Читать книгу Grandpa’s Great Escape - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, David Walliams - Страница 12

The town was eerily unfamiliar at night. All was dark and quiet. It was the deepest winter. A mist hung in the air, and the ground was moist after a heavy downpour of rain.

Dad had taken the car, so Jack pedalled along the road on his trike. This trike was only meant for toddlers. In fact, the boy had been given the trike second-hand for his third birthday and had outgrown it many years ago. However, his family didn’t have enough money to buy him a new bike, so he had to make do.

Mum stood on the back, holding on to his shoulders. If any of his classmates from school had seen him giving his mother a lift on his trike, Jack knew he would have to go and live alone in a dark and distant cave for all eternity.

Grandpa’s military band music played out in Jack’s head as he pedalled as fast as he could down the street. For a toddler’s trike, it was a deceptively heavy beast, especially with his mother standing on the back, her fluffy pink nightgown blowing in the wind.

As the wheels turned around on his trike so did the thoughts in Jack’s mind. The boy was closer to the old man than anybody; surely he could guess where his grandfather was?

Without seeing another soul on the way, the pair finally arrived at the town square. A pathetic sight greeted them.

Dad was in his pyjamas and dressing gown, hunched over the steering wheel of the family’s little brown car. Even from a distance, Jack could see the poor man couldn’t take much more of this. Grandpa had gone missing from his flat seven times in the past couple of months.

When he heard the trike approach, Dad sat up in his seat. Jack’s father was wiry and pale. He wore glasses and looked older than he was. His son often wondered whether being married to Mum had added years to the poor chap.

With the sleeve of his dressing gown, Dad wiped his eyes. It was clear he had been crying. Jack’s father was an accountant. He spent all day doing long boring sums and didn’t find it easy to express his feelings. Instead he would bottle things up. However, Jack knew his dad loved his father very much, even though he was nothing like him. It was as if the love of adventure had skipped a generation. The old man’s head was in the clouds, while his son’s head was buried in books of figures.

“Are you all right, Dad?” asked the boy, breathless from pedalling.

As his father wound down the window to talk to them, the handle came off in his hand. The car was ancient and rusty, and bits often fell off.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Dad lied, as he held the handle aloft, not quite sure what to do with it.

“So no sign of the old man?” asked Mum, already knowing the answer.

“No,” replied Dad softly. He turned away from them and stared straight ahead to hide how upset he was. “I’ve looked all over town for him for the past few hours.”

“Did you look in the park?” asked Jack.

“Yes,” replied Dad.

“The railway station?”

“Yes. It was all locked up for the night, but there was no one outside.”

Suddenly Jack had an inspired thought, and couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “The War Memorial?!”

The man returned his gaze to his son, and shook his head sorrowfully. “That’s the first place I looked.”

“Well, that’s it then!” announced Mum. “Let’s call the police. They can stay out all night looking for him. I am going back to bed! We have a big promotion on our Wensleydale at the cheese counter tomorrow and I need to look my best!”

“No!” said Jack. From secretly listening to his parents’ conversations about Grandpa at night, the boy knew this could spell disaster. Once the police were involved, questions would be asked. Forms would have to be filled in. The old man would become ‘a problem’. Doctors would poke and prod him, and because of his condition no doubt Grandpa would be sent straight to an old folk’s home. To someone like his grandfather who had lived a life of freedom and adventure, it would be like a prison sentence. They simply had to find him.

“Up, up and away…” muttered the boy.

“What, son?” replied Dad, mystified.

“That’s what Grandpa always says to me when we are playing pilots together in his flat. As we take off he always says ‘Up, up and away.’’’

“So…?” demanded Mum. She rolled her eyes and sighed at the same time. Double whammy.

“So…” replied Jack. “I bet that’s where Grandpa is. Up high somewhere.”

The boy thought long and hard about which was the tallest building in town. After a moment it dawned on him. “Follow me!” Jack exclaimed, before speeding off down the road, pedalling his trike furiously.