Billionaire Boy. David Walliams
vest and pants. They looked like two rejects from a boy band audition.
“So who took it?” said Joe.
“I dunno. It might be the Grubbs. They’re the school bullies.”
“The Grubbs?”
“Yeah. They’re twins.”
“Oh,” said Joe. “I haven’t met them yet.”
“You will,” replied Bob, dolefully. “You know, I feel really bad about taking your birthday money off you…”
“You don’t have to,” said Joe. “It’s fine.”
“But fifty pounds is a lot of money,” Bob protested.
Fifty pounds was not a lot of money to the Spuds. Here are a few things Joe and his dad would do with fifty-pound notes:
Light them instead of bits of old newspaper to get the barbecue going
Keep a pad of them by the telephone and use them as post-it notes
Line the hamster cage with handfuls of them and then throw them out after a week when they began to smell of hamster wee
Let the same hamster use one as a towel after it’s had a shower
Filter coffee through them
Make paper hats out of them to wear on Christmas Day
Blow their noses on them
Spit chewed-up chewing gum into them before crumpling them and placing them in the hand of a butler who would then put them in the hand of a footman who would then put them in the hand of a maid who would then put them in the bin
Make paper aeroplanes out of them and throw them at each other
Wallpaper the downstairs loo with them
“I never asked,” said Bob. “What does your dad do?”
Joe panicked for a moment. “Erm, he, er, he makes loo rolls,” he said, only lying a tiny bit.
“Loo rolls?” said Bob. He couldn’t suppress his smile.
“Yes,” replied Joe defiantly. “He makes loo rolls.”
Bob stopped smiling. “That doesn’t sound like it pays all that well.”
Joe winced. “Er… no, it doesn’t.”
“Then I guess your dad had to save for weeks to give you £50. Here you go.” Bob carefully handed the now-slightly-crumpled fifty-pound note back to Joe.
“No, you keep it,” protested Joe.
Bob pressed the note into Joe’s hand. “It’s your birthday money. You keep it.”
Joe smiled uncertainly and closed his hand over the money. “Thank you, Bob. So, what does your dad do?”
“My dad died last year.”
They continued walking in silence for a moment. All Joe could hear was the sound of his heart beating. He couldn’t think of anything to say. All he knew was that he felt awful for his new friend. Then he remembered that when someone died people sometimes said, ‘I’m sorry’.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” said Bob.
“I mean, well, I’m sorry he died.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“How did he… you know?”
“Cancer. It was really scary. He just got more and more ill and then one day they took me out of school and I went to the hospital. We sat by his bed for ages and you could hear his breath rattling and then suddenly the sound just stopped. I ran outside to get the nurse and she came in and said he was ‘gone’. It’s just me and my mum now.”
“What does your mum do?”
“She works at Tesco. On the checkout. That’s where she met my dad. He would shop on Saturday mornings. He used to joke that he ‘only came in for a pint of milk but left with a wife!’”
“It sounds like he was funny,” said Joe.
“He was,” said Bob, smiling. “Mum’s got another job too. She’s a cleaner at an old people’s home in the evenings. Just to make ends meet.”
“Wow,” said Joe. “Doesn’t she get tired?”
“Yeah,” said Bob. “So I do a lot of the cleaning and stuff.”
Joe felt really sorry for Bob. Since he was eight, Joe had never had to do anything at home – there was always the butler or the maid or the gardener or the chauffeur or whoever to do everything. He took the note out of his pocket. If there was one person who needed the money more than him it was Bob. “Please, Bob, keep the £50.”
“No. I don’t want to. I’d feel bad.”
“Well, let me at least buy you some chocolate.”
“You’ve got a deal,” said Bob. “Let’s go to Raj’s.”
Chapter 5 Out of Date Easter Eggs
DING!
No, reader, that’s not your doorbell. No need to get up. It’s the sound of the bell tinkling in Raj’s shop as Bob and Joe opened the door.
“Ah, Bob! My favourite customer!” said Raj. “Welcome, welcome!”
Raj ran the local newsagent’s shop. All the local kids adored him. He was like the funny uncle you always wished you had. And even better than that, he sold sweets.
“Hi, Raj!” said Bob. “This is Joe.”
“Hello Joe,” exclaimed Raj. “Two fat boys in my shop at one time! The Lord must be smiling on me today! Why have you both got so little on?”
“We came straight from cross-country running, Raj,” explained Bob.
“Fantastic! How did you do?”
“First and second…” replied Bob.
“That’s wonderful!” exclaimed Raj.
“…to last,” finished Bob.
“That’s not so good. But I imagine you boys must be hungry after all that exercise. How can I help you today?”
“We’d like to buy some chocolate,” said Joe.
“Well, you have come to the right place. I have the finest selection of chocolate bars in this parade!” Raj announced triumphantly. Considering the only other shops in the parade were a launderette and a long since closed florist that wasn’t saying much, but the boys let it pass.
Now, one thing Joe knew for certain was that chocolate didn’t have to be expensive to taste nice. In fact, after a few years of gorging themselves on the finest chocolates from Belgium or Switzerland, he and his dad had realised that they weren’t half as delicious as a Yorkie. Or a bag of Minstrels.
Or, for the true connoisseur, a Double Decker.
“Well, let me know if I can help you gentlemen,” said the newsagent. The stock in Raj’s shop was haphazardly laid out. Why was Nuts magazine next to the Tipp-ex? If you couldn’t find the Jelly Tots, it was entirely possible that they might be hiding under a copy of the Sun from 1982. And did the post-it notes really have to be in the freezer?
However, local people kept coming to the shop because they loved Raj, and he loved his customers too, particularly Bob. Bob was one of his absolute