Gangsta Granny

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 (#ulink_a4b30c08-a7cd-594f-b894-434d934af3aa)

“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.