until the shutters shook with the force of his fists. Still no answer. Joe looked at his watch. It was two o’clock in the morning. No wonder Raj wasn’t in his shop.
It looked like Joe would have to be the very first billionaire to ever sleep rough.
Chapter 23
Canal Boat Weekly
“W hat are you doing in there?”
Joe wasn’t sure if he was awake, or simply dreaming that he was awake. He certainly couldn’t move. His body felt stiff with cold, and every part of him ached. Joe couldn’t open his eyes yet, but knew without doubt that he hadn’t woken up between the silk sheets of his four-poster bed.
“I said, what are you doing in there?” came the voice again. Joe frowned, puzzled. His butler didn’t have an Indian accent. Joe struggled to unglue eyes that had been stuck together with sleep. He saw a big smiley face hovering over his.
It was Raj’s.
“Why are you here at this ungodly hour, Master Spud?” asked the kindly newsagent.
As dawn was beginning to glow through the gloom, Joe took in his surroundings. He had climbed into a skip outside Raj’s shop and fallen asleep. Some bricks had been his pillow, a piece of tarpaulin his duvet, and a dusty old wooden door his mattress. No wonder every part of his body ached.
“Oh, er, hello Raj,” croaked Joe.
“Hello Joe. I was just opening up my shop and heard some snoring. There you were. I was quite surprised, I must tell you.”
“I don’t snore!” protested Joe.
“I regret to inform you that you do. Now would you be so kind as to climb out of the skip and step inside my shop, I think we need to talk,” said Raj, in a deadly serious tone.
Oh no , thought Joe, now I’m in trouble with Raj .
Although Raj was adult in age and size, he was nothing like a parent or a teacher, and it was really difficult to get into trouble with him. Once one of the girls from Joe’s school had been caught trying to steal a bag of Wotsits from the newsagent and Raj had banned her from his shop for all of five minutes.
The dusty billionaire clambered out of the skip. Raj fashioned him a stool from a stack of Heat magazines, and wrapped a copy of the Financial Times over his shoulders like it was a big pink boring blanket.
“You must have been outside in the cold all night, Joe. Now, you must eat some breakfast. A nice hot mug of Lilt perhaps?”
“No thanks,” said Joe.
“Two Rolo eggs, poached?”
Joe shook his head.
“You need to eat, boy. A toasted Galaxy bar?”
“No thanks.”
“A hearty bowl of Pickled Onion Monster Munch perhaps? With warm milk?”
“I am really not hungry, Raj,” said Joe.
“Well, my wife has put me on a strict diet so I am only allowed fruit for breakfast now,” announced Raj as he unwrapped a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Now, are you going to tell me why you slept in a skip last night?”
“I ran away from home,” announced Joe.
“I guessed that much,” slurred Raj, chewing away on multiple segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Oooh, pips,” he said before spitting something into the palm of his hand. “The question is, why?”
Joe looked ill at ease. He felt the truth shamed him as much as his dad. “Well, you know that girl I brought in here the day we got some ice lollies?”
“Yes, yes! You know I said I had seen her somewhere before? Well, she was on TV last night! On an advert for Pot Noodle Snacks! So did you finally kiss her?” exclaimed an excited Raj.
“No. She was only pretending to like me. My dad paid her to be my friend.”
“Oh dear,” said Raj. His smile fell from his face. “That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”
“I hate him,” said Joe hotly.
“Please don’t say that, Joe,” said Raj, shocked.
“But I do,” said Joe, turning to Raj with fire in his eyes. “I hate his guts.”
“Joe! You must stop talking like this right now. He is your father.”
“I hate him. I never want to see him again for as long as I live.”
Tentatively, Raj reached out
It looked like Joe would have to be the very first billionaire to ever sleep rough.
Chapter 23
Canal Boat Weekly
“W hat are you doing in there?”
Joe wasn’t sure if he was awake, or simply dreaming that he was awake. He certainly couldn’t move. His body felt stiff with cold, and every part of him ached. Joe couldn’t open his eyes yet, but knew without doubt that he hadn’t woken up between the silk sheets of his four-poster bed.
“I said, what are you doing in there?” came the voice again. Joe frowned, puzzled. His butler didn’t have an Indian accent. Joe struggled to unglue eyes that had been stuck together with sleep. He saw a big smiley face hovering over his.
It was Raj’s.
“Why are you here at this ungodly hour, Master Spud?” asked the kindly newsagent.
As dawn was beginning to glow through the gloom, Joe took in his surroundings. He had climbed into a skip outside Raj’s shop and fallen asleep. Some bricks had been his pillow, a piece of tarpaulin his duvet, and a dusty old wooden door his mattress. No wonder every part of his body ached.
“Oh, er, hello Raj,” croaked Joe.
“Hello Joe. I was just opening up my shop and heard some snoring. There you were. I was quite surprised, I must tell you.”
“I don’t snore!” protested Joe.
“I regret to inform you that you do. Now would you be so kind as to climb out of the skip and step inside my shop, I think we need to talk,” said Raj, in a deadly serious tone.
Oh no , thought Joe, now I’m in trouble with Raj .
Although Raj was adult in age and size, he was nothing like a parent or a teacher, and it was really difficult to get into trouble with him. Once one of the girls from Joe’s school had been caught trying to steal a bag of Wotsits from the newsagent and Raj had banned her from his shop for all of five minutes.
The dusty billionaire clambered out of the skip. Raj fashioned him a stool from a stack of Heat magazines, and wrapped a copy of the Financial Times over his shoulders like it was a big pink boring blanket.
“You must have been outside in the cold all night, Joe. Now, you must eat some breakfast. A nice hot mug of Lilt perhaps?”
“No thanks,” said Joe.
“Two Rolo eggs, poached?”
Joe shook his head.
“You need to eat, boy. A toasted Galaxy bar?”
“No thanks.”
“A hearty bowl of Pickled Onion Monster Munch perhaps? With warm milk?”
“I am really not hungry, Raj,” said Joe.
“Well, my wife has put me on a strict diet so I am only allowed fruit for breakfast now,” announced Raj as he unwrapped a Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Now, are you going to tell me why you slept in a skip last night?”
“I ran away from home,” announced Joe.
“I guessed that much,” slurred Raj, chewing away on multiple segments of Terry’s Chocolate Orange. “Oooh, pips,” he said before spitting something into the palm of his hand. “The question is, why?”
Joe looked ill at ease. He felt the truth shamed him as much as his dad. “Well, you know that girl I brought in here the day we got some ice lollies?”
“Yes, yes! You know I said I had seen her somewhere before? Well, she was on TV last night! On an advert for Pot Noodle Snacks! So did you finally kiss her?” exclaimed an excited Raj.
“No. She was only pretending to like me. My dad paid her to be my friend.”
“Oh dear,” said Raj. His smile fell from his face. “That’s not right. That’s not right at all.”
“I hate him,” said Joe hotly.
“Please don’t say that, Joe,” said Raj, shocked.
“But I do,” said Joe, turning to Raj with fire in his eyes. “I hate his guts.”
“Joe! You must stop talking like this right now. He is your father.”
“I hate him. I never want to see him again for as long as I live.”
Tentatively, Raj reached out
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