Gangsta Granny. David Walliams
her nose in one. They were stacked on shelves, lined up on windowsills, piled up in corners.
Crime novels were her favourite. Books about gangstas, bank robbers, the mafia and the like. Ben wasn’t sure what the difference between a gangsta and a gangster was, but a gangsta seemed much worse.
Although Ben hated reading, he loved looking at all the covers of Granny’s books. They had fast cars and guns and glamorous ladies luridly painted on them, and Ben found it hard to believe this boring old Granny of his liked reading stories that looked so thrilling.
Why is she obsessed with gangstas? thought Ben. Gangstas don’t live in bungalows. Gangstas don’t play Scrabble. Gangstas probably don’t smell of cabbage.
Ben was a very slow reader, and the teachers at school made him feel stupid because he couldn’t keep up. The headmistress had even put him down a year in the hope that he would catch up on his reading. As a result, all his friends were in a different class, and he felt nearly as lonely at school as he did at home, with his parents who only cared about ballroom dancing.
Eventually, after a hairy moment where he nearly knocked over a stack of real-life crime books, Ben made it to the pot plant in the corner.
He quickly tipped the remainder of his soup into it. The plant looked as if it was already dying, and if it wasn’t dead yet, Granny’s cold cabbage soup was sure to kill it off.
Suddenly, Ben heard Granny’s bum squeaking again as she made her way into the dining room, so he sped back to the table. He sat there trying to look as innocent as possible, with his empty bowl in front of him and his spoon in hand. “I’ve finished my soup, thank you, Granny. It was yummy!”
“That’s good,” said the old lady as she trundled back to the table carrying a saucepan on a tray. “I’ve got plenty more here for you, boy!” Smiling, she served him up another bowl.
Ben gulped in terror.
“I can’t find Plumbing Weekly, Raj,” said Ben.
It was the next Friday, and the boy had been scouring the magazine shelves of the local newsagent’s shop. He couldn’t find his favourite publication anywhere. The magazine was aimed at professional plumbers, and Ben was beguiled by pages and pages of pipes, taps, cisterns, ballcocks, boilers, tanks and drains. Plumbing Weekly was the only thing he enjoyed reading – mainly because it was crammed full of pictures and diagrams.
Ever since he had been old enough to hold things, Ben had loved plumbing. When other children were playing with ducks in the bath, Ben had asked his parents for bits of pipe, and made complicated water channelling systems. If a tap broke in the house, he fixed it. If a toilet was blocked, Ben wasn’t disgusted, he was ecstatic!
Ben’s parents didn’t approve of him wanting to be a plumber, though. They wanted him to be rich and famous, and to their knowledge there had never been a rich and famous plumber. Ben was as good with his hands as he was rubbish at reading, and was absolutely fascinated when a plumber came round to fix a leak. He would watch in awe, as a junior doctor might watch a great surgeon at work in an operating theatre.
But he always felt like a disappointment to his mum and dad. They desperately wanted him to fulfil the ambition they had never managed: to become a professional ballroom dancer. Ben’s mum and dad had discovered their love of ballroom dancing too late to become champions themselves. And, to be honest, they seemed to prefer sitting on their bums watching it on TV to actually taking part.
As such, Ben tried to keep his passion private. To avoid hurting his mum and dad’s feelings, he stashed his copies of Plumbing Weekly under his bed. And he had made an arrangement with Raj, so that every week the newsagent would keep the plumbing magazine aside for him. Now, though, he couldn’t find it anywhere.
Ben had searched for the magazine behind Kerrang and Heat and even looked underneath The Lady (not an actual lady, I mean the magazine called The Lady), all to no avail. Raj’s store was madly messy, but people came from miles away to shop there as he always brought a smile to their faces.
Raj was halfway up a stepladder, putting up Christmas decorations. Well, I say ‘Christmas decorations’ – he was actually putting up a banner that read ‘Happy Birthday’, though he had Tippexed out the word ‘Birthday’ and replaced it in scratchy biro with ‘Christmas’.
Raj carefully stepped down off the ladder to help Ben with his search.
“Your Plumbing Weekly… mmm… Let me think, have you looked beside the toffee bonbons?” said Raj.
“Yes,” replied Ben.
“And it’s not underneath the colouring books?”
“No.”
“And you have checked behind the penny chews?”
“Yes.”
“Well, this is very mysterious. I know I ordered one in for you, young Ben. Mmm, very mysterious…” Raj was speaking extremely slowly, in that way people do when they are thinking. “I am so sorry, Ben, I know you love it, but I don’t have a clue where it is. I do have a special offer on Cornettos.”
“It’s November, Raj, it’s freezing outside!” said Ben. “Who would want to eat a Cornetto now?”
“Everyone when they hear my special offer! Wait until you hear this: buy twenty-three Cornettos, get one free!”
“Why on earth would I want twenty-four Cornettos?!” said Ben with a laugh.
“Erm, well, I don’t know, you could maybe eat twelve, and put the other twelve in your pocket to enjoy later.”
“That’s a lot of Cornettos, Raj. Why are you so keen to get rid of them?”
“They go out of date tomorrow,” said Raj, as he lumbered over to the freezer cabinet, slid open the glass top and pulled out a cardboard box of Cornettos. A freezing cold mist immediately shrouded the shop. “Look! Best Before 15th of November.”
Ben studied the box. “It says Best Before 15th of November 1996.”
“Well,” said Raj. “Even more reason to put them on special offer. OK, Ben, this is my final offer. Buy one box of Cornettos, I will give you ten boxes absolutely free!”
“Really Raj, no thanks,” said Ben. He peered into the freezer cabinet to see what else might be lurking in there. It had never been defrosted and Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to find a perfectly preserved woolly mammoth from the Ice Age inside.
“Hang on,” he said, as he moved a few frost-encrusted ice lollies out of the way. “It’s in here! Plumbing Weekly!”
“Ah yes, I remember now,” said Raj. “I put it in there to keep it fresh for you.”
“Fresh?” said Ben.
“Well, young man, the magazine comes out on a Tuesday, but it’s Friday today. So I put it in the freezer to keep it fresh for you, Ben. I didn’t want it to go off.”
Ben wasn’t sure how any magazine could ever go off, but he thanked the newsagent anyway. “That’s very kind of you, Raj. And I’ll have a packet of Rolos, please.”
“I can offer you seventy-three packets of Rolos for the price of seventy-two!” exclaimed the newsagent with a smile that was meant to entice.
“No thanks, Raj.”
“One thousand packets of Rolos for the price of nine hundred and ninety-eight?”
“No thanks,” said Ben.
“Are you mad, Ben? That’s a wonderful offer. All