The Parent Agency. David Baddiel
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Название: The Parent Agency
Автор: David Baddiel
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее
isbn: 9780007554515
isbn:
Then, from underneath his pillow, he grabbed the list he’d secretly written down of all the things that made his mum and dad a bit rubbish at their basic job of being his mum and dad. He held it up above his face and said, a third time, the loudest so far: “I wish I had better parents!”
And then suddenly the entire room started to shake.
The walls were shaking like crazy; it was as if Barry’s bedroom had a really bad fever.
The windows rattled and his little Aston Martin DB6 model car fell off the shelf behind his bed. Barry had never been in an earthquake, but he had seen them on the telly, and thought this must be what they were like. He clutched his duvet (MYSA ROSØNGLIM, white) in fear, frightened that maybe this was happening because of what he’d just said out loud.
He was about to say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it!” (he didn’t quite know who this was addressed to – his parents, even though they weren’t in the room, or, he supposed, God) when he realised… Oh, of course: it’s a lorry.
He sat up.
It must be a very big lorry, he thought as the room continued to shake. It must have really powerful headlights as well, he thought next as the far wall, the one with the posters on it, began to glow. What was odd about this glow, though, was that – unlike what usually happened when a lorry or a big car turned on to the road, which was that its headlights would light up the whole wall as the vehicle moved past – only the area around his posters seemed to be glowing.
And the glow wasn’t moving. Nor was it fading.
If anything, it was getting brighter. Maybe the lorry had stopped outside the house? Barry did notice that the shaking seemed to have died down. But you weren’t allowed to stop on the A41.
As he continued to look at the posters, a very strange thing happened. Lionel Messi’s and James Bond’s stares seemed to turn towards him. Like they were looking at him.
And then an even stranger thing happened.
Lionel Messi said: “Barry! Hey!”
Lionel didn’t move from his sitting position, in between Iniesta and David Villa (see: told you it was out of date), with his hands on his knees. But his mouth did move. Definitely.
Barry, shocked and frightened, said nothing. But, through the shock and fear, he was also very, very curious. So he didn’t look away.
“Eh! El Barrito!” said Lionel. “Ven aquí! Rápido!”
“He means come over here. Quickly,” said another voice. A voice Barry recognised.
Barry moved his eyes sideways. James Bond was in exactly the same position he always was, but he had, quite clearly, raised his left eyebrow.
“He does?” said Barry hoarsely.
“Yes. I speak Spanish,” replied James Bond. “And French, and German, and Italian, and Mandarin, and a smattering of Portuguese. Should be better, but y’know: very little action in Portugal.”
“…Right,” said Barry, who by now was wondering if he should just start screaming.
James Bond raised his other eyebrow. Something that Jake couldn’t do. “So?”
“So… what?”
“So come over here! Like he says! Otherwise I might just have to shoot you…”
Barry gulped. He thought it best to go along with it. So he got out of bed and walked towards the glowing wall.
As he approached the wall with the posters on it, Barry kept a close eye on Bond and, more importantly, on the Walther PPK with silencer now pinned to his chest. Barry could feel the too-big feet of his onesie dragging across the carpet (BJORNO MASTERLIGN): it was the only familiar feeling about this whole thing.
He walked towards the 007 poster, but James Bond flicked his cold, suspicious eyes to the right, so Barry moved over to where Lionel was smiling at him.
“Eh! Barrito! Me recuerdas al niño en el avión en ese anuncio que hice!”
“Pardon me?”
“He says you remind him of the little boy on the aeroplane in that advert he did,” said James Bond. “You remember, the one with the basketball guy and the ice cream and stuff. God, Lionel, why did you do that? It’s not like you don’t earn a million pounds a minute as it is.”
“Estós celoso!”
“I am not jealous. I do my work for the love of my country. And the ladies, of course.”
“Er… hello?” said Barry. “I think you wanted… to talk… to me…?”
“Si!” said Lionel.
“Oh, speak English for crying out loud, Messi. You’ve played against John Terry. You must have at least learnt some swear words.”
“Culo.”
“That’s not a swear.”
Barry looked at Lionel, who tutted, but then looked back at him and said, in a strong accent, “Barry. Would you mind pleeze to stand in between me and the guy dressed like a waiter?”
“I am not dressed like a waiter! What waiter has a gun?!”
Barry shuffled across. “Here?”
“Yes, nearly. Just a beet to the left,” said Lionel.
Barry shuffled a bit more. Now he was precisely in between the two posters. “Yes, good. Espléndido! Now shut your eyes and say the thing again.”
“What thing?” said Barry. He dug his hands into his pockets (the onesie had quite deep ones), which was something he always did when asked a question he wasn’t sure how to answer. In the corner of his mind he noticed that, crumpled up in the corner of the left-hand pocket, was the list of things that he blamed his parents for.
“Oh, you know the thing. What is it? Is hard for me in English. Remind me, 003 and a half.”
“Seven! You know it’s seven!”
“Yes, СКАЧАТЬ