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Gangsta Granny
Ben detested Scrabble. If he had his way, Ben would build a rocket, and blast all the Scrabble boards in the world into outer space. Granny pulled out the dusty old Scrabble box from the sideboard and set up the game on the pouf.
What seemed like decades later, but was probably just hours, Ben stared at his letters, before scanning the board. He had already put down:
He had an ‘E’, an ‘M’, an ‘I’, a ‘U’ and a ‘D’. Granny had just put down ‘Murraymint’ (double word score) so Ben used the ‘T’ at the end to form the word ‘tedium’.
“Well, it’s nearly eight o’clock, young man,” announced Granny, looking at her little gold watch. “Time for your beddy-byes, I think…”
Ben groaned inwardly. Beddy-byes! He wasn’t a toddler!
“But I don’t have to go to bed until 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!
5 A Little Broken
“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.
Had she heard what he’d said? He looked behind him and thought he saw her shadow, but then it was gone.
It was true that Ben found her dreadfully dull, but he didn’t want her to know that. After all she was a lonely old widow, and her husband had died long before Ben was even born. Guiltily, Ben crept back to the spare room and waited and waited and waited for the morning.
At breakfast Granny seemed different.
Quieter. Older maybe. A little broken.
Her eyes looked bloodshot as if she’d been crying.
Did she hear? thought Ben. I really hope she didn’t hear.
She stood by the oven as Ben sat at the tiny kitchen table. Granny was pretending to be interested in her calendar, which was pinned to the wall by the oven. Ben could tell she was pretending, because there was nothing interesting on her calendar.
This was a typical week in Granny’s hectic life:
Monday: Make cabbage soup. Play Scrabble against yourself. Read a book.
Tuesday: Make cabbage pie. Read another book. Blow off.
Wednesday: Make the dish ‘Chocolate Surprise’. The surprise is that it isn’t made of chocolate at all. It is in fact 100% cabbage.
Thursday: Suck a Murray Mint all day. (She could make one mint last a lifetime.)
Friday: Still suck the same Murray Mint. My wonderful grandson visits.
Saturday: My wonderful grandson leaves. Have another nice sit down. Pooped!
Sunday: Eat roast cabbage, with braised cabbage and boiled cabbage on the side. Blow off all day.
Eventually, Granny turned away from the calendar. “Your mummy and daddy will be here soon,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” said Ben, looking at his watch. “Just a few more minutes.”
The minutes felt like hours. Days even. Months!
A minute can be a long time. Don’t believe me? Then sit in a room on your own and do nothing but count for sixty seconds.
Have you done it yet? I don’t believe you. I’m not joking. I want you to really go and do it.
I am not carrying on with the story until you do.
It’s not my time I’m wasting.
I’ve got all day.
Right, have you done it now? Good. Now back to the story…
At just after eleven o’clock, the little brown car pulled up in front of Granny’s house. Much like a getaway driver for a bank robbery, Mum kept the engine running. She leaned over and opened the passenger door so Ben could dive in quickly and they could zoom off.
As Ben trudged towards the car, Granny stood at the front door. “Would you like to come in for a cup of tea, Linda?” she shouted.
“No thanks,” said Ben’s mum. “Quick, Ben, for goodness sake get in!” She revved the engine. “I don’t want to have to talk to the old dear.”
“Shh!” said Ben. “She’ll hear you!”
“I thought you didn’t like Granny?” said Mum.
“I didn’t say that, Mum. I said I found her boring. But I don’t want her to know that, do I?”
Mum laughed as they sped off out of Grey Close. “I wouldn’t worry, Ben, your granny isn’t really with it. She probably doesn’t understand what you’re saying half the time.”
Ben frowned. He wasn’t sure about that. He wasn’t sure at all. He remembered Granny’s face at the breakfast table. Suddenly, he had a horrible feeling she understood a lot more than he had ever realised…
6 Cold Wet Egg
This Friday night would have been just as spectacularly dull as the last, if Ben hadn’t remembered to bring his magazine with him this time. Once again, Mum and Dad dumped their only child at Granny’s.
As soon as he arrived, Ben rushed past her into his cold damp little bedroom, shut the door and read his copy of the latest Plumbing Weekly from cover to cover. There was an amazing guide, with lots and lots of colour photographs, showing how to install the new generation of combi boilers. Ben folded over the corner of the page. Now he knew what he wanted for Christmas.
Once he’d finished the magazine, Ben sighed and headed to the living room. He knew he couldn’t stay in his bedroom all evening.
Granny looked up and smiled when she saw him. “Scrabble time!” she exclaimed cheerily, holding up the board.
The next morning the air was thick with silence.
“Another boiled egg?” said Granny, as they sat in her rundown little kitchen.
Ben didn’t like boiled eggs and hadn’t finished his first one yet. Granny could even ruin food this simple. The egg would always come out all watery, and the soldiers were always burnt to a cinder. When the old lady wasn’t looking, Ben would flick the egg gloop out of the window with his spoon, and hide the soldiers behind the radiator. There must be a whole platoon of them back there by now.
“No thanks, Granny. I’m completely full,” replied Ben. “Delicious boiled egg, thank you,” he added.
“Mmm…” murmured the old lady, unconvinced. “It’s a bit nippy. I’m just going to put another cardigan on,” she said, even though she was already wearing two. Granny trundled out of the room, quacking as she went.
Ben flicked the rest of his egg out of the window, and then tried to find something else to eat. He knew that Granny had a secret stash of chocolate biscuits that she kept on a top shelf in the kitchen. Granny would give Ben one on his birthday. Ben would also help himself to one from time to time, when his granny’s cabbage-based delicacies left him as hungry as a wolf.
So he quickly slid his chair over to the cupboard and stood on it to reach the biscuits. He lifted the biscuit tin. It was a big Silver Jubilee assortment tin from 1977 that featured a scratched and faded portrait of a much younger Queen Elizabeth II on the lid. It felt really heavy. Much heavier than usual.
Strange.
Ben shook the tin a little. It didn’t feel or sound like it had biscuits inside. It was like it had stones or marbles in it.
Even stranger.
Ben unscrewed the lid.
He stared.
And then he stared some more.
He couldn’t believe what was inside. Diamonds! Rings, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, all with great big sparkling diamonds. Diamonds, diamonds and more diamonds!
Ben was no expert, but he thought there must be thousands of pounds worth of jewellery in the biscuit tin, maybe even millions.
Suddenly, he heard Granny quacking her way into the room. Fumbling desperately, he put the lid back on and placed the tin on the shelf. He leaped down, yanked his chair over and sat at the table.
Glancing at the window, he realised that his flicked egg hadn’t flown out into the garden, but was smeared across the glass. Granny would need a blowtorch to get that off if it dried. So he rushed over to the window and sucked the cold wet egg off the glass, then returned to his seat. It was too unpleasant to swallow so, in a panic, Ben kept it in his mouth.
Granny shuffled back into the kitchen wearing her third cardigan.
Still quacking.
“Better get your coat on, young man. Your mummy and daddy will be here in just a tick,” she said with a smile.
Ben reluctantly swallowed the cold wet egg. It slipped down his throat. Yuck, yuck and double yuck. “Yes,” he said, fearing he would vomit and deposit the egg back on the window.
Scrambled.
7 Bags of Manure
“Can I stay at Granny’s again tonight?” announced Ben from the backseat of his mum and dad’s little brown car. The diamonds in the biscuit tin were so puzzling; he was desperate to do some detective work. Maybe even search every nook and cranny of the old lady’s bungalow. This was all awfully mysterious. Raj had said his granny might have a secret or two. And it seemed like the newsagent was right! And whatever Granny’s secret was, it must be pretty amazing to explain all those diamonds. What if she used to be a zillionaire? Or worked in a diamond mine? Or been left them by a Princess? Ben couldn’t wait to find out.
“What?” asked Dad, astonished.
“But you said she was boring,” said Mum, equally astonished, irritated even. “You said all old people are.”
“I was just joking,” said Ben.
Dad studied his son in the rear-view mirror. He found understanding his plumbing-obsessed son hard enough at the best of times. Right now Ben wasn’t making any sense at all. “Mmm, well… if you are sure, Ben…”
“I am sure, Dad.”
“I’ll call her when we get home. Just to check she’s not going out.”
“Going out!” scoffed Mum. “The old dear hasn’t gone out for twenty years!” she added with a chuckle.
Ben wasn’t sure why this was funny.
“I took her out to the garden centre that time,” protested Dad.
“It was only because you needed someone to help you carry a load of bags of manure,” said Mum.
“She had a super day out, though,” said Dad, sounding miffed.
Later, Ben sat alone on his bed. His mind was racing.
Where on earth had Granny got the diamonds?
How much were they worth?
Why would she live in that sad little bungalow if she was so rich?
Ben searched and searched his mind, but couldn’t find any answers.
Then Dad entered the room.
“Granny’s busy. She says she’d love to see you, but she’s going out tonight,” he announced.
“What?!” spluttered Ben. Granny hardly ever went out – Ben had seen her calendar. The mystery was getting even more mysterious…
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