Billionaire Boy by David Walliams Page B

Rajmobile, Joe’s mind had conjured up images of Batman’s Batmobile or James Bond’s Aston Martin, or at least Scooby Doo’s van.
    “It’s a little small for you, don’t you think?” he asked.
    “I bought it on eBay for £3.50, Joe. It looked a lot bigger in the photograph. I think they had a midget stand next to it in the picture! Still, at that price, quite a bargain.”
    Reluctantly, Joe sat in the basket at the front, as Raj took his place on the saddle.
    “Hold on tight, Joe! The Rajmobile is quite a beast!” said Raj, before he started pedalling, and the trike trundled off slowly, squeaking with every turn of the wheels.

    D RI N G
    That wasn’t… Oh, I think I’ve done that joke too many times now.
    “Hello?” said a kindly but sad-looking lady at the door of Flat 112.
    “Are you Bob’s mum?” asked Joe.
    “Yes,” said the woman. She squinted at him. “You must be Joe,” she said, in a not-very-friendly tone. “Bob has told me all about you .”
    “Oh,” squirmed Joe. “I’d like to see him, if that’s OK.”
    “I’m not sure he’ll want to see you.”
    “It’s really important,” said Joe. “I know I’ve treated him badly. But I want to make up for it. Please.”
    Bob’s mum sighed, then opened the door. “Come in then,” she said.
    Joe followed her into the little flat. The whole thing could have fitted into his en-suite bathroom. The building had definitely seen better days. Wallpaper was peeling off the walls, and the carpet was worn in places. Bob’s mum led Joe along the corridor to Bob’s room and knocked on his door.
    “What?” came Bob’s voice.
    “Joe is here to see you,” replied Bob’s mum.
    “Tell him to get lost.”
    Bob’s mum looked at Joe, embarrassed.
    “Don’t be rude, Bob. Open the door.”
    “I don’t want to talk to him.”
    “Maybe I should go?” whispered Joe, half turning towards the front door. Bob’s mum shook her head.
    “Open this door at once, Bob. You hear me? At once!”
    Slowly the door opened. Bob was still in his pyjamas, and stood staring at Joe.
    “What do you want?” he demanded.
    “To talk to you,” replied Joe.
    “Go on then, talk.”
    “Shall I make you two some breakfast?” asked Bob’s mum.
    “No, he’s not staying,” replied Bob.
    Bob’s mum tutted and disappeared into the kitchen.
    “I just came to say I’m sorry,” spluttered Joe.
    “It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?” said Bob.
    “Look, I am so, so sorry for all the things I said.”
    Bob was defiant in his anger. “You were really nasty.”
    “I know, I’m sorry. I just couldn’t work out why you were so upset with me. I only gave the Grubbs money because I wanted to make things easier for you—”
    “Yes, but—”
    “I know, I know,” said Joe hurriedly. “I realise now it was the wrong thing to do. I’m just explaining how I felt at the time.”
    “A true friend would have stuck up for me. Supported me. Instead of just flashing their money around to make the problem go away.”
    “I am an idiot, Bob. I know that now. A great big fat stinking idiot.”
    Bob smiled a little, though he was clearly trying hard not to.
    “And you were right about Lauren, of course,” continued Joe.
    “About her being a fake?”
    “Yes, I found out my dad was paying her to be my friend,” said Joe.
    “I didn’t know that. That must have really hurt.”
    Joe’s heart ached, as he remembered how much pain he had felt at the party last night. “It did. I really liked her.”
    “I know. You forgot who your real friends were.”
    Joe felt so guilty. “I know… I’m so sorry. I do really like you, Bob. I really do. You’re the only kid at school who ever liked me for me, not just my money.”
    “Let’s not fall out again. Eh Joe?” Bob smiled.
    Joe smiled too. “All I ever really wanted was a friend.”
    “You’re still my friend, Joe. You always will be.”
    “Listen,” Joe said. “I’ve got something for you. A present. To say