What's for Dinner, Mr Gum?

For Andy, Kathy and Ellie And for Bob, the fattest cat in L.A.

What’s for Dinner Mr Gum? First published 2007 by Egmont UK Limited This edition published 2019 by Egmont UK Limited, The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2007 Andy Stanton

Illustration copyright © 2007 David Tazzyman

The moral rights of the author and illustrator have been asserted

First e-book edition 2019

ISBN 978 1 4052 9374 7

Ebook ISBN 978 1 4052 5932 3

mrgum.co.uk www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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Read all of Andy Stanton’s books!

You’re a Bad Man, MR GUM!

MR GUM and the Biscuit Billionaire

MR GUM and the Goblins

MR GUM and the Power Crystals

MR GUM and the Dancing Bear

What’s for Dinner, MR GUM?

MR GUM and the Cherry Tree

MR GUM and the Secret Hideout

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication and Copyright page

Front series promotional page

1 Off to the Seaside!

2 Butcher Shop Blues

3 Billy on the Trail

4 Greasy Ian’s House of Slops

5 Billy Sows the Seeds of His Revenge

6 The Incident of Billy and The Flies

7 The Dinnertime Wars

8 The Heroes Return

9 ‘Only Love Can Save Us Now’

10 The Train Down to London

11 Olde London Town

12 Thora Gruntwinkle

13 The Heroes Return. Again. Plus There’s One More of Them This Time

14 The Power of Love

15 All’s Well That Ends Good

What, No Jake the Dog?

Jake Gets a Job

About the Author

About the Illustrator

Praise

Chapter 1 Off to the Seaside!

This is the story of the Battle of Lamonic Bibber, or as it became known, the Dinnertime Wars or, as it didn’t become known, Ghostbusters III. And know this, my friends – it was a terrible conflict indeed. Like all wars it was full of madness and anger. Like all wars there were courageous heroes and dastardly villains. Like practically all wars there was a dirty little monkey called Philip the Horror.

But I know what you’re wondering. You’re wondering how the Dinnertime Wars got started in the first place, aren’t you?

‘How did it all start?’ you say.

‘Where did it begin?’ you ask.

‘What do you mean, a monkey?’ you enquire.

‘Shut up,’ I reply. ‘Stop bothering me with all these questions and I will tell you.’

It all started on a Friday. And not only did it start on a Friday but it started with a Friday – that wonderful old gentleman Friday O’Leary, hero of many an adventure and three times winner of the Lamonic Bibber Women’s Underwater Badminton Championship.

And here’s a quick word from Friday himself:

‘BREADBIN’

Thanks, Friday.

But hey now, hey now, don’t dream it’s over. This story doesn’t just start with Friday O’Leary. Because along with him were his good friends Polly and Alan Taylor.

Now, Polly was a little girl with the sort of sandy-coloured hair that makes you happy to be alive and the sort of heart-coloured heart which is so brave it would fight a lion if that lion happened to deserve it. For instance, if he had been trying to rob pencils. Polly was only nine but she was a hero through and through.

And as for Alan Taylor, he was a gingerbread man with electric muscles and he was 16.24cm tall because he’d grown a centimetre since the last book he was in.

‘Maybe I’ll grow into a real man one day,’ he was fond of saying. But that was impossible.

Or was it?

Yes.

But never mind. For the most part, Alan Taylor was a jolly little twinkle and girls liked him because he was cute and they could dress him up like a doll and make him do tea parties.

‘Oh, you are a darlin’ little marshy,’ laughed Polly now, bending down to kiss Alan Taylor on his juicy raisin eye. ‘An’ this is gonna be the best holiday ever!’

‘That’s right,’ laughed Friday O’Leary, throwing his hat up in the air. It landed on a cloud and the cloud laughed so hard it turned into a lovely apple. ‘We’re off to the seaside and we won’t be back for weeks!’

‘Hoorays!’ said Polly.

‘Huzzooof!’ said Alan Taylor.

‘THE TRUTH IS A LEMON MERINGUE!’ yelled Friday, as he sometimes liked to do. ‘It’s seaside time for us!’

And off they toddled down the friendly road and the sun shone down and the trees were brown and there wasn’t a frown in the whole wide world, just Friday, a biscuit and a happy little girl.

Chapter 2 Butcher Shop Blues

Deep inside Billy William the Third’s Right Royal Meats someone stood in the dismal shadows, watching the heroes go. It was that appalling butcher, Billy William the Third.

‘Ha ha ha,’ grinned Billy now. ‘With them lot of do-gooders gone down the seaside to do their sunbathin’ an’ their sandcastles, the way is clear for evil. For once me an’ me old pal Mr Gum’ll be free to do our plans in peace. An’ then we’ll RULE this stupid town!’

And that’s how it went in Lamonic Bibber. Billy William and Mr Gum were always trying to hatch their scoundrel plans and the heroes were always squashing them back down. So it was no wonder that seeing Polly and her friends leaving town put Billy in a good evil mood.

No more heroes any more!

he sang.

No more heroes any more! They walked right past me butcher’s door! Now me an’ Mr Gum’s gonna rule the roost! What’s a roost, I don’t even know? But who even cares, cos the heroes are gone! An’ now I’m gonna sing me song! Yeah yeah yeah yeah, nothin’ can stop us! Not even an interferin’ diplodocus.

As Billy sang he beat out a rhythm on the counter with a pair of chicken drumsticks. He closed his eyes and pretended he was a rock star guy called Space Age Billy and the Meat Brigade.

No more heroes any more! They walked right past me butcher’s door!

Me name is Space Age Billy, I’m a funky man!

He was Number 1 in the charts and all the girls fancied him. He was the best!

No more heroes any more! Mr Gum an’ Billy’s gonna win for sure!

But hang on. Just where was Mr Gum exactly?

Billy opened his eyes and snapped back to reality. He must have been singing for hours. It was getting dark outside. An owl flew past the window. Then another owl flew past. Then Dracula and his friend Clive walked by on their way to the pub. It was night time – but still no Mr Gum.

‘That’s funty,’ said Billy. (You see, that was how Billy William pronounced the word ‘funny’.) ‘Mr Gum always comes here for his Friday night dinner. He loves feastin’ on the entrails an’ stale burgers what I feed him. In all these years he ain’t never once been late.’

Billy’s pet flies buzzed around his head, picking at the tiny morsels of meat he kept in his ears for their treats.

The clock on the wall ticked.

Billy waited patiently, but inside his heart was slowly sinking like a battle ship. Until finally he had to admit it. Mr Gum wasn’t going to show.

‘Well, that’s it. I can’t wait no longer,’ yawned Billy, his butcher’s cap drooping wearily in the gloom. ‘There’s nothin’ for it but to shut up shop an’ call it a night.’

’I don’t get it,’ said Billy as he tucked himself into his freezing cold bed. ‘A whole town to muck up an’ no Mr Gum to muck it up with! It ain’t no fun doin’ plans on me own.’

Billy looked up at the poster on the wall. It was his secret joy. It was a pin-up of Thora Gruntwinkle, the Butcher Queen of Olde London Town. She was holding a meat cleaver dripping with guts.

‘Imagine if you an’ me was married, Thora me darlin’,’ said Billy. ‘Then I wouldn’t be lonely no more. An’ I wouldn’t need no Mr Gum neither,’ he added spitefully.

Billy blew out his bedside candle and soon he was fast asleep, sucking his thumb and dreaming of punting downstream with Thora Gruntwinkle at his side, feeding her chicken livers and gently stroking her long red fingernails.

Chapter 3 Billy on the Trail

Another lonely night down at the butcher’s. The flies buzzed lazily through the murk. Billy sat with his feet on the counter, staring up at the clock.

Seven o’clock.

Seven thirty.

Eight o’clock.

If only I could tell the time, thought Billy. Then at least there’d be some point starin’ up at the clock.

But he couldn’t. AND THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU BUNK OFF SCHOOL LIKE BILLY, SO WATCH IT.

‘Well,’ sighed Billy as the evening wore on. ‘Looks like Mr Gum ain’t comin’ in tonight neither, the lousy stinkin’ – hey, there he is!’ he cried suddenly. ‘Me best pal in the whole world what I’d never say a bad word about! He’s back!’

And yes! There was Mr Gum now, creeping along the high street in his hobnail boots. His big red beard blazed like a beacon in the twilight. His bloodshot eyes darted cunningly around, looking for trouble. His dusty jacket flapped out behind him like a bad wizard’s cloak. And he was licking his lips greedily. He wanted the scoffs.

‘An’ I’m the one to give him them scoffs,’ grinned Billy. ‘I’m gonna feed him up like a champion! Everythin’s back to normal.’

But that’s where Billy was wrong. Mr Gum walked straight past Billy William the Third’s Right Royal Meats. He crossed over the road, kicked a beer can at a nightingale, and disappeared round the corner.

Billy did a thought. Then, without a second thought, he slunk out of the butcher’s shop. Taking care to keep to the shadows and to not yell out things like, ‘HEY, MR GUM! I’M FOLLOWING YOU!’ Billy crept after his horrible old pal.

‘Shabba me whiskers!’ he heard Mr Gum mutter up ahead. ‘I’m gonna be late for me dinner!’

Oho! Billy nodded to himself. ‘Late for dinner is it? I knew he was up to something! But what? It’s a mittersy.’ (You see, that was how Billy William pronounced the word ‘mystery’.)

Mr Gum picked his way through the quiet streets, his hobnail boots clomp-clomp-clompin’ on the cobblestones. And behind him rode Billy William on his magic unicorn, Elizabeth.

‘Hang on,’ frowned Billy. ‘I ain’t got no magic unicorn called Elizabeth.’

Mr Gum picked his way through the quiet streets, his hobnail boots clomp-clomp-clompin’ on the cobblestones. And behind him crept Billy William. There were no magic unicorns in sight.

By now Mr Gum had come to the stone steps that led down to the old canal. Mr Gum did a big crafty look and went tiptoeing down the slimy steps. Billy did an even bigger crafty look and went tiptoeing after him. Mr Gum did an ENORMOUS crafty look and went tiptoeing along the canal towpath. Billy did an even BIGGER crafty look which was so large it didn’t even fit on his face. But somehow he managed it because that’s how determined he was to look craftier than Mr Gum.

The two bad men tiptoed along the canal, the dirty water lapping softly in the evening breeze. Many years ago the canal had been a glorious waterway, transporting over 90% of all England’s emails down to Cornwall. But in these modern times all the email transportation was done over the Internet and no one used the canal any more, except to dump shopping trolleys in. The water was brown and useless. If you drank it you would die and I should know because I drank it once and I died.

But now a new smell came to Billy William’s long nose above the stench of the stagnant, brown water. It was the smell of old cooking oil and chip fat. And suddenly a cold chill passed over him as he realised where Mr Gum was headed.

‘No,’ whispered Billy. ‘It couldn’t be . . . It’s too upsettin’ to even imagine . . .’

But there it was. A fizzing neon sign, which blinked and buzzed in the darkness like a sinister fig.

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