Billionaire Boy (10 page)
Authors: David Walliams
“FORM AN ORDERLY QUEUE!” shouted the dinner lady, Mrs Trafe. Joe walked up to the serving counter.
“Now what would you like today, young Joe?” she said with a warm smile. “I have a very stinging nettle soup to start today.”
“I am not that hungry today, maybe I’ll go straight to a main course, Mrs Trafe.”
“It’s chicken breast.”
“Ooh, that sounds nice.”
“Yes it comes in a dog spit sauce. Or for vegetarians I have deep fried Blu-tack.”
Joe gulped. “Mmm, it’s so hard to decide. See, I had some dog spit only last night.”
“That’s a shame. I’ll give you a plate of the fried Blu-Tack then,” said the dinner lady, as she dumped a lump of something blue and greasy and vomit-inducing on to Joe’s plate.
“If you ain’t having lunch then get out!” cried Mrs Trafe at the crowd still cowering at the doors.
“Spud’s dad has got a helicopter, Mrs Trafe,” came a voice from the back.
“He’s super-rich!” came another.
“He’s changed!” came a third.
“Just give me a dead arm, Spud, and I will take a quarter of a million,” came a tiny voice from the back.
“I SAID OUT!” shouted Mrs Trafe. The crowd reluctantly retreated, and contented themselves with staring at Joe through the grimy windows.
With his knife he removed the batter from the blue lump underneath. Now that raw potato seemed like food of the gods. After a few moments Mrs Trafe limped over to his table.
“Why are they are all staring at you like that?” she asked kindly, as she slowly slumped her heavy frame down next to him.
“Well, it’s a long story, Mrs Trafe.”
“You can tell me, pet,” said Mrs Trafe. “I’m a school dinner lady. I reckon I’ve heard it all.”
“Right, well…” Joe finished chewing the large lump of Blu-Tack he had in his mouth, and told the old dinner lady everything. About how his father had invented ‘Bumfresh’, how they now lived in a massive mansion, how they once had an orang-utan as a butler (she was very jealous of that bit), and how no one would have guessed a thing had his stupid dad not landed his stupid helicopter in the playground.
All the time he talked, the other kids continued to stare through the windows at him like he was an animal in the zoo.
“I am so sorry, Joe,” said Mrs Trafe. “It must be awful for you. You poor thing. Well not
poor
exactly, but you know what I mean.”
“Thank you, Mrs Trafe.” Joe was surprised anyone would ever feel sorry for someone who had everything. “It’s not easy. I don’t know who to trust any more. All the kids in the school seem to want something from me now.”
“Yeah, I bet,” said Mrs Trafe, bringing out an M&S sandwich from her bag.
“You bring a packed lunch?” asked Joe, surprised.
“Oh yes, I wouldn’t eat this filth. It’s disgusting,” she said. Her hand crept across the table and rested on his.
“Well, thanks for listening, Mrs Trafe.”
“That’s OK, Joe. I am here for you anytime. You know that – anytime.” She smiled. Joe smiled too. “Now…” said Mrs Trafe. “I just need ten thousand quid for a hip replacement…”
“You missed a bit,” said Bob.
Joe bent down and picked up another piece of litter from the playground and put it in the bin liner Miss Spite had so generously provided. It was five o’clock now and the playground was empty of children. Only their litter remained.
“I thought you said you were going to help me,” accused Joe.
“I am helping you! There’s another bit.” Bob pointed to another sweet wrapper that was lying on the asphalt, as he munched a bag of crisps. Joe bent down to pick it up. It was a Twix wrapper. Probably the one he himself had dropped on the ground earlier that day.
“Well I guess everyone knows how rich you are now, Joe,” said Bob. “Sorry about that.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“I suppose now all the kids at the school are going to want to be your friend…” said Bob, quietly. When Joe looked at him, Bob turned away.
“Maybe,” Joe smiled. “But it means more that we were friends before everyone knew.”
Bob grinned. “Cool,” he said. Then he pointed to the ground at his feet. “You missed another bit there, Joe.”
“Thanks, Bob,” sighed Joe, as he bent down again, this time to pick up the crisp packet his friend had just dropped.
“Oh, no,” said Bob.
“What’s the matter?”
“Grubbs!”
“Where?”
“Over by the bike shed. What do they want?” Lurking behind the shed were the twins. When they spotted Joe and Bob, they waved.
“I don’t know what was worse,” continued Bob. “Being bullied by them or being invited around for tea.”
“HELLO, BOB!” shouted one Grubb, as they started lolloping towards them.
“Hello, Grubbs,” Bob called back wearily. Inexorably, the two bullies reached where the two boys were standing.
“We have been thinking,” continued the other. “We are going on a camping trip at the weekend. Would you like to come?”
Bob looked at Joe for help. A camping holiday with these two was not an inviting invitation.
“Oh, what a terrible shame,” said Bob. “I am busy this weekend.”
“Next weekend?” asked Grubb one.
“That one too, I’m afraid.”
“The one after that?” asked the other.
“Completely…” stammered Bob, “…chock full of things I’ve got to do. So sorry. It sounds so much fun. Anyway, see you two tomorrow, sorry, I would love to chat but I have to help Joe with his litter duty. Bye!”
“Any weekend next year?” asked the first Grubb.
Bob stopped. “Um… er… um… next year is, really busy for me. So I’d really really love to but I am so so sorry…”
“How about the year after?” asked Grubb Two. “Any free weekends? We have a lovely tent.”
Bob couldn’t keep it in any longer. “Look.
One day you’re bullying me, the next you are inviting me to spend the weekend with you in a tent! What on earth is going on?”
The Grubbs looked to Joe for help. “Joe?” said one of them.
“We thought it would be easy being nice to Blob,” said the other. “But he just says no to everything. What do you want us to do, Joe?”
Joe coughed, not very subtly. But the Grubbs didn’t seem to get the hint.
“You paid them not to bully me, didn’t you?” demanded Bob.
“No,” replied Joe unconvincingly.
Bob turned to the Grubbs. “
Did
he?” he demanded.
“Noyes...” said the Grubbs. “We mean yesno.”
“How much did he pay you?”
The Grubbs looked at Joe for help. But it was too late. They were all busted.
“Ten pounds each,” said a Grubb. “And we
saw
the helicopter, Spud. We’re not stupid. We want more cash.”
“Yeah!” continued the other. “And you’re going in the bin, Joe, unless you give us eleven pounds each. First thing tomorrow.”
The Grubbs stomped off.
Bob’s eyes filled with angry tears. “You think money is the answer to everything, don’t you?”
Joe was baffled. He had paid off the Grubbs to
help
Bob. He was utterly perplexed as to why his friend was so upset. “Bob, I was just trying to help you, I didn’t—”
“I am not some charity case, you know.”
“I know that, I was just…”
“Yes?”
“I just didn’t want to see you put in the bin again.”
“Right,” said Bob. “So you thought it would be better if the Grubbs were really weird and friendly and going on about camping trips.”
“Well, they sort of came up with the camping trip on their own. But yes.”
Bob shook his head. “I can’t believe you. You’re such a… such a… spoiled brat!”
“What?” said Joe. “I was just helping you out! Would you really rather be put in the bin and have your chocolate stolen?”
“Yes!” shouted Bob. “Yes, I would! I’ll fight my own battles, thank you!”
“Suit yourself,” said Joe. “Have fun being dumped in the bin.”
“I will,” replied Bob before storming off.
“Loser!” shouted Joe, but Bob didn’t turn back.
Joe stood alone. A sea of litter surrounded him. He stabbed at a Mars wrapper with his litter stick. He couldn’t believe Bob. He thought he’d found a friend, but all he’d really found was a selfish, bad tempered, ungrateful…
Ploomfizz
.
“…and The Witch still made me do litter duty!” said Joe. He was sitting with his dad at one end of the highly polished thousand-seater dining-room table waiting for his dinner. Impossibly large diamond chandeliers hung overhead, and paintings that weren’t very nice but cost millions of pounds adorned the walls.
“Even after I dropped your homework off in the chopper?” said Mr Spud, angrily.
“Yeah, it was so unfair!” replied Joe.
“I did not invent a double-sided moist/dry toilet tissue for my son to be put on litter duty!”
“I know,” said Joe. “That Miss Spite is such a cow!”
“I am going to fly to the school tomorrow and give that teacher of yours a piece of my mind!”
“Please don’t, Dad! It was embarrassing enough when you turned up today!”
“Sorry, son,” said Mr Spud. He looked a little hurt, which made Joe feel guilty. “I was just trying to help.”
Joe sighed. “Just don’t do it again, Dad. It’s so awful everyone knowing I am the son of the Bumfresh man.”
“Well, I can’t help that, boy! That’s how I made all this money. That’s why we are living in this big house.”
“Yeah… I guess,” said Joe. “Just don’t turn up in your Bum Air helicopter or anything, yeah?”
“OK,” said Mr Spud. “So, how’s that friend of yours working out?”
“Bob? He’s not really my friend any more,” replied Joe. He hung his head a little.
“Why’s that?” asked Mr Spud. “I thought you and him were getting on really well?”
“I paid off these bullies to help him,” said Joe. “They were making his life a misery, so I gave them some cash to leave him alone.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Well, he found out. And then, get this, he got all upset. He called me a spoiled brat!”
“Why?”
“How do I know? He said he’d rather get bullied than have me help him.”
Mr Spud shook his head in disbelief. “Bob sounds a bit of a fool to me. The thing is, when you’ve got money like we do, you meet a lot of ungrateful people. I reckon you’re better off without this Bob character. It sounds like he doesn’t understand the importance of money. If he wants to be miserable, let him.”
“Yeah,” agreed Joe.
“You’ll make another friend at school, son,” said Mr Spud. “You’re rich. People like that. The sensible ones, anyway. Not like this idiot Bob.”
“I’m not so sure,” said Joe. “Not now everyone knows who I am.”
“You will Joe. Trust me,” said Mr Spud with a smile.
The immaculately attired butler entered the dining room through the vast oak panelled double doors. He did a little theatrical cough to get his master’s attention. “Miss Sapphire Stone, gentlemen.”
Mr Spud swiftly put on his ginger toupee as Page 3 stunna Sapphire clip-clopped into the room in her impossibly high heels.
“Sorry I’m late, I was just at the tanning salon,” she announced.
This was evident. Sapphire had fake tan smeared over every inch of her skin. She was now orange. As orange as an orange, if not orangier. Think of the orangiest person you’ve ever met, then times their orangeness by ten. As if she didn’t look frightful enough already, she was wearing a lime green mini-dress and clutching a shocking pink handbag.
“What’s
she
doing here?” demanded Joe.
“Be nice!” mouthed Dad.
“Nice pad,” said Sapphire, looking round admiringly at the paintings and chandeliers.
“Thank you. It’s just one of my seventeen homes. Butler, please tell Chef that we want our dinner now. What are we having tonight?”
“Foie gras, Sir,” replied the butler.
“What’s that?” asked Mr Spud.
“Specially fattened goose liver, Sir.”
