The World of David Walliams: 7 Book Collection. David Walliams
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Название: The World of David Walliams: 7 Book Collection

Автор: David Walliams

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Книги для детей: прочее

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isbn: 9780008235765

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      “Thank you,” he said. “Unimaginable kindness, but I can’t take it, sorry.”

      Chloe was confused. “Why ever not?” she asked.

      “You are but a child. Five pounds? It’s too, too generous.”

      “I just thought—”

      “It’s really kind of you, but I’m afraid I can’t accept. Tell me, how old are you, young lady? Ten?”

      “TWELVE!” said Chloe loudly. She was a little short for her age, but liked to think she was grown-up in lots of other ways. “I’m twelve. Thirteen on January the ninth!”

      “Sorry, you’re twelve. Nearly thirteen. Go and buy yourself one of those new musical stereo discs. Don’t you worry about an old vagabond like me.” He smiled. There was a real twinkle in his eye when he smiled.

      “If it’s not too rude,” said Chloe, “can I ask you a question?”

      “Yes, of course you can.”

      “Well, I would love to know: why do you live on a bench and not in a house like me?”

      Mr Stink shuffled slightly and looked anxious. “It’s a long story, my dear,” he said. “Maybe I will tell you another day.”

      Chloe was disappointed. She wasn’t sure there would be another day. If her mother found out that she was even talking to this man, let alone offering him money, she would do her nut.

      “Well, sorry for bothering you,” said Chloe. “Have a lovely day.” As the words came out she cringed. What a stupid thing to say! How could he possibly have a lovely day? He was a smelly old tramp, and the sky was growing gloomy with black clouds. She took a few paces up the street, feeling embarrassed.

      “What’s that on your back, child?” called out Mr Stink.

      “What’s what on my back?” asked Chloe, trying to look over her shoulder. She reached round and tore a piece of paper from her blazer. She peered at it.

      Written on the piece of paper, in thick black letters, was a single word.

       LOSER!

      Chloe felt her stomach twist with humiliation. Rosamund must have sellotaped it to her when she left school. Rosamund was the head girl of the cool gang. She was always bullying Chloe, picking on her for eating too many sweets, or for being poorer than the other girls at school, or for being the girl neither team ever wanted on their side in hockey matches. As Chloe had left school today Rosamund patted her on the back several times, saying “Merry Christmas”, while all the other girls laughed. Now Chloe knew why. Mr Stink rose creakily from his bench and took the paper from Chloe’s hands.

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      “I can’t believe I’ve been going round with that on my back all afternoon,” said Chloe. Embarrassed to feel tears welling up, she looked away, blinking into the sunlight.

      “What is it, child?” asked Mr Stink, kindly.

      Chloe sniffed. “Well,” she said, “it’s true, isn’t it? I really am a loser.”

      Mr Stink bent down to look at her. “No,” he said, authoritatively. “You’re not a loser. The real loser is the person who stuck it to you in the first place.”

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      Chloe tried to believe him, but couldn’t quite. For as long as she could remember she had felt like a loser. Maybe Rosamund and all those other girls in her gang were right.

      “There’s only one place for this,” said Mr Stink. He screwed up the piece of paper and, like a professional cricketer, expertly bowled it into the bin. Chloe clocked this and her imagination instantly started whirring; had he once been captain of the England cricket team?

      Mr Stink brushed his hands together. “Good riddance to bad rubbish,” he said.

      “Thanks,” murmured Chloe.

      “Not at all,” said Mr Stink. “You mustn’t let bullies get you down.”

      “I’ll try,” said Chloe. “Nice to meet you Mr…um…” she began. Everyone called him Mr Stink, but she didn’t know if he knew that. It felt rude to say it to his face.

      “Stink,” he said. “They call me Mr Stink.”

      “Oh. Nice to meet you, Mr Stink. I’m Chloe.”

      “Hello, Chloe,” said Mr Stink.

      “You know, Mr Stink,” said Chloe, “I still might go the shops. Do you need anything? Like a bar of soap or something?”

      “Thank you, my dear,” he replied. “But I have no use for soap. You see, I had a bath only last year. But I would love some sausages. I do adore a nice meaty sausage…”

       2 Icy Silence

      “Mother?” said Annabelle.

      Mother finished chewing her food completely, then swallowed it, before finally replying.

      “Yes, my darling child?”

      “Chloe just took one of her sausages off her plate and hid it in her napkin.”

      It was Saturday evening, and the Crumb family sat at the dining room table, missing Strictly Come Dancing and The X-Factor as they ate their dinner. Mother had banned watching television and eating at the same time. She had decided that it was ‘awfully common’. Instead the family had to sit in icy silence and eat their dinner staring at the walls. Or sometimes Mother would choose a subject for discussion, normally what she would do if she ran the country. That was her absolute favourite. Mother had given up running a beauty salon to stand for Parliament, and had no doubt in her mind that one day she would be Prime Minister.

      Mother had named the white Persian family cat Elizabeth, after the Queen. She was obsessed with Being Posh. There was a downstairs loo that was kept locked for ‘very important guests’, as if a member of the royal family was going to swing by for a waz. There was a china tea set in the cupboard that was ‘for best’, and had never once been used. Mother even sprayed air freshener in the garden. Mother would never go out, and not even answer the door, unless immaculately groomed, with her beloved pearls around her neck and her hair made stiff with enough hairspray to create its own hole in the ozone layer. She was so used to turning up her nose at everybody and everything, it was in danger of staying that way. Here’s a picture of her.

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      My word, she looks posh, doesn’t she?

      Unsurprisingly Father, or Dad as he preferred to be called when Mother wasn’t around, opted for a quiet life and usually didn’t speak unless spoken to. He was a big powerful man, but his wife made him feel small inside. Dad was СКАЧАТЬ