Chapter 1
They say bad luck comes in threes, and, looking back over the last three months of my life, I certainly hoped it didn't come in greater numbers. I had thought my life was great. I had been married for five years to Brittany, a pretty girl I'd known since university. We shared many common interests and had that year stretched ourselves to buy a large, four-bedroom house in the suburbs. I'd worked in the procurement department of a multinational company for five years, dealing with large orders, and I was doing well. My salary was very good, and Brittany insisted she wanted to be a housewife and look after me. My dinner was always ready soon after I returned home from work, and sex was three times a week (Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays). The sex was very vanilla, but it was regular, so I assumed that was normal for a married couple.
This all changed on a Wednesday in June. My day at the office started normally, but I was called into a meeting with HR at ten. At my previous appraisal, my manager had hinted that I might be due for a pay rise due to my good work, so I headed to the meeting full of hope. The head of finance, someone from IT, my procurement manager, and two HR people were seated on one side of a large meeting room table. They all had serious-looking faces, so I sat down with some trepidation opposite them.
The next thirty minutes were the worst thirty minutes of my life, or so I thought. I was accused of embezzling £300k from the firm using fake invoices. I pleaded my innocence, but the IT guy produced evidence that the invoices had been paid through my login. After examining the printout he produced, I tried to say that all the timestamps were out of office hours when I wasn't in the office, but they brushed aside my arguments. I was then summarily dismissed and told the matter would be passed to the police. My boss tried to persuade them not to go to the police, but they said it was company policy, so they ignored her. I'd always got along with her and was thankful that someone at least was on my side.
As I left the room, two burly security guards stood outside. They escorted me back to my desk to collect my personal belongings. They then marched me past all my colleagues to the front door. I sat in my car in a daze. We'd purchased our house with a 95% mortgage, and I had credit card bills and a car loan on top of that. How could we survive? How long before they realised they were mistaken and reinstated me? If they did, could I face my old colleagues anyway? How would I get another job with this hanging over me?
I drove home, dreading how I would tell Brittany the news. She was very materialistic, so could she cope with us downsizing while I found work? Would she get a job to help out? I parked on the drive next to my best mate Colin's car. He had known Brittany longer than I had, so I didn't think twice that he had come around to have a coffee with her, but now I'd have to tell him at the same time.
After letting myself in through the back door, I hung up my coat and entered the lounge to see them. However, they weren't there. I stopped and heard a noise from upstairs, so I quietly crept up and walked to our bedroom door.
The door was partially open, and I watched as Colin sat naked on my marital bed, with Brittany, equally nude, pleasuring him with her mouth. She was clearly enjoying it, moaning loudly, with one hand between her legs, frigging herself. Colin sat there with a stupid grin on his face. I don't blame him. Brittany had always refused to give me a blowjob but was perfectly happy for me to go down on her. I stood there, unable to move or speak, for around five minutes. Then, Brittany stood up and lay back on the bed, urging Colin to give her a good fucking. He quickly and enthusiastically did just that. Eventually, I couldn't watch anymore, so I went downstairs and, in a daze, put on the kettle and made myself a mug of tea. Twenty minutes later, my tea untouched, I heard Brittany giggling as they came downstairs. At the bottom, Colin grabbed her and pulled her to him for a kiss. As she broke away, she saw me in the lounge and screamed.
"Mike! What are you doing home so early?" she wailed.
Colin let go of her and stepped back in fright.
"Why don't you two go back upstairs? Colin can help you pack," I said calmly.
"Please, let's talk about this! It won't happen again!" Brittany pleaded.
I held up one hand to silence her.
"I'm not sure how long this has been going on," I replied. "But from what I saw upstairs, I can guess it was a while. I've just been dismissed from work, so we'll have to sell the house. That will make the divorce easier."
"You've been sacked?" she gasped. "Why?"
"A misunderstanding, I hope," I replied. "Nothing you need to worry about anymore, as we'll get a divorce. Either pack now, or I'll throw your clothes on the drive for you to collect. I'm going for a drive to clear my head. I want you gone in an hour."
"Where will I go?" she pleaded.
"Well, I don't care!" I said. "But why don't you move in with Colin? Then you can fuck like rabbits every day!"
I stood and stormed out before I did something stupid. I drove for a while before stopping at a local beauty spot for a walk. How could she do this to me? How could Colin do that to a friend? Why hadn't I spotted anything? I walked until I came to a bench overlooking the countryside. I then sat and buried my face in my hands as the tears flooded out. In two short hours, my life had been turned upside down. I'd lost my job, then my wife and probably soon my house, car and most of my possessions; if I couldn't prove my innocence, possibly my liberty too.
After nearly two hours, I returned home. There was no sign of Brittany and Colin, and her wardrobe was empty. I made a sandwich but couldn't eat it after one bite. I spent the next two hours staring at the wall, wondering how my life had turned to shit so quickly. I was jolted out of my daze by the doorbell. At the door were two policemen who guided me to their car to take me to the local station for questioning. At least I wasn't handcuffed, but some of the neighbours saw me being led away. I was questioned over the next three hours before being released pending further investigation.
Over the next week, I only left the house once, and that was to see a solicitor. I set in motion a divorce on the grounds of my wife's infidelity. I also arranged for them to represent me for the criminal proceedings I looked to be facing. I hardly ate all week, unable to face more than small bites now and then. Going over my finances, things looked bleak. If I sold the house and car, I could pay off the mortgage, car loan and credit cards but would be left with barely enough to live on. I always considered myself a practical person and decided that the longer I left things, the worse off I would be. So, the following week, I called an estate agent, put the house on the market and advertised my car.
My car sold within the week, and I purchased the cheapest runaround I could find, which I hoped would last at least a year. The house went on the market at the end of the following week, and within days, I had people viewing it. Within two months of that fateful day, I moved into a small, grubby flat above a kebab takeaway shop, with what little possessions I could a) afford and b) fit in the cramped space.
I managed to get a shitty job at a food delivery service in my local area, delivering takeaways by bicycle. It paid poorly, and the hours were crap, but it meant I could just about scrape enough money together to pay my rent and eat.
My divorce came through on a Wednesday, and I read it with mixed feelings. Sad and dejected that it had ended but pleased to get rid of the cheating bitch. Work that evening was slow, and the customers were rude if I was a minute late or the order wasn't correct (nothing to do with me, mate, I just delivered the bloody crap!). I headed home nearing midnight, and as I turned into my road, I found the police had blocked it. Ahead were three fire engines trying to put a fire out in my block of flats. The kebab shop and the flat immediately beneath mine were well ablaze, and as I watched, not believing my eyes, I saw that the windows to my flat burst as flames erupted out.
I sat down on the pavement and burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all before my laughter eventually turned to tears. What little possessions I still had were now lost, and I couldn't afford insurance. All I had was a crappy car, a crappy bicycle and the clothes I was wearing. Eventually, someone from the council came to talk to those who had lost their homes. Some people had friends or relatives they could stay with, but two of us needed to be temporarily re-homed. I couldn't believe it, but they set me up in an even shittier hovel than I was in before, but it was dry(ish) and somewhere to sleep. It had minimal furniture, but they gave me vouchers I could use at local second-hand shops to buy a bed, clothes, and furniture.
I lay in bed that night on a mattress on the floor, covered by a few blankets, wondering how much worse my life could get.
In the morning, I made a list of what I had and needed. Clothes were a priority, as I had only what I wore, so I headed to town to tour the many charity shops. I was pleasantly surprised with what I found, and a few shops took pity on me when they heard I'd lost everything in the fire and gave me a discount. I worked again that night, still needing the money, and the following day, I decided to buy a bed and some furniture. I had initially intended to buy a single bed, thinking it would save money. Still, I found a double going cheap, and they would deliver, especially as I also purchased a moth-eaten sofa they were desperate to get rid of as well from them.
I found some crockery, cutlery, pots and pans, and a large brass or copper teapot in another charity shop. The metal had tarnished so much that it was hard to work out what it was made of, but I had been drinking lots of tea since I'd fallen on hard times, so I convinced myself I'd make good use of it. I collected all this in my car and drove home to meet the delivery van with my furniture. Once everything was unpacked, my new place at least looked more homely, if still very sad. If I ever got back into dating again, I don't think many women would be impressed if I took them back here.
The next day was Saturday, and I didn't have any shifts at work over the weekend. Weekends were prime shifts as you were more likely to get work and sometimes a tip, but as a new starter, I was right down the pecking order.
I rearranged my furniture, cleaned and put away the crockery, cutlery, and cooking equipment. I'd found some metal cleaner under the sink, so I sat on the sofa to make the teapot hygienic enough to use. I had been polishing the teapot for twenty minutes when smoke started coming out of the spout. I couldn't believe it. How could a metal teapot catch fire, and why wasn't it hot? I tried to remove the lid, and then the smoke started pouring out.
I stood to rush it to the sink but paused because I couldn't see where I was going. Then, almost as soon as the smoke appeared, it was gone, and standing in front of me was a large, fat, Arabic-looking woman dressed in a colourful, embroidered dress with a scarf over her head.
I looked at her with an open mouth, wondering how she had got into my flat.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?" I asked.
The lady looked around her in disgust before turning to me with a thoughtful expression.
"Is this language English?" the lady asked me with a heavy accent.
"What do you mean? Of course, it is. We're in England!" I replied in confusion.
"England? I wasn't expecting to be here," she replied, looking around her in disgust once more.
I didn't know how to respond to that. The whole thing seemed bizarre.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" I asked once more.
"Why, I am Serapha the Wonderous," she replied in surprise.
I stared at her in confusion.
"You summoned me," she added.
"I did no such thing!" I replied. "I have no idea who you are, what you are doing in my flat, or how you got in. Do you have a key? If so, please give it to me."
"I'm sorry," 'Serapha' responded. "I'm still getting to grips with your language." She stood up straight and then continued.
"I am Serapha the Wonderous. Although I have also been called Serapha the Great, Serapha the Kind, Serapha the Radiant, Serapha the Beautiful,"
"Yes, yes, yes," I interrupted before she gave a monologue of increasingly unlikely epithets. Serapha the Fat or Serapha the Rudely Breaking Into My House would seem a better name.
"I am a Djinn," she continued. "And you summoned me from my vessel."
I looked at her blankly. One of us was clearly mad, and I feared it might be me.
"You're telling me you're a Geni in a Teapot?" I asked, in fear of her answer.
Serapha looked thoughtful for a moment before answering.
"I'm a Djinn, but I believe it is sometimes called a Geni in your language. You summoned me when you rubbed my vessel, which I understand you think is a teapot. I can grant you ten wishes."
