Mr Gum and the Biscuit Billionaire (4 page)

And after that, Polly went on the fastest rollercoaster in the world, so fast that you couldn't even remember if you'd been on it or not, your only proof was that you could hardly walk afterwards and you were covered in your own sick.

Meanwhile, Jonathan Ripples had eaten one burger too many and his stomach was groaning like a shipwreck.

‘I think I'd better lie down,' he said unhappily.

He staggered out of the food tent, lay down on the hillside and closed his eyes. No sooner had he done so than Martin Launderette ran up and stuck a sign by his head which said:
Ride the Bouncy CASTLE!

‘Look!' exclaimed a little kid excitedly. ‘A new ride!' And within seconds there were tonnes of little kids jumping up and down on Jonathan Ripples, screaming and laughing as they played in the flab.

Martin Launderette was hiding in a nearby bush.

Ha, Ha,
he wrote in his red notebook.
My best trick yet – turning Ripples into a fairground attraction!

But Martin Launderette's trick was no way the worst thing that happened on Boaster's Hill that night. There was much worse stuff about to happen, believe you me.

 

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O
n the other side of the hill, two shadowy figures were creeping along with shenanigans on their minds and entrails in their mouths. Of course, it was Mr Gum and Caterpillar Joe, sorry, I mean Billy William the Third. Halfway up the hill they stopped and lay down like soldiers, but not the ones on
your
side – the other lot.

Mr Gum scanned the party through some evil binoculars. ‘Shabba me whiskers,' he grimaced. ‘People having fun – I can't stands it! Hang on – there's Taylor!'

‘Has he got that there biscuit tin wiv 'im?' asked Billy William, licking his dirty lips and burping at the same time just to see if it was possible.

‘Yeah,' said Mr Gum, chuckling so hard an entrail shot out his nostril. ‘An' soon it'll be ours.'

 

Back at the party Polly and Friday were climbing on to the Big Wheel.

‘Have fun, you two,' said Alan Taylor. ‘I'm off to get a hot dog.'

‘Bring me one,' Friday called cheerily after him as the chair rose up into the night sky. ‘And make sure it's got millions of onions!'

What a view greeted Friday and Polly when they reached the top of the wheel. All of Lamonic Bibber was spread out before them like a mighty pancake sprinkled with houses. To the west the mountains challenged the heavens with their height and to the east the sea challenged the heavens by being flat and wet and not really challenging the heavens after all.

‘It's so beautiful,' sighed Polly as they sat there at the top of the world, the carriage
creaking softly to and fro in the breeze. She gazed down and saw the party far below. The people looked like ants and the ants looked like even smaller ants. And further down the hillside Polly could see tonnes of little kids jumping up and down on some sort of bouncy castle.

I still wishes Jake was here though,
she thought, shivering a little in the night air.
Everything's more fun when that fat old woofdog's around.

Meanwhile, Alan Taylor was yib-yabbin' along after some dogs of a different kind. Hot dogs. As he went, the townsfolk bent down to pat his back and cheer him on his way.

‘It's the best party in the last one hundred years!' exclaimed Old Granny, the oldest woman in Lamonic Bibber. ‘Alan Taylor, you are the champ!'

‘You're a treasure! It's a pleasure to enjoy such leisure,' rhymed Beany McLeany.

‘I admire you, Alan Taylor, for you are a noble and generous fellow,' said a six-month-old baby. And her mother rejoiced for these were the first words her infant daughter had ever spoken.

The praise rang in Alan Taylor's ears and the lights of the fair danced in his vision and he felt as if he were in a magical dream where he would always be safe from harm.

‘Everyone's my friend now,' he said fiercely to himself. ‘No one will ever laugh at me again like they did at school.'

At last he came to the hot dog stand which stood in the shadows on the very edge of the fairground. It was quieter here. The laughter and the music sounded far off in the distance and a cold wind had struck up, whistling softly through the trees as if to warn that shenanigans were afoot. But Alan Taylor suspected nothing.

‘Two hot dogs, please,' he said. ‘With millions of onions.'

‘Onions, you says?' remarked the hot dog man, his face half-hidden in the shadows. His words stretched out long and low, slippery as rattlesnakes. ‘I'll gives you onions all right!'

‘OK, then,' said Alan Taylor innocently.

‘Hop up here, me little ginger,' said the hot dog man, beckoning with a long unwashed finger. ‘I likes to get a good look at me customers.'

So Alan Taylor hopped up on to the hot dog stand, a tiny shining beacon of trust in the cold starry night.

‘Now, about those onions –' he began.

‘Come closer, me little ginger,' murmured the hot dog man. ‘Closer to the onions.'

Alan Taylor took a step towards the big pile of onions which crackled and sizzled on the grill.

‘Another step, me little ginger,' whispered the hot dog man. ‘Thaaat's right . . . Now one step more . . .'

And then, in a flash, someone jumped out from behind a leaf and grabbed the biscuit tin from Alan Taylor's grasp.