Читать книгу The World of David Walliams: 6 Book Collection - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, David Walliams - Страница 19

The next morning Dennis was in bed lying perfectly still, but he felt like he was on a rollercoaster. His mind was racing. Dressing up had made him feel like he didn’t have to be boring Dennis living his boring life anymore. I can be whoever I want to be! he thought.

He took a shower. The bathroom was dark green like an avocado. Dennis had never understood why his parents had chosen such a revolting colour for a bathroom. If he had been consulted he would have installed a white antique bath, which he would have complemented with black and white tiles. But being a child, he’d never been asked for his opinion.

To use the shower you needed the precision of a safe cracker. Turn the dial one millimetre to the left or right and the water would go either ice cold or boiling hot. Dennis positioned the dial exactly where it should be so as not to be frozen or scalded to death, and squeezed some Imperial Leather shower gel on his hand. It was what he did every morning. It was part of the grinding routine of his life. Yet somehow the world felt different. Burning with possibilities.

Downstairs in the kitchen, John was eating his toast and chocolate spread and watching the Hollyoaks omnibus.

“Dad gone already?” asked Dennis.

“Yeah, I heard him leave at four. Didn’t the lorry wake you up?”

“No. Don’t think so.”

“He said something about having to be up early to take some cat food to Doncaster.”

Dennis thought how his dad’s life as a lorry driver wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.

And it didn’t sound that glamorous to begin with.

Dennis poured himself some Rice Krispies, and just as he was about to eat a spoonful the doorbell rang. It was a confident ring, long and loud.

Dennis and John were so curious about who it could be at the door on a Sunday morning that they both rushed to open it. The postman didn’t come on a Sunday, nor indeed in the morning anymore, preferring to do his round at some hour of his choosing in the afternoon.

It wasn’t the postman.

It was Lisa.

“Hi,” she said.

“Er…” said John, now suddenly unable to form words.

Dennis knew John fancied Lisa–he stared at her all the time at school. But then everybody fancied Lisa. She was so utterly gorgeous that probably even the hearts of squirrels missed a beat when she walked by.

“Um, what do you want?” asked John awkwardly, unable to function properly in this close proximity to beauty.

“I’ve come to see Dennis,” she said.

“Oh,” said John. He turned to Dennis with a look of hurt and injustice in his eyes, like a dog about to be put down.

“Come in,” said Dennis, loving how much all this was winding John up. “I’m just having breakfast.”

Dennis led Lisa into the kitchen. They sat down.

“Oh, I love Hollyoaks,” said Lisa.

“Yeah, I do too,” said Dennis.

John shot him a look that clearly stated, You filthy liar, you have never previously expressed any interest in the long-running, Chester-based teen soap opera.

Dennis ignored him. “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked Lisa.

“No, I’m fine. I’d love a cup of tea though.”

“Cool,” said Dennis, and put some water in the kettle. John gave him another look. This one clearly said, You never say “cool”. I’m so angry I’m going to have to tear off your head and use it as a football.

“I had fun yesterday,” said Lisa.

“Y—yes,” said Dennis tentatively, not wanting to give too much away in front of his brother. “I had a great time…” He knew he was driving his brother insane with jealousy so added, “…with you.”

“WE ARE MEANT TO BE GOING UP THE PARK TO PLAY FOOTBALL NOW,” said John, trying to put emphasis on every word to sound authoritative, but actually only sounding a bit mad.

“You go ahead. I’m gonna chill with Lisa for a while.” Dennis looked at John and smiled. Lisa smiled too.

They smiled John out of the room.

Lisa and Dennis listened to the door shutting behind him. Lisa laughed excitedly at all the intrigue.

“Well, how do you feel today?” she asked.

“Well… I just feel… great!” said Dennis.

“I’ve had an idea,” said Lisa. “Crazy, but…”

“Go on.”

“Well, you know what I said about how you could fool everyone into thinking you were a girl?”

“Yes…” said Dennis, nervously.

“Well some of the kids at school just had French exchange students staying with them…”

“So?” said Dennis.

“So, I thought… this is crazy but… I thought I could dress you up as a girl and take you to Raj’s and say you were my French pen-pal or something. You wouldn’t have to say much, because you know, you’d be French!”

“No!” said Dennis. He felt the exhilaration and fear of somebody who has just been chosen to assassinate a president.

“It could be fun.”

“Absolutely not.”

“How amazing would it be though? To pass you off as a girl.”

“It’s insane! I go into Raj’s shop every day. He’d know for certain it was me.”

“I bet he wouldn’t,” said Lisa. “I’ve got a wig my mum bought for a fancy dress party. I could put some make-up on you like yesterday. It’d be so much fun–let’s do it today!”

“Today?”

“Yeah, it’s Sunday so there should be less people about. I brought a dress with me, ’cos I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“I don’t know, Lisa. I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

“I’ve got you a handbag too…”

Ten minutes later Dennis looked at himself in the hall mirror. He was wearing a short, electric-blue dress and holding a silver clutch-bag. It was a party dress, really, not what anyone would wear on a Sunday morning to a newsagent’s shop.

Least of all a twelve-year-old boy.

But having Lisa fuss over him, applying make-up to his face, squeezing his feet into matching silver high-heeled shoes, and styling the wig, had been so much fun he didn’t complain.

“Is Raj really going to believe I’m your French pen-pal?” he asked.

“You look amazing. And it’s all about confidence. If you believe it, everyone else will too.”

“Maybe…”

“Come on, let’s see you walk.”

Dennis trotted up and down the hall, doing his best impression of a catwalk model.

“Mmm, it’s like Bambi taking his first steps,” said Lisa with a laugh.

“Thanks a lot.”

“Sorry, just joking. Look, you’ve got to stand upright in heels like these.”

Dennis copied Lisa’s posture and immediately felt a little more confident in the silver shoes. “I quite like this actually,” he said.

“Yes, it’s a good feeling, being that little bit taller. And it makes your legs look great.”

“Is Denise a French name too?” he asked.

“If you say anything in a French accent it sounds French,” said Lisa.

“De-neeze,” said Dennis, laughing. “Bonjour, je m’appelle De-neeze.”

“Bonjour, Denise. Vous êtes très belle,” said Lisa.

“Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle Lisa.”

They both laughed.

“Are you ready?” Lisa asked.

“Ready to…?”

“To go outside.”

“No, of course I’m not.”

“But?”

“But I will!”

They both laughed again. Lisa opened the door and Dennis stepped out into the sunshine.