Читать книгу Bad Dad - David Walliams, Quentin Blake, Tony Ross - Страница 17

Frank slammed his body down on to the roof of the car and clung on for dear life. The Rolls-Royce had spun out of the pub car park, and in no time was speeding down the road at one hundred miles an hour. The boy’s eyes were watering and his hair was sticking up on end. This was the most dangerous fairground ride of all time.

Of course Dad had no clue that his son was clinging on to the roof of the Rolls-Royce. If he had, the man would never have:

driven straight through a red light…

swerved sharply to overtake a bus…

and crashed through a fence…

before speeding through the park.

The Rolls-Royce bobbed up and down on the grass.

The boy was bounced into the air, his body thumping ^up and _down on the roof.

THUD! THUD! ^THUD!

“OOF! _OOF! OOF!”

Just as he dared to open his eyes again, Frank saw that they were heading straight for another fence on the far side of the park.

Planks of wood exploded into the air. A large chunk whizzed past the top of Frank’s head.

Everything was happening so fast that there was no time to breathe.

The car was heading straight towards an alleyway, which was much narrower than the car itself. If Dad didn’t put on the brakes right now, it looked like the Rolls-Royce would slap-bang into a brick wall.

“STOP!” shouted the man in the passenger seat.

“ARGH!” screamed the pair in the back.

Instead the car’s engine revved and sped up.

“NOOO!” came shouts from inside.

Frank couldn’t take it any more. The boy had to close his eyes.