Flour Babies - Anne Fine [26]
Simon tried to be reasonable.
‘Why don’t you put it into Sajid’s creche? He keeps them safe and clean.’
Wayne had the answer ready.
‘I haven’t got any money, have I? I’m still owing for next door’s coal bin I borrowed.’
Simon tried to be patient.
‘Look, Wayne,’ he said. ‘Luis’s mother is never going to let him have another Haunted House party. Not after all that mess last time. You won’t be using that coal bin as a coffin again for a long while. So give it back.’
‘Can’t, can I?’ Wayne snapped. ‘Not now it’s bust.And anyway, if it couldn’t even hold four ghouls and a vampire without falling apart at the seams, it’s not going to be able to hold coal again, is it?’
His expression soured.
‘That’s what they’re saying next door, anyhow. A new coal bin or a trip to the police station. So as well as having to clear up all the mess, I’m having to buy them a new coal bin.’
Simon was still searching for a solution.
‘You could just owe the money to Sajid.’
This time, Wayne couldn’t help laughing in his face.
‘Do us a favour, Sime! If you weren’t so busy cuddling your new dolly all day, you’d know that Sajid’s already hired Henry and Bill to poke the money out of anyone who falls behind with their pram rent. Why do you think George is walking home with us today? He’s had his busfare robbed by Sajid’s hard nuggets.’
Bitterly, he tilted his head to one side and did a creditable imitation of Sajid saying, ‘Very sorry, folks. That’s business!’
But George was already pushing him aside in his eagerness to expand on his complaints himself.
‘That’s right. I’m sick of walking home. I’m sick of handing over all my money to Sajid, just to have a few measly hours off looking after this stupid thing every day. And I’m sick of getting no sympathy. Last night I was explaining how unfair it all was to my mother, and she just laughed. In fact, she said she wished Sajid had been running his pram creche when me and my brother were babies, because she’d happily have paid double the price he charges to get rid of us for a few hours. She says this flour bag is nothing to the trouble and bother of a real baby. She says, when it comes to looking after things, I don’t even know I’m born.’
His face went dark.
‘I don’t get hardly any money anyway. I’ve already had to borrow from next week’s to pay Sajid last week’s pram rent. I can’t go on like this. By the time I give back the flour baby, I shall be months in debt. Months! I’m for kicking the thing in the canal now.’
Before Simon could argue, Gwyn Phillips had chimed in.
‘Me, too! I’m fed up with mine. I’m fed up with having to tie the stupid thing safely on the back of my bike, and then go to all the extra trouble of wrapping it in a plastic bag in case some car wheel goes through a puddle and soaks it. I’m fed up with my mum and dad reminding me to take it upstairs with me every night, and bring it down again in the morning. I’m fed up with having to make sure it’s never left alone in the same room as our cat. I’m ready to boot mine in the canal along with everyone else’s.’
And, to prove it, he started ripping the plastic bag containing his flour baby off the back of his bike.
Simon was about to snatch it safely away when Wayne DriscoU stepped in front, holding his own flour baby ready for a drop-kick.
‘Let’s have a competition!’ he shouted. ‘See who can boot his flour baby furthest across the canal!’
‘See whose sinks quickest!’
‘See whose makes the most bubbles!’
Simon moved closer to the canal, spreading his arms wide, to stop them.
‘No!’
For a moment, they turned their attention back on him.
‘Don’t be such a pathogen, Sime!’
‘Wimpo!’
‘I tell you, this flour baby business is turning you into a real stain.’
Simon stood his ground between the four of them and the slippery canal edge.
‘Listen,’ he begged. ‘I know you hate them. I know you all think they’re stupid and not proper Science and not worth bothering about, and you’d rather get mashed by Old Carthorse for losing them than trail them round one more day.’
He spread his hands.
‘But it’s going to be worth