The World of David Walliams: 7 Book Collection

“I want to. Thank you for everything, Lisa.”

“What have you got to thank me for? I got you expelled!”

Dennis paused.

“Lisa, I want to thank you for opening my eyes.”

Lisa looked down, shyly. Dennis had never seen her look like that before.

“Well, thank you, Dennis. That’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

Dennis smiled, and his confidence grew for a moment.

“And I have to tell you something, Lisa. Something I’ve wanted to tell you for ages.”

“Yes?”

“I am completely, madly…”

“Completely, madly what?”

But he just couldn’t say it. Sometimes it’s hard to say the things you feel.

“I’ll tell you when I’m older.”

“Promise, Dennis?”

“I promise.”

I hope he does. We all have someone who, when we are near them, our heart feels like it is in the sky. But even when you’re a grown-up, sometimes it’s hard to say the things you feel.

Lisa ran her hands through Dennis’s hair. He shut his eyes, so he could feel it more.

On the way home, Dennis walked past Raj’s shop. He wasn’t going to stop, but Raj spotted him and came out of the shop to see him.

“Dennis you look so sad! Come in, come in! What on earth is the matter, young man?”

Dennis told him what had happened at the football match, and Raj shook his head in disbelief.

“You know the irony, Dennis?” proclaimed Raj. “Those people who are so quick to judge, be they teachers or politicians or religious leaders or whatever, are normally up to far worse themselves!”

“Maybe,” murmured Dennis, half-listening.

“Not maybe, Dennis. It’s true. You know that headmaster of yours, what’s his name?’

“Mr Hawtrey.”

“That’s it. Mr Hawtrey. I could swear there’s something strange going on with him.”

“Strange?” asked Dennis, intrigued.

“I don’t know for sure,” continued Raj, “but you see he used to come in here every Sunday morning at 7 o’clock in the morning for his Telegraph. Same time every week, on the dot. And then after a while he stopped coming and his sister came instead. At least, he said it was his sister.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something very peculiar about that woman.”

“Really? What?”

“Come tomorrow at 7am and see for yourself.” Raj tapped his nose. “Now, do you want the other half of that Chomp bar? I can’t seem to shift it.”

“It’s very early for a Sunday,” complained Lisa. “It’s six forty-five. I should be in bed.”

“I’m sorry,” said Dennis.

“So Hawtrey’s got a sister. So what?”

“Well, Raj said there was something funny about her. Look, we’d better hurry up if we want to be there for seven.”

They quickened their pace along the cold, misty streets. The ground was damp from an overnight storm. No one else was up yet, and the absence of people gave the town an eerie feel. Lisa was of course wearing heels, though Dennis wasn’t on this particular occasion. All that could be heard was the click-clacking of her heels down the street.

Then, out of the grey mist stepped a very tall woman dressed in black. She entered the shop. Dennis checked his watch.

Seven o’clock precisely.

“That must be her,” whispered Dennis. They tiptoed over to the shop window and peered through the glass. This woman was indeed buying a copy of the Sunday Telegraph.

“So she’s buying a newspaper? So what?” whispered Lisa.

“Shush,” shushed Dennis. “We haven’t had a proper look at her yet.”

Raj spotted Dennis and Lisa through the glass and gave them a big wink as the woman turned around. They retreated behind a bin as she made her way out of the shop. Neither Dennis nor Lisa could believe what they saw. If it was Mr Hawtrey’s sister it must have been his twin. She even had a moustache!

The figure looked about to see no one was around and then hurried down the street. Dennis and Lisa looked at each other and smiled.

Gotcha!

“MR HAWTREY!” shouted Dennis.

The figure turned and said in a low, manly voice, “Yes?” before immediately raising its voice for a lady-like tone, “Um, I mean no!”

Dennis and Lisa approached.

“I’m not Mr Hawtrey. No… no… definitely not. I’m his sister Doris.”

“Come off it, Mr Hawtrey,” said Lisa, “we may be kids but we’re not stupid.”

“And why have you got a moustache?” accused Dennis.