Charlie and the War Against the Grannies (18 page)

 

 

 

 

 

Next to the newspaper headlines were two handwritten lists.

Hils and I were walking home.

‘What does all this stuff mean?' I said.

‘I can't be absolutely sure,' said Hils. ‘But I think the Stinkly Wrinklys are preparing for a war. Against us.'

‘Hils?'

‘Affirmative.'

‘Nothing.'

‘Affirmative.'

It wasn't nothing though.

The next day at school it still wasn't-nothing.

During Chemistry – when Helna and Krishna poured something into something else and everyone had to evacuate the lab – it still wasn't-nothing.

At lunchtime – when Simon Bolivar screamed and no one took any notice and later we found out that he'd actually been bitten by a spider and might have to have his toe amputated – it still wasn't-nothing.

After school – when I lied to Hils and told her that I couldn't do war training because I had promised to chop firewood for our blind next-door neighbour because the last time he'd chopped the firewood he'd decapitated five guinea pigs – it still wasn't-nothing.

The wasn't-nothing was going to stay a wasn't-nothing unless I did something.

I needed to visit Rashid.

I locked my bike up outside Rashid's house.

I had telephoned to make an appointment. Rashid insisted everyone make an appointment before visiting him.

Hils never made an appointment.

‘
Bula
,' said Rashid.

That's Fijian for ‘Hello.'

Rashid is Fijian. He is the biggest person at our school (including teachers), the smartest person at our school (definitely including teachers) and my second-best friend. (There is nothing wrong with Rashid. He is best-friend material. He's amazing. He's the greatest. Anyone else would be lucky to have him as their best friend. It's just the best-friend-of-Charlie-Ian-Duncan-position is already filled.)

‘We are pleased to have you come before us with your question of great importance,' said Rashid.

Last term Rashid did a school project and discovered he was descended from the Fijian royal family. For some reason, after he found that out, he started speaking like a character out of a play about English kings.

‘We have prepared the royal meeting chamber,' said Rashid.

The ‘royal meeting chamber' is Rashid's lounge.

‘There we shall listen to that which vexes you.'

For some reason Rashid says ‘we' instead of ‘I'. I think it's a royal thing.

In the lounge I sat on the couch and Rashid sat on his throne. His throne is an old chair he found on the side of the road. He put it on a box and covered it in plastic knives. The plastic knives are meant to make it more intimidating. Thrones are meant to be intimidating. I don't know why.

The plastic knives don't really make the throne more intimidating. Once I did get my jumper caught on one of them. That was annoying.

Apart from the throne the lounge was pretty normal. It had some chairs, a light switch that always gives Rashid an electric shock, and Rashid's grandmother. She is Fijian and doesn't speak any English.

Rashid calls her
Bubu
.

She's always in the lounge. In the same chair. Weaving baskets.

The lounge is full of about five million baskets. She makes baskets out of anything: leaves, newspapers, forks. (Yes. Forks.) Once, I left my schoolbag in the lounge and when I came back Bubu had torn it up and made it into a basket.

It felt a bit strange having Bubu in the lounge because I wanted to talk to Rashid about Stinkly Wrinklys.

‘Speak,' said Rashid.

So I spoke.

I told Rashid everything that had happened.

While I was telling Rashid about the chilli sauce and The Us and the Stinkly Wrinklys' HQ, Bubu sat in her chair weaving a basket out of banana skins and carrot peelings.

Finally I got to the wasn't-nothing.

‘They've got false teeth. One of them has a glass eye. She takes it out and puts it in water. They have naps. Rashid, is it okay to go to war with someone who has naps?'