Читать книгу The World of David Walliams 5 Book Collection - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, David Walliams - Страница 16

“Happy Birthday, Dad!” exclaimed Dennis and John excitedly.

“I don’t like birthdays,” said Dad.

Dennis’s face fell. Sunday was always a miserable day for him. He knew that loads of families were sitting down together for a roast dinner, and that only made him think about Mum. When Dad did try and cook a Sunday roast for his sons, it only made their loss more painful. It was as if there was a place laid in all their minds for someone they loved who wasn’t there.

And anyway, Dad was not a good cook.

But this Sunday was even worse than usual—it was Dad’s birthday and he was determined not to celebrate it.

Dennis and John had waited all afternoon to wish him a happy birthday. He had left for work very early that day–now it was seven o’clock at night and Dad had just got in. The boys had crept downstairs to the kitchen to surprise him, where he was sitting alone wearing the same red-checked jacket he always did. He had a can of cheap lager and a bag of chips.

“Why don’t you go and play, boys? I just want to be on my own.”

The card and cake Dennis and John were holding seemed to fade away in their hands at Dad’s words.

“I’m sorry, boys,” he said, catching their hurt. “It’s just there’s not much to celebrate is there?”

“We got you a card, Dad, and a cake,” offered John.

“Thanks.” He opened the card. It was from Raj’s shop and featured a big smiling cartoon bear inexplicably wearing sunglasses and Bermuda shorts. Dennis had chosen it from Raj’s shop because it had “Happy Birthday to the Best Dad in the World” written on it.

“Thanks, boys,” said Dad as he looked at it. “I don’t deserve it though. I’m not the best dad in the world.”

“Yes you are, Dad,” said Dennis.

“We think you are,” added John tentatively.

Dad stared at the card again. Dennis and John had thought it would make him happy, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

“I’m sorry, boys, it’s just I find birthdays hard, you know, since your mum left.”

“I know, Dad,” said Dennis. John nodded and tried to smile.

“Dennis scored a goal today. For the school,” said John, trying to change the subject to something happy.

“Did you, son?”

“Yes, Dad,” said Dennis. “It was the semi-final today, and we won 2-1. I got one goal and Darvesh scored the other. We’re through to the final.”

“Well that’s good,” said Dad, staring into the distance. He took another gulp from his can. “Sorry. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

“OK, Dad,” said John, nodding to Dennis that they should leave. Dennis touched his dad’s shoulder for a moment, before they retreated from the room. They had tried. But birthdays, Christmas, going on holiday, and even day trips to the sea–slowly all those things had disappeared. Mum had always organised them, and now they seemed a lifetime away. Home was becoming a very cold, grey place.

“I need a hug,” said Dennis.

“I ain’t hugging you.”

“Why not?”

“I’m your brother. I ain’t hugging you. It’s weird. I’ve gotta go anyway. I told the boys I was gonna hang around on the wall outside the offy with them for a bit.”

Dennis needed to get out of the house too. “I’m going to Darvesh’s then. See you later.”

As he walked across the park, he felt bad for leaving his dad on his own in the kitchen. He wished he could make Dad happy.

“What’s up?” asked Darvesh, as they were looking at videos on YouTube in his bedroom.

“Nothing,” said Dennis unconvincingly. He wasn’t a good liar, but then lying is not a thing that it’s good to be good at.

I, myself, have never ever lied.

Apart from just then.

“You seem, like, really distracted.”

Dennis was distracted. Not only was he thinking about his dad, he couldn’t stop thinking about that orange sequined dress.

“I’m sorry. Darvesh, you’d be my friend whatever wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Darvesh! Dennis! Would you boys like some refreshing Lucozade drink?” shouted Darvesh’s mum from the next room.

“No thanks, Mum!” Darvesh shouted back, before sighing loudly. Dennis just smiled.

“It’s a high energy beverage! It’ll get your strength up for the final!” came the insistent reply.

“All right, Mum, maybe later!”

“Good boys! You’ll make me very proud if you win. But you know I’ll still be proud if you don’t.”

“Yes, yes…” said Darvesh. “She’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s only because she loves you,” said Dennis.

Darvesh went silent for a moment so Dennis changed the subject.

“Can I try on your hat thing?” he asked.

“My patka?”

“Yes your patka.”

“Sure, if you really want. I’ve got a spare one here I think,” said Darvesh as he rummaged in his drawer before pulling out another hat. He passed it to Dennis, and Dennis carefully put it on.

“How do I look?” asked Dennis.

“Like a bit of a prat!”

They both laughed loudly. Then Darvesh thought for a moment. “I mean, it doesn’t make you Sikh, does it? On you it’s just a hat. It’s just dressing up, innit?”

Dennis walked home feeling a bit brighter. He’d even laughed at some of the stupid videos they’d found, particularly one of a cat clambering over a baby and putting its bum in the baby’s face.

But when he walked in he saw that Dad was still sitting at the kitchen table where they had left him, with another can of lager but the same cold and soggy chips.

“Hi, Dad,” said Dennis, trying to sound happy to see him.

His dad looked up for a moment, and then sighed heavily.

John had already gone to bed. When Dennis went up, John didn’t even bother saying anything. As they lay there the silence was deafening. There was nothing that could be said. Dennis couldn’t sleep at all, and spent all night watching the curtain edges grow light.

Only one thing stopped him suffocating: thinking about Lisa, the world she had opened up for him, and that sequined orange dress, sparkling and sparkling and sparkling in the sunlight…