Mr Mingin by David Walliams Page A

Yon’s £4.49. Let’s caw it £4.50. Easier if I jist tak five poond. Thank you awfie muckle.”
    Chloe and Mither come oot the shoap haudin their sweeties. Mither held her hauf eaten boax o chocolates wi a look o haurdly disguised scunner on her fizzog.
    “Noo, dinnae forget, Raj. The election is nixt Friday!” said Mither at the door.
    “Och, I cannae mak it nixt Friday, Mrs Ploom. I hae tae stey here as I’m expectin a muckle delivery o Smairties! But guid luck tae ye!”
    “Ah … Thank you,” replied Mither, lookin doonhertit.
    “Mrs Ploom,” said Raj. “Wid ye be interestit in somethin awfie special that is boond tae become somethin o a faimlie heirloom tae be haundit doon through the generations? Some o yer grandweans will yin day be prood tae hae it valued on The Antiques Roadshow .”
    “Aye?” said Mither expectantly.
    “It’s a Teenage Mutant Ninja Torties stationery set …”

11
Pouin Hair
    “ Whit are ye hidin in the shed?” said Annabelle wi accusatory pleisure.
    It wis midnicht and Chloe wis yince again tiptaein past her sister’s room, this time tae tell Mr Mingin aboot Lily’s newest adventure wi her flesh-scrannin zombie dominies. Annabelle stood in her doorwey in her pink pownie jammies. Her hair wis aw in bunches. And in case o fire she sleepit in lip-gloass. She looked sae bonnie it wid seekin ye.
    “Nothin,” said Chloe, gowpin.
    “I ken when you’re leein, Chloe.”
    “Hoo dae ye ken?”
    “Ye gowp when ye’re tellin a lee.”
    “Naw I dinnae!” said Chloe, tryin awfie haurd no tae gowp. She gowped.
    “Ye jist did it! Whit’s in there onywey? Dae you hae a boyfreend hidin in there or somethin?”
    “Naw, I hivnae got a boyfreend, Annabelle.”
    “Naw, coorse ye hivnae. Ye wid need tae loss some o that wecht first.”
    “Jist go tae back yer bed,” said Chloe.
    “I amnae gaun tae ma bed until ye tell me whit ye’ve got in the shed,” annoonced Annabelle.
    “Keep yer voice doon. Ye’re gonnae wauk awbody up!”
    “Naw I winnae keep ma voice doon! In fact it is gonnae get looder and looder. La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la!”
    “ Wheesht! ” hished Chloe.
    “La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la …!”
    Chloe poued her wee sister’s hair shairply. There wis a pause for a meenit, as Annabelle gowked at Chloe in shoack. Then she opened her mooth.
    “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHH!” yowled Annabelle.
    “Whit on earth is aw this noise aboot?” said Mither as she flochtered oot o her bedroom in her silk nichtgoun.
    Annabelle tried tae speak, but jist hyper-haivered through her tears.
    “Ugh … eh … ah … ah … ughhh … ah … eh … ugh …”

    “Whit on earth did ye dae tae her, Chloe?” demandit Mither.
    “She’s pittin it on! I didnae pou her stupit hair that haurd!” Chloe protestit.
    “You poued her hair ? Annabelle is doon tae the last thoosand for a model castin the morra for Geordie at Asda and she has tae look perjink!”
    “Ugh … ah … eh … ah. She’s ah eh got ugh ugh ugh hidin ugh ugh somethin eh ah ugh in the ugh ugh ughu shed,” said Annabelle as she gret oot some mair tears.
    “Faither,” ordered Mither. “Come oot here richt noo!”
    “I’m sleepin!” cam the muffled cry fae their bedroom.
    “RICHT NOO!”
    Chloe looked doon at the cairpet sae Mither couldnae read her face. There wis a pause. The three ladies o the hoose listened as Da got oot o his bed. Nixt they heard the soond o somebody trinklin watter intae the cludgie. Mither’s face turnt reid wi fury.
    “I SAID RICHT NOO!”
    The soond stapped abruptly and Da shauchled oot o the bedroom in his Arsenal Fitba Club jammies.
    “Annabelle said Chloe is hidin somethin in the shed.