Charlie and the War Against the Grannies Read online

  About Charlie and the War Against the Grannies

  I didn’t want Mrs Cyclopolos to explode. I just wanted a paper round.

  My name is Charlie Ian Duncan. I will be 12 on 2 February. I have written this history of my war with the grannies because I need everyone to know that I didn’t mean for Mrs Cyclopolos to blow up. I just wanted a paper round.

  When I say ‘my war with the grannies’, I really mean the war I waged alongside my best friend Hils, my second-best-friend Rashid, Peter the Iraqi who isn’t afraid of anything (well apart from one thing), Warren and his magical bike TwelveSpeed and those crazy people we met underground.

  The grannies started it when I asked them about a paper round and they sprayed me in the face with rooster brand chilli sauce and made me think that I was dead. Hils and I decided to go to war with them but then I discovered one of the grannies had a glass eye and I wasn’t sure if it was okay to go to war against someone with a glass eye but then I discovered that the granny with the glass eye could pinch bricks in half, turn her snot-covered hankies into deadly throwing weapons and possessed a truly terrible device called the Gnashing Gnet.

  It’s all true.

  Especially the bit about me not wanting anyone to blow up.

  Contents

  Cover

  About Charlie and the War Against the Grannies

  Dedication

  Front Matter

  Chapter One: The Truth

  Chapter Two: The Beginning

  Chapter Three: The Duncans

  Chapter Four: The Re-Beginning

  Chapter Five: The Orphan

  Chapter Six: The Phase

  Chapter Seven: The Re-Re-Beginning

  Chapter Eight: The Incident

  Chapter Nine: The Plan

  Chapter Ten: The Grannies

  Chapter Eleven: The End

  Chapter Twelve: The Chase

  Chapter Thirteen: The Feast

  Chapter Fourteen: The Team

  Chapter Fifteen: The Man

  Chapter Sixteen: The Tale

  Chapter Seventeen: The Dilemma

  Chapter Eighteen: The Decision

  Chapter Nineteen: The Plan

  Chapter Twenty: The Lurker

  Chapter Twenty-one: The Training

  Chapter Twenty-two: The Teeth

  Chapter Twenty-three: The Handkerchief

  Chapter Twenty-four: The Information

  Chapter Twenty-five: The Map

  Chapter Twenty-six: The House

  Chapter Twenty-seven: The Tunnel

  Chapter Twenty-eight: The Posters

  Chapter Twenty-nine: The Dumbness

  Chapter Thirty: The Office

  Chapter Thirty-one: The Reception

  Chapter Thirty-two: The Smash

  Chapter Thirty-three: The Toilet

  Chapter Thirty-four: The Us

  Chapter Thirty-five: The Diva

  Chapter Thirty-six: The Disappointment

  Chapter Thirty-seven: The Door

  Chapter Thirty-eight: The HQ

  Chapter Thirty-nine: The Wardrobe

  Chapter Forty: The Terror

  Chapter Forty-one: The Embarrassment

  Chapter Forty-two: The Eyeball

  Chapter Forty-three: The Chamber

  Chapter Forty-four: The Headlines

  Chapter Forty-five: The Lists

  Chapter Forty-six: The Proof

  Chapter Forty-seven: The Wasn’t-Nothing

  Chapter Forty-eight: The Visit

  Chapter Forty-nine: The Fight

  Chapter Fifty: The Dream

  Chapter Fifty-one: The Vision

  Chapter Fifty-two: The Apology

  Chapter Fifty-three: The Ambush

  Chapter Fifty-four: The Anger

  Chapter Fifty-five: The Shock

  Chapter Fifty-six: The Informant

  Chapter Fifty-seven: The Pursuit

  Chapter Fifty-eight: The Slap

  Chapter Fifty-nine: The Owwww!

  Chapter Sixty: The Facts

  Chapter Sixty-one: The Scotsman

  Chapter Sixty-two: The Propaganda

  Chapter Sixty-three: The Morning

  Chapter Sixty-four: The Leaflet

  Chapter Sixty-five: The Afternoon

  Chapter Sixty-six: The Evening

  Chapter Sixty-seven: The Quarry

  Chapter Sixty-eight: The Duel

  Chapter Sixty-nine: The Commentary

  Chapter Seventy: The Victory

  Chapter Seventy-one: The Noise

  Chapter Seventy-two: The Army

  Chapter Seventy-three: The Weapin

  Chapter Seventy-four: The Explosion

  Chapter Seventy-five: The Aftermath

  Chapter Seventy-six: The Truth

  About the author

  Copyright page

  As with everything,

  this is for Helen

  SEVENTEEN

  GRANNIES WERE HURT

  (JUST A LITTLE BIT)

  DURING

  THE MAKING

  OF THIS BOOK.

  1

  THE TRUTH

  I didn’t want Mrs Cyclopolos to explode.

  I just wanted a paper round.

  2

  THE BEGINNING

  Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room. I needed to ask them something very important. Something I had wanted to ask them for ages.

  Now seemed like a good time.

  Wait a minute.

  Sorry.

  I need to give you what my best friend Hils would call some ‘essential operational intelligence’.

  3

  THE DUNCANS

  My name is Charlie Ian Duncan. I will be twelve on 2 February at 12.14 pm. I live in Parkville in a big old brick house on the corner of two really busy roads. My house is a bit strange because it has a clock tower attached to it. I don’t think the clock has ever worked. It has been seven minutes past three for as long as I can remember.

  The first time anyone sees my house they always say, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.’

  The first time my best friend Hils saw my house she said, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.’ The first time my friend Rashid saw my house he said, ‘Wow! Your house has a clock tower.’ The first time my friend Stevenson saw my house he said, ‘If you give me twenty bucks I’ll eat dog poo.’

  Stevenson doesn’t go to our school any more.

  On the inside of the front door of my house is a sign.

  STOP!

  ARE YOU WEARING

  PANTS?

  One day Dad left the house without pants on. Afterwards my mum made that sign.

  My mum’s name is Ruth Ann Tankard.

  My dad’s name is Ben Chatham Duncan.

  The three of us live in the house with the clock tower.

  My mum is really, very, super short. She used to teach ballroom dancing to prisoners (murderers, burglars and people like that) and she suffers from an extremely rare condition called EAS: Everyone’s Aunty Syndrome.

  Everyone thinks my mum is their aunty.

  Mum and I might be walking to the pool and a complete stranger will come up to her and say, ‘Aunty Joan? I can’t believe it. I haven’t seen you in years. It’s Phillip. Phillip D’Adano. Sebastian and Francesca’s son. How’s Uncle Dino?’

  Mum used to say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not your Aunty Joan. My name’s Ruth.’

  But they wouldn’t listen. No matter what she’d say they’d just keep on thinking she was their Aunty Joan. Or Aunty Adolfina. Or Aunty Ngaire. Or Aunty Hedvig. Or Aunty Marama. Or Aunty Ziphozonke. Or Aunty Indira. Or Aunty Fung.

  Eventually Mum just started playing along.
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  ‘Aunty Grubana? It’s Marko. How’s Uncle Bojan?’

  ‘Marko,’ my mum would say. ‘It’s lovely to see you. I’m well. Uncle Bojan had a few troubles though. His finger was bitten off by a horse but he got a robot finger and now he can poke holes in concrete.’

  ‘Myung-sook. It’s lovely to see you. I’m well. Uncle Jin-ho has had a few troubles though. His leg was bitten off by a crocodile but he got a robot leg and now he can hop twenty feet in the air.’

  ‘Polly. It’s lovely to see you. I’m well. Uncle Serge has had a few troubles though. His hair was eaten by piranhas but he got a robot wig and now he can header a soccer ball into space.’

  I don’t know if anyone believes her stories but they always seem very happy to have seen their ‘aunty’.

  My dad is really, very, super tall. He used to have a business helping people put their IKEA furniture together and he loved farting.

  He liked doing farts.

  He also liked making up songs about farting.

  Dad and I would be walking through the Barkly Square shopping centre on a really busy Sunday afternoon and Dad would just start singing a song about farting. Really loudly.

  ‘There was a farmer had a dog,

  Fart-o was his name-o.

  F.A.R.T.O.

  F.A.R.T.O.

  F.A.R.T.O.

  And Fart-o was his name-o.’

  People would stare at us. We wouldn’t care though. We’d be too busy laughing.

  Dad loved farting so much he knew how to say the word ‘fart’ in about a million different languages. He would walk right up to someone he’d never met before and say, ‘Excuse me, are you from another country? Can you tell me how to say “fart” in your language?’

  They would always tell him.

  How to say

  ‘fart’

  in ten different languages

  Arabic – Durta

  Czech – Prt

  Dutch – Scheet

  Hebrew – Nod

  Norwegian – Prump

  Italian – Flatulenza

  Korean – Bang-gwi

  Filipino – Umut-ot

  Polish – Gazy jelitowe

  Swahili – Jamba

  4

  THE RE-BEGINNING

  So.

  Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room. I needed to ask them something very important. Something I had wanted to ask them for ages.

  Sorry.

  Wait another minute.

  I need to tell you something else really important.

  I am an orphan.

  5

  THE ORPHAN

  You are probably thinking, ‘Charlie Duncan can’t be an orphan. He has parents. He was just about to ask them a really important question he’d wanted to ask them for ages. If he’s really an orphan he won’t be able to ask his parents anything because he won’t have any parents because orphans don’t have parents. The main thing orphans do not have is parents. Is Charlie Duncan a liar? Is he crazy? Is he a crazy liar?’

  I am not a liar.

  I am not crazy.

  I am not a crazy liar.

  I really am an orphan.

  I am a special kind of orphan. The kind of orphan that does have parents.

  I am a digital orphan.

  What is a digital orphan?

  A digital orphan is a kid who is completely ignored by his parents because they are always on their iPhones.

  My parents are so interested in their iPhones they have lost all interest in me.

  They take so little notice of me that I might as well not have parents.

  That is why I am a digital orphan.

  My parents don’t talk to me. They are too busy chatting online.

  My parents don’t look at me. They are too busy looking at YouTube.

  My parents don’t love me. They can only ‘like’ things now.

  If I wanted to talk to either of my parents I would probably need to leave them a message on Facebook. I am not on Facebook. My parents and I haven’t spoken for about three years. Since I was eight. It was really, very, super weird to begin with. Now I’m used to it.

  I suppose.

  I used to love going to the zoo with Mum and Dad. We always ran straight through the gate and over to the meerkat enclosure.

  Sometimes we spent the whole visit just watching the meerkats.

  The day after Mum and Dad got their iPhones I ran through the gate straight over to the meerkats while Mum and Dad sat down and immediately started checking their phones.

  ‘Mum. Dad. Come and see the meerkats.’

  Mum looked up and smiled at me. When she smiled her cheeks lit up. Like two suns rising on either side of her nose.

  ‘Of course I’ll come and see the meerkats,’ Mum said.

  Dad also looked up and smiled.

  ‘I wonder how you say “fart” in meerkat?’

  They put their phones away and came to see the meerkats.

  A few weeks later we were at the zoo again. Mum and Dad were sitting down checking their iPhones.

  ‘Mum. Dad. Quick. Come and see. A peacock is chasing the baby elephant.’

  ‘Just wait a minute. I’m watching something,’ said Mum and she kept staring at her iPhone.

  ‘So am I,’ said Dad.

  Mum and Dad stayed sitting where they were.

  Next time I went to the zoo, I went by myself. Mum and Dad were at home. Checking their iPhones.

  After that I stopped going to the zoo.

  I thought my parents would lose interest in their iPhones. I thought it was just a phase.

  6

  THE PHASE

  It wasn’t a phase.

  That’s how I became a digital orphan.

  7

  THE RE-RE-BEGINNING

  So.

  Mum and Dad were sitting in the living room. I needed to ask them something very important. Something I had wanted to ask them for ages.

  ‘Mum? Dad?’ I said. ‘Can I get a paper round?’ They didn’t say anything. They were too busy on their iPhones.

  If you are a digital orphan and you ask your parents ‘Can I get a paper round?’ and they don’t answer what they really mean is, ‘Yes, you can get a paper round.’

  Why I want to get

  a paper round

  I’ll get to ride my bike more.

  If a tsunami threatens our town then I will be able to build a raft out of rolled-up newspapers and save Mum, Dad, Hils and myself.

  I could win International Paperboy of the Year and then someone would make a film about my life called ‘Charlie Ian Duncan: The World’s Greatest Paperboy’.

  I could befriend a strange old lady only to discover she is an eccentric multi-billionaire. She dies and leaves me all her multi-billions. I instantly become the richest person in the whole world and I buy a plane made entirely out of gold. My gold plane is so heavy that it can’t even fly. I don’t mind. Lots of rich people have planes but I am the only rich person who has a plane that can’t fly because it is too gold.

  I’ll get to ride my bike more.

  8

  THE INCIDENT

  As I rode my bike over to the newsagents I was nervous.

  I was nervous about asking the man at the newsagents for a paper round. He had happy eyes but angry eyebrows. This made it very hard to work out what sort of mood he was in.

  I locked my bike (I can’t imagine anything worse than having my bike stolen so I use four locks instead of one) and walked into the shop.

  The man stood behind the counter. I stood in front of the counter. He looked at me. I looked at him. I looked at his eyes. I looked at his eyebrows. Was he in an eye mood? Was he in an eyebrow mood? Should I ask for a paper round now? Should I come back later?

  ‘Young man. You are afraid. Yes?’ said the man in the newsagents.

  Was I afraid? Yes. A little bit. How did he know that?

  MY BIKE

  I love my bike.

  It is the greatest thing ever.
r />   On my bike I can climb really, very super steep hills. On my bike I can jump over obstacles. On my bike I can go incredibly fast.

  I don’t do any of those things but I could.

  My bike and I don’t need to show off.

  My bike’s name is Del Zarzosa Soy Yo The Sabre.

  His other name is Freedom.

  On Del Zarzosa Soy Yo The Sabre I can ride to somewhere great and then ride away again if it turns out to be somewhere-not-great.

  On The Sabre I can quickly ride to see a friend and I can quickly ride away from an enemy.

  On The Sabre it only takes 4.4 minutes to get from my house to a packet of cheese and bacon balls. (Kick A Goal Against Hunger!)

  When I get a paper round The Sabre and I will do it together.

  When I am too old to ride The Sabre I will give it to a disadvantaged child who will continue to enjoy it.

  The best moment of every day is when I take The Sabre outside, throw my leg over the cross-bar and push down on the pedal. I start to move.

  I am in complete control. I am free.

  Could he read my thoughts? I had just done quite a bit of thinking about a lady on the cover of a magazine. I hoped he couldn’t read those thoughts.

  ‘You should not be afraid. You should be like me,’ said the man in the newsagents. ‘My name is Peter. I am from Iraq. I am afraid of nothing.’

  ‘Peter isn’t a very Iraqi name,’ I said.

  ‘What is your name?’ said Peter.

  ‘Charlie.’

  ‘That is not a very Iraqi name either. So we are even. Yes?’ said Peter.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Are you really not afraid of anything?’

  ‘I am afraid of nothing,’ said Peter.

  ‘What about spiders?’ I said.

  Peter laughed.

  ‘I have eaten spiders,’ said Peter.

  ‘Snakes?’

  ‘I have eaten snakes.’

  ‘Are you afraid of fire?’