Bad Dad

by David Walliams

  “So there must be a catflap! Maybe I am small enough to squeeze through it.”

  “It’s worth a try!”

  Round the back of the house, Frank found the small hatch at the bottom of the kitchen door.

  “I’m not sure about this, mate,” said Dad. “There’s locks on the inside of all the windows. I won’t be able to get in. You’ll be on your own in Big’s house. It’s dangerous.”

  “I’m not scared,” lied the boy. “From out here you can see if any lights come on in the house and warn me.”

  “All right, but how are you going to get into the safe?”

  “I memorised the tune the butler made when he pressed the code in. BEEP! BOOP! BLEEP! BLOOP!”

  “You’ve thought of everything. All right, in you go, but, mate…”

  “Yes, Dad?”

  “Be careful.”

  The boy nodded, and ducked down on to his hands and knees. It was a tight squeeze but he just made it through the cat flap.

  Once inside the house, a deep, dark dread descended upon the boy. Here he was, alone in the dark inside the home of a master criminal, about to steal half a million pounds from him. It couldn’t be more dangerous.

  As he crawled across the kitchen floor, Frank could hear snoring.

  “ZZZZ! ZZZZ!”

  The boy glanced over to the basket in the corner. Ronnie and Reggie were curled up together, sleeping. Frank tiptoed past them out into the corridor. This was longer than a football pitch, with doors dotted along either side. Which one was the study door? Suddenly Frank felt sick to his stomach, as he realised he didn’t have a clue. Now he had no idea if he had come too far, or not far enough.

  Frank tried a few handles, and found they were all locked. Eventually he discovered one that wasn’t. The boy opened the door as slowly and quietly as he could. Inside the room, darkness reigned, save for a dot of red light. The boy felt something stinging his eyes and burning the back of his throat. The red light glowed. It was the end of a cigar.

  A table lamp flicked on, blazing straight into the boy’s eyes.

  As he blinked at the brightness, a voice said, “Well, if it isn’t the little thief. I’ve been expecting you.”

  It was Mr Big.

  “I am impressed, young Frank,” began the master criminal. “Breaking into my house in the dead of night. You are a boy after my own heart. You need to come and live here with me and your mother. I could be the father you never had. I could train you up. Teach you everything I know. You could become a master criminal like me. One day all this could be yours.”

  “I don’t want it,” snapped the boy. “I don’t want any of it.”

  “Of course you do,” chuckled Big. “This is everyone’s dream. Just think, your own swimming pool, servants. You can even race my fleet of supercars around the grounds. Join me…” said the man as he reached out his hand.

  “NO! NEVER!”

  “No one says no to Mr Big.”

  “Everything you have is built on hurting others. You know what? You aren’t half the man my dad is.”

  “Is that so?” Mr Big leaned forward. “Which reminds me, where is that pathetic excuse for a human being?”

  The boy could just make out his father standing outside the window right behind Mr Big. Frank didn’t dare let his eyes drift over or he would give the game away.

  “He’s in prison, of course. He doesn’t know anything about me being here tonight.”

  Mr Big chuckled to himself. “Ha! Ha! A liar as well as a thief.”

  “I am not a liar!”

  The man got up out of his seat, not that it made much difference to his height. He shone a lamp into the boy’s face.

  “Thumbs takes his nephews to visit his brothers in the nick, says he sees something fishy as you are leaving. Fingers is waiting outside in the motor, and follows you to the scrapyard. There, you go to get your crummy little car back. Why? What is your plan, my son?”

  “I am not your son!”

  “Tell me,” purred Big.

  “NO!” shouted the boy.

  Mr Big smiled to himself. The evil little man was clearly getting a kick out of upsetting the boy like this. “Come on. Daddy needs to know what his little thief is up to now…”

  “YOU ARE NOT AND NEVER WILL BE MY DADDY! AND I AM NOT A THIEF!” exclaimed the boy, his eyes stinging with tears. “If you must know, I am going to steal the money and put it back in the bank.”

  Mr Big hooted with laughter. “Ha! Ha! Ha! We got there. Finally!”

  “Darn!” said Frank. He’d given his masterplan away.

  “In all my years, I’ve never heard anything so stupid! I’m not sure you’re all there,” said the man, prodding the boy’s head with his short, stubby fingers. “You’re not working alone, though, are you, boy? For the last time, where is that one-legged father of yours?”

  Mr Big took a long drag from his cigar, and blew the thick, black smoke straight into the boy’s face. Frank coughed and spluttered. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his father was taking off his wooden leg.

  “I told you – I don’t know,” replied Frank.

  Mr Big shook his head slowly. He took the cigar out of his mouth, and held the red-hot glowing end close to the boy’s nose. “I’ve been nice. Now it’s time to get nasty.”

  Slowly he moved the cigar closer and closer. Frank couldn’t help it – his eyes flickered over to Dad. Mr Big turned round to see the man hopping around outside the window. Above his head he was brandishing his wooden leg.

  “What the…?” exclaimed Mr Big.

  Before Mr Big could utter another word, Dad’s false leg crashed down through the window…

  …and the wooden foot bashed Mr Big hard on the head.

  The crime boss collapsed to the floor, out cold.

  “Someone will have heard that,” said Dad, bashing the bits of broken glass out of the window with his fake foot so he could climb through it.

  “Thanks for saving my skin, Dad.”

  “My pleasure! I’ve been wanting to knock out that nasty piece of work for years.” Dad looked down at the little man sprawled on his silk rug. “Now come on, mate, we don’t have much time.”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” The boy rushed to the oil painting of Mr Big hanging on the wall. He pulled it to one side to reveal the electronic keypad to the safe.

  “BEEP! BOOP! BLEEP! BLOOP!” he said to himself, remembering the noise the buttons made when he’d seen it opened. He pressed a few of the numbers as if they were piano keys, trying to hear the right notes.

  BOOP! BEEP!

  He needed to remember which number made what sound.

  BLOOP! BOOP!

  Just as he felt he was getting closer, the door to the study creaked open. Chang the elderly butler entered, wearing only a pair of skimpy black underpants. He circled Dad and Frank, chanting something in Mandarin with his arms outstretched, as if about to do kung fu. Chang took a few steps backwards to get a run-up, and then jumped. The old man flew through the air with his arms and legs flung out.

  Frank ducked out of the way. Dad helpfully opened a window and Chang flew right through it…

  WHOOSH!

  …landing on the patio outside with a

  Frank and his father peered out of the open window at the butler lying face down on the ground.

  “He knocked himself out,” said Dad.

  The skimpy black underpants had ridden up, and now Chang’s wrinkly old bottom was pointing in their direction.

  “He needs to buy himself some pyjamas,” muttered Frank, before going back to work on the safe.

  BEEP! BOOP! BLEEP! BLOOP!

  CLICK!

  He’d cracked the code! The safe door whirred open.

  “YES!” exclaimed the boy.

  Father and son stared into the safe. For a moment, neither said a word. There was more money in that little metal box than they could ever dream of. There was far too much to count, but it was in the millions, if not tens
of millions.

  “Why don’t we just take the lot?” asked Dad. “We could run away, buy a big yacht, sail around the world forever.”

  The thought was tempting. The money looked like the answer to everything.

  “I don’t know, Dad,” replied the boy. “If we took the lot, we’d be as bad as Big down there. Let’s take what was robbed from the bank, and not a penny more.”

  The boy started counting the bundles and putting them in the bin liner they’d brought.

  Dad shook his head in disbelief, and pleaded with his son. “Can’t we just take a tiny bit more for us?”

  “What kind of dad do you want to be, a good dad or a bad dad?”

  The man pondered this for a moment. “Is there something in the middle?”

  “No!”

  “A good dad, then!”

  “I knew it,” said the boy.

  “You go ahead and check the coast is clear.”

  Frank did as he was told, and poked his head out of the broken window.

  “Dad?”

  “What?” said the man.

  “Come and see.”

  Dad joined him at the window. Outside on the patio was a figure framed in the broken glass. It was Mum. And she was holding a gun.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Rita!” pleaded Dad.

  In her hands was a pistol, which she pointed straight at him.

  “I thought you were rotting away in prison,” she purred.

  “I was,” replied Dad. “But I am out, just for the night.”

  Mum approached the broken window and peered inside.

  “What have you done to my Biggie?” she demanded on seeing her boyfriend sprawled out on his silk rug.

  “I knocked him out with my wooden leg,” answered Dad.

  “I bet you enjoyed that, Gilbert,” she snarled.

  “Do you know what, Rita? I did.”

  “I can’t believe all those years ago I fell in love with you,” she said.

  “I can believe I was in love with you,” replied Dad. “But you were different then, Rita. Before Mr Big came along and turned your head with his riches.”

  “Biggie knows how to treat a lady.”

  “Love isn’t measured in gold and diamonds. That man down there doesn’t love you. You’re just another one of his possessions.”

  Mum cocked the pistol, ready to fire.

  CLICK!

  “I’ve had quite enough of listening to you, Gilbert. Now get out of my house. But leave the boy with me.”

  Frank felt a wave of panic crash over him. Living in this huge house with his mum and her boyfriend was the last thing he wanted.

  “I know you’re angry with me for walking out, Frank,” said Mum. “But I want you back in my life.”

  Dad looked to his son. “What do you want, Frank?”

  “I bet you want to come and live here in this big house in the lap of luxury with me and Biggie, don’t you?”

  “NO,” replied the boy in a flash.

  Instantly the woman crumbled in front of his eyes. “What do you mean ‘no’?”

  “I’m sorry, Mum, but I don’t want to live here with you. Not ever. All I want is to be with my dad.”

  “Even though he’s got nothing? In fact, less than nothing,” she said.

  “Dad’s got everything I need and more,” replied Frank. “And he doesn’t have to point a gun at anyone to make me love him.”

  Deep sorrow crept across Mum’s face and she burst into tears. Trembling, she brought the gun down and sank to her knees.

  “I am so, so sorry, Frank. I took a wrong turn in life. I made a mistake walking out, but I’ve had to live with it. I know I let you down, Frank. I bet you hate my guts.”

  The boy stepped through the glass window and joined her on the patio. Slowly he approached his mother, and wrapped his arms round her. “I don’t hate you, Mum. I love you.”

  These three words made her sob even more.

  “Please forgive me, Frank,” she said through tears. “I should have been a mother to you. I’ve been lost. So lost. But, son, I realise now what a fool I’ve been. I love you too.”

  “I forgive you, Mum.”

  Mum held her son tightly as Dad stepped through the broken window to stand beside them. After a few moments, the boy eased himself away from his mother.

  “I’m sorry, but me and Dad have to go,” said Frank.

  Mum tried to sniff back the tears. “Where are you two going at this time of night?”

  “We have to right a wrong, Mum. A big wrong.”

  Mum nodded her head. “You’ve always got to right a wrong.”

  Frank took his mother by the arm. “It’s cold, Mum. Let me get you back inside.”

  Gilbert watched his son with pride who, despite everything, was showing his mother such kindness.

  Frank looked back at her through the broken window. There was his mother standing alone in the study in her silk nightdress, tears running down her face, with mascara smudged around her eyes.

  The boy took his father’s hand, and they stepped off the patio into the garden.

  “We have to come back for her,” said Frank.

  “We’ll see,” replied Dad.

  As the pair reached the stone wall that surrounded Mr Big’s house, two fearsome beasts jumped down from a tree and landed on their heads.

  “AARGH!” they screamed.

  It was Ronnie and Reggie, the world’s most terrifyingly big small cats.

  “Get off!” screamed Dad as Ronnie leaped on to his back, digging his claws into his chest.

  “Help!” screamed Frank as Reggie leaped on to his head and punched him square on the nose with his paw.

  “Dad! I can’t pull him off!” screamed Frank.

  “Nor me!” said Dad as he desperately tried to yank the cat off his back. The animal’s claws had gone deep into the man’s flesh. “But I know there’s one thing cats really hate!”

  “What?” asked the boy as Reggie rained more blows down upon him.

  “WATER!”

  “The fountain!” exclaimed Frank, and they ran off in the direction of it.

  “Oh no!” exclaimed the boy as they sprinted. “His bum is in my face!”

  “Keep running!” said Dad even as Ronnie bit into his ear with his fangs. “OUCH!”

  The pair held hands as they leaped into the fountain.

  Instead of being scared by water, the two cats turned out to be expert swimmers. They dived into the pond and, like jet-propelled sharks, pursued the father and son round and round the fountain.

  “Jump out!” shouted Dad.

  As the pair scrambled across the gravel, Ronnie and Reggie gave chase. In a panic, Frank slipped and fell flat on his face. Gilbert kneeled down to help him up.

  “MEOW!” screamed the cats as they leaped through the air and landed on the pair’s backs.

  They pinned them down, sinking their claws deeper and deeper into Frank and Dad’s flesh.

  “ARGH!” screamed Frank.

  “We’re done for!” said Dad.

  But then, “HISS!” hissed the cats as they were yanked off father and son.

  Frank looked up. His mother had grabbed both animals by their tails.

  “MUM!” exclaimed the boy.

  “I always hated these cats!” she said. Then she spun round and round as if she was a champion disco dancer, gripping on to a tail in each hand.

  “HISS!” hissed the cats. They didn’t like it one bit.

  When she was going so fast that Ronnie and Reggie were just a blur, she let go.

  “MMMEEEOOOWWW!!!” screamed the cats as they sailed through the air, landing with two loud thuds in a distant corner of the garden.

  BOOF!

  BOOF!

  “Thank you, Rita,” said Dad.

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “Now go, before Big wakes up!”

  “Thank you, Mum,” said Frank.

  “I’m glad to help you two, even just a little bit,” replied Mum.
“Be careful.”

  “We will,” lied Frank.

  “RITA!” came a voice from inside the house.

  “GO! GO! GO!” she urged.

  In seconds they were gone.

  Once on the other side of the Pilfer House wall, the pair found Queenie, slung the money on the back seat and sped off in the direction of the bank. It was well past midnight now, and there was no one about. Dad stopped the car in a side road opposite the bank, and turned off the headlights.

  A couple of months had passed since the robbery, and the bank had been repaired.

  “How are we going to break in?” asked Dad.

  “I don’t think we should blow it up again,” replied Frank. “There’s no point creating a million pounds’ worth of damage to put half a million pounds back in the vault.”

  “No,” muttered Dad. “It would be fun, though.”

  “This is the plan I worked out, Dad. We’re going to wait until the first person arrives for work at the bank, and then trick our way in.”

  “That could be hours.”

  “No. One morning I got up really early and sneaked out of Auntie Flip’s house to watch the bank. The bank manager arrives each morning at dawn.”

  “Good work. Let’s just sit tight until then, and we can trick our way in.”

  At that moment the crane from the scrapyard trundled round the corner. Fingers was once again at the controls. It stopped right outside the bank and Fingers jumped to the ground. Behind it was one of Mr Big’s Rolls-Royces. Thumbs stepped out of the fancy car and opened the door for his boss. Mr Big emerged, nursing his battered head with a bag of ice.

  “Those two rats are in there somewhere! I know it,” he said to his henchmen. “They are putting my hard-stolen money back in the bank.”

  “Disgusting!” said Thumbs.

  “It’s just not right,” added Fingers.

  “Let’s sneak out of the car before they spot us,” whispered Dad.

  The pair slid down from their seats, and crawled along the street on their hands and knees, taking the bin liner full of money with them. They found a hiding place behind a postbox.