For Philip Onyango… …the bravest little boy I have ever met.
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1 - Cabbagy Water
Chapter 2 - A Duck Quacking
Chapter 3 - Plumbing Weekly
Chapter 4 - Mystery and Wonder
Chapter 5 - A Little Broken
Chapter 6 - Cold Wet Egg
Chapter 7 - Bags of Manure
Chapter 8 - A Small Wig in a Jar
Chapter 9 - The Black Cat
Chapter 10 - Everything
Chapter 11 - Cheesy Beans and Sausage
Chapter 12 - The Love Bomb
Chapter 13 - A Lifetime of Crime
Chapter 14 - Nosy Neighbour
Chapter 15 - Reckless and Thrilling
Chapter 16 - ‘N’ ‘O’ Spells ‘NO’
Chapter 17 - Planning the Heist
Chapter 18 - Visiting Hours
Chapter 19 - A Small Explosive Device
Chapter 20 - Boom Boom Boom
Chapter 21 - A Tap-Shoe
Chapter 22 - Lycra Lynch Mob
Chapter 23 - Caught by the Fuzz
Chapter 24 - Dark Waters
Chapter 25 - Haunted by Ghosts
Chapter 26 - A Figure in the Dark
Chapter 27 - An Audience with the Queen
Chapter 28 - Hung, Drawn and Quartered
Chapter 29 - Armed Police
Chapter 30 - A Packet of Sugar
Chapter 31 - Golden Light
Chapter 32 - A Family Sandwich
Chapter 33 - Silence
Chapter 34 - Zimmer Frame
Postscript
Previously by David Walliams:
Copyright
Thank yous :
I would like to thank a few people who helped me with this book.
First, the hugely talented Tony Ross for his magical illustrations. Next, Ann-Janine Murtagh, the brilliant head of children’s books at HarperCollins. Nick Lake, my hard-working editor and friend. The fantastic designers James Stevens and Elorine Grant, who worked on the cover and text respectively. The meticulous copy editor Lizzie Ryley. Samantha White, for her brilliant work publicising my books. The lovely Tanya Brennand-Roper who produces the audio versions. And of course my very supportive literary agent Paul Stevens at Independent.
Most of all I would like to thank you kids for reading my books. I am genuinely humbled that you come and meet me at signings, write me letters or send me drawings. I really love telling you stories. I do hope I can dream up some more. Keep reading, it’s good for you!
“But Granny is soooo boring,” said Ben. It was a cold Friday evening in November, and as usual he was slumped in the back of his mum and dad’s car. Once again he was on his way to stay the night at his dreaded granny’s house. “All old people are.”
“Don’t talk about your granny like that,” said Dad weakly, his fat stomach pushed up against the steering wheel of the family’s little brown car.
“I hate spending time with her,” protested Ben. “Her TV doesn’t work, all she wants to do is play Scrabble and she stinks of cabbage!”
“In fairness to the boy she does stink of cabbage,” agreed Mum, as she applied some last minute lip-liner.
“You’re not helping, wife,” muttered Dad. “At worst my mother has a very slight odour of boiled vegetables.”
“Can’t I come with you?” pleaded Ben. “I love ball-whatsit dancing,” he lied.
“It’s called ballroom dancing,” corrected Dad. “And you don’t love it. You said, and I quote, ‘I would rather eat my own bogeys than watch that rubbish’.”
Now, Ben’s mum and dad loved ballroom dancing. Sometimes Ben thought they loved it more than they loved him. There was a TV show on Saturday evenings that Mum and Dad never missed called Strictly Stars Dancing, where celebrities would be paired with professional ballroom dancers.
In fact, if there was a fire in their house, and Mum could only save either a sparkly gold tap-shoe once worn by Flavio Flavioli (the shiny, tanned dancer and heartbreaker from Italy who appeared on every series of the hit TV show) or her only child, Ben thought she would probably go for the shoe. Tonight, his mum and dad were going to an arena to see Strictly Stars Dancing live on stage.
“I don’t know why you don’t give up on this pipe dream of becoming a plumber, Ben, and think about dancing professionally,” said Mum, her lip-liner scrawling across her cheek as the car bounced over a particularly bumpy speed bump. Mum had a habit of applying make-up in the car, which meant she often arrived somewhere looking like a clown. “Maybe, just maybe, you could end up on Strictly!” added Mum excitedly.
“Because prancing around like that is stupid,” said Ben.
Mum whimpered a little, and reached for a tissue.
“You’re upsetting your mother. Now just be quiet please, Ben, there’s a good boy,” replied Dad firmly, as he turned up the volume on the stereo. Inevitably, a Strictly CD was playing. 50 Golden Greats from the Hit TV Show was emblazoned on the cover. Ben hated the CD, not least because he had heard it a million times. In fact, he had heard it so many times it was like torture.
Ben’s mum worked at the local nail salon, ‘Gail’s Nails’. Because there weren’t many customers, Mum and the other lady who worked there (unsurprisingly called Gail) spent most days doing each other’s nails. Buffing, cleaning, trimming, moisturising, coating, sealing, polishing, filing, lacquering, extending and painting. They were doing things to each other’s nails all day long (unless Flavio Flavioli was on daytime TV). That meant Mum would always come home with extremely long multi-coloured plastic extensions on the end of her fingers.
Ben’s dad, meanwhile, worked as a security guard at the local supermarket. The highlight of his twenty-year career thus far was stopping an old man who had concealed two tubs of margarine down his trousers. Although Dad was now too fat to run after any robbers, he could certainly block their