The Midnight Gang

by David Walliams

“I’ve only seen the ceiling so far,” sighed the boy.

  “And how would you rate the general appearance of the ceiling?”

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll put that it ‘has met your expectations’. Next question, would you say that the care you have received today at the hospital has been, ‘poor’, ‘fine’, ‘good’, ‘very good’ or in fact ‘too good’?”

  “It’s been all right,” replied Tom.

  “Mmm, sorry, but ‘all right’ isn’t on the form.”

  “‘Good’ then?”

  “Not ‘very good’?” said Doctor Luppers, a hint of pleading in his voice. “It would be nice to say I got a ‘very good’ on my first week.”

  Tom sighed. “Put ‘too good’ then.”

  “Oooh, thank you!” replied the doctor, his eyes dancing with delight. “No one ever gets a ‘too good’! Though I worry whether ‘too good’ might actually be a bad thing. Can I just put ‘very’?”

  “Yes, put whatever you like.”

  “I’ll put ‘very good’. Thank you very much! This will go down very well with the hospital principal, Sir Quentin Strillers. Now, next question. We’re racing through them now. Would you recommend LORD FUNT HOSPITAL to family and friends, ‘with a heavy heart’, ‘half-heartedly’, ‘wholeheartedly’ or ‘very wholeheartedly’?”

  Suddenly Nurse Meese bustled through the curtains. “There isn’t time for all your stupid questions, Doctor!”

  The man put his hand up to his face as though he thought he was going to be slapped. “Don’t hurt me!”

  “You silly boy! As if I would!” replied the nurse, before clouting him round the ear hard with her thick, heavy hand.

  “OW!”screamed Doctor Luppers. “That hurt!”

  “Well, at least you are in the right place for an injury! Ha ha!” The woman laughed to herself, and almost managed a smile. “I need this station back right now! I have a newsagent being rushed here in an ambulance who managed to staple his own fingers together. Stupid man!”

  “Oh no!” replied the doctor. “I can’t stand the sight of blood.”

  “Get this boy out of here before I’m back or I will clout you round the other ear!” With that, Nurse Meese whipped back the curtain and stomped off down the corridor.

  “OK,” began Doctor Luppers, “let me speed this up as much as I can.” The man began speaking very fast. “Bad swelling. Keep you here for a few nights. Just to be safe. Hope you don’t mind.”

  Tom didn’t mind staying at the hospital at all. Anything to miss time at his dreaded boarding school. It was one of the most expensive schools in the country, and so most of the boys who went there were exceedingly posh. Tom’s parents were rich because of his father’s well-paid job abroad, but the family were not posh at all. Lots of the boys looked down their aristocratic noses at Tom.

  “I am just going to send you up to the children’s ward right away. Nice and peaceful up there. You should get a good night’s sleep. Porter?”

  Tom froze in fear as the terrifying man limped back in.

  “Yes, Doctor Luppers, sir?” he slurred.

  “Take … sorry, sorry, sorry … What was your name again?”

  “Tom!” replied Tom.

  “Take Tom up to the children’s ward.”

  The porter wheeled the trolley Tom was lying on into the hospital lift. The old misshapen man hummed quietly to himself as he pressed a button for the top floor. Tom hated being alone with him. It wasn’t as if he had done anything ; he just looked .

  The boy had never seen anyone so spectacularly ugly before. Yes, there were teachers at his posh boarding school that were so unfortunate-looking they had been given cruel nicknames by the boys, but none was as scary-looking as the porter.

  There was:

  Mrs Rabbit

  The Dome of Doom

  Mr Dead-Squirrel-On-His-Head

  The Hairy Gnome

  Mrs Goggle-Eyes

  Dr Octopus

  Mr Clown-Shoes

  The Dinosaur

  Miss Hooter

  Professor Comb-Over

  PING! The lift doors closed.

  The porter smiled at Tom, but the boy looked the other way. He couldn’t bear to look at the man. He seemed even creepier when he smiled. Those rotten and misshapen teeth looked like they could crunch through your bones. Tom’s eyes scanned the man’s name badge. Unlike the nurse and doctor he had already met, this badge didn’t have a name on it, but just the man’s job.

  As the lift trundled slowly upwards, Tom’s world gradually began to take shape. Little by little, he began piecing together the events that had brought him here.

  It had been a blazing hot summer’s day and he had been playing cricket on the school pitch. The boy lifted his head slightly and looked down. He was still wearing his cricket whites.

  Despite his school priding itself on always coming top in cricket and rugby in the country, Tom wasn’t good at sports. The school celebrated all its sporting heroes with cups and trophies and medals and special mentions by the headmaster in assembly. A boy who much preferred to hide himself away in the corner of the school library with some dusty old books like Tom could easily feel like a nobody.

  Tom was miserable at school, and would wish the time away. If only the days and nights would pass quicker, he would often think to himself. The boy was only twelve, but he longed to leave childhood behind forever. Then he would be a grown-up and would not have to go to school any more.

  The school played cricket in the summer, and Tom immediately discovered the best part of the game for the reluctant sportsman … fielding. The boy would always place himself at the very far edge of the pitch. So far out that Tom could indulge in his favourite pastime – daydreaming. So far out he could daydream the afternoon away. So far out there was little or no chance of the heavy red leather ball ever coming your way.

  Well, that was Tom’s thinking.

  This time he was wrong.

  Very wrong.

  As the numbers of the floors flashed past in the lift, the last thing Tom remembered flashed past in his mind.

  A heavy red leather ball flying through the air straight towards him at terrific speed.

  THUD

  Then everything went dark.

  PING!

  “This is your stop, young sir! Top floor! Home of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL’s children’s ward!” slurred the porter.

  As the lift doors opened, the trolley was rolled out. The porter pushed Tom down yet another long corridor before a pair of tall doors banged open.

  The pair was inside the children’s ward.

  “Welcome to your new home,” said the porter.

  Tom raised his swollen head a little to take his first look at what was his new home, the children’s ward of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL. There were four other children in the ward. They were all sitting or lying on their beds. All were silent, and no one paid this new boy much attention. Boredom hung in the still, stuffy air. It was more like an old people’s home than a children’s ward.

  In the nearest bed was a plump-looking boy in an old pair of spotty pyjamas that were too small for him. He was flicking through a dog-eared picture book of helicopters, and sneakily munching on some chocolates he had hidden under his bed sheet. The name George was chalked on a blackboard above his bed.

  Next to him was a short, slight boy with neatly combed ginger hair. He must have had an operation on his eyes as they were covered with bandages. So covered, in fact, that it would be impossible to see anything. A tall pile of classical music CDs and a CD player sat on his side table. The boy’s pyjamas were much smarter than George’s, and he wore them neatly with the top button done up. Over his bed in chalk was the name Robin.

  Across the ward from him was a girl with a bob of black hair and round glasses. Startlingly, she had both her legs and arms in plaster. All four of her limbs were being held aloft by a complex series of pulleys and winches. She looked like a puppet on strings. On her blackboard it read Amber.
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br />   Then in the far corner of the ward, away from the other children, Tom noticed a sorrowful figure. It was a girl, but it was hard to tell her age as it looked as if illness had weakened her. A few wispy strands of hair sat on top of her head. Above her bed was chalked the name Sally.

  “Say hello to everyone, young sir,” prompted the porter.

  Tom felt shy, so muttered, “Hello,” as quietly as he could get away with, without being told to repeat himself.

  There was a vague murmur of “hellos” in return, though Sally remained silent.

  “This must be your bed, right here,” slurred the porter as he wheeled the trolley over. Expertly the boy was rolled from the trolley to the bed.

  “Are you comfortable?” asked the porter, plumping up a pillow.

  Tom didn’t answer. It wasn’t comfortable at all. It was like lying on a concrete slab with a brick for a pillow. Even the trolley was more comfortable. It was stupid for Tom to pretend not to hear the porter, as he was standing right next to him. The man was so close that Tom could smell him. In fact, the boy was sure the whole ward could smell him. The man was rather pongy, like he hadn’t washed for quite some time. His clothes were tired and worn. His shoes were falling apart and his work overall was thick with grease and grime. He looked like he might be homeless.

  “So this is the world’s worst cricketer?” came a voice. The children in the ward tensed and at the sound.

  Then a tall, thin lady stepped out of her office at the far end of the room. It was Matron, the senior nurse who was in charge of the ward. Slowly and surely she made her way down the row of beds towards Tom, her high heels clunking on the floor.

  From a distance, Matron looked like she was beautiful. Her long blonde hair had been sprayed perfectly in place, her face was shiny with make-up and her teeth were sparkling white. However, when she got nearer to Tom, the boy realised that her smile was fake. Her eyes were two large black pools, a window into the darkness within. Matron’s perfume was so sickly sweet it burned the children’s throats as she passed by.

  “You are meant to catch a cricket ball! Not header it!” said the lady. “Stupid, stupid child! Ha ha ha!” No one laughed except her. It certainly didn’t sound funny to Tom, whose head was still throbbing with pain.

  “That cricket ball left a very nasty bump, Madam Matron,” slurred the porter. His voice was cracking a little, as if he was nervous of the woman. “I think young sir should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”

  “I don’t need your opinion, thank you!” snapped Matron. In an instant, her face didn’t seem that beautiful after all, as it twisted into a snarl. “You are nothing more than a lowly porter, lowest of the low. You don’t know the first thing about caring for the patients. So in future keep your mouth shut!”

  The porter lowered his head, and the other children exchanged nervous looks. It was clear this lady intimidated them all too.

  With a flick of her hand, Matron brushed the porter aside, and he stumbled a little to steady himself.

  “Let me look at this bump,” she said as she peered over the boy. “Mmm, yes, that is a nasty bump. You should have an X-ray first thing in the morning.”

  The porter rolled his eyes at Tom, but once again the boy didn’t react.

  Without even so much as glancing at him, Matron said to the man, “Porter, you may go before you stink out my ward!”

  The porter sighed before giving a brief smile and nod to all the children on the ward.

  “Quickly!” shouted the woman, and the man limped off as fast as he could, dragging his withered leg behind him.

  Tom began longing to be back at school. The children’s ward seemed an utterly miserable place to be.

  Matron launched into what seemed like a very well-rehearsed speech. A speech she must have given to all her new patients.

  “Now, young man, this is MY ward and these are MY rules. Lights out at 8pm sharp. No talking after lights out. No reading under the covers. No eating of sweeties. If I do hear the rustle of sweet papers in the dark, I will confiscate them on the spot. Yes, that includes you, George!”

  The podgy boy immediately stopped chewing, and kept his mouth tightly shut so Matron couldn’t see he was chewing a chocolate at that very moment.

  The woman continued at quite a pace. Her words snapped like the crack of a whip.

  “No getting out of bed. No visits to the toilet during the night; that is what the bedpan is for. You will find a bedpan under your bed. There is a bell on the wall by your head. Ring the bell in the night only in an absolute emergency. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” replied Tom. It was like being told off before you had actually even done anything wrong.

  “Now, have you brought any pyjamas with you?” she asked.

  “No,” replied Tom. “I must have been rushed here in an ambulance when I was knocked out on the cricket pitch. I didn’t have a chance to pack anything, so I’ve just got my cricket kit that I came in. I don’t mind sleeping in it.”

  Matron’s lips curled in horror. “Repulsive child! You are as bad as that disgusting excuse for a human being, the porter. He smells like he sleeps in his clothes. Ha ha! Can we call your parents to bring some pyjamas for you?”

  Tom shook his head sorrowfully.

  “Why not?”

  “My mother and father live abroad.”

  “Where?”

  The boy hesitated before answering. “I am not sure.”

  “You are not sure?!” said Matron loudly so everyone could hear. It was as if she wanted all the children in the ward to enjoy the new boy being humiliated as much as she did.

  “They move around a lot for my father’s work. I know it’s somewhere with a desert.”

  “Well, that narrows it down!” she snarled sarcastically. “You don’t even know what country your own parents live in! Well, you will fit right in here. The children in this ward are all ones whose parents don’t ever visit for one reason or another. They are either too poor to travel like Amber’s, or too ill like Robin’s, or live too far away like Sally’s. George has the best reason, though. Would you care to explain why your parents never visit, George?”

  “Nah,” the boy muttered in his cockney accent. The accent struck Tom, as no one at his boarding school talked like George. The poor boy looked desperately embarrassed. “Don’t …”

  “George’s father is in prison! For robbery, no less! So if anything goes missing in the ward we’ll know who to blame! Like father, like son! Ha ha!”

  “I ain’t a thief!” shouted George.

  “No need to be so sensitive, child. It’s just my little joke!”

  “Well, it ain’t funny!” he replied.

  “Ooh!” she added mockingly. “I’ve touched a nerve! Now I have an idea for you, Tom. Let me find you something to wear in my lost-property box.”

  With a glint in her eye, Matron turned on her heel and disappeared into her office. Moments later, she emerged with her hands behind her back and a suspicious grin on her face.

  “I am awfully sad to say, Tom, that I don’t have any pyjamas to fit you!” she said. “So you will just have to wear this!”

  From behind her back, Matron produced a pink, frilly nightdress. The smug grin on her face became even smugger.

  Tom looked at the pink, frilly nightdress with horror. If the other boys in his boarding school ever heard about him wearing it, he would never ever live it down. In fact, he would be forever known as Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy.

  “Please just let me keep my cricket gear on, Matron,” pleaded Tom.

  “I said no!” snapped Matron.

  “I got pyjamas ’e can borrow,” said George.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, child!” replied the lady in a flash. “Look at the size of you, boy! They will be far too big! Your pyjamas would be too big for an elephant! Ha ha ha!”

  Once again, no one laughed except Matron.

  “Now get this on right away or I will report you to the principal of th
e hospital, Sir Quentin Strillers. He would take a very dim view of a boy like you and could have you thrown out on the street!” said the lady as she whisked the curtains round the boy’s bed. She stayed on the outside, leaving Tom to try to wriggle out of his clothes and into the nightdress on his own.

  “Quickly!” ordered Matron.

  “I am nearly there!” called out Tom as he pulled the thing over his head. “OK!” he said, even though he felt far from OK.

  Matron then whisked the curtains back to reveal Tom.

  There stood Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy in all his pink-frilly-nightdress glory.

  “Actually, it suits ya!” said George.

  “I so wish I could see it,” murmured Robin.

  “No you don’t!” replied Amber.

  Tom had had some humiliating things happen to him at his school over the years.

  There was the time when … his shorts split while he was doing gymnastics …

  his clay spun off the wheel in Pottery class and hit his art teacher on the face, sending her flying …

  he bent over to pick up a book from the floor in the library and he blew off loudly …

  he left the toilet cubicle with the toilet roll trailing from the back of his trousers …

  he was in the school cafeteria and he slipped on some gravy and landed headfirst in a blancmange …

  he was holding his violin the wrong way round in music class, wondering why he wasn’t making a sound until he realised the strings were facing down …

  some of the older boys hid his games kit so he had to play rugby in his pants …

  he had to put on a tight-fitting all-in-one bodysuit, with a tail stuck to his bottom. He was meant to be a cat, and had to sing and dance for a production of the musical Cats …