Belly Flop by Morris Gleitzman Page B

she said. ‘Not till he dumped me.’
    â€˜Are you absolutely sure he dumped you?’ I said. ‘He might have just lost your address.’
    Carla looked at me like I was something she’d found growing in her lunch box.
    OK, it was a dopey idea.
    I had a better one.
    â€˜Doug could get his secretary to make inquiries and find out what happened to him,’ I said. ‘What was his name?’
    â€˜Dad,’ said Carla quietly.
    I stared at her.
    â€˜And I know what happened to him,’ she said. ‘He fell off his fishing boat and drowned.’
    She picked up a rock and hurled it at the boat.
    â€˜So don’t waste my time with bull,’ she said, picking up another rock and facing me. ‘If you’re gunna be a pin brain, rack off.’
    I tried to think of something to say, something to make her feel better, but before I could Mrs Fiami stuck her head out of the house and glared at me.
    I racked off.
    I wasn’t gunna bother you with this, Doug, you being so busy, but I’ve been thinking about it most of the way home and there’s something I think you should know.
    Remember I told you once about a dopey thought I’d had?
    About Dad rescuing me?
    Forget I ever thought it.
    Poor old Carla thought her dad could be a guardian angel and look what happened.
    I’m lucky, I’ve got the real thing.
    I’ll stick with you, Doug.

 
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    Sorry to interrupt again, Doug, but I just want to let you know things are looking pretty grim for Carla’s sheep.
    I decided to have a word to Dad about them.
    It was almost dark when I got home and I thought Mum and Dad would chuck a fit.
    Luckily they were doing paperwork so they weren’t completely on the ball.
    â€˜Have a good splash, love?’ said Mum, barely looking up. ‘Get your new swimmers wet?’
    I nodded and felt them sticking to my buttocks and hoped we weren’t having tinned tomatoes for tea.
    â€˜Any clues yet,’ said Dad, ‘about who’s behind the water?’
    I opened my mouth to tell him, then closed it again.
    One thing at a time, as we’re always telling Gran.
    â€˜I reckon it was Martians,’ said Gran without looking up from the telly.
    â€˜Kind-hearted lotto winner more like,’ said Mum, ‘touched by the way a group of misguided but determined young people had a punt.’
    While Gran had a coughing fit and I banged her on the back, I explained to Dad about Carla’s sheep and how if the bank lent Carla’s mum more money they’d probably win an animal welfare award, plus get some good chops later on.
    Dad gave a big sigh and rubbed his hand wearily over his face and knocked his paper-clips over.
    I’m sorry, Mitch,’ he said. ‘I wish I could help, but the bank won’t be lending Mrs Fiami any more money. She owes them a stack already.’
    I pleaded with him.
    Dad said he’d swing it if he could, but he knew he couldn’t.
    I saw the way his shoulders were slumped and I knew he couldn’t as well.
    â€˜Hopeless,’ muttered Gran.
    â€˜Don’t worry,’ I said, I’ll ask Doug.’
    Dad went out of the room.
    Mum winced and rubbed her tummy.
    I felt terrible I’d even mentioned it.
    I should have known it’d be a waste of time.
    I should have come straight to you, Doug.
    Which is what I’m doing now.
    Don’t get me wrong, I’m not asking you to rush things.
    As Gran always says, if you rush things you won’t do a good job and you’ll probably give yourself a stressed ligament.
    On the other hand there are some sheep around here who are pretty desperate for a feed and a wash and who’ll be getting a bullet instead if it doesn’t rain very soon.
    I can’t sleep.
    My body’s tired, specially my feet and neck, but my brain won’t knock off
    When I first went to bed I kept thinking I could hear rain, but the noises just turned out to