Billionaire Boy (7 page)

“I know, but…” Joe brought a large bar of Dairy Milk out of his bag. Bob’s eyes couldn’t help but light up a little.

“We can share it,” said Joe, before snapping off a tiny square of chocolate. Then breaking that tiny square in half.

Bob’s face fell.

“I’m only joking!” said Joe. “Here.” He handed Bob the bar to help himself.

“Oh, no,” said Bob.

“What?” said Joe.

Bob pointed. The Grubbs were walking slowly across the playground towards them, right through the games of football. Not that anyone dared to complain.

“Quick, let’s make a run for it,” said Bob.

“Where?”

“The dining room. They wouldn’t dare go in there. No one does.”

“Why?”

“You’ll see.”

When they burst into the dining room it was completely empty, aside from a lone dinner lady.

The Grubbs burst in a few paces behind them, their genders still uncertain.

“If you aren’t eating, get out!’ shouted Mrs Trafe.

“But Mrs Trafe…?” said either Dave or Sue.

“I SAID ‘OUT’!”

The twins reluctantly retreated, as Joe and Bob tentatively made their way to the serving counter.

Mrs Trafe was a large, smiley soul, of dinner-lady age. Bob had explained on the way to the canteen that she was nice enough, but her food was truly revolting. The kids in the school would rather die than eat anything she cooked. In fact they probably
would
die if they ate anything she cooked.

“Who’s that, then?” said Mrs Trafe, peering at Joe.

“This is my friend, Joe,” said Bob.

Despite the vile smell in the canteen, Joe felt warmth spread through him. No one had ever called him their friend before!

“Now what would you like today, boys?” Mrs Trafe said with a warm smile. “I have a very nice badger and onion pie. Some deep-fried rust. Or for the vegetarians I have jacket potatoes with sock cheese.”

“Mmm, it all looks so nice,” said Bob, lying, as the Grubbs stared in at them through the grimy windows.

Mrs Trafe’s cooking was truly unspeakable. A typical week’s menu for the school canteen looked like this:

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School Lunch Menu

Monday

Soup of the day
– wasp
Gerbils on toast
Or
Hair lasagne (vegetarian option)
Or
Brick cutlet
All served with deep-fried cardboard
Dessert
– A slice of sweat cake

Tuesday

Soup of the day
– Caterpillar consommé
Macaroni snot (vegetarian option)
Or
Road-kill bake
Or
Slipper frittata
All served with spider’s web salad
Dessert
– Toenail ice cream

Wednesday

Soup of the day
– Cream of hedgehog
Parrot kedgeree (may contain nuts)
Or
Dandruff risotto
Or
Bread sandwich (slice of bread between two slices of bread)
Or
Char-grilled kitten (healthy option)
Or
Soil bolognese
All served with either boiled wood or deep fried iron filings
Dessert
– Squirrel dropping tart with cream or ice cream

Thursday: Indian Day

Soup of the Day
– Turban
To start – Paper poppadoms (A4 or A3 sizes) with chutney
Main course – Wet-wipe tandoori (vegan)
Or
Moth korma (spicy)
Or
Newt vindaloo (very spicy)
All served with bogey bhajis
Dessert
– a refreshing sand sorbet

Friday

Soup of the day
– Terrapin
Pan-fried otter steaks
Or
Owl quiche (kosher)
Or
Boiled poodle (not suitable for vegetarians)
All served with a slice of gravy
Dessert
– Mouse mousse

“It’s so hard to choose…” said Bob, desperately scouring the trays of food for something edible. “Mmm, I think we will just have two jacket potatoes please.”

“Is there any chance I could have it without the sock cheese?” pleaded Joe.

Bob looked hopefully at Mrs Trafe.

“I could sprinkle on some ear-wax shavings if you prefer? Or a showering of dandruff?” offered Mrs Trafe with a smile.

“Mmm, I think I will just have it totally plain please,” said Joe.

“Some boiled mould on the side perhaps? You are growing boys…” offered Mrs Trafe, wielding a serving spoon of something green and unspeakable.

“I’m on a diet, Mrs Trafe,” said Joe.

“Me too,” said Bob.

“That’s a shame, boys,” said the dinner lady dolefully. “I have a smashing dessert on today. Jellyfish and custard.”

“My absolute favourite too!” said Joe. “Never mind.”

He took his tray to one of the empty tables and sat down. As he put his knife and fork into the potato he realised that Mrs Trafe had forgotten to cook it.

“How are your spuds?” called Mrs Trafe across the hall.

“Delicious, thank you, Mrs Trafe,” Joe called back, as he pushed his raw potato round the plate. It was still covered in soil and he noticed a maggot burrowing out of it. “I hate it when they are too well done. This is perfect!”

“Good good!” she said.

Bob was trying to chew his but it was so utterly inedible he started crying.

“Something the matter, boy?” called Mrs Trafe.

“Oh no, it’s so delicious that these are tears of joy!” said Bob.

Once again, that wasn’t your doorbell, reader. That was the bell to signal the end of lunch.

Joe let out a sigh of relief. Dinner hour was over.

“Oh, what a shame, Mrs Trafe,” said Joe. “We have to go to our Maths lesson now.”

Mrs Trafe limped over and inspected their plates.

“You’ve hardly touched them!” she said.

“Sorry. It was just so filling. And really really tasty though,” said Joe.

“Mmm,” seconded Bob, still crying.

“Well it doesn’t matter. I can put them in the fridge for you and you can finish them off tomorrow.”

Joe and Bob shared a horrified look.

“Really, I don’t want you to go to any trouble,” said Joe.

“No trouble at all. See you then. And I’ve got some specials tomorrow. It’s the anniversary of the bombing of Pearl Harbour, so it’s Japanese day. I’m doing my armpit hair sushi, followed by tadpole tempura… Boys…? Boys…?”

“I think the Grubbs have gone,” said Bob as they sneaked out of the canteen. “I’ve just got to use the bog.”

“I’ll wait for you,” said Joe. He leaned against the wall, as Bob disappeared through a door. Usually Joe would have said that the lavatories were smelly – and he’d have been horrified to have to use them, after the privacy of his own en-en-suite bathroom, with emperor-size bath. But the truth was that the toilets didn’t smell as bad as the canteen.

Suddenly Joe sensed two figures looming behind him. He didn’t need to turn round. He knew it was the Grubbs.

“Where is he?” said one.

“He’s in the boys’ loo, but you can’t go in there,” said Joe. “Well, not both of you, anyway.”

“Where’s the chocolate bar?” asked the other.

“Bob’s got it,” said Joe.

“Well, we’ll wait for him then,” said the Grubb.

The other Grubb turned to Joe, a deadly look in its eye. “Now give us a pound. Unless you want a dead arm, that is.”

Joe gulped. “Actually… I’m glad I bumped into you two guys, well, guy and a girl, obviously.”

“Obviously,” said Dave or Sue. “Give us a pound.”

“Wait,” said Joe. “It’s just… I wondered if—”

“Give him a dead arm, Sue,” said a Grubb, revealing for perhaps the first time which of the twins was male and which was female. But then the Grubbs grabbed Joe and spun him around, and he lost track again.

“No! Wait,” said Joe. “The thing is, I want to make you two an offer…”

Chapter 8
The Witch

“The bell is a signal for me, not you!” said Miss Spite sharply. Teachers love saying that. It’s one of their catchphrases, as I’m sure you know. The all-time top ten of teachers’ catchphrases goes like this:

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Teachers' Catchphrases

At ten… “Walk, don’t run!”