The Taylor TurboChaser. David Baddiel
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Название: The Taylor TurboChaser
Автор: David Baddiel
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Учебная литература
isbn: 9780008334185
isbn:
Sanjay shrugged and nodded, and put this observation down as one of the many that meant his son was a genius he would never understand.
Bean Pants. This was the only invention that Rahul had made that didn’t have a number, because Rahul felt that it went against its brand, which was – and he often said this doing an inverted commas mime – “fun”. It was pants, the lining of which he’d filled with beans. Not baked beans: whatever the beans are that are in bean bags. Which meant that, wherever you sat, you could feel like you were sitting on a bean bag.
“Fun”!There were many other inventions on Rahul’s slate, by which I mean in his head, or doodles in his rough book.
But these were the biggies. Or at least they were until Amy’s wheelchair came along.
Rahul sighed, and handed the Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503 back to Janet.
“Eight pounds, please,” he said.
Janet shook her head, and opened her mouth to continue to protest.
But Amy cut her off.
“Hello? Never mind the Whiter-Tooth-Whiz!”
“503.”
“What?”
“The Whiter-Tooth-Whiz 503,” said Rahul.
“Whatevs.” Amy spread out her hands. “This is going to be your best invention ever!”
Janet frowned at her. “Rahul’s going to invent you?”
“Not me, idiot,” said Amy, pointing downwards. “This. The wheelchair.”
“Huh? But it’s invented already …” said Janet. “I can see it very clearly.”
“Amy thinks I can re-invent it …” said Rahul.
“What does that mean?”
“It means …” said Amy, “he’s going to make it into … well, I’ll show you.”
She turned and faced away from them, towards a free section of the playground, where no other kid was fighting, running or skipping.
“Taylor lines up her car, in pole position on the Indianapolis 500 track.”
“Who are you talking to?” said Janet. “And why has your voice gone so deep?”
“She’s being a motor racing commentator, Janet,” whispered Rahul.
“Oh,” said Janet.
Amy’s eyes went up. “She’s watching for the chequered flag. A lot of work has gone into this machine since the last race. Rahul, head of her team of mechanics, has turbo-charged its engines, and reworked the tyres, and streamlined the body, and now it’s a speed-machine.”
She mimed turning a key.
“Brrrrrrrmmmmmm. Brrrrrrrrrrmmmmm. Brrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmm! Listen to that! Even from the commentary box we can hear it. It sounds …” and here her voice went very deep, as she did an impression of one of the men on a TV show about cars that seemed to always be on some channel somewhere “… like the devil clearing his throat.”
“Right,” said Rahul. “I’m really not sure – even though I am, obviously, great at inventing – that I can make your wheelchair into the kind of vehicle you’re imagi—”
“NEEEEEWOOOOOWWWW!” Amy shouted, leaning over to the right, and miming holding a steering wheel (and doing a race-car-speeding-past noise, in case you were wondering).
“NEEEEEEWOOOOWWWWWW!” she shouted again, leaning to the left. “AWAY SHE FLIES!”
Then she sat up, pressed the lever forward, and the chair went off.
At about two miles an hour.
“What’s going on?” said Suzi.
“What?”
They had once again driven into Lodlil, and once again Suzi had parked with difficulty, opened up the back doors of the van and pressed the button to fold down the ramp.
But then she held up a hand to stop Amy wheeling her chair down it.
“What’s going on?” she said again.
“Huh?” said Amy.
“Don’t play the innocent with me, Ames. Where’s your new chair?”
Amy looked down as if surprised, as if somehow she’d not noticed that she’d come all the way to the supermarket in her old wheelchair. Which, to be fair, her mother hadn’t. But then again, Suzi was rushed and tired, and outside their house she had been on the phone arguing with Amy’s dad.
“Oh, come on, Amy. Where is it?”
“I’m … just getting used to it.”
“Pardon?”
“Yes. Um. Turns out that the new wheelchair is a bit … fast for me. When you push the lever forward, it moves forward really quick. So … I thought I’d leave it in my room for the minute. Until I’ve got used to it.”
Suzi narrowed her eyes at her daughter. “We spent ages on the internet checking out motorised wheelchairs. Specifically: fastest motorised wheelchairs. At your request.”
“I know but—”
“And your dad – who I’ve just been on the phone to – paid for most of it. And as Mr ‘I’m Not Made of Money’, he—”
“Is he still calling himself that?” said Amy.
“Yes, you know how he likes to … make himself very clear.”
“Wow,” said Jack. “You actually spoke to him? Is it Christmas?”
“No, СКАЧАТЬ