Billionaire Boy (2010)

Written and read by David Williams.

Chapter 1 — Meet Joe Spud

If you ever wondered what it would be like to have a million pounds, or a billion, a trillion, or even a gazillion, meet Joe Spud. Joe didn't have to imagine what it would be like to have loads and loads and loads of money.

He was only 12, but he was ridiculously, preposterously rich. Joe had everything he could ever want. 100-inch plasma widescreen flat-screen high-definition TV in every room in the house.

Tick. 500 pairs of Nike trainers. Tick. A Grand Prix racetrack in the back garden. Tick. A robot dog from Japan. Tick. A golf buggy with a number plate spud too to drive around the grounds of his house.

Tick. A waterslide which went from his bedroom into an indoor Olympic-sized swimming pool. Tick. Every computer game in the world. Tick. ID IMAX Cinema in the basement Tick A Crocodile Tick 24-hour personal masseuse Tick Underground 10-lane bowling alley Tick Snooker table Tick Popcorn dispenser Tick Skateboard park Tick Another crocodile Tick £100,000 a week pocket money Tick A roller coaster in the back garden Tick A professional recording studio in the attic Tick Personalised football coaching from the England team Tick A real-life shark in a tank, tick.

In short, Joe was one horribly spoiled kid. He went to a ridiculously posh school. He flew on private planes whenever he went on holiday. Once he even had Disney World closed for the day, just so that he wouldn't have to queue for any rides.

Right now Joe's speeding around his own private racetrack in his own Formula One racing car. Some very rich children have miniature versions of cars specially built for them. Joe wasn't one of those children. Joe needed his Formula One car made a bit bigger. He was quite fat, you see. Well, you would be, wouldn't you, if you could buy all the chocolate in the world? But speeding around a racetrack isn't that much fun when you're on your own, even if you do have a squillion pounds. You really need someone to race against. The problem was Joe didn't have any friends, not one. Friends cross.

Now, driving a Formula 1 car and unwrapping a king-size Mars bar are two things you shouldn't try and do at the same time. But it had been a few moments since Joe had last eaten, and he was hungry. As he entered the chicane, he tore open the wrapper with his teeth and took a bite of the delicious chocolate-coated Newgar and caramel. Unfortunately, Joe only had one hand on the steering wheel, and as the wheels of the car hit the verge, He lost control. The multimillion-pound Formula One car careered off the track, spanned around, and hit a tree.

The tree was unharmed, but the car was a write-off. Joe squeezed himself out of the cockpit. Luckily Joe wasn't hurt, but he was a little dazed, and he tottered back to the house. Dad, I crashed the car, said Joe, as he entered the palatial living room.

Mr. Spud was short and fat, just like his son. Harrier and Elosa places too, apart from his head, which was bald and shiny. Joe's dad was sitting on a hundred-seater Krogodol skin sofa and didn't look up from reading that day's copy of The Sun.

Don't worry, Joe, he said. I'll buy you another one. Joe slumped down on the sofa next to his dad. Happy birthday, by the way, Joe. Mr. Spud handed an envelope to his son without taking his eyes off the girl on page three.

Joe opened the envelope eagerly. How much money was he going to receive this year? The card, which read, Happy Twelve Birthday, son, was quickly discarded in favour of the check inside. Joe could barely disguise his disappointment.

One million pounds, he scoffed. Is that all? What's the matter, son? Mr. Spud put down his newspaper for a moment. You gave me a million last year, Wine Joe. When I turned eleven, surely I should get more.

Now I'm twelve." Mr. Spud reached into the pocket of his shiny grey designer suit and pulled out his checkbook. His suit was horrible and horribly expensive. "'I'm so sorry, son,' he said.

"'Let's make it two million.'" Now, it's important you realise that Mr. Spud had not always been this rich. Not so long ago, the Spud family had lived a very humble life. From the age of sixteen, Mr. Spud worked in a vast Lou Roll factory on the outskirts of town.

Mr. Spud's job at the factory was so boring. He had to roll the paper around the cardboard inner tube. Roll after roll, day after day, year after year, decade after decade. This he did over and over again, until nearly all his hope had gone.

He would stand all day by the conveyor belt, with hundreds of other bored workers repeating the same mind-numbing task. Every time the paper was rolled onto one cardboard tube, the whole thing started again. And every Lou Roll was the same. Because the family was so poor, Mr. Sparred used to make birthday and Christmas presents for his son from the Lou Roll inner tubes. Mr. Sparred never had enough money to buy Joe all the latest toys, but would make him something like a Louroll racing car or a Louroll Ford complete with dozens of Louroll soldiers. Most of them got broken and ended up in the bin. Joe did manage to save a sad-looking little Louroll space rocket, though he wasn't sure why. The only good thing about working in a

factory was that Mr. Spard had lots of time to daydream. One day he had a daydream that that was to revolutionise bottom-wiping forever. Why not invent a luro that is moist on one side and dry on the other?" he thought as he wrote paper around his millionth luro of the day.

Mr. Spud kept his idea top-secret and toiled for hours locked in the bathroom of their little council flat, getting his new double-sided luro exactly right. When Mr. Spud finally launched Freshbum, it was an instant phenomenon. Mr. Spud sold a billion rolls around the world every day, and every time a roll was sold he made 10p. It all added up to an awful lot of money. 10p times a billion rolls times 365 days a year equals a lot of longer. Joe Spud was only eight at the time Freshbum was launched, and his life was turned upside down in a heartbeat. First, Joe's mum and dad split up. It turned out that for many years Joe's mum Carol had been having a torrid affair with Joe's Cub Scout leader, Alan.

She took a £10 billion divorce settlement. Alan swapped his canoe for a gigantic yacht. Last anyone had heard, Carol and Alan were sailing off the coast of Dubai, pouring vintage champagne on their crunchy-nuck complex every morning. Joe's dad seemed to get over the split quickly and began going on dates with an endless parade of Page Three girls.

Soon, Father and Son moved out of their pokey council flat and into an enormous stately home. Mr. Spud named it Fresh Bum Towers. The house was so large it was visible from outer space.

It took five minutes just to motor up the drive. Hundreds of newly planted, hopeful little trees lie in the Marlong gravel track. The house had seven kitchens, twelve sitting rooms, 47 bedrooms and 89 bathrooms. Even the bathrooms had en-suite bathrooms, and some of those en-suite bathrooms had en-suite bathrooms.

Despite living there for a few years, Joe had probably only explored around a quarter of the main house. In the endless grounds were tennis courts, a boating lake, a helipad, even a 100-metre ski slope complete with mountains of fake snow.

All the taps, door handles and even toilet seats were solid gold. The carpets were made from mink fur. He and his dad drank orange squash from priceless antique medieval goblets, and for a while they even had a butler called Otis who was also an orangutan. But he had to be given the sack.

Can I have a proper present as well, Dad? said Joe, as he put the check in his trouser pocket. I mean, I've got loads of money already. Tell me what you want, son, and I'll get one of my assistants to buy it," said Mr. Spud.

Some solid gold sunglasses? I've got a pair. You can't see out of them, but they're very expensive. Ah! Joe Yorn. Your own speedboat? Ventured Mr. Spud? Joe rolled his eyes. I've got two of those, remember? Oh, sorry, son. How about a quarter of a million pounds worth of W. H. Smith vouchers?

BORING, BORING, BORING! Joe stamped his feet in frustration. He was a boy with high-class problems. Mr. Spud looked for lawn. He wasn't sure there was anything left in the world that he could buy his only child.

In what sum? Joe suddenly had a thought. He pictured himself going round the racetrack all on his own, racing against himself. Well, there is something I really want, he said tentatively.

Name it, son," said Mr. Spud. A friend.

Chapter 2 — Bum Boy

Bum Boy, said Joe. Bum Boy? spluttered Mr. Spud. Where else do they call you at school, son? The bog-roll kid. Mr. Spud shook his head in disbelief. He had sent his son to the most expensive school in England, St. Cuthbert's School for Boys.

fees were two hundred thousand pounds a term and all the boys had to wear Elizabethan ruffs and tights. So the last thing that Mr. Spud expected was that his son would get bullied. Bullying was something that happened to poor people, but the truth was that Joe had been picked on ever since he started at the school. The posh kids hated him because his dad had made his money out of lures. They said that was awfully vulgar. Bottom billionaire? The bum-wipe heir?

Master Plot Paper, continued Joe? And that's just the teachers. Most of the boys at Joe's school were princes, or at least dukes or royals. Their families had made their fortunes from owning lots of land. That made them old money. Joe had quickly come to learn that money was only worth having if it was old. New money from selling loo rolls didn't count. The posh boys at St. Cuthbert's had names like Nathaniel, Septimus, Ernest, Bertrand, Lysander, Tybalt, Zacharias, Edmund, Alexander, Humphrey, Percy, Quentin, Tristan, Augustus, Bartholomew, Tarquin, Imogen, Sebastian, Theodore, Clarence, Smythe. That was just one boy. The subjects were all ridiculously posh too. This was Joe's school timetable. Monday. Latin. Straw hat

wearing. Royal studies. The study of etiquette. Show jumping. Ballroom dancing. Debating society. This house believes that it is vulgar to do up the bottom button on your waistcoat.

scone eating, bow tie tying, punting, polo, the sport with horses and sticks, not the mint, Tuesday, ancient Greek, croquet, fizz and shooting, being beastly to servants class, mandolin level 3, history of tweed, nose in the air hour, learning to step over the homeless person as you leave the opera? Finding your way out of a maze. Wednesday. Fox hunting.

Flower arranging. Conversing about the weather. History of cricket. History of the Brogue. Playing stately home top trumps. Reading Harper's Bazaar. Ballet appreciation class. Top hat polishing. Fencing. The one with swords not selling stolen goods.

Thursday, antique furniture appreciation hour, Range Rover tire changing class, discussion of whose daddy is the richest, competition to see who is best friends with Prince Harry, learning to talk posh, rowing club, debating society.

This house believes that muffins are best toasted. Chess, the study of coats of arms, a lecture on how to talk loudly in restaurants. Friday, poetry reading, medieval English, history of wearing corduroy, topary class, classical sculpture appreciation class, spotting yourself in the party pages of Tatler Hour, duck hunting, billions, classical music appreciation afternoon, dinner party discussion topic class, e.g. how the working classes smell. However, The main reason why Joe hated going to St. Cuthbert's wasn't the silly subjects.

It was the fact that everyone at the school looked down on him. They thought that someone whose papa made their money from bog rolls was just too, too frightfully common. I want to go to a different school, dad," said Joe.

No problem. I'm afford to send you to the poshest schools in the world. I heard about this place in Switzerland. You ski in the morning and then— No, said Joe. How about I go to the local comp?"

What? said Mr. Spud. I might make a friend there, said Joe. He'd seen the kids milling around the school gates when he was being chauffeured to St. Cuthbert's. They all looked like they were having a great time, chatting, playing games, swapping cards.

To Joe, it all looked so fabulously normal. Here, but the local comp, said Mr. Spud incredulously. Are you sure? Yes, replied Joe defiantly. I could build you a school in the back garden if you like," offered Mr. Spud.

No! I want to go to a normal school with normal kids. I want to make a friend, Dad. I don't have a single friend at St. Cuthbert's. But you can't go to a normal school. You are a billionaire, boy.

All the kids will either bully you or want to be friends with you just because you're rich. It'll be a nightmare for you. Well then, I won't tell anyone who I am. I'll just be Joe, and maybe, just maybe, I'll make a friend.

Or even two. Mr. Spud thought for a moment, and then relented. Ah, that's what you really want, Joe then. Okay. You can go to a normal school. Joe was so excited, he bum-jumped along the sofa nearer to his dad to give him a cuddle.

bump jump is to move places while sitting, using only your bottom to power you, thus meaning you don't have to get up, much favoured by the overweight." "'Don't cruise to suit, boy,' said Mr. Spud.

"'Sorry, Dad,' said Joe, bum-jumping back a little. He cleared his throat. "'Um, I love you, Dad.' "'Yes, son. Ditto, ditto,' said Mr. Spud, as he rose to his feet. "'Well, have a good birthday, mate.'

Aren't we going to do something together tonight?" said Joe, trying to hide his disappointment. When he was younger, Joe's dad would always take him to the local burger restaurant as a birthday treat. They couldn't afford the burgers, so they would just order the chips, and eat them with some ham and pickle sandwiches that Mr. Spud would smuggle in under his hat.

I can't sound sorry. I've got a date with this beautiful girl tonight," said Mr. Spud, indicating page three of the sun. Joe looked at the page. There was a photograph of a woman whose clothes seemed to have fallen off. Her hair was dyed white blonde, and she had so much makeup on it was difficult to tell if she was pretty or not. Underneath the image it read, Sapphire, 19, from Essex. Like shopping, hates thinking. Don't you think Sapphire's a little young for you, Dad," asked Joe.

"'It's only a twenty-seven-year-aise get,' replied Mr. Spud in an instant. Joe wasn't convinced. "'Well, where are you taking this, Sapphire?' "'An art club.'" "'A night club,' asked Joe.

"'Yes,' said Mr. Spud, in an offended tone. "'I'm not too old to go to a night club.'" As he spoke, he opened a box and pulled out what looked like a hamster that had flattened by a mallet and put it on his head.

What on earth is that, Dad?" "'What's what, Joe?' replied Mr. Spud with mock innocence, as he adjusted the contraption to cover his bulldoze." "'That thing on your head?' "'Oh, this is a toupee, boy—only ten grand each. I bought a blonde one, a brown one, a ginger one, and an afro for special occasions. It makes me look twenty years younger, don't you think?'

Joe didn't like to lie. The toupee didn't make his dad look younger. Instead, it made him look like a man who was trying to balance a dead rodent on his head. Therefore, Joe chose a noncommittal— Hmm. Right, well, have a good night, Joe added, picking up the remote. It looked like it would just be him and the hundred-inch TV again.

There's some caviar in the fridge for your tea, son," said Mr. Spud, as he headed for the door. What's caviar? It's fish eggs, son. Oh! Joe didn't even like normal eggs much. Eggs laid by a fish sounded really revolting.

Yeah, I had some on toast for me. Breakfast is absolutely disgusting, but it's very expensive, so we should start eating it. Can't we just have bangers and mash or fish and chips or shepherd's pie or something, dad?

Oh, you've to love shepherd's pie, son. Mr. Spud drooled a little, as if imagining the taste of Sheppard's pie. Well then, Mr. Spud took his head impatiently. No, no, no. We are rich, son. We have to eat all this push stuff now, like proper rich people do.

See you later." The door slammed behind him, and moments later, Joe heard the deafening roar of his father's lime-green Lamborghini speeding off into the night. Joe was disappointed to be on his own again, But he still couldn't suppress a small smile as he turned on the TV.

He was going to go to an ordinary school again, and be an ordinary boy. And maybe, just maybe, make a friend. The question was, how long could Joe keep the fact that he was a billionaire a secret?

Chapter 3 Who's the Fatiest?

Finally the big day came. Joe took off his diamond-encrusted watch and put his gold pen in the drawer. He looked at the designer black snakeskin bag his dad had bought him for his first day at his new school and put it back in his cupboard. Even the bag that bag had come in was too posh, but he found an old plastic one in the kitchen and put his schoolbooks in that. Joe was determined not to stand out. From the back seat of his chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce he had passed the local comprehensive many times on his way to St Cuthbert's and seen the kids pouring out of the school, a rushing river of swinging bags and swear words and hair-gill. Today he was going to enter the gates for the first time. But he didn't

want to arrive by Rolls-Royce. That would be a pretty good hint to the other kids that he was rich. He instructed the chauffeur to drop him off at a nearby bus stop. It had been quite a few years since he had travelled by public transport, and as he waited at the bus stop, Joe tingled with excitement.

I can't he change that?" said the bus driver. Joe hadn't realised that a fifty-pound note was not going to be welcome to pay for a two-pound bus fare and had to get off the bus. Sighing, he began to walk the two miles to school, his flabby thighs rubbing together as he took each step.

Finally, Joe reached the school gates. For a moment he loitered nervously outside. He'd spent so long living a life of wealth and privilege, how on earth was he going to fit in with these kids?

Joe took a deep breath, and marched across the playground. At registration there was only one other kid sitting on his own. Joe looked over at him. He was fat just like Joe, with a mop of curly hair.

When he saw Joe looking at him he smiled, and when registration was finished he came over. I'm Bob," said the fat boy. Hi, Bob," replied Joe. The bell had just rung, and they waddled along the corridor to the first lesson of the day.

I'm Joe," he added. It was weird to be in a school where no one knew who he was, where he wasn't Bumboy or Billionaire Bumb or the Bumbfresh Kid. I'm so glad you're here, Joe. In the class, I mean."

Why's that, asked Joe? He was excited. It looked like he might have found his first friend already. "'Because I'm not the fattest boy in the school any more,' Bob said confidently, as if stating an independently verified fact.

Joe scowled, then stopped for a second and studied Bob. It looked to him like he and the other boy were about the same level of fattiness. "'How much do you weigh, then?' demanded Joe grumpily.

"'Well, how much do you weigh?' said Bob. "'Well, I asked you first.' Bob paused for a second. "'But I don't.' I'm Seven Stone," said Joe, lying. No way you Seven Stone," said Bob angrily.

I'm Twelve Stone, and you are much fatter than me. You said you were Eight Stone," said Joe accusingly. I was Eight Stone," replied Bob, when I was a baby. That afternoon it was cross-country running.

What a dreadful ordeal for any day at school, not least your first day. It was a yearly torture that seemed designed solely to humiliate those kids who weren't sporty. A category Bob and Joe could definitely be squeezed into.

Where is your running kid, Bob? Shout to Mr. Bruce, the statistic P.E. teacher, as Bob made his way onto the playing field. Bob was wearing his wife-fronts and vest, and his appearance was greeted by a huge wave of laughter from the other kids.

must have... hidden it, sir," answered a shivering bob. "'Lightly story,' scoffed Mr. Bruce. Like most PE teachers, it was difficult to imagine him wearing anything other than a tracksuit."

"'Do I still have to run, sir?' asked a hopeful bob. "'Oh yes, boy. You don't get off that easily. Write everyone on your marks, get set, wait for it. Go!' At first Joe and Bob sprinted away like the other kids, but after about three seconds they were both out of breath and were forced to walk. Soon everyone else had disappeared into the distance, and the two fat boys were left alone.

I come last every year, said Bob, and wrapping a Snickers and taking a large bite. All the other kids laugh at me. They get showered and dressed and wait at the finish line. could all go home, but instead they wait just to cheer at me."

Joe frowned. That didn't sound like fun. He decided he didn't want to be last, and quickened his pace a little, making sure he was at least half a step ahead of Bob. Bob glared at him, and piled on the speed, going up to at least half a mile an hour.

From the determined expression on his face, Joe knew that Bob was hoping that this year was his golden chance not to finish last. Joe sped up a little more. They were now almost jogging. The race was on. For the ultimate primes, who was going to finish second to last? Joe really didn't want to be beaten at cross-country running by a fat boy in his vest and pants on his first day at school. After what seemed like an eternity, the finish line hazed into sight. Both boys were out of breath with all this power-waddling. Suddenly disaster struck Joe. A painful stitch burst in his side.

"'Ow!' cried Joe. "'What's the matter?' asked Bob, now quite a few centimetres in the lead. "'I've got a stitch. I've got a stop. Ow!' You're bluffing. A fifteen-stone girl poked it on me last year and ended up beating me by a fraction of a second.

"'Ow! It's true,' said Joe, holding his side tightly. "'I ain't fallin' for it, Joe. You're gonna be last, and this year all the kids in the year are going to be laughing at you!" said Bob triumphantly, as he edged ahead still further.

Being laughed at on his first day at school was the last thing Joe wanted. He'd had enough of being laughed at when he was at St. Cuthbert's. However, the stitch was becoming more and more painful with every step. It was as if it was burning a hole in his side.

How about I give you a fiver to come last?" he said. No! Why? replied Bob through heaving breaths. A tenner? No! Twenty quid? Troy Harder! Fifty quid! Bob stopped and looked around at Joe.

Fifty quid? he said. That's a lot of chocolate! Yes, a joke! Tons! You've got yourself a deal, but I want the longer now. Joe searched through his shorts and pulled out a fifty-pound note.

—What's that? asked Bob. —It's a fifty-pound note. —I've never seen one before. —Where did you get it? —Oh, um, it was my birthday last week, you see," said Joe, stumbling over his words a little, and my dad gave me that as a present.

The marginally fatter boy studied it for a moment, holding it up to the light as if it was a priceless artefact. Wow! Your dad must be loaded!" he said. The truth would have blown Bob's fat mind. But Mr. Sparred had given his son two million pounds as a birthday present, so Joe kept stumped.

Ah! Not really, he said. Go on, then, said Bob. I'll come last again. For fifty quid, I would finish tomorrow, if you like. Just a few paces behind me will be fine, said Joe. Then it will look real. Joe edged ahead, still gripping his side in pain. Hundreds of little cruelly smiling faces were coming into focus now. The new boy crossed the finish line with only a hum of mocking laughter.

Trailing behind was Bob, clutching his 50-pound note since there were no pockets in his wife's fronts. As he neared the finish line, the kids started chanting. The chance grew louder and louder.

They started clapping in time now. Undeterred, Bob hurled his body across the finish line. The other kids fell around laughing, pointing at Bob as he bent over and panted for breath.

Turning around, Joe felt a sudden twinge of guilt. As the school kids dispersed, he went over to Bob and helped him stand up straight. "'Thanks,' said Joe. "'You're welcome,' said Bob. "'To be honest, I should have done that anyway.

If you came last on your very first day, you'd have never heard the end of it. But next year you're on your own. I don't care if you give me a million pounds. I ain't coming last again." Joe thought about his two million pound birthday check.

"'What about two million pounds?' he joked. "'Deal!' said Bob, laughing. "'Imagine if you really did have that much money. It'd be crazy. I guess you could have everything you ever wanted.'"

Joe forced a smile. Yeah, he said. Maybe.

Chapter 4 — Lou Rose?

So, did you forget your kit on purpose? asked Joe. Mr. Bruce had locked up the changing rooms by the time Joe and Bob had finished their cross-country run. Well, cross-country walk.

They stood outside the grey concrete building, Bob shivering in his pants. They'd already been to find the school secretary, but there was absolutely no one left in the whole place.

Well, apart from the caretaker, who didn't seem to speak English, or any other language for that matter? No, replied Bob, a little heard at the suggestion. I may not be the fastest runner, but I'm not that much of a coward."

They trudged through the school grounds, Joe in his singlet and shorts, and Bob in his vest and pants. They looked like two rejects from a boy band audition. So, who took it? said Joe.

I don't know. It might be the grubs. They're the school bullies." The grubs? Yeah, they're twins. Oh, said Joe. I haven't met them yet. You will, replied Bob, dullfully. You know, I feel really bad about taking your birthday money off you.

You don't have to, said Joe. It's fine. But fifty pounds is a lot of money, Bob protested. 50 pounds was not a lot of money to the Spuds. Here are a few things Joe and his dad would do with 50 pound notes.

1. Light them instead of bits of old newspaper to get the barbecue going. 2. Keep a pad of them by the telephone and use them as post-it notes. 3. Line the hamster cage with handfuls of them and then throw them out after a week when they began to smell of hamster weed.

4. Let the same hamster use one as a towel after it's had a shower. Five. Filtered coffee through them. Six. Make paper hats out of them to wear on Christmas Day. Seven. Blow their noses on them. Eight. Spit-tued up chewing gum into them before crumpling them and placing them in the hand of a butler who would then put them in the hand of a footman who would then put them in the hand of a maid who would then put them in the bin. Nine. Make paper aeroplanes out of them and throw them at each other. Ten.

wallpaper that downstairs Lou with them. I never asked," said Bob. What does your dad do?" Joe panicked for a moment. Um, he, uh, it makes Lou rolls, he said, only lying a tiny bit.

Lou rolls, said Bob. He couldn't suppress his smile. Yes, replied Joe defiantly. He makes Lou rolls. Bob stopped smiling. That doesn't sound like it pays all that well. winced. Uh, no.

It doesn't. Then I'll guess your dad had to save a week to give you fifty pounds. Here you go. Bob carefully handed the now slightly crumpled fifty pound note back to Joe. No. You keep it, protested Joe.

Bob pressed the note into Joe's hand. It's your birthday money. You keep it. Joe smiled uncertainly and closed his hand over the money. Thank you, Bob. So what does your dad do?" My dad died last year.

They continued walking in silence for a moment. All joke at here was the sound of his heart beating. He couldn't think of anything to say. All he knew was that he felt awful for his new friend.

Then he remembered that when someone died, people sometimes said, I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he said. It's not your fault, said Bob. I mean, well, I'm sorry he died. I'm sorry too. How did he, you know, cancer?

It was really scary. He just got more and more ill and then one day they took me out of school and I went to the hospital. We sat by his bed for ages and you could hear his breath rattling and then suddenly the sound just stopped.

I ran outside to get the nurse and she came in and said he was gone. Just me and my mum now. What does your mum do? She works at Tesco on the checkout. That's where she met my dad.

He was shot on Saturday mornings. He used to joke he only came in for a pint of milk, but left with a wife. Sounds like he was funny, said Joe. He was, said Bob Smiley. Mum's got another job too.

She's the cleaner at an old people's home in the evenings, just to make ends meet. Wow, said Joe. Doesn't she get tired? Yeah, said Bob. But I'd do a lot of the cleaning and stuff.

Joe felt really sorry for Bob. Since he was eight, Joe had never had to do anything at home. There was always the butler or the maid or gardener or the chauffeur or whoever to do everything.

He took the note out of his pocket. If there was one person who needed the money more than him, it was Bob. Please, Bob, keep the 50 pounds. Ah, I don't want to. I feel bad. Well, let me at least buy you some chocolate.

You've got a deal," said Bob. Let's go to Raj's.

Chapter five, out of date Easter eggs.

Ding. No, that's not your doorbell. No need to get up. It's the sound of the bell tinkling in Raj's shop as Bob and Joe open the door. Ah, Bob, my favorite customer, said Raj. Welcome, welcome.

Raj ran the local news agent shop. All the local kids adored him. He was like the funny uncle you always wished you had. And even better than that, he sold sweets. Hi, Raj, said Bob.

This is Joe. Hello, Joe, exclaimed Raj. Two fat boys in my shop at one time. The Lord must be smiling on me today. Oh, I have you both got so little on. We came straight from cross-country running, Raj, explained Bob.

Fantastic! How did you do? First and second, replied Bob. That's wonderful!" exclaimed Raj. So last, finished Bob. That's not so good, but I imagine you boys must be hungry after all that exercise?

How can I help you today? Ah, we'd like to buy some chocolate, said Joe. Well, you have come to the right place. Have the finest selection of chocolate bars in the parade! Raj announced triumphantly.

Considering the only other shops in the parade were a Laundrette and a long-since closed florist, that wasn't saying much. but the boys let it pass. Now, one thing Joe knew for certain was that chocolate didn't have to be expensive to taste nice. In fact, after a few years of gorging themselves on the finest chocolates from Belgium or Switzerland, he and his dad had realised that they weren't half as delicious as a Yorkie, or a bag of minstrels, or for the truque honourser a double decker.

Well, let me know if I can help you, gentlemen," said the news-agent. The stock in Raj's shop was haphazardly laid out. Why was Knuts magazine next to the Tipex? If you couldn't find the jelly-tots, it was entirely possible that they might be hiding under a copy of The Sun from 1982. And did the Post-it notes really have to be in the freezer? However, local people kept coming to the shop because they loved Raj, and he loved his customers too, particularly Bob was one of his absolute best customers.

We ought to be just to browse, thanks," replied Bob. He was studying the rows and rows of confectionery, looking for something special. And today, money wasn't a problem. Joe had a fifty-pound note in his pocket.

They could even afford one of Raj's out-of-date Easter eggs. The whispers are very good today, youngsters. Fresh in this morning? Then should Raj? We're just looking, thank you," replied Bob politely.

The Cadbury's cream eggs are in season," suggested the news agent. Thank you," said Joe politely, smiling. Just to say, gentlemen, I am here to help," said Raj. If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.

We will," said Joe. There was a brief moment of silence. Just to let you know, the flake is off today, says continued Raj. I should have said a problem with the supplier, but I should have them back on sale tomorrow Thanks for letting us know said Bob. He and Joe share a look they were beginning to wish the news agent would let them shop in peace I can recommend a ripple. I had one earlier, and they are exquisite at the moment Joe nodded politely I'll leave you alone to make up your own mind as I say I am here to help Can I have one of these said Bob lifting up a giant bar of cabri's dairy milk to show Joe Joe laughed.

Of course you can! An excellent choice, gentlemen. I have those on special offer today. Buy ten, get one free!" said Raj. I think we just need the one right now, Raj, said Bob. Buy five, get half a one free?

No thanks, said Joe. How much is it? Three pound twenty, please. Joe took out the fifty pound note. Raj looked at it in wonder. Oh my! never seen one of those before. You must be a very rich young man."

"'Not at all,' said Joe." "'He did give it to him for his birthday,' charmed him Bob." "'Lucky boy,' said Raj." He peered at Joe. "'You know, you look familiar, young man.' "'Do I?' replied Joe nervously.

"'Yes, I am sure I have seen you somewhere before.' Raj tapped his chin as he thought. Bob stared at him baffled. "'Yes,' said Raj eventually. Only the other day I saw a picture of you in a magazine.

Oh, doubt it, Raj!" scoffed Bob. His dad makes Lou Rose. That's it!" exclaimed Raj. He rifled through a pile of old newspapers and pulled out the Sunday Times' rich list. Joe started a panic.

I've got to go. The news agent flicked through the pages. There you are!" Raj indicated a photograph of Joe sitting awkwardly on the front of his Formula One racing car, and then read aloud from the magazine.

Britain's richest children, number one, Joe Spud, age 12, bomb-fresh air, estimated worth ten billion. A large lump of chocolate dropped from Bob's mouth onto the floor. Ten billion?

No way have I got ten billion, protested Joe. The press always exaggerate, I've got eight billion at the most, and I won't even get most of it till I'm older. That's still a lot of money! exclaimed Bob.

Yes, I suppose it is. Why didn't you tell me? I thought we were mates. I'm sorry, stammered Joe. I just wanted to be normal and it's so embarrassing being the son of a bog-ro bilionaire.

No, no, no, you should be proud of your dad! exclaimed Raj. His story has an inspiration to all of us. A humble man who became a billionaire with one simple idea. Joe had never really thought of his dad like that.

Leonard's spud revolutionized the way we wipe our bottoms forever!" Raj chuckled. Thanks, Raj. Now, please tell your father I've just started using Bumpfresh and I love it. My bottom has never been so sparkling.

I'll see you next time. The two boys walked along the street in silence. All you could hear was Bob sucking the chocolate from between his teeth. You lied to me, said Bob. Well, I did tell you we worked in bog rolls," said Joe uncomfortably.

Yeah, but I know I'm sorry. It was Joe's first day at school, and his secret was already out. Here, have the change," said Joe, reaching in his pocket for the two twenty-pound notes.

Bob looked crushed. I don't want your money. But I'm a billionaire," said Joe, and my dad's got squillions. I don't even know what that means, but I know it's loads, just take it. Here, have this lot too."

He pulled out a roll of fifty pound notes. "'I don't want it,' said Bob. Joe's face crinkled with incredulity. Why not?" "'Because I don't care about your money. I just liked hanging out with you today,' Joe smiled.

"'And I liked hanging out with you too,' he coughed. Look, I really am sorry. It's just the kids at my old school used to bully me because I was the bumfresh boy. I wanted to just be a normal kid."

I couldn't understand that, said Bob. I mean, it would be nice to start again. Yeah, said Joe. Bob stopped and held out his hand. I'm Bob, he said. Joe shook his hand. Joe spud. No other secrets?

No," said Joe, smiling. That's it. Good," said Bob, smiling too. You won't tell anyone at school, will you? said Joe. About me being a billionaire, it's so embarrassing, especially when they find out how my dad became rich.

Please? Ah, you don't want me to. I don't. I really don't. Well, I won't then. Thanks. The two continued down the street. After a few paces, Joe couldn't wait any longer. He turned to Bob, who had already polished up half the massive bar of dairy milk.

Can I have some chocolate then?" he asked. Yeah, of course. This is for us to share, said Bob. As he broke off his friend a tiny square of chocolate.

Chapter Six — The Grubs

Oi, blob! Came a shout from behind them. Just keep walking, said Bob. Joe turned to look around and glimpsed a pair of twins. They looked terrifying, like gorillas in human suits. These must be the dreaded grubs Bob had talked about.

Don't look round, said Bob. I'm serious. Just keep walking. Joe was beginning to wish he was luxuriating in the safety of the back seat of his chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce, rather than walking to the bus stop.

Fat Joe! As Joe and Bob walked faster, they could hear footsteps behind them. them. Although it was still early, the winter sky was blackening. The street lamps flickered on and blotches of yellow light spilled onto the wet ground.

Quick, let's run down here," said Bob. The boys dashed down an alley and hid behind a giant green wheelie bin that was parked at the back of a Bella Pasta. I think we've lost him, whispered Bob.

Are those the grubs? asked Joe. Shhh! Keep your voice down. Sorry, whispered Joe. Yeah, it's the Grubs. The ones who bully you. That's them. They're identical twins. They even sue Grubb.

Sue? One of them's a girl. Joe could swear that when he turned round and seen the twins following them, both of them had thick facial hair. Sue's a girl, yes, said Bob, as if Joe was some kind of idiot.

Then they can't be identical, whispered Joe. I mean, if one's a boy and one's a girl. Well, yes, but no one can tell them apart. Suddenly Joe and Bob heard footsteps coming closer and closer.

I can smell fat boys! came a voice from the other side of the bin. The grubs wheeled the bin away to reveal the two boys crouching behind it. Joe took his first look at the pair. Bob was right. The grubs were identical. They both had matching crew cuts, hairy knuckles and moustaches, all of which seemed unfortunate for both of them.

A gust of cold wind hummed through the alley. An empty can trunged past on the ground, something twitched in the bushes. "'How is the cross-country run without your kit today, blob?' chuckled one grub.

"'I knew that was you, too,' Bob replied angrily. "'So what did you do with it?' "'It's in the canal,' chuckled the other. Now, give us your chocolate." Even hearing their voices didn't give any clues as to who was Dave and who was Sue.

I'm taking some home from me, Mum," protested Bob. I don't care, said the other grub. Give us it, you little... The blank bit was a swear word. Other swear words include... And of course, the incredibly rude.

If you don't know any swear words, it's best to ask a parent or teacher or other responsible adult to make a list for you. For example, here are some of the rude words I know.

Bermnop, Oud Plops, Lingpoop, Twutter, Plumfizz, Lumweed, Mummers, Blam Fam, Pognos, Vulcan Bits, Zuckie Zuck, Sming, Gumbo Drops, Poot Puddle, Kongo, Bim Bim, Paffa, Gooliging, Nongki, Humbum, Ponk, Hool, Blunkers, Pum-Pum, Menki, Gruntbunt, Poob, Dres, Nocky-Nutters, Luzzer, Plim-Plam, Vart.

All of those words are so rude, I wouldn't dream of saying them out loud. Don't pick on him, said Joe. Then he instantly regretted drawing attention to himself, as the grubs took a step towards him.

Or what, said either Dave or Sue, their breath toxic from a bag of skips they had recently snatched from a little girl in year five. or, um, Joe searched his mind for something to say that would crush these bullies forever, or I'll be very disappointed with you both."

That wasn't it. The grubs laughed. They snatched what was left of the cabaret's dairy milk-bar from Bob's hand and then grabbed his arms. They lifted him up and, as Bob yelled for help, they deposited him into the wheelie-bin. Before Joe could say anything else, the grubs were stomping off down the road laughing, with their mouths full of stolen chocolate. Joe dragged a wooden crate over, then stood on it to give himself more height. He leaned down into the bin and caught hold of Bob under the armpits. With a great heave, he started to pull his heavy friend out of the bin.

"'Are you okay?' he asked, as he strained to take Bob's weight. "'Oh, yeah. They do this to me most days,' said Bob. He pulled some spaghetti and Parmesan cheese out of his curly hair. Some of it might It had been there since the last time the Grub twins deposited him in a bin.

Well, well, why don't you tell your mum?" I don't want to make her worry about me. She's got enough to worry about already," replied Bob. Maybe you should tell her teacher, then." The Grubb said, if I ever told anyone that they would really beat me up.

They know where I live, and even if they got expelled they could still find me," said Bob. He looked like he was about to cry. Joe didn't like to see his new friend upset. One day I'll get them back.

I will. My dad always used to say the best way to beat bullies is to stand up to them. One day I will. Joe looked at his new friend, standing there in his underwear, covered in scraps of Italian food.

He thought of Bob standing up to the grubs. The fat boy would get massacred. But maybe there's another way," he thought. Maybe I can get the grubs off his back forever! He smiled. He felt bad about paying Bob to come last in the race.

Now he could make up for it. If his plan worked, he and Bob were going to be more than just friends. They'd be best friends.

Chapter 7 — Jirbels on Toast

I bought you something, said Joe. He and Bob were sitting on the bench in the playground, watching the more agile kids play football. Just because you're a billionaire doesn't mean you have to buy me anything," said Bob.

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 grubs 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. 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 grubs burst in a few paces behind them. Their genders still uncertain. If you aren't eating, get out! shouted Mrs. Trayfe. But Mrs. Trayfe said either Dave or Sue.

I said out! The twins reluctantly retreated, as Joe and Bob tentatively made their way to the serve-encounter. Mrs. Trayfe 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. Traff, peering at Joe.

"'This is my friend Joe,' said Bob. Despite the vile smell in the canteen, Joe felt warm spread through him. them. No one had ever called him their friend before. Now, what would you like to day, boys?"

Mrs. Trayffe said with a warm smile. I have a very nice badgering onion pie, some deep-fried rust, or for the vegetarians, I have jacket potatoes with shock cheese. Hmm, it all looks so nice," said Bob lying, as the grub stared in at them through the grimy windows.

This tray's cooking was truly unspeakable. A typical week's menu for the school canteen was like this. Monday, soup of the day wasp. Gervils on toast or hair lasagna. Vegetarian option.

Or brick cutlet. All served with deep-fried carnaboard. Dessert. A slice of sweat cake. Tuesday, soup of the day. Caterpillar consomme. macaroni snot, vegetarian option or roadkill bake or slipper frittata. All served with spider's web salad.

Dessert. Tonal ice cream. Wednesday. Soup of the day. Cream of hedgehog. Parrot kecheree may contain nuts. Or dandruff risotto. Or bread sandwich. Slice of bread between two slices of bread.

Or chargrilled 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-popper domes a 4 or a 3 sizes with chutney. Main course, wet-wiped tandoori, vegan or moth-cormor, spicy or Newt Vindaloo, very spicy.

All served with bogey barges. a refreshing sand sorbet. Friday, soup of the day, terrapin, pan-fried otter steaks or al quiche, kosher or boiled poodle, not suitable for vegetarians. All serve 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." Um, I think we will just have two jack-o-potatoes, please." "'Is there any chance I could have it without the sock cheese?' pleaded Joe. Bob looked hopefully at Mrs. Trayffe.

"'I could sprinkle on some earwax savings if you prefer, or a sharing of dandruff,' offered Mrs. Trayffe with a smile. "'Um, I think I will just have it totally plain, please,' said Joe.

Some boiled mould on the side, perhaps? You were growing, boys!" offered Mrs. Trayf, wielding a serving spoon of something green and unspeakable. I'm on a diet, Mrs. Trayf," said Joe.

Me too," said Bob. That's a shame, boys," said the dinner lady, Delfily. I've a smashing dessert on today. Jellyfish encastered. 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. Traff had forgotten to cook it. "'Ew, you spads!' called Mrs. Traff across the hall. "'Delicious, thank you, Mrs. Traff!' Joe called back as he pushed his raw potato around 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.

"'Summy the messin', boy!' called Mrs. Trayv. "'Oh, no. It's so delicious that these are tears of joy,' said Bob. "'Drink!' Once again, that wasn't your doorbell. 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. Traff said, Joe. We have to go to our maths lesson now." Mrs. Traff limped over and inspected their plates. You've arsed the touch, them! Sorry, it was just so filling.

And really, really tasty, though, said Joe. Hmm, seconded Bob, still crying. Oh, it doesn't matter! I can put them in the fridge for you, and you can finish him 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 Harbor, so it's Japanese day! I'm doing me armpit hair sushi, followed by temple tempura!

Boys! Boys! I think the grubs have gone, said Bob, as they sneaked out of the canteen. I've just got to use the bug. 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 on-onsuite bathroom with emperor-sized bath.

But the truth was, the toilets didn't smell as bad as the canteen. Suddenly Joe sensed two figures looming behind him. He didn't need to turn around. He knew it was the grub. Where is he? said one.

He's in the boy's loo, but you can't go in there," said Joe. Well, not both of you, anyway. Where's the chocolate bar? asked the other. Uh, Bob's got it, said Joe. Well, we'll wait for him then, said the grub.

The other grub turned to Joe, a deadly look in its eye. Now, give us a pound, unless you want a dead arm at ease. no gobbled. Actually, I'm glad I bumped into you two guys. Well, guy and a girl, obviously.

Obviously," said they. Also, give him the pound. Wait, Sir Joe. It's just, I wondered if— Give him a dead arm, Sue," said a grub, revealing perhaps for the first time which one of the twins was male and which was female. But then the grubs 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. End of disc one. Disc two.

Chapter eight — The Witch

Dring! 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.

A ten? Walk, don't run!" A non-mover at nine, "'Are you chewing?' Up three places to eight, I can still hear talking." A former number one at seven, it doesn't need discussion. A new entry at six, how many times do you need to be told?

Down one place at five, spell another non-mover at four, I will not tolerate litter. New at three, Do you want to pass your GCSEs? Just missing the top spotter too. Would you do that at home?

And still at number one, it's not just yourself you've left down, but the whole school. Taking the history lesson was Miss Spite. Miss Spite smelled of rotten cabbage. That was the nicest thing about her. She was one of the school's most feared teachers. When she smiled, she looked like a crocodile that was about to eat you. Miss Spite loved nothing more than giving out punishments, once suspending a girl for dropping a pee on the floor of the school canteen.

That pee could have had someone's eye out, she had yelled. Kids at the school had fun thinking up nicknames for their teachers. Some were fond, others cruel. Mr. Paxton, the French teacher, was tomato as he had a big, round red face like a tomato. That master, Mr. Dust, was called the tortoise as he looked like one. He very old, extremely wrinkly, and walked impossibly slowly. The deputy head, Mr Underhill, was Mr Underarms, as he punged a bit, especially in the summer. And Mrs MacDonald, the biology teacher, was called either the bearded lady or even Harry McLary from Donaldson's Dairy, as she, well, I imagine you can guess why. But the kids just called Miss Spite the witch.

It was the only name that really ever fitted, and was passed down through generations of pupils at the school. All the kids she taught passed their exams, though. They were too scared not to.

We still have the small matter of last night's homework," Miss Spite announced with an evil relish that suggested she was desperate for someone to have failed to do it. Joe reached his hand into his bag. Disaster. His exercise book wasn't there. He had spent all night writing this intensely boring five hundred word essay about some old bed queen, but in the rush to get to school on time he must have left it on his bed. Oh no, he thought.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Joe looked over at Bob, but all his friend could do was grimace sympathetically. Miss Spite stalked the classroom like a Tyrannosaurus rex, deciding which little creature it was going to eat first. To her evident disappointment, a field of grubby little hands held a loft essay after essay. She gathered them up before stopping at Spud.

"'M... Miss," he stammered. "'Yes, Spud,' said Miss Spite, drawing out her words as long as possible, so she could relish this delicious moment. I did do it, but... Oh, yes! Of course you did it! Ha, ha, ha, ha!'

The witch cackled. All the other pupils except Bob snickered too. There was nothing more pleasurable than seeing someone else get into trouble. I left it at home. Little duty! the teacher snapped. I'm not lying, Miss, and my dad will be at home today, so I could— I should have known. Your father is clearly penniless and on the dole, sitting at home watching daytime TV. Much as you will no doubt be doing in ten years' time, Miehls? Joe and Bob couldn't help but share a smirk at this.

Uh, said Joe, if I called him and asked him to run the essay over here, would you believe me? Miss Spite smiled broadly. She was going to enjoy this. Spud! I will give you 15 minutes exactly to place said essay in my hand.

I hope your father is quick. But, Stotted Joe, no buts, boy! fifteen minutes. Well, thank you, Miss," said Joe sarcastically. You're quite welcome," said the witch. I like to think that everyone gets a fair chance to rectify their errors in my class.

She turned to the rest of the class. The rest of you are dismissed, she said. Kids started to spill out into the corridor. Miss Spite leaned after them and screamed, Walk, don't run!" Miss Spite couldn't resist another catch-raise. She was the queen of the catch-raise, and now she couldn't stop.

It doesn't need discussion! she called after her pupils randomly. Miss Spite was on a roll now. Are you chewing? she howled down the corridor to a passing school inspector. Fifteen minutes, Miss, said Joe. Miss Spite studied her little antique watch.

14 minutes 51 seconds in point of fact

Joe gulped was dad going to be able to get there that fast

chapter 9 — finger

Finger Ask Bob as he offered half of his twix to his friend Thank You mate said Joe they stood in a quiet corner of the playground and contemplated Joe's bleak fate What are you gonna do?

I don't know. I texted my dad, but there's no way he can get here in fifteen minutes. What can I do?" A few ideas raced through Joe's mind. He could invent a time machine and travel back in time and remember not to forget his homework. It might be a bit hard to do, though, as if time machines had ever been invented, then someone would have come back from the future and prevented Piers Morgan's birth. Joe could go back to the classroom and tell Miss Spike that the tiger had eaten it. This would only be half a lie, as they did have a private zoo and a tiger called Jeff, and an alligator called Jenny.

Become a num. He would have to live in a nunnery and spend his day saying prayers and singing hymns and doing general religious stuff. On the one hand, the nunnery would give him sanctuary from misbite, and he did look good in black, but on the other hand, it might get a bit boring.

Go and live on another planet. Venus is nearest, but it might be safer to go to Neptune. live the rest of his life underground, perhaps even start a tribe of below the surface of the earth dwellers, and create a whole secret society of people who all owed Miss Spite some homework, have plastic surgery and change his identity, then live the rest of his life as an old lady called Winnie. Become invisible. Joe wasn't sure how this might be achieved.

Run to the local bookshop and buy a copy of How to Learn Mind Control in 10 Minutes by Professor Stephen Haste, and very quickly hypnotized Miss Spite into thinking he had already given her his homework. Disguise himself as a plate of spaghetti bolognese.

Rived the school nurse into telling Miss Spite he had died. I'd in a bush for the rest of his life. He could survive on a diet of worms and grubs. Paint himself blue and claim to be a smirth.

Joe had barely had time to consider these options when two familiar shadows loomed behind them. Bob," said one of them. The boys turned around. Bob, tired of fighting, simply handed them his slightly nibbled finger of Twix.

"'Don't worry,' he whispered to Joe. "'I've concealed a large number of Smarties down my shock.' "'He don't want your Twix,' said Grubb No. 1.' "'No,' said Bob. "'His mind started racing. Could the Grubs possibly know about the Smarties?'

No, we wanted to say we are very sorry for bullying you," said Grubb Number Two. And as a peace gesture, we would like to invite you round for tea, prompted Grubb Number One. Tea? asked Bob incredulous.

Yes, and maybe we can all play hungry hippos together, continued Grubb Number Two. Bob looked at his friend, but Joe just shrugged. Thank you guys, I mean, guy and girl, obviously.

Obviously," said an unidentified grub. But I'm a bit busy tonight," continued Bob. Maybe another time," said a grub, as the twins lulloped off. That was weird, said Bob, retrieving some smarties that now had a faint taste of sock.

I couldn't imagine a night when I wanted to go and play hungry hippos with those to, even if I lived until I was a hundred." "'Yeah, how strange!" said Joe, he glanced away quickly. At that moment a deafening roar silenced the playground. Joe looked up. A helicopter was hovering overhead. Very quickly all the football games broke up, and the kids raced out of the way of the descending aircraft.

Items from hundreds of packed lunches were whisked up in the air by the force of the packets of quavers, a mint chocolate arrow, even a muller-fruit corner danced around in the whirling air before smashing to the ground as the engine shut down and the blades slowed to a stop. Mr. Spind leapt out of the passenger seat and raced across the playground holding the essay.

Oh, no! thought Joe. Mr. Spind was wearing a brown toupee that he held onto his head with both hands, and an all-in-one gold jumpsuit with bum air emblazoned on the back in sparkly letters. Joe felt like he was going to die of embarrassment. He tried to hide himself behind one of the older kids. However, he was too fat and his dad spotted him.

Joe, Joe, there you are! shouted Mr. Spud. All the other kids stared at Joe Spud. They hadn't paid much attention to this short fat new boy before. Now it turned out his dad had a helicopter. A real life helicopter!

Wow! He's your SA son, I hope that's okay, and I realised I forgot to give you your dinner money. He's £500. Mr Spud pulled out a wad of crisp new 50lb notes from his zebra skin wallet.

Joe pushed the money away, as all the other kids looked on in envy. Shall I pick you up at four today son? Asked Mr Spud. Oh, it's okay, thanks dad, I'll just get the bus. Not to Joe, looking down at the ground.

You can pick me up in your helicopter mate," said one of the older boys. And me, shout another. And me, me, me, pick me! Soon all the kids in the playground were shouting and waving to get this short fat gold jumpsuit in man's attention.

Mr. Spud laughed. Haha, maybe you could invite some of your friends over in the weekend and they can all have a helicopter ride! He pronounced with a smile. A huge sheer echoed around the playground.

But dad! That was the last thing Joe wanted, for everyone to see how monstrously expensive their house was and how much crazy stuff they owned. He checked his plastic digital watch.

He had less than 30 seconds to go. Dad, I gotta run! Blurted out Joe. He snatched the essay out of his father's hands and raced into the main school building as fast as his short fat legs were taken. Running up the staircase, he raced past the unfeasibly old headmaster who was making his way down on a stunner's stairlift. Mr. Dust looked at least a hundred years old, but was probably older. He was more suited to being an exhibit in the Natural History Museum than administrating a school, but he was harmless enough.

The war did not run," he mumbled. Even very old teachers are fond of catch-raises. Hurling himself along the corridor to the classroom where Miss Byte was waiting, Joe realized half the school was following him. He even heard someone shout, Hey! Bumpfresh boy! Unnerved, he pushed on, bursting into the classroom. The witch was holding a watch in her hand.

I've got it, Miss Spide!" "'You are five seconds late,' she proclaimed. "'You've got to be kidding, Miss!' "'You couldn't believe anyone could be so mean.' He glanced back behind him and saw hundreds of pupils were staring at him through the glass.

Such was the eagerness to catch a glimpse of the richest boy in the school, or perhaps even the world, noses were pushed up against the glass, so they looked like a tribe of pig children."

"'Little duty,' said Miss Spide. "'But, Miss, a weak slither, Judy! One month's little duty!" Joe decided to say nothing this time, and sloped across the classroom. He closed the door behind him.

In the corridor, hundreds of little pairs of eyes were still staring at him. "'Oi! Billionaire boy!' came a deep voice from the back. It was one of the older boys, but Joe couldn't tell which one.

In the sixth form, all the boys had moustaches and Ford Fiesse's. All the little mouths laughed. Lenish a million quid," someone shouted. The laughter was now deafening. The noise clouded the air.

My life is officially over," thought Joe.

Chapter 10 Dogspit

As Joe scurried across the playground to the dining room, all the other kids swarmed around him. Joe kept his head down. He didn't like the instant super stardom at all. Voice his world around him.

Hey, bumboy, I'll be your best friend. My bike got nicked. Buy us a new one, mate. Then it's a fiver. Let me be your bodyguard. Do you know Justin Timberlake? My granny needs a new bungalow. Give us a hundred grand, will ya?

How many helicopters have you got? Why, T-Bove, it's a go-to school anyway. You aren't rich. Can I have your autograph? Why, don't you have a massive party at yours on Saturday night?

Can I have a lifetime supply of bog rolls? Why don't you buy the school and tackle the teachers?" "'Can you spare me a bag of Maltese? All right, then, well, Maltese, you are so mean!'

Joe started running. The crowd started running, too. Joe slowed down. The crowd slowed down, too. Joe turned and walked in the other direction. The crowd turned and walked in the other direction. A little, ginger-haired girl tried to grab his bag, and he thumbed her hand away with his fist.

How? My hand is probably broken!" she cried. I'm going to show you for ten million pounds! Hit me! said another voice. No! Me! Hit me! said another. A tall boy with glasses had a better idea.

Kick me in the leg, and we can settle out of court for two million, please. Joe sprinted into the school dining room. That was one place that was guaranteed to be empty at lunchtime.

Joe struggled to force the double doors back on the tsunami of school children, but it was no use. They burst through, flooding the room. Form an orderly queue! shouted the dinner lady Mrs. Trayfe.

Joe walked up to the serving-counter. There! What would you like today, young Joe? she said with a warm smile. I have a very nice stinging little soup to start today. Oh, I'm not that hungry today.

Maybe I'll go straight to a main course for Mrs. Trayfe. It's chicken breast! Oh, that sounds nice. Yes! He comes in a dog spit sauce. Off of vegetarians, I have deep fried blue tech."

Joe gulped. Um, it's so hard to decide. See, I had some dog spit only last night. That's a shame. I'll give you a plate of the fried blue tech then, said the dinner lady as she dumped a lump of something blue and greasy and vomit inducing onto Joe's plate.

If you ate everything, get it out! cried Mrs. Trayf, at the crowd still cowering at the doors. Spud's dad's got a helicopter, Mrs. Trayf, came a voice from the back. He's super rich! came another.

He's changed, came a third. Just give me a dead arm, Spud, and I will take a quarter of a million! came a tiny voice from the back. I said it! shouted Mrs. Trayf. The crowd reluctantly retreated, and contented themselves with staring at Joes with the grimy windows.

With his knife he removed the batter from the blue lump underneath. Now that raw potato seemed like food of the gods. After a few moments Mrs. Trayfe limped over to his table. Why are they wearing it you like that?

She asked kindly as she slowly slumped her heavy frame down next to him. Well, that's a long story Mrs. Trayfe. You can tell me, pet, said Mrs. Trayfe. I'm a school dinner lady. I reckon I've earned it all.

Right, well, Joe finished chewing the large lump of blue-tac he had in his mouth and told the old dinner lady everything about how his father had invented bumfresh, how they now lived in a massive mansion, how they once had an orang-a-tang as a butler, she was very jealous of that bit, and how no one would have guessed a thing had his stupid dad not landed his stupid helicopter in the playground. All the time he talked, the other kids continued to stare through the windows at him, like he was an animal in the zoo.

I'm so sorry, Joe," said Mrs. Trayfe. It must be awful for you. Poor thing. Well, not poor exactly, but you know what I mean. Thank you, Mrs. Trayfe. Joe was surprised anyone would ever feel sorry for someone who had everything.

It's not easy. I don't know who to trust anymore. All the kids in the school seem to want something from me now. Yeah, I bet," said Mrs. Trayfe, bringing out an M&S sandwich from her bag.

You bring a packed lunch, asked Joe, surprised. Oh, yes! I wouldn't eat this filth! It's disgusting! She said, her hand crept across the table and rested on his. Well, thanks for listening, Mrs. Trayfe.

That's okay, Joe. I'm here for you anytime. You know that. Anytime. She smiled. Joe smiled too. Now, said Mrs. Tray. I just need ten thousand quid for a hit replacement.

Chapter 11 — Camping holiday

You missed a bit, said Bob. Joe bent down and picked up another piece of litter from the playground, and put it in the bin line, and Miss Spite had so generously provided. It was five o'clock now, and the playground was empty of children.

Only their litter remained. I thought you said you were going to help me," accused Joe. I am helping you. There's another bit. Bob pointed to another sweet wrapper that was lying on the asphalt, as he munched a bag of crisps.

Joe bent down to pick it up. It was a Twix wrapper, probably the one he himself had dropped on the ground earlier that day. Well, I guess everyone knows how rich you are now, Joe, said Bob.

Sorry about that. Yeah, I guess so. I suppose now all the kids at the school are going to want to be your friend," said Bob quietly. When Joe looked at him, Bob turned away. Maybe, Joe smiled. But it means more that we were friends before everyone knew.

Bob grinned. Cool! he said. Then he pointed to the ground at his feet. You missed another bit there, Joe. Thanks, Bob. Side, Joe. As he bent down again, This time to pick up the Chris back at his friend had just dropped.

Oh no, said Bob. What's the matter? Grubs! Where? Over by the bike shed. What do they want? Lurking behind the shed were the twins. When they spotted Joe and Bob, they waved. I don't know what was worse, continued Bob, being bullied by them or being invited around for tea.

Hello, Bob!" shouted one grub as they started lulloping towards them. Hello, grubs," Bob called back wearily. Inextrably, the two bullies reached where the two boys were standing. We have been thinking," continued the other.

We are going on a camping trip in a weekend. Would you like to come?" Bob looked at Joe for help. A camping holiday with these two was not an inviting invitation. Oh, what a terrible shame," said Bob.

I'm busy this weekend. Next weekend? Asked Grub one. Ah, that one too, I'm afraid. The one after that? Asked the other. Completely... Stommered Bob. Chopful of things I've got to do!

So sorry. You sounded so much fun. Anyway, see you two tomorrow. Sorry, I would love to chat, but I have to help Joe with his litter duty. Bye! Any weekend next year? Asked the first grub.

Bob stopped. Um, um, well, next year is really busy for me, so I'm really, really, really, really loved to, but I'm so, so sorry. How about the year after? Asked grub too. Any free weekends?

We have a lovely tent. Bob couldn't keep it in any longer. Look, one day you're bullying me, the next you invite me to spend a weekend with you in a tent. What on earth is going on?"

The Grubbs looked at Joe for help. Joe? said one of them. We thought it'd be easy to be nice to blob, said the other, but he just says no to everything. What do you want us to do, Joe?

Joe coughed, not very subtly, but the Grubbs didn't seem to get the hint. You paid him not to bully me, didn't you? demanded Bob. No," replied Joe uncommissingly. Bob turned to the grubs.

Did he? He demanded. No, yes, said the grubs. We mean yes, though. How much did he pay you? The grubs looked at Joe for help, but it was too late. They were all busted. Ten pounds each, said a grub.

And we saw the helicopter's bug. We're not stupid. We want more cash. Yeah, continued the other. you're going to the bingo unless you give us 11 pounds each first thing tomorrow the grub stomped off Bob's eyes filled with angry tears think money is the answer to everything don't you Joe was baffled he'd paid off the grubs to help Bob he was utterly perplexed as to why his friend was so upset Bob I was just trying to help you I didn't I'm not some I know that, I just, yes, I just didn't want to see you put in the bin again."

Right, said Bob. So you thought it'd be better if the grumps were really weird and friendly and going on about camping trips? Well, they sort of came up with a camping trip on their own, but yes, Bob shook his head.

I can't believe you. You're such a, such a spoiled brat. What, said Joe? I was just helping you out. Would you rather be put in the bin and have your chocolate stolen?" Yes, shouted Bob.

Yes, I would. I'll find my own bed. Thank you." Suit yourself, said Joe. Have fun being dumped in the bin. I will," replied Bob before storming off. "'Loser," shouted Joe, but Bob didn't turn back.

Joe stood alone. A sea of litter surrounded him. He stabbed at a Mars wrapper with his litter stick. He couldn't believe Bob. He thought he'd found a friend, but all he'd really found was a selfish, bad tempered, ungrateful plumefizz.

CHAPTER XII PAGE III STUNNER

And the witch still made me do litter-duty, said Joe. He was sitting with his dad at one end of the highly polished, thousand-seater dining-room table waiting for his dinner. Impossibly large diamond candelabras hung overhead, and paintings that weren't very nice but cost millions of pounds the door on the walls.

Even after I dropped your own work off in the shop, I said, Mr. Spud angrily. Yeah, it was so unfair, replied Joe. I did not invent a double-sided moisturized toilet tissue for my son to be put on letter duty.

I know, said Joe. Don't mis-spite you such a cow. I'm going to fight the school tomorrow and give that teacher of yours a piece of my mind. Please don't dad, it was embarrassing enough when you turned up today.

Sorry son, said Mr. Spud. He looked a little hurt, which made Joe feel guilty. I was just trying to help. Joe sighed, just don't do it again dad. It's so awful everyone knowing I'm the son of the bumfresh man.

Well I can't help that boy, that's how I made all this money! That's why we're living in this big house! Yeah, I guess, said Joe. Just don't come turning up in your bum-air helicopter or anything, yeah?"

"'Okay,' said Mr. Spud. "'See how's that friend of yours working out?' "'Bob, he's not really my friend anymore,' replied Joe. He hung his head a little." "'Why's that?' asked Mr. Spud.

"'I thought you and him were getting on really well.' "'I paid off these bullies to help him,' said Joe. "'They were making his life a misery, so I gave them some cash to leave him alone.'

So? Well, he found out and then, get this, he got all upset. He called me a spoiled brat. Why? How do I know? He said he'd rather get bullied than have me help him. Mr. Spud shook his head disbelief.

Bob sounds a bit of a fool to me. The thing is, when you've got money like we do, you meet a lot of ungrateful people. I reckon you're better offered out this Bob character. like he doesn't understand the importance of money. If he wants to be miserable, let him."

Yeah, agreed Joe. You'll make another friend at school, son," said Mr. Spud. You're rich, people like that. The sensible ones, anyway. Not like this idiot Bob. I'm not so sure," said Joe. Not now everyone knows who I am.

You will, Joe. Trust me," said Mr. Spud with a smile. The immaculately attired butler entered the dining room through the vast oak panel double doors. He did a little theatrical cough to get his master's attention.

Yes, yes, Miss, Miss Sapphire Stone, gentlemen. Mr. Spud swiftly put on his ginger-to-pay as page three stunner Sapphire clip-clopped into the room in her impossibly high heels. Sorry I'm lying. I was just at the turning-cell on," she announced. This was evident. Sapphire had fake towns smeared over every inch of her skin. She was now orange.

There's oranges and orange. If not orange here, think of the oranges person you've ever met, then times their orangerness by ten. As if she didn't look frightful enough already, she was wearing a lime-green mini-dress and clutching a shocking pink handbag.

What's she doing here? demanded Joe. Be nice," mouthed Dad. "'Nice paid,' said Sapphire, looking round admiringly at the paintings and chandeliers. "'Oh, thank you. It's one of my seventeen homes. Butler, please tell Chef that we want our dinner now. What are we having tonight?'

"'Foir-goua, sir,' replied the Butler. "'What's that?' asked Mr. Spud. "'Especially a fair ton goose liver, sir.' Sapphire grimaced. I'll just have a bag of crisps." Me too, said Joe.

And me, said Mr. Spud. Three packets of potato crisps coming right up, sir, sneered the butler. You look beautiful tonight, my angel, said Mr. Spud, before approaching Sapphire for a kiss.

Don't smudge me, lip-line, ah! said Sapphire, as she repelled him forcefully with her hand. clearly a little heard, but tried to hide it. "'Please, take a seat. I see you brought the new Dior handbag I sent you.'

"'Yeah, but this bag comes in eight colours,' she complained. "'One for each day of the week. I thought we were going to buy me a lie.' "'But I will, my sweet princess,' spluttered Mr. Spud.

Joe stared at his dad. He couldn't believe he had fallen for such a rongon. "'Dinner is served,' announced the butler. "'Oh, my beautiful angel, sit here,' said Mr. Spud, as the butler pulled out a chair for her. Three waiters entered the room carrying silver trays. They carefully placed the plates down on the table. The butler nodded, and the waiters lifted the silver covers to reveal three packets of salt and vinegar crisps. The trio started eating. Mr. Spud initially attempted to eat his crisps with his knife and fork to appear posh, but soon gave up.

Now, my birthday's only eleven months away," said Sapphire. So I've made a little wish list of presents that you're going to buy me." Her fingernails were so long and fake she could barely fish the piece of paper from her pink handbag.

It was like watching one of those grabber machines at the fair where you never win anything. Eventually she grasped it and passed it over to Mr. Spud. Joe looked over his dad's shoulder and read what she had scribbled.

Sapphire's Birthday Wishlist. A solid gold Rolls Royce convertible. A million pounds in cash. 500 pairs of a Sarche sunglasses. A holiday home in Marbella, large. A bucket of diamonds.

A unicorn. A box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates, large. A great big massive lot, really big, a large tank of topical fish. I think she meant tropical fish rather fish that are up on the news and current affairs. Beverly Hills Chihuahua on DVD, 5,000 bottles of channel perfume, another million pounds in cash, some gold, lifetime subscription to OK Magazine, a private jet new please, not a second hand! A talking dog! General expensive staff, a hundred design addresses, I don't mind which ones as long as they're expensive, anyone that don't like me mum can flog down the market. Appointed semi-skim milk, Belgium! Of course I will get all these things for you, my angel sent from heaven, slobbered Mr. Spud.

said. Thanks, King," said Sapphire, her mouth full of crisps. It's Len, corrected Dad. Oh, yeah! L-O-L Len, silly me," she said. You can't be serious, said Joe. You don't really gang to buy all that stuff, are you?

Mr. Spud gave Joe an angry look. Why not, son? he said, trying to control his temper. Yeah, why not you little git?" said Sapphire, definitely not controlling her temper. Joe hesitated for a moment.

It's plain to see you're only with my dad for the money. Don't talk to your mother like that! shouted Mr. Spud. Joe's eyes nearly popped out of his head. She's not my mother. She's your stupid girlfriend and she's only 70 years older than me.

How dare you, few Mr. Spud! Say sorry! Joe defiantly remained silent. I said, say, sorry!" shouted Mrs. Bard. No!" shouted Joe. Go to your rooms!" Joe pushed back his chair, making as much of a clatter as possible and stomped upstairs as the staff pretended not to see.

He sat on the edge of his bed and cradled himself in his arms. It was a long, long time since anyone had hugged him, so he hugged himself. He squeezed his own sobbing plumpness. He was beginning to wish that Dad had never invented bumfresh, and they were all still living in the council flat with Mum.

After a few moments there was a knock on the door. Joe sat in defiant silence. "'Is she dead?' "'Go away!' shouted Joe. Mr. Spud opened the door and sat down next to his son on the bed.

He nearly slid off the bedspread onto the floor. Silk sheets may look nice, but they aren't very practical. Mr. Spud bum-jumped a little nearer to his son. I don't like to see my little Spud like this.

I know you don't know it so far, but she makes me happy. Can you understand that? Not really, said Joe. And I know you had a tough day at school too, with that teacher, the witch, and that ungrateful boy, Bob.

I'm sorry, I know how much you wanted a friend, and I know I didn't make it any easier. I'll have a quiet woe with your master. Try and sort things out for you, fuckhead." Thanks, Dad, Joe sniffed. I'm sorry I was crying. He hesitated for a moment.

I do love you, Dad. Bit-oh, son. Bit-oh, replied Mr. Spud.

Chapter 13 New Girl The half-term holidays came and went.

And when Joe returned to school on the Monday morning, he found he wasn't the centre of attention any more. There was a new girl at school, and because she was so pretty, everyone was talking about her. When Joe walked into the classroom there she was, like a giant, unexpected present.

So, what's the first lesson today? she asked as they walked across the playground. Sorry, spluttered Joe. I said, what's the first lesson today? The new girl repeated. I know it's just—you're really talking to me?"

Joe couldn't believe it. Yes! I'm talking to you!" she laughed. I'm Lauren. I know. Joe wasn't sure if the fact that he had remembered her name made him sound suave or like a stalker.

What's your name? She asked. Joe smiled. At last there was someone at the school who knew nothing about him. My name is Joe, he said to Lauren. Joe what? asked Lauren. Joe didn't want her to know that he was the bum-fresh billionaire.

Um, Joe Potato. Joe Potato, she asked, more than a little surprised. Yes, stammered Joe. In the moment he had been too overwhelmed by her beauty to be able to come up with a better alternative to Spud.

Unusual name. Potato, said Lauren. Yes, I suppose it is. Ashley spelt with a knee at the end, Joe potato, so it was not quite the vegetable potato that be ridiculous. Lauren tried to laugh too, but she was looking at Joe a little oddly.

Oh no, thought Joe. Only met this girl one minute ago and she already thinks I'm nuts. He quickly tried to change the subject. We've got Mathsnecks with Mr. Crunch, he said. Okay, and then we've got history with Miss Might.

Oh, I hate history. so boring. You're hated even more with Miss Byte. She's a good teacher, I suppose, but all us kids hate her. We call her The Witch." That's so funny," said Lauren Giggling. Joe felt ten feet tall.

Bob bobbed into view. Uh, hi, Joe. Oh, hi, Bob," Joe replied. The two former friends hadn't seen each other over the half-term. Joe had spent his days alone racing around and around his racetrack in a new Formula One car his dad had bought him, and Bob had spent most of the week in a bin.

Wherever Bob was, the grub seemed to find him, lift him up by his ankles, and deposit him in the nearest skiff. Well, that was what Bob said he wanted. Joe had missed Bob, but this wasn't good timing. Right now he was talking to the prettiest girl in the school, maybe even the prettiest girl in the whole of the local area.

I know we haven't seen each other in a while, but, well, I've been thinking about what we said when you were doing litter duty," stammered Bob. Yeah. Bob seemed a little taken aback by Joe's impatient tone, but pressed on.

Well, I'm sorry we fell out, and I would like us to be friends again. You can move your disc back, so that— Do you mind if I talk to you later, Bob? said Joe. I'm quite busy right now.

But, began Bob, a wounded expression on his face. Joe ignored it. I'll see you around," he said. Bob marched up ahead. He was that, a friend of yours, inquired Lauren. No, no, no, no, he's not my friend, replied Joe. Bob's his name, but he said for everyone causing blob.

Lauren laughed again. Joe felt a tiny bit sick, but he was so pleased to be making the pretty new girl laugh that he pushed the feeling all the way down inside him. Over the duration of the mass lesson, Lauren kept on looking over at Joe. It put him right off his algebra. In history, she was definitely gazing in his direction too, as Miss Spike droned on and on about the French Revolution. Joe started to daydream about kissing Lauren.

She was so very pretty that Joe wanted to kiss her more than anything. However, being only twelve, Joe had never kissed a girl before, and he had no idea how to make it happen. And the name of the King of France in 1789 was... but... yes, miss? Joe stared at Miss Spite horrified. He hadn't been listening at all. I asked you a question, boy. You haven't been paying attention, have you? Do you want to pass your exam? Yes, miss. I was listening.

Stammer Joe. What is the answer then, boy? demanded Miss Spite. Who was the King of France in 1789. Joe had no idea. He was pretty sure it wasn't King Kevin II or King Craig IV, or King Trevor the Great, because kings didn't tend to have names like that.

I am waiting, pronounced Miss Spite. The bell rang. I am saved, thought Joe. The bell is a signal for me, not you, pronounced Miss Spite. Of course she was going to say that. She lived to say that. It would probably be written on her tombstone.

Lauren was sitting behind where Miss Spite was standing, and she suddenly waved at Joe to get his attention. He was confused for a moment. Then realized she was trying to help him by miming the answer. First she acted out someone going to the bathroom.

King toilet the offered Joe. The castle burst out laughing. Lauren shook her head. Joe had another try. King Lavetry? They laughed again. King Bogg? They laughed even harder this time.

King Lou—ah, King Louis V—yes, boy! Miss Spite continued her interrogation, behind her Lauren Mime numbers with her fingers. King Louis V—the Tenth—the Fifteenth—sixteen! King Louis the Sixteenth! declared Joe. Lauren Mime did little clap.

That's right, Spud," said a suspicious misspite, before turning to the board and writing on it. King Louis XVI. Stepping out into the spring sunshine, Joe turned to Lauren. You totally saved my butt in there.

That's okay. I like you," she smiled. Well, really? asked Joe. Yes! Well, then I wonder if Joe stumbled over his words. If… well… Well, what? If you will… I mean, you probably wouldn't, in fact, you definitely wouldn't.

I mean, why would you? I mean, you're so pretty, and I'm just a big lump, but… The words were spiraling out of his mouth in all directions now, and Joe was beginning to blush fiercely with embarrassment.

Well, if you wanted to… Lauren took over the speaking for a bit. If I wanted to go for a walk in the park after school and maybe grab a nice ollie? Yes, I would love to. Really? Joe was incredulous.

Yes, really? With me? Yes with you! Joe potato. Joe was a hundred times happier than he could ever remember. It didn't even matter that Lauren thought his last name was potato.

Chapter 14 The Shape of a Kiss

It had all been going perfectly. Joe and Lauren had been sitting on a park bench eating their lollies from Raj's shop. Raj could see Joe was trying to impress this girl, and so made a ridiculous fuss of him, giving him one penny discount on their lollies and offering Lauren a free browse of Now Magazine. At last, though, they had escaped the news agent's shop and found a quiet corner of the park, where they'd been talking and talking as the melted red goo of their lollies dribbled down their fingers. They spoke about everything except Joe's family life. Joe didn't want to lie to Lauren. He already liked her too much for that. So when she asked him what his parents did, he just told her his dad worked in human waste management,

and unsurprisingly, Lauren didn't inquire any further. Joe desperately didn't want Lauren to know how ridiculously rich he was. Having observed how Sapphire shamelessly used his dad, he knew only too well how money could ruin things. Everything was perfect.

Until the sound of that OI spoiled everything. The grub-twinds had been hanging around by the swings, aching for someone to tell them off. Unfortunately for them, the police, the parkkeeper and the local vicar were all otherwise engaged. So when one of them spotted Joe, they bounced over, grinning, no doubt hoping to relieve their boredom by making someone else's life a misery for a bit.

Oi! Give us some more money or we'll put you in a bin." Who were they talking to? whispered Lauren. Me, said Joe reluctantly. Money, said a grub. Now! Joe reached into his pocket. Maybe if he gave them each a twenty-pound note, they would leave him alone.

For today, at least. What are you going to do, Joe? asked Lauren. I just thought I'd give...he stammered. What's it to you, slag?" said Grubb One. Joe looked down at the grass, but Lauren handed Joe what was left of her lolly and rose from the bench.

The Grubb shifted around uneasily. They weren't expecting a thirteen-year-old girl to literally stand up to them. "'Sit down,' said Grubb Two, as he or she put his or her hand on Lauren's shoulder to force her down onto the bench.

Lauren, however, grabbed his or her hand and twisted it behind his or her back and pushed him or her to the ground. The other grub charged her, so Lauren leapt into the air and Kung Fu kicked him or her to the ground. Then the other one left up and tried to grab her, but she karate-chopped him or her on his or her shoulder and he or she raced off screaming in pain. It really is quite hard describing this when you don't know someone's gender. Joe felt it was about time he did something, so he stood up and his legs shaking in fear approached the grub. It was only then that Joe realized he was still holding two melting ice lollies. The remaining twins stood at its ground for a moment, and then when Lauren stood behind Joe, he or she ran off, whimpering like a dog.

Where did you learn to fight like that? said Joe astounded. Oh, I've just done a few martial arts classes here and there," replied Lauren, a little unconvincingly. Joe reckoned he might have found his dream girl. Not only could Lauren be his girlfriend. She could be his bodyguard too." They walked through the park. Joe had walked through it many times before, but today it seemed more beautiful than ever, as the sunlight danced through the leaves on the trees on this autumn afternoon. For a moment everything in Joe's life seemed perfect.

I'd better head home, Lauren said, as they neared the gate. Joe tried to hide his disappointment. He could have strolled round the park with Lauren forever. Can I buy you lunch tomorrow?" he asked.

Lauren smiled. He didn't have to buy me anything. I'd love to have lunch with you, but I'm paying. You understand? Well, if you really want to, said Joe. Wow! This girl was too good to be true.

What's the school can team like? said Lauren. How could Joe find the words? Well, it's great if you're in a very strict diet." I love healthy food, said Lauren. That wasn't quite what Joe meant, but it was the best place at school for a date, as it was guaranteed to be quiet.

See you tomorrow, then," said Joe. He closed his eyes and made his lips the shape of a kiss, and waited. See you tomorrow, Joe," said Lauren, before skipping off down the path. Joe opened his eyes and smiled.

He couldn't believe it. He had nearly kissed a girl.

Chapter 15 Nip and Tuck

There was something very peculiar about Mrs. Trape today. She looked the same, but different. As Joe and Lauren approached the serving counter, Joe realized what had changed. The loose skin on her face had been lifted. Her nose was smaller. Her teeth were capped. The The lines on her forehead had been erased. Her eye bags had disappeared. Her wrinkles had gone. Her breasts were much, much bigger. But she was still limping. Mrs. Tray, if you look really different, Joe said, staring at her.

"'Do I?' replied the old dinner lady with mock innocence. "'Now, what are you two fancies today? Roast bat with all the trimmings, soap souffle, cheese and polystyrene pizza?" "'Oh, it's, uh, hard to choose,' faltered Lauren."

"'You are new, are you, girl?' asked Mrs. Trayve." "'Yes, I joined the school yesterday,' replied Lauren, surveying the dishes, and trying to work out which one was the least horrible."

"'Yesterday? That's strange. I'm sure I've seen you somewhere before,' said the dinner lady, stunning Lauren's perfect face. "'You look very familiar.' Joe butted in. Did you have the hip replacement operation yet, Mrs. Trayfe?

He was becoming increasingly suspicious. I gave you the money for a couple of weeks ago," he whispered, so Lauren wouldn't hear. Mrs. Trayfe began to jabber nervously. Um, well, um, no, I mean, not yet, dear.

Why didn't you have a large slice of my very tasty underpants flan? You spent the money I gave you on plastic surgery, didn't you? Joe. A bead of sweat trickled down her face and plopped into a badger snot soup.

I'm sorry, Joe. I just will. I just always wanted to have a few things done. Played to the dinner, Lady. Joe was so furious he felt he had to leave instantly. Lauren, we're going, he announced, and she followed as he stormed out of the dining room.

Mrs. Trayf limped after them. If you could just lend me another five grand, Joe! I promise I'll have it done this time! She called after him. When Lauren finally called up with Joe, he was sitting alone in the far corner of the playground. She gently put her hand on his head to comfort him.

What was all that about lending her five thousand pounds? She asked. Joe looked at Lauren. There was no way of avoiding telling her now. My dad is Len Spud. He said sorrowfully. The bumfresh billionaire. My name's not potato. I I just said that so you wouldn't know who I was.

The truth is we're stupidly rich, but when people find out, it tends to ruin everything. You know what? Some of the other kids told me this morning, said Lauren. Joe's sadness lifted for a moment.

He reminded himself that Lauren had still gone for an ice-lotty with him yesterday, when she thought he was just Joe. Maybe it wouldn't ruin things this time. I didn't you say anything he asked because it doesn't matter.

I don't care about all that. I just like you, she said. Joe was so happy you wanted to cry. It's strange how sometimes you can be so happy it goes all the way around to sadness. I really like you too.

Joe moved closer to Lauren. This was the moment to kiss. He closed his eyes and pushed his lips together. I hear in the playground, Joe!" Lauren pushed him away, laughing. Joe felt embarrassed he had even tried. I'm sorry. He quickly changed the subject. I was just trying to do something kind for that old bag, and she goes and gets a knock-as-done.

I know. It's unbelievable. It's not the money. I don't care about the money. No. It's that she took your generous stiffer granted, offered Lauren. Joe looked up to meet her gaze. "'Exactly!'

"'Come on,' said Lauren. "'I think what you need is some chips. I'll buy you some.' The local chippy was bursting with kids from the Comprehensive. It was against the rules to leave the school premises at lunchtime, but the food in the canteen was so abhorrent there wasn't much choice.

The grubs were at the front of the queue, but fled as soon as they saw Lauren, leaving their battered sausages sizzling on the counter. The pair stood outside on the pavement and ate their chips.

Joe couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed such a simple pleasure. It must have been when he was really, really little. Before the bum-fresh billions came and changed everything.

Joe wolfed his chips down, and noticed Lauren had barely touched hers. He was still hungry, but wasn't sure whether their relationship had advanced to the point where he could start helping himself to her food. That was normally after a few years of marriage, they weren't even engaged yet."

"'Have you finished with yours?' he ventured." "'Yes,' she replied. "'I don't want to eat too much. I'm working next week.' "'Working?' "'Doing what?' said Joe. Lauren suddenly looked very flustered.

"'What did I say?' "'I thought you said you were working.' "'Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, I am working,' she paused, and then took a breath. Just in a shop.' Joe wasn't convinced. So why would you need to be thin to work in a shop?"

Lauren looked uncomfortable. It's a very narrow shop, she said. She checked her watch. We've got a double mass in ten minutes, we'd better go. Joe frowned. There was something strange going on here.

Chapter 16 — Peter Bread

The witch is dead, sang a spotty little boy. Ding dong, the wicked witch is dead! It wasn't even registration time yet, but already the news was spreading across the school-like flew. What do you mean, asked Joe, as he took his seat in his classroom.

On the other side of the class he could see Bob looking over at him with a pained expression. Probably jealous about Lauren, thought Joe. "'Amen, you heard!' said another even spotty little boy behind him.

"'Spite's been sacked!' "'Why?' asked Joe. "'Who cares?' said a slightly less-bottie boy. "'No more boring history lessons!' Joe smiled, then frowned. He hated Miss Spite and her tedious lessons like everybody else, but wasn't sure she had done anything to deserve losing her job. Even though she was horrible, she was actually a good teacher.

Spite's been sacked, blurted Joe to Lauren as she walked in. Yes, I heard, she replied. It's brilliant news, isn't it? Um, well, I suppose so, said Joe. I thought that's what you wanted. You said you couldn't stand her.

Yes, but... Joe hesitated for a moment. I just feel a bit, you know, sorry for her. Lauren pulled it a submissive face. Meanwhile, the gang of fierce-looking girls were sat on desks at the back of the class. The smallest of the group was pushed over in Lauren's direction, as the other girls looked on smirking.

Got any pot noodles then? she asked, much the amusement of the gang. Lauren shot a look at Joe. I don't know what you mean," she protested. "'Don't lie," said the girl. "'You look different in it, but I will reckon it's you.'

"'I've no idea what you're talking about,' said Lauren," a little flustered. Before Joe could speak, a young man in old man's clothes entered the classroom and took his position uncertainly by the blackboard.

"'S-s-sim-a-down, please,' he said quietly. No one in the classroom took any notice, except Joe. I said, erm, erm, erm, Simidown, please. The new teacher's second sentence was barely more audible than the first. Still none of the other kids took any notice. In fact, if anything, they started making even more noise than before.

Erm, that's better, said the little man, trying to make the best of it. Now, as you may know, Miss Spite isn't here today. Yes, she's been given the bow!" shouted a loud fat girl. Well, that's not—well, yes, it is true. The teacher continued in his faint monotone.

Now, I'm going to be taking over from Miss Spite as your form teacher, and also teach you history and English. My name is Mr. Bred. He began writing his name neatly on the board. But you can call me Peter." Suddenly there was quiet, as thirty little brains word.

PITTERBREED! proclaimed a ginger-head boy from the back. A huge wave of laughter crashed over the classroom. Joe had tried to give this poor man a chance, but he couldn't help but laugh.

Um, please, uh, please, can I have some quiet? pleaded the unfortunately named teacher. But there was no use. The whole class was an uproar. The new form teacher had committed the biggest blunder any teacher can make, having a silly name. This is a serious point.

If you have a name like any in this following list, it is very, very important you don't become a teacher. Sudoku, Tom Atoh, Justin Case, Neil Down, Will Inge, Bob Head, Terry Dactyl, Claire Her voyant. Melformed. Rachel Prejudice. Mona Lot. Her behind. I'm a hog. Carol Singer.

Dictate. Don Key. Rhoda Camel. Robin Banks. Felix Sighted. Jerry Atrick. Be a O Problem. Maya bumreaks, Anita bath, Sue age, Marcus absent, Algebra, Barbara black sheep, Kitty litter, Merry Christmas, Jim class, Doris closed, Doris locked, Wayne dear, Dan Druff, Humphrey empty. Stand up. Cliff Hanger. Huge Idiot. Lee King. Manuel Labour. Ruth Less. Willie Mammoth.

Marshamello. Automellon. Hazelnut. Luke Out. Stupid. Lollipop. Or Chuck Up. Seriously, don't even consider it. The kids in your class will make your life a living hell. Now, back to the story.

Right," said the unfortunately-named teacher, "'I'm going to take the register.' "'Adams?' "'Don't forget, Tara, Miss Alata!' shouted a skinny blond-haired boy. The laughter swept up again.

"'I—I—I—I did ask for quiet,' said Mr. Bread, pathetically. "'Or Ted Seeky!' hollered another kid. The laughter was deafening now. Peter Bread put his head in his hands. could almost feel sorry for him. This gray little man's life was going to be utter misery from this day forward. Oh no, thought Joe. We're all going to fail our exams."

End of disc two. Disc three. Chapter seventeen. A knock on the toilet door. There are a number of things you don't want to hear when you sit on the toilet. A fire alarm. An earthquake. The roar of a hungry lion in the cubicle next door. A large group of people shouting, SURPRISE to you! The sound of the entire toilet block being demolished by a giant wrecking-ball.

The clicking sound of someone taking a photograph. The sound of an electric eel swimming up the U-ben. Someone drilling a hole in the wall. JLS singing, admittedly, that wouldn't be welcome at any time. A knock on the door. That last one was exactly what Joe heard at break time, when he took a seat in the boy's toilet.

Rat-tat-tat. To be clear, that isn't a knock at your door, listeners. It's a knock on Joe's toilet door. Who is it? asked Joe, irritated. It's Bob. Replied, yes. You've guessed correctly, Bob.

Go away! I'm busy! said Joe. I need to talk to you. Joe pulled the chain and opened the door. What do you want? he said angrily, as he made his way to the sink. think. Bob trailed after him munching on a bag of crisps. It was only an hour since he'd been eating chips like everyone else, but obviously Bob got hungry very easily.

He shouldn't eat crisps in a toilet, Bob. Why not? Because, because, I don't know, but because the crisps wouldn't like it. Joe whacked the tap on to wash his hands. Anyway, what do you want? Bob put the bag in his trouser pocket and stood behind his former friend. He looked into Joe's eyes in the mirror.

It's Lauren." What about her? Joe had known it. Bob was just jealous. Bob looked away for a second and took a deep breath. I don't think you should trust her, he said. Joe turned around, shaking with fury.

What did you say? He shouted. Bob stepped away, taken aback. I just think she's—she's what? She's fake. Fake? Joe felt white-hot with fury. of the other kids reckon she's an actress. They say she's in some advert or something, and I saw her out with this other boy at the weekend."

What? Joe? I think she's just pretending to like you. Joe put his face next to Bob's. He hated being this angry. It was scary being so out of control. Say that again. Bob backed away.

Look, I'm sorry. I don't want to fight. I'm just telling you what I saw. You're lying. I'm not. You're just jealous because Lauren likes me and you're a fatty with no friends at all.

I'm not jealous. I'm just worried for you, Joe. I don't want you to get hurt. Yeah, said Joe. You sounded really worried about me when you called me a spoiled brat. Honestly, I just leave me alone, Bob. We're not friends anymore.

I felt sorry for you and talked to you and that was that. What did you just say? You felt sorry for me?" Bob's eyes were wet with tears. I didn't mean... What? Because I'm fat? Because he had a kid's bully me? Because my dad's dead?

Bob was shouting now. No, I just... I didn't mean... Joe didn't know what he meant. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a watt of 50lb notes, and offered them to Bob. Look, I'm sorry, here you go. Buy your mum something nice.

Bob knocked the money out of Joe's hands and the notes fell onto the down floor. How dare you! What have I done now? protested Joe. What's the matter with you, Bob? I'm just trying to help you.

I don't want your help. I don't want to ever speech you again. Fine. And you are the one people should feel sorry for. You're pathetic! Bob stormed out. out. Joe sighed, then got down on his knees and started picking up the wet banknotes.

That's ridiculous!" said Lauren later with a laugh. I'm not an actress. I don't think I'd even get a part in the school play. Joe tried to laugh too, but he couldn't quite. They sat together on the bench in the playground, shivering slightly at the cold. Joe found it hard to say the next sentence.

He did and didn't want to know the answer. He took a deep breath. Bob said he saw you with some other boy. Is that true? What? said Lauren. The weekend. He said he saw you out with someone else.

Joe looked straight at her, trying to read her face. For a moment she seemed to retreat to the back of her eyes. He's a liar, she said after a moment. I thought so, said Joe, relieved.

A big fat liar, she continued. I can't believe you were ever friends with him." Well, it was only for a bit, squirm Joe. I don't like him any more. I hate him lying pig. Promise me you won't ever speak to him again," said Lauren urgently.

Well, promise, Joe! I promise," he replied. A wicked wind whipped through the playground.

Chapter 18 The Vortex 3000

didn't think the petition to get Miss Spite reinstated was going to be popular. And she was right. By the end of the day, Joe had only got three signatures—his, Lauren's, and Mrs. Traffes. The dinner lady had only signed it because Joe had agreed to try one of her hamster-dropping tartlets. It tasted worse than it sounded. Despite having what was essentially not much more than a blank sheet of paper, Joe still felt it was worth presenting his petition to the headmaster. He didn't like Miss Spite one bit. But he didn't understand why she had been sacked. Despite everything, she was a good teacher, certainly a lot better than Naanbred or whatever his stupid name was.

Hello, children!" said the headmaster's secretary, brightly. Mrs. Job was a very fat, jolly lady who always wore glasses with brightly colored frames. She was always sitting in the headmaster's office behind her desk. In fact, no one had ever seen her stand up. It was not inconceivable that she was so big she was permanently wedged into her chair.

"'We are here to see the headmaster, please,' declared Joe. "'We have a petition for him,' added a supportive Lauren, holding the piece of paper in a hand demonstratively. "'A petition? What fun!' beamed Mrs. Charb.'

"'Yes, it's to get Miss Spite her job back,' said Joe, in a manly way that he he hoped might impress Lauren. For a moment he toyed with the idea of thumping his fist on the desk to add emphasis. But he didn't want to topple over any of Mrs. Chubb's abundant collection of lucky gongs.

Oh yes, Miss Spite, wonderful teacher! Don't understand that at all, but children, I'm sorry to say you have just missed Mr. Dust. Oh, no, said Joe. Yes, he just left. Oh, look! There he goes!

She pointed one of her bejeweled sausage fingers to the car park. Joe and Lauren peered through the glass. The headmaster was edging his way along at a snail-space with his zimmer frame.

"'Slow down, Mr. Dust! You'll do yourself a mischief,' she called after him. Then she turned back to Joe and Lauren. "'He can't hear me! With the truth he can't hear a thing! Do you want to leave that little petition thing with me?'

She angled her head and studied it for a moment. Oh, dear, looks like all the signatures have fallen off!" We were hoping for more, said Joe Weakley. Well, if you run, you might just catch him," said Mrs. Chubb. Joe and Lauren shared a smile, and walked slowly out of the car park. To their surprise, Mr. Dust had abandoned his zimmer frame, and was clambering astride a shiny new Harley-Davidson motorbike.

It was the brand-new jet-powered Vortex 3000. Joe recognized it, because his dad had a small collection of 300 motorbikes and was always showing his son brochures of new ones he was going to buy.

The Superbike, the £250,000, was the most expensive motorbike ever produced. It was wider than a car, taller than a lorry, and blacker than a black hole. It shone with a very different chrome to that of the Headmaster's Zimra frame.

Headmaster? Cool Joe, but he was too late. Mr. Dast had already put on his helmet and revved the engine. He put the beast into gear, and it roared past the other teacher's humble cars at a hundred miles an hour. It went so fast that the headmaster was clinging on by his hands, his little old legs dangling up in the air behind him.

Yippee! cried the headmaster, as he and his preposterous machine disappeared off into the distance, becoming a dot on the horizon in a matter of seconds. There is something very strange going on," said Jo to Lauren.

The witch gets the sack. The headmaster gets a 250-gram motorbike. Joe! You're being silly! It's just coincidence! Laughed Lauren. Now, am I still invited for dinner tonight? She added, rapidly changing the subject.

Yes, yes, yes, said Jo eagly. How about I meet you outside Raj's in an hour? Cool. See you in a bit. Joe smiled too, and watched her walk away. But that bright golden glow that surrounded Lauren in Joe's mind was beginning to darken. Suddenly something felt very wrong.

Chapter 19 A Baboon's Bottom

Maybe your headmaster is simply having a midlife crisis! pronounced Raj. Stopping off at the news-agent shop on the way home from school, Joe had told Raj about the curious events of the day.

Mr. Duss is about a hundred. He's got to be more than midway through his life," said Joe. What I mean, clever clogs, continued Raj, is that perhaps he was just trying to feel young again.

But it's the most expensive motorbike in the world. It costs a quarter of a million pounds. He's a teacher, not a footballer. How could he afford it? proclaimed Joe. I don't know. I am no detective like Miss Marbles or the great Shylock Holmes," said Raj, before looking around his shop and luring his voice to whisper, and Joe, I need to ask you about something in the strictest confidence.

Joe lowered his voice too. Go ahead. This is very embarrassing, Joe, whispered Raj. But do you use your dad's special toilet paper? Yes, of course, Raj. Everybody does. Well, I have been using his new one for a few weeks now.

The mint-flavored bum wipes asked Joe. There was now a huge range of bumfresh products, including hot bumfresh, warm's your bottom as you wipe, lady bumfresh, specially soft wipes for ladies' bottoms, minty bumfresh, leaves your bottom with a cool minty aroma.

Yes, and Raj took a deep breath. My bottom has come up all, well, purple! Purple! said Joe with a shock laugh. This is a very serious matter, chided Raj. He looked up suddenly. copy of the Daily Mail and a packet of rollers that will be eighty-five p. Be careful with those rollers on your dentures, Mr. Little." He waited for the pensioner to leave the shop.

Ding went the bell on the door. I didn't see him there. He must have been lurking behind the quakers, said Raj, a little shaken at what the pensioner might have heard. "'You aren't joking, aren't you, Raj?' said Joe with a quizzical smile.

"'I am deadly serious, Joe,' said Raj gravely. Show me then," said Joe. I can't show you my bottom, Joe. We've only just met!" exclaimed Raj. But let me draw you a simple graph. A graph, asked Joe.

Be patient, Joe. As the boy looked on, Raj grabbed some paper and pens and drew a simple graph. It was a graph of purple-ness. There was aubergine, purple paint, purple rain by Prince, a purple-heart medal, clinging on blood, but the tallest column of all was Raj's bottom. That was the purple list."

Wow! That is purple, said Joe, studying the graph. Is it painful? It is a little sore. Have you seen a doctor? asked Joe. Yes, and he said he's seen hundreds of people in the local area with brightly colored bottoms.

Oh no, said Joe. Maybe I will have to have a bump transplant. You couldn't help but laugh. Bum-chance, Blanc! Yes, this isn't a loving butter, Joe!" Trided Raj. There was hurt in his eyes that his bottom had become the subject of mockery.

No. Sorry, said Joe, still giggling. I think I will stop using her dad's new bum-fresh wipes and go back to the shiny white my wife used to buy. I'm sure it isn't the bum wipes, said Joe.

What else could it be? Look, Raj, I better go, Joe said. I've invited my girlfriend over later. Oh, girlfriend is it now? The pretty girl you came in with when I sold you the ice lollies?"

said the news agent brightly. Yes. That's her, said Joe Shiley. Well, I don't know if she really is my girlfriend, but we've been spending a lot of time together. Well, have a lovely evening.

Thanks. Arriving at the door, Joe turned back to the news agent. He couldn't help himself. Oh, by the way, Raj, good luck with the bum transplant. Thank you, my friend. I hope they can find one big enough!

Joe laughed. Out of my shop! Out! Out! Said Raj. Ding. Cheeky boy. Muttered the news agent with a smile as he rearranged his curly whirlies.

Chapter 20 A Beachball Rolled in Hair

Bumfresh Towers pulsated with music. Coloured lights spun in every room. Hundreds of people swarmed around the house. This was a party that was going to get complaints about the noise from people in Sweden. Joe had no idea there was a party at the house tonight.

Dad hadn't mentioned anything at breakfast, and Joe had invited Lauren over for dinner. As it was a Friday night, they could stay up late too. It was going to be perfect. Maybe tonight they might even kiss.

Sorry, I had no idea about all this, said Joe, as they approached the giant stone steps at the front of the house. It's cool! I love a party," replied Lauren. As darkness fell and strangers tumbled out of the house clutching bottles of champagne, Joe took Lauren's hand and led her through the huge oak front door.

Ow! This is some house!" shouted Lauren over the music. What? said Joe. Lauren put her mouth to Joe's ear so she could be heard. I said, wow! This is some house! But Joe still couldn't really hear.

Feeling the heat of her breath so close to him was so exhilarating, he stopped listening for a moment. Thank you! shouted Joe back into Lauren's ear. Her skin smelt sweet, like honey.

Joe searched all over the house for his dad. It was impossible to find him. Every room was oozing with people. Joe didn't recognise a single one of them. Who on earth were they all? Guzzling cocktails and gobbling finger food like there was no tomorrow. Being short, Joe really found it hard to see over them. His dad wasn't in the snooker room. He wasn't in the dining room. He wasn't in the massage room. He wasn't in the library.

He wasn't in the other dining room. He wasn't in his bedroom. He wasn't in the reptile house. Let's try the pool room!" shouted Joe in Laurence's ear. You've got a pool! Coal! she shouted back. They passed a woman bent over vomiting by the sauna as a man, presumably her boyfriend, patted the small of her back supportively.

Some party guests had either dived or fallen into the pool and were bobbing around in the water. Joe enjoyed swimming, and the thought that none of these people looked like they would get out of the pool if they needed a pee, clouded his mind. Just then he spotted his dad, wearing just a pair of swimming trunks and his curly afro toupee, and dancing to a completely different song than the one that was playing. Covering the wall behind him was a vast mural of a strangely muscle-bound version of himself reclining in a thong.

The real Mr. Spud boogied badly in front of it, looking more like a beach ball that had been rolled in here. "'What's going on, Dad?' Joe shouted. Half because the music was so loud, and half because he was angry his dad hadn't told him anything about the party.

"'Who are all these people? Your friends?' "'Ah, nah, I hired them in. Five hundred quid each. Partyguest.com.' "'What's the party for, Dad?' "'Well, I know you'll be pleased to know that Sapphire and I have got engaged,' shouted Mr. Spud.

What the?" said Joe, not able to disguise his shock. It's great news, isn't it? Dad yelled. Still, the music boom, boom, boom. Joe didn't want to believe it. Did this brainless bimbo really have to be his new mum?

I asked her yesterday and she said no, but then I asked her again today and go over a great big diamond ring and she said yes. Congratulations, Mr. Spud, said Lauren. So you must be a friend of my son's from school," said Mr. Spud, his words tumbling out clumsily.

That's right, Mr. Spud," replied Lauren. Call me Len, please," said Mr. Spud with a smile. And you must meet Sapphire. Sapphire! he shouted. Sapphire tottered over in her shocking yellow high heels and even more shocking yellow mini-dress.

Would you show Joe's friendly engagement ring, my gorgeous lady love of all time? Twenty million quid, just for their diamond!" Joe spied the diamond on his soon-to-be-stepmother's finger.

It was the size of a small bungalow. Her left arm was dangling lower than the right with the weight of it. Oh, no! Oh, it's so heavy! I can't lift my hand, but if you bend down you can see it," said Sapphire.

Lauren stepped closer to get a better look. Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" Sapphire asked. Mr. Spud leapt in. Oh, no, you haven't, my one true love. Yes, I have," said Sapphire.

No, my angel cake. Blem, gee! I know where I seen you! I said, shout it, my chocolate-sprinkled princess," said Mr. Spud. You done that, Ed, for potnoodle! Sapphire exclaimed. Joe turned to Lauren, who looked at the floor.

It's well good, you know the one, Joe," continued Sapphire, for the new sweet and sour fiver, the one where she had to do karate to stop people from nicking it. "'You are an actress,' spluttered Joe. The advert was coming back into focus in his mind. Her hair was a different colour, and she wasn't wearing an all-in-one yellow cassoed, but it was Lauren all right.

"'I'd better go,' said Lauren. "'And did you lie about having a boyfriend too?' demanded Joe. Goodbye, Joe," said Lauren, before weaving past the guests in the poor room as she ran off.

Lauren shouted Joe after. Uh, let her go, son, said Mr. Spud sadly, but Joe raced after and called up with her just as she reached the stone steps. He grabbed her arm, harder than he had anticipated, and she turned around in pain. Ow! Why did you lie to me? Joe stammered.

Just forget it, Joe, said Lauren. She suddenly seemed like a different person. them. Her voice was more posh now and her face less kind. The twinkle in her eye had definitely gone, and the glow around her had turned into a shadow. You don't want to know.

Don't want to know what! Look, if you must know, your dad saw me on that pot-new ladvert and called my agent. Said you were unhappy at school and paid me to be your friend. It was all fine until you tried to kiss me." She skipped down the steps and ran off down the long drive. Joe watched her go for a few moments. Before the pain in his heart was so great he had to bend over to stop it. He fell to his knees. A party guest stepped over him. Joe didn't even look up. He felt he was so sad that he was never going to be able to get up again.

Chapter 21 A GCSE in Makeup

Dad!" screamed Joe. He had never been this angry before, and hoped he never would be again. He ran into the poor room to confront his father. Mr. Sparred nervously straightened his toupee as his son approached. Joe stood in front of his dad, hyperventilating. He was too angry to speak.

I'm sorry, son. I thought that's what you wanted, a friend. I just wanted to make things better for you at school. I got that teacher you hated sack too. All I had to do was buy the headmaster a motorbike. So, you got an old lady sack from her job and then and then and then you paid a girl to like me. I thought that's what you wanted.

What? Listen, I can buy you another friend," said Mr. Spud. You don't get it, do you?" screamed Joe. Some things can't be bought. Oh, what? Like friendship. Like feelings. Like love.

Actually, that last one can, offered Sapphire, still unable to lift her hand. I hate you, Dad! I really do! shouted Joe. Joe, please! pleaded Mrs. Bud. Look, please calm down. How about a nice little check for five million quid?

Oh, yes, please," said Sapphire. I don't want any more of your stupid money, sneered Joe. But, but, son!" sputtered Mr. Spud. The last thing I want to do is end up like you, a middle-aged man with some brain-dead teenage fiancé.

Excuse me? I've got a jissethi in my cup," said Sapphire angrily. I never want to see either of you again, said Joe. He ran out of the room, pushing the vomiting lady out of his way and into the pool as he did so.

Then he slammed the huge door behind him. One of the mural tiles from Mr. Spud's thong fell off the wall and smashed onto the floor. Joe! Joe! Wait! shouted Mr. Spud. Joe dodged past the hordes of guests and ran up to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him. There wasn't a lock, so he grabbed a chair and wedged it under the door handle so it wouldn't open. As the beat of the music thumped through the carpet. Joe grabbed a bag and started filling it with clothes. He didn't know where he was going, so wasn't sure what he needed. All he knew was that he didn't want to be in this ridiculous house for another minute. He grabbed a couple of his favourite books, The Boy in the Dress and Mr. Stink, both of which he found hilarious and yet heartwarming.

Then he looked on his shelf at all his expensive toys and gadgets. His eyes were drawn to the little Lu-Roll rocket that his dad had given him when he still worked at the factory. He remembered it was a present for his eighth birthday. His mum and dad were still together then, and Joe thought it might have been the last time. He was truly happy.

As his hand reached out to take it, there was a loud thump on the door. Son! Son! Let me in!" Joe didn't say a word. He had nothing more he wanted to say to the man. Whoever his dad had been had been lost years ago.

Joe, please," said Mr. Spud. Then there was a pause. Thump! Joe's dad was trying to force the door open. Open this door! Thump! I've given you everything! He was putting all his weight behind it now, and the chair legs heroically dug themselves deeper into the carpet. He made one last try. Thump! Joe then heard a much smaller thump, as his dad gave in and leaned his body against the door. This was followed by a squeak as his bulk slid down the door and a few whimpering cries. Then the light in the gap under the door was blocked.

His dad must have been slumped on the floor. Spud Jr. felt unbearably guilty. He knew all he needed to do to stop his dad's pain was open that door. He put his hand on the chair for a moment. If I opened that door now, he thought, nothing is going to change.

Joe took a deep breath, lifted his hand, grabbed his bag, and walked to the window. He opened it slowly so his dad wouldn't hear, and then climbed onto the windowsill. Joe took one last look at his bedroom, before jumping out into the darkness, and a new chapter.

Chapter 22 A New Chapter

Joe ran as fast as he could, which wasn't that fast in all honesty, but it felt faster him. He ran down the long, long drive, dodged past the guards, jumped over the wall. Was that wall to keep people out or keep him in? He never thought about it before, but there wasn't time to think about it now. Joe had to run and keep running. Joe didn't know where he was running to. All he knew was where he was running from. He couldn't live in that stupid house with his stupid dad for one moment longer. Joe ran down the road.

All he could hear was his own breath, getting faster and faster. There was a faint taste of blood in his mouth. Now he wished he'd tried harder in the school cross-country run. It was late now, after midnight. The lampposts pointlessly illuminated the empty little town. Reaching the town centre, Joe slowed to a stop. A lone car crouched in the road.

Realising he was alone, Joe suddenly felt a shiver of fear. The reality of his great escaped dawned on him. He looked at his reflection in the window of the darkened KFC. A chubby, twelve-year-old boy with nowhere to go looked back at him. The police car rolled past slowly and silently. Was it looking for him? Joe hid behind the big plastic bin. The smell of fat and ketchup and hot cardboard was so stomach-churning it almost made him choke. Joe covered his mouth to stifle the sound. He didn't want the policeman to discover him. The police car turned a corner, and Joe ventured out into the street. Like a hamster that had escaped from his cage, he kept close to the edges and corners. Could he go to Bob's? No, thought

Joe. In the exhilaration of meeting Lauren, or whatever her stupid name really was, he had badly let down his only friend. Mrs. Trayv had been a sympathetic ear, but it turned out she was after his money all along. How about Raj?

Yes, thought Joe. He could go and live with the Purple Bottom news agent. Joe could set up camp behind the fridge. Hidden safely there, Joe could read Knudsen magazine all day and feast on slightly out-of-date confectionery. He couldn't imagine a more charmed life.

Joe's mind was racing, and soon his legs were too. He crossed the road and turned left. Raj's shop was only a few streets away now. Somewhere above him in the black air. He heard a distant whir.

The whir became louder. More of a bus than a drone. It was a helicopter. A searchlight danced across the streets. Mr. Spud's voice came out of a loudspeaker. Joe, Spud, this is your dad speaking. Give yourself up. I repeat, give yourself up.

Joe dashed into the entrance of the body shop. The surge light had just missed him. The smell of pineapple and pomegranate body wash and dragon fruit foot scrub pleasingly tickled its way up his nostrils. Hearing the helicopter passing overhead, Joe dashed to the other side of the street and crept past Pizza Hut and then Pizza Express before seeking sanctuary in the doorway of a Domino's Pizza. Just as he stepped out to make a dash past Bella Pasta, the helicopter whooshed back overhead. Suddenly Joe Spard was caught in the dead centre of the searchlight.

Don't move, I repeat. Don't move!" the voice thundered. Joe looked up into the light as his body trembled from the force of the rotor blades. Shove off! he shouted. I repeat, shove off! Come home now, Joe! No! Joe! I said, I heard what you said and I'm not coming home, I'm not ever coming home! shouted Joe.

standing there in the bright light he felt like he was on stage in a particularly dramatic school play. The helicopter whirred overhead for a moment as the loud speaker crackled in silence.

Then Joe made a run for it, dashing down an alley behind Argos through the NCP car park and round the back of Superdrog. Soon the helicopter was nothing more than a distant buzz, no louder than the sleepless birds. Arriving at Raj's, Joe knocked gently on the metal shutters.

There was no answer, so he banged this time until the shutter shook with the force of his fists. Still no answer. Joe looked at his watch. It was two o'clock in the morning. No wonder Raj wasn't in his shop. It looked like Joe was going to be the very first billionaire to ever sleep rough.

Chapter 23. Cannell Boat Weekly

What are you doing in there? Joe wasn't sure if he was awake, or simply dreaming that he was awake. He certainly couldn't move. His body felt stiff with cold, and every part of him ached. Joe couldn't open his eyes yet, but he knew without doubt that he hadn't woken up between the silk sheets of his forepost to bed.

"'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 unglu eyes that had been and stuck together with sleep. He saw a big smiley face hovering over his. It was Raja's.

Why are you here at this ungodly hour, Master Spud?" asked the kindly news agent. As dawn was beginning to glow through the gloom, Joe took in his surroundings. He had climbed into a skip outside Raja's shop and fallen asleep. Some bricks had been his pillow, a piece of tarpaul in his duvet, and a dusty old wooden door his mattress.

No wonder every part of his body ached. Oh, uh, hello, Raj," croaked Joe. Hello, Joe. I was just opening my shop and heard some snorting. There you are. 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 step 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 an 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 watsits from the news agent, 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?' "'Um, no thanks,' said Joe. "'Two rollo-eggs poached?' Joe shook his head.

"'You need to eat, boy. A toasted galaxy bar?' No thanks. A hearty bowl of pickled onion monster much perhaps? With warm milk? I'm not really 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 to 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 guess that much slurred Raj, chewing away on multiple segments of Terry's chocolate orange.

Oh, 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 isolates?

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 is 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't. Ventured Raj, I know from what you said that you really like that girl, but I guess your dad was well. I'm just trying to make you happy.

Guess all that money!" said Joe, belly-audible through the tears. It's ruined everything. I even lost my only friend over it. Yes, I haven't seen you unbopped together for a while. What happened?

I behaved like an idiot. I said some really mean things to him. Oh, dear. We fell out when I'd 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, "'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,' Jail told Raj.

"'Just like Bob said.' "'Nonsense,' said Raj. "'You did a stupid thing and you must apologize. 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 realize 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 owned a large chain of news-agent 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 roller coaster 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 by her lavish gifts, boxes of after-rate mince, a gold-plated necklace from the Argos catalogue, design addresses 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. Did you spend time with my dad? I don't care about the stupid money. Come on, I'm 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.

Okay, 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 mom gets the mirror delivered," said Raj as he began to flick through his address book.

Or is it the telegraph? Or is it Canalbord Weekly? I never can remember. Here we are, flat 112, the Winter Estate." That's miles away, said Joe. Don't worry, Joe. We will take the Rajmobile.

Chapter 24 The Rajmobile

This 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 Rajrabil, Joe's mind had conjured up images of Batman's Batmobile, or James Bond's Aston Martin, or at least Scooby-Doo's fan. 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 standing 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 Raj Mobile is quite a beast," said Raj, before he started pedaling, and the trike trundled off slowly, squeaking with every turn of the wheels. Dring! That wasn't your—I think I've done that joke a bit too many times now.

Hello? said a kindly but sad-looking lady at the door of Flat 112. They're 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, squirm, Joe. I'd like to see him if that's okay. I'm not sure who wants to see you. It's really important, said Joe. I know I've treated him badly, but I want to make up for it.

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 pajamas, 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'm 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 grubs money because I wanted to make things easier for you.' "'Yeah, but—' "'I know, I know,' said Joe Hurdly.

I realised 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, and said they'd just flashed in their money around to make the problem go away.

I'm 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 you remembered how much pain you'd felt at the party last night. It did. I really liked her.

Oh no. 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. Hey, 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 top biscuit, Joe, called Bob's mum from the kitchen, you better come quickly. Your dad is on the TV.

Chapter 25 Broken, broken. That's the only word that could

describe how Joe's dad looked. He was standing outside bumfresh towers in his dressing gown. Mr. Spud addressed the camera. His eyes red from crying. I've lost everything," he said slowly. His whole face shattered with emotion.

Everything. All I want is my son back. My beautiful boy. Then the tears welled up in Mr. Spud, and he had to catch his breath. Joe looked over at Bob and his mum. They stood in the kitchen, staring at the screen. What does he mean?

He's lost everything." It was just on the news, she replied. Everyone is suing your dad. Bumfreshers made everyone's bottom go purple. What? replied Joe. He turned back to the TV. If you're watching out there, son, come home. Please, I beg you, I need you. I miss you so much.

Joe reached out and touched the screen. He could feel tears welling in the corners of his eyes. A little hiss of static danced on his fingertips. "'You'd better go to him,' said Bob.

"'Yeah,' said Joe. Too shocked to move. "'If you and your dad need any way to stay, you're both welcome here,' said Bob's mum. "'Yeah, of course,' chimed in Bob. "'Thanks so much. I'll tell him,' said Joe.

Look, I've gotta go." Yeah," said Bob. He opened his arms and gave Joe a hug. Joe couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him. It was the one thing money couldn't buy. Bob was a brilliant hugger, too.

He was all squidgy. I'll see you later, I suppose," said Joe. I'll make a shepherd's pie," said Bob's mum with a smile. My dad loves shepherd's pie," replied Joe. I remember," said Bob's mum.

Me and your dad were at school together. Really?" asked Joe. Yes, he had a bit more hair and a bit less money back then," she joked. Joe allowed himself a little laugh. Thank you so much.

The lift was out of order, so Joe raced down the stairs, bouncing off the walls as he did so. He ran out into the car park where Raj was waiting. Bump-freshed Towers Raj and step on it.

peddled hard, and the trike trumbled off down the street. They passed arrival news-agent shop, and Joe clocked the headlines on the papers in racks outside. Dad was on every front page.

Bumfresh scandal, said the Times. Billionaire Sparred Facing Ruin, ran the telegraph. Bumfresh is harmful to bottoms, exclaimed the Express. Is your bottom purple?" inquired the Guardian.

Bum-fresh purple bottom nightmare! screamed the mirror. Queen has baboon's bum, claimed the mail. BUM! HORROR! yelled the Daily Star. PUSH! BICE! CHANGE! HIS HAIR STYLE! Announced the sun.

Well, nearly every front page. You were right, Raj, said Joe, as they sped up the High Street. About what in particular? replied the news agent, as he mopped the sweat from his brow. About bumfresh, it has made everyone's bottom go purple. I told you so. Did you inspect yours?"

So much had happened since Joe had left Raj's shop yesterday afternoon. He had completely forgotten. No. Well, prompted the news agent. Pull over. What? I said pull over! Raj swerved the Rajmobile onto the verge. Joe leapt off and looked over his shoulder and pulled down the back of his trousers a little.

Well, asked Raj. Joe looked down. Two great purple-swollen cheeks stared back at him. It's purple! Indeed, Joe's bum was very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, purple. Joe pulled up his trousers and jumped back on the Rajmobile.

Let's go!" As they approached Bumfresh Towers, Joe saw that there were hundreds of journalists and camera crews waiting outside the gates of his house. As they approached, all the cameras turned to them, and hundreds of flashes went off. They were blocking their entrance, and Raj had no choice but to stop the trike.

You are live on Sky News! How do you feel now, your father faces financial ruin? Joe was too shocked to reply. But still men in raincoats continued to shout questions at him. BBC News, is there going to be a compensation package for the millions of people around the world whose bums have gone purple? CNN, do you think your father will face criminal charges?"

Raj clearly said, If I may make a short statement, gentlemen. All the cameras turned to the news agent, and there was a hush silence for a moment. At Raj's shop in Bolsable Street, I'm doing a very special offer on Frizzles.

Buy ten packets, get one free, for a limited time only!" The journalists all sighed loudly and muttered their annoyance. Ding-ding! Raj rang the bell on his trike, and the sea of reporters parted to let him and Joe through.

Thank you so much, chapped Raj with a smile. And I have some out-of-dead lion bars at half price. Only slightly moldy! After twenty-six, a blizzard of banknotes. As Raj peddled hard up the long driveway, Joe was shocked to see that there were already a fleet of lorries parked up by the front door. An army of bulky men in leather jackets were carrying out all of Dad's paintings and chandeliers and diamond-encrusted golf clubs. Raj stopped the trike, and Joe leapt out of the basket and ran up the huge stone steps. Sapphire was hurrying out in a a pair of impossibly high heels, laid him with a huge suitcase and numerous handbags.

Out of my way! she screamed. Where's my dad? demanded Joe. I dunno, and I don't care. This year's lost all of his money! As she ran down the steps, the heel of a shoe broke off and she took a tumble.

The case crashed on the stone floor and broke open. A blizzard of banknotes swirled into the air. Sapphire began screaming and crying, and as mascara ran down her cheeks, she left up trying desperately to catch them. Joe looked back at her with a mixture of anger and pity.

He then raced into the house. It was completely bare of any belongings. Joe fought past the bailiffs and sprinted up the grand spiral staircase. He passed a couple of burly men, making off with hundreds of miles viscale extract track.

For a millisecond, Joe felt a pang of regret, but he carried on running, and burst through the door to his dad's bedroom. The room was white and bare, almost serene in its emptiness. Hunched on a bare mattress with his back to the door was his dad, wearing only a vest and a pair of boxer shorts. His fat hairy arms and legs contrasting with his bald head, they had even taken his toupee.

Dad! shouted Joe. Joe? Dad turned around. His face was red and raw from crying. My boy! My boy! You came home! I'm sorry I ran away, Dad. I'm so upset I hurt you with all that business with Lauren.

I just wanted to make you happy. I know, I know. I forgive you, Dad. Joe sat down next to his father. I've lost everything. Everything. Even Sapphire's gone." I'm not sure she was the one, Dad.

No? No, replied Joe, as he tried not to shake his head too hard. No. Maybe not, said Dad. There we've got no ass. No money. No private jet. What are we going to do, son? Joe reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a check.

Dad?" Yes, my boy. The other day I was going through my pockets, and I found this. Dad studded it. It was the one he had written his son for his birthday, for two million pounds. I never paid it in," said Joe excitedly.

You can have it back. Then you can buy us somewhere to live and still have loads of money left over. Dad looked up at his son. Joe wasn't sure if his father was happy or sad. Thank you so much, boy.

You're a great lad. really are. But I'm sorry to say this check is worthless." Worthless? Joe was shocked. Why? "'Because I have no money left in my bank account,' explained Dad. "'There are so many lawsuits against me, the banks have frozen all my accounts. I'm bankrupt now. If you had paid it in when I gave it to you, we would still have two million pounds.' Joe felt a little frightened that somehow he'd done the wrong thing.

Are you angry with me, Dad?" Dad looked at Joe and smiled. No. I'm pleased you didn't cash it in. All that money never really made us happy, did it? No, said Joe. In fact, it made us sad.

And I'm sorry too. You brought my homework to school and I shouted at you for embarrassing me. Bob was right. I have behaved like a spoiled brat at times. Dad chuckled. Well, just a little.

Joe bum-jumped along closer to his dad. He needed a hug. At that moment two burly bailiffs entered the room. We've got to tighten a mattress! Announced one. The spuds offered no resistance and stood up to let the men carry the last item out of the room.

Dad leaned over and whispered into his son's ear. If there's anything you want to grab from your room, boy, I'll do it now. I don't need anything, Dad," replied Joe. It must be some ink.

She's on a shade to go, which you are, Pod." They watched as the two men carried the mattress out of Mr. Spud's bedroom. It was now completely bare. Joe thought for a moment. There is something, he said.

He disappeared out of the room. Mr. Spud moved over to the window. He watched helpless as the leather-jacketed men carried out everything he owned. a cutlery, crystal vases, antique furniture, everything, and loaded it into the trucks.

In a few moments Joe reappeared. Did you manage to grab anything?" asked Dad eagerly. Just one thing. Joe opened his hand and showed his dad the sad little loo roll rocket. "'Why?" said Dad.

He couldn't believe his son had kept the old thing, let alone chosen it as the one thing he wanted to save from the house. It's the best thing you ever gave me," said Joe. Dad's eyes clouded over with tears.

But it's just a loo roll with a bit of another loo roll stuck to it. He spluttered. I know," said Joe, but it was made with love, and it means more to me than all that expensive stuff you bought me.

Dad shook with uncontrollable emotion and wrapped his short fat hairy arms around his son. Joe put his short fat, less hairy arms around his dad. He rested his head on his dad's chest.

He felt that it was wet with tears. I love you, Dad. Ditto. I mean, I love you too, son. Dad, said Joe, tentatively. Yes? Do you fancy Shepard's pie for tea? More than anything in the world, said Dad with a smile.

Father and son held each other tight. Finally, Joe had everything he could ever need. Post-Script So what happened to all the characters in the story? Mr. Spud, like Bob's mum, shepherds pie so much that he married her, and now they have it every night for their tea.

Joe and Bob not only stayed best friends, when their parents got married, they became step-brothers too. Sapphire got engaged to a Premier League football team. Raj and Mr. Spud began working on a number of ideas together that they hoped would make them zillionaires. The five-fingered Kit Kat, the queen-sized Mars Bar in between King and Normal Size, Vindaloo-flavoured Polomints. At this time none of these ideas have made them a penny.

No one ever worked out which grub was he on which grub was a she, not even their mom or dad, and they were sent to a boot camp in America for juvenile delinquents. The headmaster, Mr. Dust, retired from the school on his hundredth birthday. He now races motorbikes full-time. Ms. Spite, the history teacher, got a job back and gave Joe Litter duty every day for the rest of his life. The unfortunately named teacher, Peter Bread, changed his name to Susan Jenkins, which didn't really help.

Lauren continued her acting career, the only highlight of which was a part in the TV hospital drama Casualty as a dead body. The headmaster's secretary Mrs. Charb never did get out of her chair. The Queen's bum remained purple. She showed it to everyone in the country when she gave her yearly speech The Nation on Christmas Day, calling it her anus horribles. And finally, Mrs. Trayf released a bestselling cookbook, 101 recipes with bat-sick, available from Harper Collins.

It was Billionaire Boy, written and read by David Williams. The music was by Mark Morris. Produced by ID Audio, the Harper Audio.