“Shush!” came a voice back. Tom was pretty sure it was coming from George’s bed.
“Please?” whispered Tom. “I haven’t eaten for ages.”
“Shush!” came another voice. “Any louder and you’ll get us all into trouble.”
“I only want one!” said Tom.
The boy must have spoken too loudly as at that moment …
CLICK!
… the lights in the children’s ward flickered back on.
Blinking at the brightness, Tom could make out Matron rushing out of her office.
“THERE IS NO TALKING AFTER LIGHTS OUT!” she shouted. “Now who was talking?”
All the children remained silent.
“You must tell me now who was talking or you will all be in deep, deep trouble!”
She scanned the ward for signs of anyone cracking under pressure. She looked to George, who looked guilty.
“Was it you, George?” she demanded.
George shook his head.
“Speak up, boy!”
Even from across the room, Tom could tell George’s mouth was full.
George tried to speak, but because of the large quantity of chocolate in his mouth, he couldn’t form words. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he murmured.
“What have you got in your mouth?”
George shook his head and tried to say “nothing” but it came out as, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”
Matron approached his bed like a crocodile stalking its prey. “George! You are meant to be on a strict diet after your operation. But you are scoffing chocolates again, aren’t you?”
George shook his head.
The lady whipped back his bed sheet to reveal a large tin of chocolates. The tin was huge. It was the kind that your family might receive at Christmas and would last until next Christmas.
“You greedy pig!” said Matron. “These are confiscated!”
With that, she snatched the tin from his hands and whipped a tissue from a nearby box. “Now spit out the one you have in your mouth.”
Reluctantly, the boy did so.
“Who sent you these?” she demanded. “I know it couldn’t have been your father. I am not sure they are allowed chocolates in prison!”
Tom could tell George was angry, but the boy was doing his best to keep it in.
“They came from me local newsagent,” replied George. “I’m ’is favourite customer.”
“I bet you are! Look at the size of you!”
“You see, ’e knows I love these chocolates the most.”
“What is this stupid man’s name?”
“Raj,” replied George.
“Raj what?”
“Raj the newsagent.”
“I mean what’s his surname, you foolish child?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, I will try to trace him and with any luck have his shop closed down. After your operation, you are forbidden from eating chocolates, George.”
“Sorry, Matron.”
“‘Sorry’ isn’t good enough! The hospital principal, Sir Quentin Strillers, will have to be told about you defying doctor’s orders like this, George!”
“Yes, Matron,” answered the boy sorrowfully.
“I will deal with you in the morning! Now go to sleep! All of you!”
Matron stalked back towards her office. Once again, like Grandma’s Footsteps, she turned round several times to check the children were as still as statues.
CLICK!
The lights went off again, and Matron sat in her office. After a moment, the lady did the most incredible thing. She opened the tin and started scoffing the chocolates herself!
Matron seemed to like the big purple wrapped ones the best, as she made her way through them at quite a pace. She had barely popped one in her mouth when the next one was already being unwrapped ready for scoffing. Time passed and the more she ate, the sleepier she became. By nine o’clock, her eyelids were flickering. Still she ate and ate and ate. Perhaps she hoped the sugar in the chocolates would keep her awake. Strangely, they seemed to be having the opposite effect. By 10pm, her eyes were closing for a few seconds at a time. Still she ate and ate and ate. By 11pm, she was desperately trying to prop up her head in her hands, but it was becoming heavier and heavier and heavier. The scoffing slowed down too, and soon the chocolate mush dribbled out of her mouth and her head hit her desk with a loud …
THUD!
Through the glass, Matron could be heard snoring.
“ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ …”
The children on the ward all remained silent for a moment. Then out of the darkness someone whispered, “Well done, George.”
“I think the plan’s workin’!” he whispered back. George’s cockney accent made his voice stand out.
“What plan?” asked Tom.
“Shush!” came another voice.
“Go to sleep, new boy! Stop poking your nose into other people’s business,” said a girl. “Now, let’s all get ready to go at midnight.”
But of course Tom couldn’t sleep, especially now he knew the children were up to no good. What was going to happen at midnight?
The glow from the clock face of Big Ben shone through the tall window behind Tom’s bed. Suddenly Tom could see shadows flashing through the children’s ward. Figures were moving in the darkness.
Tom was frightened and couldn’t help but gasp. “Aaah!”
Just then he felt a hand on his mouth, silencing him.
This made Tom even more frightened.
“Shush!” hissed someone. “Don’t make a sound. We don’t want anyone wakin’ up Matron.”
The hand was soft and fleshy and smelled of chocolate, and as Tom’s eyes adjusted to the dark he realised it was indeed George’s.
Tom’s eyes darted over to the matron’s office. The lady was still fast asleep in her chair, her head resting on her desk, snoring away.
“ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZZ …”
“Not one sound!” repeated George.
Tom nodded his agreement to the boy, who slowly removed his hand.
Then Tom looked behind him towards the giant clock. He could see across the rooftops of London. It was approaching midnight.
Soon