Authors: David Walliams
Billionaire Boy (16 page)
“I said, what are you doing in there?” came the voice again. Joe frowned, puzzled. His butler didn’t have an Indian accent. Joe struggled to unglue eyes that had been stuck together with sleep. He saw a big smiley face hovering over his.
It was Raj’s.
“Why are you here at this ungodly hour, Master Spud?” asked the kindly newsagent.
As dawn was beginning to glow through the gloom, Joe took in his surroundings. He had climbed into a skip outside Raj’s shop and fallen asleep. Some bricks had been his pillow, a piece of tarpaulin his duvet, and a dusty old wooden door his mattress. No wonder every part of his body ached.
“Oh, er, hello Raj,” croaked Joe.
“Hello Joe. I was just opening up my shop and heard some snoring. There you were. I was quite surprised, I must tell you.”
“I don’t snore!” protested Joe.
“I regret to inform you that you do. Now would you be so kind as to climb out of the skip and step inside my shop, I think we need to talk,” said Raj, in a deadly serious tone.
Oh no
, thought Joe,
now I’m in trouble with Raj
.
Although Raj was adult in age and size, he was nothing like a parent or a teacher, and it was really difficult to get into trouble with him. Once one of the girls from Joe’s school had been caught trying to steal a bag of Wotsits from the newsagent and Raj had banned her from his shop for all of five minutes.
The dusty billionaire clambered out of the skip. Raj fashioned him a stool from a stack of
Heat
magazines, and wrapped a copy of the
Financial Times
over his shoulders like it was a big pink boring blanket.
“You must have been outside in the cold all night, Joe. Now, you must eat some breakfast. A nice hot mug of Lilt perhaps?”
“No thanks,” said Joe.
“Two Rolo eggs, poached?”
Joe shook his head.
“You need to eat, boy. A toasted Galaxy bar?”
“No thanks.”
“A hearty bowl of Pickled Onion Monster Munch perhaps? With warm milk?”
“I am really not hungry, Raj,” said Joe.
“Well, my wife has put me on a strict diet so I am only allowed fruit for breakfast now,” announced Raj as he unwrapped a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Now, are you going to tell me why you slept in a skip last night?”
“I ran away from home,” announced Joe.
“I guessed that much,” slurred Raj, chewing away on multiple segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Oooh, pips,” he said before spitting something into the palm of his hand. “The question is, why?”
Joe looked ill at ease. He felt the truth shamed him as much as his dad. “Well, you know that girl I brought in here the day we got some ice lollies?”
“Yes, yes! You know I said I had seen her somewhere before? Well, she was on TV last night! On an advert for Pot Noodle Snacks! So did you finally kiss her?” exclaimed an excited Raj.
“No. She was only pretending to like me. My dad paid her to be my friend.”
“Oh dear,” said Raj. His smile fell from his face. “That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”
“I
hate
him,” said Joe hotly.
“Please don’t say that, Joe,” said Raj, shocked.
“But I do,” said Joe, turning to Raj with fire in his eyes. “I hate his guts.”
“Joe! You must stop talking like this right now. He is your father.”
“I hate him. I never want to see him again for as long as I live.”
Tentatively, Raj reached out and put his hand on Joe’s shoulder. Joe’s anger immediately turned to sadness, and with his head bowed he began to weep into his own lap. His body shook involuntarily as the waves of tears ebbed and flowed through him.
“I can understand your pain, Joe, I really can,” ventured Raj. “I know from what you said that you really liked that girl, but I guess your dad was, well… just trying to make you happy.”
“It’s all that money,” said Joe, barely audible through the tears. “It’s ruined everything, I even lost my only friend over it.”
“Yes, I haven’t seen you and Bob together for a while. What happened?”
“I’ve behaved like an idiot too. I said some really mean things to him.”
“Oh dear.”
“We fell out when I paid some bullies to leave him alone. I thought I was helping him, but he got all angry about it.”
Raj nodded slowly. “You know, Joe…” he said slowly. “It doesn’t sound as though what you did to Bob is so very different to what your father did to you.”
“Maybe I am a spoiled brat,” Joe told Raj. “Just like Bob said.”
“Nonsense,” said Raj. “You did a stupid thing, and you must apologise. But if Bob has any sense, he will forgive you. I can see that your heart was in the right place. You meant well.”
“I just wanted them to stop bullying him!” Joe said. “I just thought, if I gave them money…”
“Well, that’s no way to beat bullies, young man.”
“I know that now,” admitted Joe.
“If you give them money they’ll just come back and back for more.”
“Yes, yes, but I was only trying to help him.”
“You have to realise money can’t solve everything, Joe. Maybe Bob would have stood up to the bullies himself, eventually. Money is not the answer! You know I was once a very rich man?”
“Really?!” said Joe, instantly embarrassed that he sounded a little too surprised. He sniffed and wiped his wet face on his sleeve.
“Oh, yes,” replied Raj. “I once owned a large chain of newsagent shops.”
“Wow! How many shops did you have, Raj?”
“Two. I was taking home literally hundreds of pounds a week. If I wanted anything I would simply have it. Six Chicken McNuggets? I would have nine! I splashed out on a flash brand new second-hand Ford Fiesta. And I would think nothing of returning a DVD to Blockbuster a day late and thus incurring a £2.50 fine!”
“So, um, yeah, that sounds like quite a rollercoaster ride,” said Joe, not sure what else to say. “What went wrong?”
“Two shops meant I was working very long hours, young Joe, and I forgot to spend time with the one person I really loved. My wife. I would buy her lavish gifts. Boxes of After Eight mints, a gold-plated necklace from the Argos catalogue, designer dresses from George at Asda. I thought that was the way to make her happy, but all she really wanted was to spend time with me,” concluded Raj with a sad smile.
“That’s all I want!” exclaimed Joe. “To just spend time with my dad. I don’t care about all the stupid money,” said Joe.
“Come on, I am sure your father loves you very much, he’ll be worried sick. Let me take you home,” said Raj.
Joe looked at Raj and managed a little smile. “OK. But can we stop off at Bob’s on the way? I really need to talk to him.”
“Yes, I think you are right. Now, I believe I have his address somewhere as his mum gets the
Mirror
delivered,” said Raj as he began to flick through his address book. “Or is it the
Telegraph
? Or is it
Canal Boat Weekly
? I never can remember. Ah, here we are. Flat 112. The Winton Estate.”
“That’s miles away,” said Joe.
“Don’t worry, Joe. We will take the Rajmobile!”
“
T
his
is the Rajmobile?” asked Joe.
He and Raj were looking at a tiny girl’s tricycle. It was pink and had a little white basket on the front and would have been too small for a girl of six.
“Yes!” said Raj proudly.
When Raj had mentioned the Rajmobile, Joe’s mind had conjured up images of Batman’s Batmobile or James Bond’s Aston Martin, or at least Scooby Doo’s van.
“It’s a little small for you, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I bought it on eBay for £3.50, Joe. It looked a lot bigger in the photograph. I think they had a midget stand next to it in the picture! Still, at that price, quite a bargain.”
Reluctantly, Joe sat in the basket at the front, as Raj took his place on the saddle.
“Hold on tight, Joe! The Rajmobile is quite a beast!” said Raj, before he started pedalling, and the trike trundled off slowly, squeaking with every turn of the wheels.
D
RI
N
G
That wasn’t… Oh, I think I’ve done that joke too many times now.
“Hello?” said a kindly but sad-looking lady at the door of Flat 112.
“Are you Bob’s mum?” asked Joe.
“Yes,” said the woman. She squinted at him. “You must be Joe,” she said, in a not-very-friendly tone. “Bob has told me all about
you
.”
“Oh,” squirmed Joe. “I’d like to see him, if that’s OK.”
“I’m not sure he’ll want to see you.”
“It’s really important,” said Joe. “I know I’ve treated him badly. But I want to make up for it. Please.”
Bob’s mum sighed, then opened the door. “Come in then,” she said.
Joe followed her into the little flat. The whole thing could have fitted into his en-suite bathroom. The building had definitely seen better days. Wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the carpet was worn in places. Bob’s mum led Joe along the corridor to Bob’s room and knocked on his door.
“What?” came Bob’s voice.
“Joe is here to see you,” replied Bob’s mum.
“Tell him to get lost.”
Bob’s mum looked at Joe, embarrassed.
“Don’t be rude, Bob. Open the door.”
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
“Maybe I should go?” whispered Joe, half turning towards the front door. Bob’s mum shook her head.
“Open this door at once, Bob. You hear me? At once!”
Slowly the door opened. Bob was still in his pyjamas, and stood staring at Joe.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“To talk to you,” replied Joe.
“Go on then, talk.”
“Shall I make you two some breakfast?” asked Bob’s mum.
“No, he’s not staying,” replied Bob.
Bob’s mum tutted and disappeared into the kitchen.
“I just came to say I’m sorry,” spluttered Joe.
“It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” said Bob.
“Look, I am so, so sorry for all the things I said.”
Bob was defiant in his anger. “You were really nasty.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t work out why you were so upset with me. I only gave the Grubbs money because I wanted to make things easier for you—”
“Yes, but—”
“I know, I know,” said Joe hurriedly. “I realise now it was the wrong thing to do. I’m just explaining how I felt at the time.”
“A true friend would have stuck up for me. Supported me. Instead of just flashing their money around to make the problem go away.”
“I am an idiot, Bob. I know that now. A great big fat stinking idiot.”
Bob smiled a little, though he was clearly trying hard not to.
“And you were right about Lauren, of course,” continued Joe.
“About her being a fake?”
“Yes, I found out my dad was paying her to be my friend,” said Joe.
“I didn’t know that. That must have really hurt.”
Joe’s heart ached, as he remembered how much pain he had felt at the party last night. “It did. I really liked her.”
“I know. You forgot who your
real
friends were.”
Joe felt so guilty. “I know… I’m so sorry. I do really like you, Bob. I really do. You’re the only kid at school who ever liked me for me, not just my money.”
“Let’s not fall out again. Eh Joe?” Bob smiled.
Joe smiled too. “All I ever really wanted was a friend.”
“You’re still my friend, Joe. You always will be.”
“Listen,” Joe said. “I’ve got something for you. A present. To say sorry.”
“Joe!” said Bob, frustrated. “Look, if it’s a new Rolex or a load of money I don’t want it, all right?”
Joe smiled. “No, it’s just a Twix. I thought we could share it.”
Joe pulled out the chocolate bar and Bob chuckled. Joe chuckled too. He opened the packet and handed Bob one of the fingers. But just as Joe was about to scoff the chocolate and caramel topped biscuit…
“Joe?” called Bob’s mum from the kitchen. “You better come quickly. Your dad is on the TV…”