nine o’clock at home!” he protested. “And not until ten o’clock when I haven’t got school in the morning.”
“No, Ben, off you go to bed, please.” The old lady could be quite firm when she wanted to be. “And don’t forget to brush your teeth. I’ll be up soon to give you a bedtime story, if you like. You always used to love a bedtime story.”
Later, Ben stood at the sink in the bathroom. It was a cold damp room with no window. Some of the tiles had fallen off the wall. There was just one sad little frayed towel and a very worn bar of soap that looked like it was half soap, half mould.
Ben hated brushing his teeth. So he pretended to brush his teeth. Pretending to brush your teeth is simple. Don’t tell your parents I told you, but if you want to try it for yourself, all you have to do is follow this handy step-by-step guide:
1) Turn on the cold tap
2) Wet the toothbrush
3) Squeeze a tiny amount of toothpaste on to your finger and place finger in mouth
4) Move the trace of toothpaste around your mouth with your tongue
5) Spit
6) Turn off the tap
See? It’s so easy. Nearly as easy as brushing your teeth.
Ben looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was eleven years old, but shorter than he wanted to be, so he stood on his tiptoes for a moment. Ben was aching to be older.
Only a few more years, he thought, and he would be taller and hairier and spottier, and his Friday nights would be very different.
He wouldn’t have to stay at boring old Granny’s any more. Instead Ben would be able to do all the thrilling things the older kids in the town did on Friday nights:
Hang around with a gang of friends outside the off-licence waiting for someone to tell you off.
Or alternatively, sit at the bus stop with some girls in tracksuits and chew gum and never actually get on a bus.
Yes, a world of mystery and wonder awaited him.
However, for now, even though it was still light outside and he could hear boys in the nearby park playing football, it was time for Ben to go to sleep. In a hard little bed in a damp little room in his granny’s rundown little bungalow. That smelled of cabbage.
Not just a little bit.
A lot.
Sighing, Ben got under the covers.
Just then, Granny gently opened the door to his bedroom. He quickly shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. She lumbered over to the bed, and Ben could feel her standing over him for a moment.
“I was going to tell you that bedtime story,” she whispered. The old lady had often told him stories when he was younger, about pirates and smugglers and master criminals, but he was far too old for all that nonsense now.
“What a shame you’re asleep already,” she said. “Well, I just wanted to say that I love you. Goodnight, my little Benny.”
He hated being called ‘Benny’ too.
And ‘little’.
The nightmare continued, as Ben sensed his granny bending over to give him a kiss. The prickly old hairs on her chin bristled uncomfortably against his cheek. Then he heard the familiar rhythmic quacking sound as her bum squeaked with every step. She squeaked her way back to the door and closed it behind her, sealing the smell in.
That’s it, thought Ben. I have to escape!
“Aaaahhhhkkkk… pfffttttt… aaaaaahhhhhhkkkkkk … ppppppppfffffffffffttttttt…”
No, reader, you haven’t bought the Swahili edition of this book by mistake. That was the sound Ben was waiting for.
Granny snoring.
She was asleep.
“Aaaaaahhhhkkkkkkk… pppppfffffffttttttt… aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhkkkkkkk…”
Ben crept out of his room and made his way over to the telephone in the hall. It was one of those old style telephones that purred like a cat when you dialled a number.
“Mum…?” he whispered.
“I CAN HARDLY HEAR YOU!” she shouted back. There was loud jazz music playing in the background. Mum and Dad were at the arena again watching Strictly Stars Dancing Live On Stage Live! She was probably drooling as Flavio Flavioli swivelled his hips and broke the hearts of thousands of women of a certain age. “What’s the matter? Is everything all right? The old bat hasn’t died, has she?”
“No, she’s fine, but I hate it here. Can’t you come and pick me up? Please,” whispered Ben.
“Flavio hasn’t even done his second dance yet.”
“Please,” he pleaded. “I want to come home. Granny is such a bore. It’s torture spending time with her.”
“Speak to your dad.” Ben heard a muffled sound as she passed the phone over.
“HELLO?” shouted Dad.
“Please keep your voice down!”
“WHAT?” he shouted again.
“Shhhh. Keep your voice down. You are going to wake up Granny. Can you come and pick me up, Dad? Please? I hate it here.”
“No, we cannot. Seeing this show is a once in a lifetime experience.”
“You saw it last Friday!” protested Ben.
“Twice in a lifetime then.”
“And you said you were going again next Friday too!”
“Look, if I have any more of your cheek, young lad, you can stay with her until Christmas. Goodbye!”
With that, his dad hung up. Ben carefully placed the receiver back in its cradle, and the phone made the quietest ting.
Suddenly, he noticed that Granny’s snoring had stopped.
