Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (3 page)

 

As I rode my bike over to the newsagents I was nervous.

I was nervous about asking the man at the newsagents for a paper round. He had happy eyes but angry eyebrows. This made it very hard to work out what sort of mood he was in.

I locked my bike (I can't imagine anything worse than having my bike stolen so I use four locks instead of one) and walked into the shop.

The man stood behind the counter. I stood in front of the counter. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at his eyes. I looked at his eyebrows. Was he in an eye mood? Was he in an eyebrow mood? Should I ask for a paper round now? Should I come back later?

‘Young man. You are afraid. Yes?' said the man in the newsagents.

Was I afraid? Yes. A little bit. How did he know that?

 

Could he read my thoughts? I had just done quite a bit of thinking about a lady on the cover of a magazine. I hoped he couldn't read those thoughts.

‘You should not be afraid. You should be like me,' said the man in the newsagents. ‘My name is Peter. I am from Iraq. I am afraid of nothing.'

‘Peter isn't a very Iraqi name,' I said.

‘What is your name?' said Peter.

‘Charlie.'

‘That is not a very Iraqi name either. So we are even. Yes?' said Peter.

‘Yes,' I said. ‘Are you really not afraid of anything?'

‘I am afraid of nothing,' said Peter.

‘What about spiders?' I said.

Peter laughed.

‘I have
eaten
spiders,' said Peter.

‘Snakes?'

‘I have eaten snakes.'

‘Are you afraid of fire?'

‘I have eaten fire,' said Peter. ‘While
walking
on fire.'

‘You must be afraid of ghosts?'

‘I have eaten lunch with a ghost.'

That must have been a lie. Though when Peter said it, it didn't sound like a lie.

‘Are you afraid of heights?' I said.

‘Never. I have stood on top of the world's highest mountain. On tippy-toes. While eating flaming snakes and spiders.'

‘Would you be afraid if you saw a giant spider riding an elephant and the elephant had a gigantic rattlesnake for a trunk which could shoot lightning out of its fangs?' I said.

‘No. I would not be afraid of that,' said Peter. ‘Ha ha. You make me smile. I like you.'

I liked Peter too.

‘You are still afraid. Yes? What are you afraid of? Are you afraid you will always be a very short person like you are now?'

Maybe I didn't like Peter that much.

‘Are you afraid that you will always have hair that looks like a family of very untidy birds have made a nest on the top of your head?'

No. I didn't like Peter.

‘Are you afraid that you will always have one leg that is much, much hairier than the other?'

No. I really didn't like Peter. Not one little bit. (I am three centimetres taller than Umesh who is the shortest kid in our class; a budgie once landed on my head but it
did not
try to build a nest, but one of my legs
is
a lot hairier than the other. I am a bit afraid I will always have unevenly hairy legs.)

‘Whatever you are afraid of you should not be afraid of it,' said Peter.

Even though I didn't like Peter any more he was right about not being afraid.

‘Peter, I would like to get a paper round,' I said. ‘Please.'

All of a sudden Peter's eyes went from being happy to being scared. Then his eyebrows went from being angry to being scared. Then the whole of Peter went from being not afraid of anything to being really afraid of something.

Peter stared at me. I stared at Peter. Peter was silent. I was silent.

Then Peter screamed. A really terrified scream. A really loud terrified scream.

Then he ran out the door of the newsagents. Screaming.

I watched him run off down the street. Screaming all the way.

Soon I couldn't see him but I could still hear him screaming.

After school I went back to see Peter and check that he was all right.

The newsagents was closed. There was a sign on the door.

It was five o'clock in the morning. I was hiding behind my letterbox. My best friend Hils was hiding in a bush.

I had a plan.

What happened with Peter had freaked me out a bit. Actually a lot. But I wasn't going to let that stop me getting a paper round. So I thought up a plan.

It was a simple plan. I would wait for our paper to be delivered and then ask the paper deliverer how to get a paper round.

Peter running off screaming had made me nervous about talking to people about paper rounds, so I had asked Hils to come along and help me out.

‘Hils, can you see anyone coming?' I said into my walkie-talkie.

Hils had brought her walkie-talkies.

‘Negative,' said Hils into her walkie-talkie.

Hils says ‘negative' instead of ‘no' because that's what they say in the army. Hils really wants to join the army. She acts like she is already in the army.

 

‘Can I ask you something?' I said.

‘Affirmative,' said Hils.

In the army they say ‘affirmative' instead of ‘yes'.

‘Why do you think Peter ran away screaming when I asked him if I could get a paper round?'

‘You farted,' said Hils.

‘What?' I said.

‘Your farts are really smelly. They would make anyone run away screaming.'

‘I did not fart.'

‘When you fart in my caravan I feel like running away.'

‘Then why don't you wear your gas mask?' I said.

‘Next time you fart I will,' said Hils.

Hils lives in a caravan on the front lawn of her mum's house.

Last year Hils built a flamethrower. While testing it she accidently set fire to the lounge, the kitchen, and the toilet. The next day Hils's mum bought a caravan, put it on the front lawn and told Hils to go and live in it.

In her caravan Hils keeps a gas mark. In case she is attacked with chemical weapons. I think it is sensible for Hils to have a gas mask. If anyone I knew was going to be attacked with chemical weapons it'd definitely be Hils.

Hils was hiding in a bush down on the corner of my street (out the front of the café that sold the driest muffins in the world) so she could warn me when the paper deliverer was coming. That would give me time to work out exactly what to say to them.

I was hiding behind the letterbox because I thought it might look a bit strange if I was standing in front of my letterbox at five o'clock in the morning. The paper deliverer might see me and get worried that I was some sort of crazy person.