pain samples and colors she would like to paint the house. Dad looked at it.