Granny by Anthony Horowitz Page B

manage to hear her checking train times with British Rail and so assumed that she—and presumably he with her—was about to go away.
    This was confirmed at the end of the day. Joe had eaten his supper on his own and was settling down to watch television when the door opened and Granny came in.
    â€œBedtime, Jane, dear!”
    â€œI’m Joe! And it’s only eight o’clock. I never go to bed before nine.”
    â€œDon’t argue with Granny. Granny knows best!”
    â€œBut I’m watching The Bill ! ”
    â€œSo am I, dear.” Granny flicked the television off. “The electricity bill—and that should save a bit! Now up to bed!”
    But the torment didn’t even stop there. Although it was a warm night, Granny had insisted on his wearing a hoodie as well as his pajamas, a bathrobe as well as a hoodie, and two extra blankets on top of everything else.
    â€œWe don’t want your flu to get any worse, do we, dear,” she said when she came into his room.
    â€œI can’t sleep like this,” Joe said. “I feel like a sausage roll!”
    â€œYou can’t have a sausage roll now, dear,” Granny replied. “But maybe I’ll get you one tomorrow.” And with a soft giggle, she switched off the light and went out.
    Joe lay in bed for a long time. He was too hot to sleep and also too angry. As he lay in the half darkness, he began to think about how unfair life was. He was twelve (almost thirteen) years old. He could read, write, do math, speak French, swim, juggle, and name over a thousand characters in science-fiction books and films. But did he have any life of his own? No! His every movement was controlled and organized by adults with less imagination than him. His parents, the teachers at his fancy prep school—they were all the same, passing him around as if he were no more than a bag of candy. Of course it wouldn’t be so bad if the grown-ups had more sense. But nobody had to be qualified to be a parent. And his parents were not only unqualified, they had quite happily handed him to a woman who hated him and who in the last few weeks had just killed his two best friends. But who would believe him? Nobody!
    If he hadn’t been so hot and angry, maybe he would have slept. But he was still awake at nine o’clock when the doorbell rang. He was awake at ten past nine when it rang again. And he had given up any idea of sleeping by half past when it rang for a third time.
    As the evening dragged on, Joe began to hear strange sounds coming from downstairs. The hiss of a can being opened and a peal of high-pitched laughter. A clink of glasses and the slam of a door. More laughter. There seemed to be four or five women downstairs. The muffled sound of arguing and then another cackle of laughter drifted up to his room. In the end he couldn’t bear it any longer. He got up and went downstairs.
    The hall was dark, but the door to the living room was half open, which was how the sounds had escaped. Thankful for his bare feet and the thick carpets, Joe tiptoed forward and peeped in. An extraordinary sight met his eyes.
    There were five grannies in the room, playing poker. They had assembled a green card table and had two decks of cards scattered over the surface, on the floor, and—in at least two instances—up their sleeves. The room was thick with smoke. Two of the grannies were smoking cigarettes, while a third had helped herself to one of Mr. Warden’s cigars. They had opened half a dozen cans of beer and a bottle of whiskey. There were glasses everywhere. Granny had also provided food. There was a bowl of popcorn, some bright pink hot dogs with fried onions and mustard, a plate of pickled cucumbers, two boxes of Fortnum & Mason chocolates, some corned beef sandwiches, and several packs of chewing gum. Joe wasn’t at all surprised that there wasn’t an ounce of cream cheese in sight.
    But what made the spectacle so