Читать книгу The Taylor TurboChaser - David Baddiel - Страница 8

“That one,” said Amy, pointing out of the window. “Mum. The rusty one. With the soggy newspaper in it. And the wonky front wheel. That’s the kind of trolley my wheelchair is like.”

“Yes,” said Suzi, carefully backing into a space between two cars, into one of which a family was loading a huge amount of shopping. This was hard to do, as the van was large and high in the back, and Amy and her chair were in the way.

More in the way than usual, in fact, as Amy was pointing, with both arms, at the rusty trolley. “Can you see it?”

“No. But I know the one you mean.”

“You do?”

“Well. I know the kind of one you mean. Because you’ve pointed one like that out every time we’ve come to the supermarket this month.”

“Because, Mum,” said Amy, “my wheels have been that wonky for a month!”

Suzi sighed, and switched the van engine off. Life is as perfect as you want it to be, she thought to herself. Amy’s mum was very keen on “inspirational quotes”: positive things people have said about life that you can find all over the internet, normally backed by an image of a sunset. She repeated these to herself in times of stress. Often, though – like now, as she watched the man from the car next to her trying again and again to slam the boot down over a stuck bag containing mainly eggs – they didn’t seem to have much effect.

Suzi got out of the driving seat, went round the back of the van, opened the back doors (on which Amy had stuck an ironic “HOT ROD” sticker that she’d got from a car magazine called Fast Wheels) and pressed a button.

The ramp folded out for Amy to wheel down. Amy turned the chair round to face her mum. But then she carried on turning it, away from her, in a circle. And then another circle. And then another (when she wanted to, Amy could turn her chair very, very fast).

“I can’t stop it, Mum!” she called out. “The wheels are doing it by themselves. Help me! Help me! Help me!”

Suzi watched her, with an eyebrow raised. She wondered about just letting her daughter get very, very dizzy and sick. But eventually, after six turns, and no sign of either the pretend screaming stopping or the circling slowing down, she said:

“All right! OK! You win, Amy! I’ll talk to your dad. We’ll get you a new chair.”

Amy stopped and smiled. She reached into her pocket and took out a piece of paper, on which was printed a picture from the internet.

“Thanks, Mum!” she said excitedly. “Here’s the one I want!”