Bad Dad

by David Walliams

  “Shall we move the flowers?” asked Judith.

  “Yes, that’s probably a good idea. Frank? Be a good boy.”

  The boy picked up the vase, and took it into the kitchen.

  “So how many worshippers did you have at church on Sunday?” asked Flip.

  The vicar looked hesitant to answer. “Just one,” she murmured.

  “That’s not too bad, Judith. At least one person came.”

  “No. It was just me,” replied the vicar.

  “Oh dear.”

  “Oh dear indeed.”

  Frank came back into the dining room, and announced, “You know, Dad and I will come to church every Sunday…”

  The two grown-ups looked at each other, concerned. What was the boy talking about? His father was looking at a ten-year stretch. He wasn’t going to Sunday service any time soon.

  “…if you help me break him out of prison.”

  “I am a vicar!” exclaimed the vicar.

  “And I am a librarian!” exclaimed the librarian. “We can’t be – I think the phrase is – ‘busting’ your father out of prison.”

  “PLEASE LISTEN TO ME FIRST!” said the boy. The words tumbled out as Frank told the two old ladies the whole story. How Dad had borrowed money from the evil Mr Big, and how the debt had spiralled. How his father had been tricked into taking part in the robbery. How Dad had kept quiet in the trial to save his son from being hurt by Big’s henchmen, Fingers and Thumbs. The boy finished up by saying, “That judge was wrong. My dad is not a bad dad. He is a good man who did a bad thing. He did it to save me from getting hurt. Dad doesn’t deserve to be in prison. We need to help him escape.”

  The two ladies looked at each other in silence. It was Reverend Judith who spoke first. “A great wrong has been done to your father, no doubt about it. I wish we could do something to right that wrong.”

  “But with respect, Judith, two wrongs don’t make a right!” said Flip. The lady then turned to Frank. “I’m sorry, but you’re asking us to take part in something very wrong. I promise you, those ten years will pass before you know it.”

  This made the boy mightily angry. “Ten years! TEN YEARS? I will be twenty-one in ten years. An old man!”

  Frank stood up, knocking his chair over.

  “And you know what, Auntie Flip? I hate quiche! And poetry! I want my dad back! And if you won’t help me I’ll do it all by myself!”

  Frank ran out of the dining room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

  “FRANKIE!” called Flip after him.

  The boy slammed the door and lay down on his little pink bed, his legs dangling off the end. He could hear that the two ladies were talking downstairs. Frank picked up an empty glass on the bedside table. He slid off the bed, and put his ear to the glass and the glass on the floor so he could listen to what they were saying.

  “Those two henchmen have been terrorising people all over town,” said Judith. “They need to be stopped. They even stole the gold communion goblet from the church.”

  “Dreadful! I came face to face with them in court. A truly nasty pair.”

  “It’s not fair that the boy’s father is paying the price for their misdeeds.”

  “You forget he drove the getaway car. There’s no escaping that. Gilbert committed a serious crime.”

  “But he only did it to protect his son!”

  “Oh, it’s such a mess. But if my nephew did try to escape from prison he would be captured and sent straight back. And get a longer sentence!”

  “We have to do something, though.”

  “If only there was some way of putting all that money back.”

  PING!

  The boy’s brain lit up with an idea. That was exactly what he could do to help his father: put the money back in the bank. How could Dad be guilty if no money was missing?

  Trembling with excitement, Frank wonkily wrote down his masterplan.

  It was simple but brilliant. There was just one problem. The boy had absolutely no idea how he could put any of this plan into action. All Frank knew was that it would be impossible to do it alone. He needed a grown-up to help him. But who?

  There was one person Frank knew who could give him some advice. His friendly local newsagent.

  “Ah, my favourite customer!” exclaimed Raj on seeing the boy. The newsagent tried to be his usual jolly self, but there was sadness in his eyes. The man was sweeping up shards of broken glass from the floor. Someone had smashed in the front window of his shop.

  “Are you all right, Raj? What happened?”

  Raj picked up a brick from the counter. “This came through the window in the middle of the night. It came with a note attached to it. Look.”

  It read:

  “Fingers and Thumbs?” asked Frank.

  “Of course.”

  “They need to be stopped.”

  “I know, I know. I don’t know where I’m going to find the money.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have any today.”

  “That’s all right, young sir. I know times are hard with your father in prison.” Raj put a comforting arm round the boy. “Please help yourself to anything in my shop for free.”

  “Free?” Frank couldn’t believe his ears.

  “Yes, anything you like.”

  “Wow! Thank you, Raj.”

  “Up to a value of eight p.”

  “Oh.” The boy couldn’t hide his disappointment. He picked up the smallest chocolate bar he could see.

  “That’s ten p, young man.”

  “Oh.”

  “Pass it to me, please,” said Raj, gesturing with his hands. The boy did what he was told. Raj then unwrapped the bar, took a bite off the end and passed it back to the boy.

  “That was a two-p bite. There you go. We are even now.”

  “Thanks, Raj.” Frank was too hungry to worry about Raj’s gob gloop on the bar, and happily demolished it in seconds. “My dad isn’t the real bad guy, you know.”

  “I’m sure. He is a good man, your father.”

  “Fingers and Thumbs made him do it!”

  “That makes sense. And they are free to threaten everyone in town while your poor father sits in jail.”

  “I can’t bear it.”

  “I can imagine. Have a free penny chew.”

  “Thanks, Raj,” replied Frank, popping a raspberry fizz in his pocket for later. “Dad got caught up in this really bad debt that spiralled way out of control. He was only trying to help me. Now I need to help him. I just need to steal the half a million pounds from the men who stole it in the first place, and put it back in the bank.”

  Raj pondered on this. “I suppose if nothing was stolen, then the judge might let your father out of prison.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping!”

  “But how on earth are you going to steal the money and put it back in the bank?”

  The boy looked down to the floor. “I have absolutely no idea.”

  “Oh,” replied the newsagent. “I am sorry I have no idea, either.”

  “The only person I know who could help me do all that is my dad,” said Frank.

  “Well, you could always wait ten years until he was let out of prison and do it then.”

  Frank looked at the newsagent. Surely no one was that daft. “There would be no point, Raj, as he would have served his time by then.”

  “Oh yes. Silly me!” The newsagent slapped himself in the face.

  “To get my dad out of prison I have to get him out of prison.”

  Raj looked puzzled. “That is like a riddle, but, yes, you are right. The problem is your dad was sent to the most high-security jail in the country. In a hundred years no one has ever escaped from Wrongfoot Prison.”

  “No?”

  “Wrongfoot is where they put all the naughtiest criminals.”

  “It’s not fair!” exclaimed the boy. “My dad doesn’t deserve to be in there. I hate not being with him. Now I have to live with his aunt, Auntie Flip.”

  Raj sudden
ly remembered something. “I had Auntie Flip in here this morning. She wanted to know if I sold goose.”

  “Goose?”

  “She said she needed one for a quiche.”

  “Oh no! That will be for my dinner.”

  “I told her she might be able to catch one down by the ponds. She’d never been into my shop before.”

  “Then how did you know it was her?” asked the boy.

  “She looks exactly like your father. Older, of course, and a lady, but I could immediately see the resemblance. The same sticky-out ears that you have. No offence!”

  “None taken!” lied the boy.

  “I asked her if she and your father were related, and she explained who she was. To my eyes, they could be twins!”

  Gilbert and Auntie Flip

  Frank screwed up his face. “You think so?”

  “Put some glasses on him and he would be her double!”

  “Ha! Ha!” the boy chuckled. His eyes widened as he started to see his plan unfold in his mind. “Raj, you are a genius!”

  “Am I?”

  “YES!” The boy was so happy he wanted to dance. He grabbed hold of Raj and gave him a big kiss on his balding head. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

  “What did I do?” The newsagent was befuddled.

  “I am sorry, Raj. It’s a secret for now!”

  The boy skipped off down the street. All he had to do now was persuade Auntie Flip to swap places with his dad in prison. How hard could that be?

  “NO!” shouted Auntie Flip. “NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! Absolutely one hundred per cent no.”

  “So that’s a no?” asked Frank.

  “YES! That’s a NO! Now finish up your goose and gooseberry quiche.”

  The pair were sitting together at the dining table in Auntie Flip’s little house. The boy had had the tiniest inkling that his great-aunt wouldn’t like the idea of swapping places with his dad in prison, but he wasn’t giving up yet.

  Frank took a bite of his quiche. As usual, it tasted horrible. “Auntie Flip?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where did you get the goose?”

  The lady looked sheepish. “From a shop.”

  “What shop?”

  “The goose shop,” she said, avoiding his gaze. Flustered, she got up from the table and disappeared into the kitchen. It was the perfect opportunity for Frank to hurl the rest of the quiche out of the window.

  WHIZZ!

  SPLAT!

  Unfortunately Frank hadn’t realised the window was shut, and the quiche trickled down the glass.

  “Oops,” said the boy as he ran to the window and tried to clean the bits of goose, gooseberry and pastry off the window with his sleeve. Then he took the empty plate into the kitchen.

  “That was absolutely delicious, Auntie Flip,” lied Frank.

  The lady softened. No one had ever complimented her on her quiches before. “Oh, thank you. Would you like some more?”

  “No, no, no,” replied the boy, a little too quickly. “I am completely full. You cooked such a delicious meal. That was one of your top fifty quiches of all time. Now, come on, let me do the washing-up tonight.”

  “What a good boy you are. Thank you. I will dry.”

  Frank stood at the sink, and began washing the plates. He realised if he was going to reel his great-aunt into his plan, he was going to have to do it very gently. “The vicar is such a smart lady, isn’t she?”

  “Oh yes, very much so.”

  Passing a freshly washed dinner plate to his great-aunt, the boy said, “You should invite her over for dinner again.”

  “We’ll see,” replied Flip.

  “What is stopping you?”

  “I don’t know. Fear.”

  “Of what?”

  “Of what might happen. Between me and her. I like her, you see, Frankie. I like her very much.”

  “Well, surely that is nothing to be scared of.”

  The lady let out a sad sigh. “My whole life has been ruled by fear. Maybe that is why I’ve never been kissed.”

  “Maybe. Now seems like the perfect time to change.”

  The boy let this settle in to Auntie Flip’s mind.

  “So how long exactly would I have to swap places with your father for?” she asked tentatively.

  “Just one night,” the boy replied casually. “Just one night in prison. Think of it as a little holiday. Then, with Dad on the outside, he and I can steal the money back off Mr Big and put it in the bank. Then the next morning you can swap again.”

  “First thing in the morning?”

  “Yes. First thing.”

  “I hear the breakfasts in prison aren’t great.”

  “You won’t have to eat the breakfast.”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Think of it as an adventure.”

  “I’ve never had an adventure.”

  “Well, now is the time to start. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Judith saw you as a hero!”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  Flip took a deep breath. “Frankie, the most excitement I’ve ever had in my life is when I got to charge someone a twenty-three-pound fine for a library book that had been overdue for a year,” she confessed. “This is all too…”

  “Thrilling?” asked the boy.

  “Yes, that’s it! Thrilling!” The lady’s face lit up. “Not too thrilling, just thrilling! Frank, this is madness, but I’m in!”

  “YES!”

  Visiting day at the prison was every Saturday. For Frank it couldn’t come soon enough. Wrongfoot Prison was a big, ugly building with a big, ugly wall around it. Visiting hours were strict, and Frank and Flip joined the long queue that snaked around the wall. There were pregnant women in leggings, screaming toddlers, weepy mothers, terrifying shaven-headed men and even more terrifying shaven-headed women.

  Flip was holding a freshly baked quiche in a tin that was a gift for Frank’s father, pigeon and plum.

  The trouble was she was so frazzled with nerves she was rattling it like crazy. It was as if she had a hundred jumping frogs in that tin.

  RATTLE!

  RATTLE!

  RATTLE!

  “Try to keep that thing still, Auntie Flip!” hissed Frank. “Everyone is staring.”

  The lady looked around to see that there were hundreds of sets of eyes staring back at her. Even the screaming toddlers had momentarily stopped screaming and were gawping.

  “There’s nothing to see here!” announced Auntie Flip, which made her seem guilty or nutty or, even worse, both. “Just a quiche in a tin. Pay me no heed!”

  Frank snatched the tin from her.

  “Just stay calm,” the boy reassured her. “This is going to be a doddle.”

  “A doddle! I haven’t slept a wink all week!”

  Flip had spent all morning trimming and styling her hair so it looked as much like her nephew’s as possible. The lady had put on her longest, floatiest dress too, in the hope that the man would be able to fit into it.

  The plan was that at just the right moment Frank would drop the quiche on the floor, and then Flip and Dad would scramble under the table to pick up the pieces. While under the table they would swap clothes. If all went to plan, then Dad would leave prison disguised as Auntie Flip, and Auntie Flip would stay in prison disguised as Dad. What could possibly go wrong?

  “What’s in that tin?” barked the prison guard as the pair entered the visitors’ room. His name badge read Mr Swivel. It was hard not to notice him, with his bulging glass eye, which swivelled in his head as he spoke.

  “It’s a q-q-q…” Auntie Flip was so nervous she couldn’t answer.

  The guard looked at the lady. “What’s a q-q-q?”

  “A quiche, Mr Swivel, sir!” said Frank, opening the tin to prove it. People would often try to smuggle things into prison – booze, mobile telephones, weapons and all sorts – so everything had to be checked. Mr Swivel put his nose inside the tin and sniffed the quiche. His fa
ce turned a shade of green.

  “What on earth is in that thing?” he demanded.

  “Pigeon and plum,” answered Flip proudly.

  “Eurgh!” replied Mr Swivel. “Move along! Chop-chop!”

  The pair shuffled into the visitors’ room. Everything in there was grey: grey walls, grey furniture, grey people. Dad was sitting on the far side of the room in his grey prison overalls. As soon as he saw his son, he jumped up out of his chair with tears in his eyes. The man looked happy and sad all at once.

  “MATE!” he cried.

  “DAD!” exclaimed Frank as he rushed towards the man with his arms wide open.

  They came together in the tightest hug, which neither ever wanted to break.

  “I’m so happy to see you, mate,” sniffed Dad.

  “And I’m even happier to see you. I’ve missed you so much.” Then, “Dad?” the boy whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “This is all going to seem very strange, but you have to trust me. I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “OUT?”

  “Not too loud, Dad,” whispered the boy.

  “Sorry.”

  “You need to trust me and do exactly what I tell you.”

  Auntie Flip had now caught up with the pair, and was standing behind Frank. “Good afternoon. I have made you a quiche!” she announced, rather stiffly.

  “Oh, thank you, Auntie Flip,” replied Dad with a pained look on his face. The man had grown up eating his aunt’s awful quiches, and was lucky to still be alive.

  “Let’s all sit down and talk, shall we?” said the boy as the prison guard circled, keeping an eye on everyone.

  As Mr Swivel passed out of earshot, Frank whispered, “In a moment, I’m going to drop the quiche on the floor. It’s going to break. You and Auntie Flip are going to disappear under the table to pick up the pieces. But really you are going to change clothes…”

  “You what?” replied Dad.

  “Trust me, Dad. Then tonight me and you are going to put the money that was stolen back in the bank and get you out of here for good.”