Ben had been stirring the pale green liquid around the chipped bowl for the last ten minutes hoping it would somehow disappear.
It wouldn’t.
And now it was getting cold.
Cold bits of cabbage, floating around in some cold cabbagy water.
“Erm, it’s delicious, thank you,” replied Ben.
“Good.”
Tick tock tick tock.
“Good,” said the old lady again.
Clink. Clink.
“Good.” Granny seemed to find it as hard to speak to Ben as he did to her.
Clink clank. Whistle.
“How’s school?” she asked.
“Boring,” muttered Ben. Adults always ask kids how they are doing at school. The one subject kids absolutely hate talking about. You don’t even want to talk about school when you are at school.
“Oh,” said Granny.
Tick tock clink clank whistle tick tock.
“Well, I must check on the oven,” said Granny after the long pause stretched out into an even longer pause. “I’ve got your favourite cabbage pie on the go.”
She rose slowly from her seat and made her way to the kitchen. As she took each step a little bubble of wind puffed out of her saggy bottom. It sounded like a duck quacking. Either she didn’t realise or was extremely good at pretending she didn’t realise.
Ben watched her go, and then crept silently across the room. This was difficult because of the piles of books everywhere. Ben’s granny LOVED books, and always seemed to have 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
