The Midnight Gang

by David Walliams

  “Yes, the boy is right,” added Robin. “‘Borrow’ them. It’s a much nicer word than ‘steal’.”

  “As soon as we ’ave ‘borrowed’ enough,” said George, “I’ll be able to fly right up to the top of the stairwell. I will finally take to the air!”

  George’s face was glowing with joy at the thought. The plan was so simple it was brilliant. “Let’s tell our mate Porter!”

  All the children had to do now was steal hundreds upon hundreds of balloons from all over the hospital. Without getting caught.

  Once darkness fell, the mischief began.

  Matron had arrived back at nightfall for her shift. The children had seemingly been on their best behaviour all day, working on a jigsaw, and so Nurse Meese had nothing to report.

  Matron had not been back on the children’s ward for long when she had confiscated another of George’s secret tins of chocolates that his newsagent Raj had sent him. Then she retreated to her office to scoff her favourite purple-wrapped ones. Once again, George had pushed one of his special snoozy pellets in each one. Within minutes Matron was snoring as loudly as an elephant.

  “ZZZZ-ZZZZ, ZZZZ-ZZZZ-ZZZZ-ZZZZ!”

  That part of the plan always worked perfectly.

  Now the Midnight Gang had to get their hands on every balloon in the hospital. They needed balloons, balloons and more balloons.

  The children divided themselves into three teams.

  Team One was Amber and Robin. They would help each other and cover everywhere from the children’s ward at the very top of LORD FUNT HOSPITAL down to floor thirty.

  Team Two was George. He would work alone and take floors twenty-nine down to sixteen.

  Team Three was Tom and the porter. They would have the most dangerous task, collecting all the balloons from the fifteenth floor down to the ground floor, including the gift shop, which had big bunches of helium-filled balloons on sale.

  As the nearby Big Ben chimed twelve times for midnight, the boys crept out of their beds to lift Amber out of hers and lower her into her wheelchair. Tom and George tiptoed out of the ward through the double doors.

  “Our first balloon to swipe is just to your left,” hissed Amber to Robin.

  Although Robin couldn’t see, he knew she meant the one tied to Sally’s bed.

  “Amber! Please!” whispered Robin.

  “What?” she protested.

  “I know you have elected yourself leader of the gang, but we can’t take Sally’s balloon!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we can’t!”

  “Robin! We need as many as we can get. Now wheel me over to her bed at once!”

  “No!”

  “At once!”

  Out of the darkness came a voice. “It’s all right. You can take it.”

  “Sally?” asked Amber.

  “Yes. I don’t mind. What do you need it for? Another adventure?”

  Robin wheeled Amber over to the little girl’s bed. Sally looked weaker than ever. Even though it helped make her better, Sally’s treatment always made her feel worse for a while. Tonight she looked particularly pale.

  “We were only going to ‘borrow’ the balloon,” replied Amber.

  “Take it. I don’t need it. All it does is bob around all day.”

  “Well, thank you, Sally, that is most kind of you,” said Robin. “Now just guide my hand over to the string so I can untie it.”

  As Amber looked on, Sally held the boy’s hand and led it to the string. But she didn’t let go.

  “Take me with you,” said Sally.

  Robin began untying the balloon.

  “I am so sorry, Sally,” began Amber, “but I am afraid you can’t come with us.”

  “Why not?” asked the girl.

  “Look, if you must know, we have a secret gang, but it’s completely full and we aren’t looking for any new members right now.”

  “But you just let Tom join!” protested Sally. The girl had a point. “He had only been in the hospital for one night and he got to come on an adventure with you.”

  “Well, you see …” Amber was scrabbling for her words. “That was different.”

  “Why?” demanded the girl.

  “Because … because … because if you must know, Sally, you would slow us all down!” answered Amber.

  At hearing this, a single tear rolled down Sally’s cheek.

  The sight of this made Amber want to cry too. It was sad enough looking at Sally, with her bald head and pale skin that made her look like a piece of porcelain. Like a piece of porcelain, Sally looked as if she needed to be handled with care.

  “Sorry,” said Amber. “I would reach out to hug you, but as you can see it’s impossible with my arms in plaster.”

  Robin, whose sarcastic comments concealed a more caring side, stroked Sally’s head.

  “I understand,” said Sally. “I am used to being left out of everything. Ever since they said I had this illness, I was told I couldn’t do this or that. But it’s so boring having to lie in bed all day. I want to be a little girl again and have fun.” She sighed. “Please take my balloon, and have the most brilliant adventure tonight, whatever it is you are going to do. But promise me something …”

  “Anything,” replied Amber.

  “… Take me on your next adventure. Please? I’ll be strong enough then. I just know I will. I promise.”

  Amber smiled, but said nothing. She didn’t want to give the girl false hope. Then she ordered Robin to get moving.

  “Chop chop, Robin! Come on! We need to get going.”

  “I’m sorry, Sally,” said Robin.

  Then, with the little girl’s balloon in hand, he pushed Amber’s wheelchair through the heavy swing doors.

  “OW!” cried Amber, her bandaged legs knocking hard against the doors.

  “Sorry!” cried Robin.

  Sally chuckled to herself as she watched them go.

  “Good luck, gang,” she said.

  Meanwhile Team Two, or “George” as he was known, was busy working through his floors. The boy was crawling around the wards on his hands and knees.

  George already had quite a haul of balloons that he had “borrowed” from the patients. All said “Get Well Soon” on them, and had probably been given by a loved one. However, George was too excited to feel any guilt. With every balloon, he was getting closer to his dream of flight. The tricky part was holding on to his bunch of balloons while untying others. Soon George had large bunches of balloons tied to both arms and both legs. Yet still he needed more and more and more.

  Just as he was crawling out of the final ward on the twenty-ninth floor a voice called out …

  “George?”

  The boy would know that voice anywhere. It was the voice of his local newsagent.

  “Raj?”

  “Yes! It’s me, Raj. George! My favourite customer! Did you receive the tins of chocolates I sent you?”

  “Yes, thanks a bundle!”

  “I was worried about you when I heard you had to have your tonsils out.”

  “I am feelin’ much weller now, thanks, Raj. Those choccies ’ave really cheered me up.”

  The newsagent smiled. “Good, good, good and again good! They were the absolute best tins of chocolates in my shop. Left over from a few Christmases ago. Only a few years out of date.”

  “Still, it was nice of you, mate.”

  “Come back soon, George. Takings are down since you haven’t been coming in.”

  “I will!” replied the boy with a chuckle. “What are you doin’ ’ere in the ’ospital?”

  The newsagent was sitting up in bed in his pyjamas with his fingers bandaged. “Two nights ago I was involved in a very serious stapler accident. I was in my shop stapling some prices to products. I had some very special offers on. One hundred pencils for the price of ninety-nine. Buy a ton of toffees – get one toffee absolutely free. Second-hand birthday cards with the names Tipp-exed out, half price. And, somehow, I managed to staple my finger
s together.”

  “Ouch!” replied George. “That sounds well painful.”

  “It was,” said Raj mournfully. “I would not advise stapling your own fingers together to anyone!”

  “I will remember that, mate. Well, I would love to stay and ’ave a natter but …”

  George was just beginning to scuttle out, when Raj called him back.

  “George?”

  “Yeah, mate?”

  “What are you doing with all those balloons?”

  “Erm, um …” George spluttered. “They are my balloons, ain’t they?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah, mate.”

  The newsagent did not look at all convinced.

  “That one says ‘Get Well Soon, Mum’,” he said.

  “I fink there was a mix-up at the balloon shop.”

  “Mmm!” replied Raj, unconvinced. “But what are your balloons all doing down here? The children’s ward is on the very top floor of the hospital.”

  George thought for a moment. “They floated down, didn’t they?” he replied.

  “But these balloons only float up?”

  “Well, I can’t stay natterin’ all night,” said George, turning to go.

  “Oh, my favourite customer, please could you do your favourite newsagent a favour?” he asked.

  “Sorry, mate, I gotta go.”

  “It will only take a moment of your time, thank you kindly, George, my favourite customer.”

  “Wot is it then?” sighed the boy.

  “Well, the food in this hospital has been shocking. This very nice lady called Tootsie comes round with her trolley, promising she has everything on it. You ask for something and then it turns out she’s only got a cheese triangle and a sachet of brown sauce.”

  “Yeah, I know. You and I both love our grub.”

  “We certainly do!” said Raj, slapping his tummy. “So, as a thank-you for the chocolates, please could you get your favourite newsagent a takeaway? I would call for one myself, but since the stapling incident I can’t use my fingers!”

  With that, Raj displayed his bandaged fingers.

  “Can I come back later, mate?”

  “I worry I may have wasted away by then,” he said, slapping his large round tummy again, which looked big enough to fit a beach ball inside. “So please can you take my order now?”

  “Will I need to write it down?”

  “No no no, it’s just a couple of things. It will be very easy to remember.”

  “OK,” replied the boy. “Off you go …”

  “Thank you. So I would like an onion bhaji, samosa, chicken jalfrezi, aloo chaat, tandoori king prawn masala, poppadoms—”

  “You are doin’ me nut in! I can’t remember all that …” interrupted the boy. However, Raj’s eyes were glowing and his mouth was watering at the thought of all this delicious food.

  “No, no, no, you’ll be able to remember it. Just a couple more … vegetable balti, peshwari naan, chapati, aloo gobi, matar paneer, tarka dhal …”

  “I need a pen and paper!” said George, panicking.

  “Poppadoms …”

  “You said poppadoms already, mate!”

  “Yes, I know, I want two portions of poppadoms! Mango chutney, paneer masala, pilau rice, bharta, chana aloo, lamb rogan josh. I think that’s all. Did I say poppadoms?”

  “YEAH! TWICE!”

  “Good, you can never have enough poppadoms. In fact, make that three portions of poppadoms. Right, now just recite that back to me!”

  When George finally escaped from Raj’s ward, he realised the best plan was just to order every single item on the menu of the nearest Indian restaurant. Plus to ask for four portions of poppadoms in case three didn’t turn out to be quite enough.

  Now out in the corridor, George called the lift to take him down to the ground floor. There he would meet the rest of the gang at the bottom of the impossibly tall stairwell.

  PING!

  The lift doors opened. Inside was the old chain-smoking cleaner who the Midnight Gang had met only last night. Dilly was holding on to the handle of a floor-polishing machine, and as always had a burning cigarette stuck to her bottom lip. Her mouth opened at the shock of seeing George with a hundred balloons tied on to his arms and legs.

  The boy had so many that he was actually beginning to feel a little lighter. George’s head was just visible, nestling between the balloons.

  “Wot are you up to now?” she demanded. A trail of ash fell from her cigarette to the floor.

  “Oh, ’ello again!” replied George brightly. “The cleanliness inspection last night was all tickety-boo, so keep up the great work. Although we did find some cigarette ash on the floor. We weren’t sure if that was you …”

  “Wot are you doing with all those blasted balloons?” asked Dilly. “I got a good mind to pop ’em all with me fag!”

  The “floated down” excuse hadn’t worked that well on Raj, so George tried another explanation.

  “I am just deliverin’ these to an incredibly popular patient. He actually gets sent thousands of balloons daily. So don’t worry – I’ll get the next lift!”

  PING!

  The doors slid shut on her.

  George stamped the floor in frustration. He had been seen by a member of hospital staff out of bed in the middle of the night. The Midnight Gang would now have to move fast if George was to realise his dream.

  Meanwhile, a few floors below, Team Three was sweeping through the wards of sleeping patients, on the lookout for balloons. Tom and the porter both found it hard work, crawling along the floor on their hands and knees, trying not to be seen. What made it even more difficult is that they both had dozens of balloons tied to them.

  It was way past midnight now and all that could be heard was the snoring of the patients, many of them old.

  “ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ, ZZZZZ”

  The nurses were at their stations, but with nothing much for them to do in the middle of the night some had dozed off, while others were reading books. Just as Tom and the porter were crawling out of the big swing doors at the end of a ward, they heard an old lady call after them, “Ooh my! What beautiful balloons! Are they for me?”

  Tom looked to the porter, who put his finger up to his lips to signal to be as quiet as possible.

  “I said, are they for me? I do so love balloons.” The voice was louder this time. It couldn’t be ignored. There was a chance the nurses who were napping at their station just a few paces away would wake up if the old lady said another word.

  Tom looked up. An impossibly elderly woman was sitting up in her bed. Her face was wrinkled and her hair white as snow. Unlike most of the other patients, she didn’t have any cards or flowers by her bed. Her table was completely bare, aside from a jug of water and a plastic cup.

  “Come on!” said Tom to the porter. The boy wanted to press on, but the porter looked torn.

  The man shook his head. “Mr Tom, sir, we can’t just ignore her.”

  “I have never seen such beautiful balloons in all my days. I love them!” said the old lady. “Who sent them to me? Was it Father?”

  The lady looked in her nineties, maybe even older. It was as if the years had shrunk her, like a piece of fruit left out in the sun. Tom realised it wasn’t just the old lady’s body that had weakened. Her mind must have done too if she thought her father was still alive. It was impossible.

  Tom was completely lost as to what to say or do.

  As he rose to his feet, the balloons bouncing around him, he whispered to the porter, “Her father can’t still be alive, surely?”

  “No. Of course not,” whispered back the porter. “Nelly here is ninety-nine, and has no family left alive.”

  “What shall we do about the balloons?” asked Tom.

  “Nelly thinks she is still a little girl. So we must play along. Let me.”

  The porter turned to the old lady. “Yes, Nelly, your father
sent you this.” He handed the old lady the balloon that was closest to her. It was one he had swiped several beds earlier. It was a little deflated, and had “I Love You, Grandad” written on it. Not that Nelly seemed to mind. Her face lit up as she held the string.

  “Oh, I love this one. It’s absolutely beautiful!” she cooed. “And you are beautiful for delivering it to me.”

  Tom looked to the porter. The boy imagined the man had never been called beautiful before.

  “Did Father have a message for me? When he might be picking me up?”

  As the porter was lost for words, Tom stepped in.

  “Soon, Nelly,” the boy said. “You’ll be seeing him very soon.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really,” replied Tom.

  “Oh, goody goody!” The old lady smiled and the years melted away. It was as if she really was a little girl again.

  “We have to go,” said Tom.

  “Are you delivering balloons to the other children like me in the hospital today?” she asked.

  “Yes,” said Tom, his voice cracking with emotion. “That’s exactly what we are doing.”

  “Splendid!” she replied. “You have so many – be careful you don’t take off! Ha! Ha!”

  Tom and the porter shared a look. She was one step ahead of them.

  “We must go!” said the porter.

  “Do come back and see me again soon,” said the lady, her eyes marvelling at her new toy.

  The pair scurried out through the tall double doors, the clouds of balloons following in their wake.

  The time was now 2am, and the hospital gift shop had been shut for hours. Tom pushed his face up against the glass. Inside were huge bunches of balloons for sale.

  They were all freshly inflated and nestling against the ceiling like a ginormous bouquet of flowers.

  “That’s what we need to get our hands on, young Mr Tom, sir,” said the porter.

  “But how are we going to get into the shop?” asked the boy. “It’s locked!”

  “I don’t know,” replied the man. “But we must. Time is marching on and we can’t let young Mr George down. This is his big night.”