Read Online Two Weeks with the Queen by Morris Gleitzman - Free Book Online Page A

what he was going to say to the Queen. (‘Sorry to barge in like this Your Majesty . . . ‘)
    He climbed on and on.
    Until he was dazzled by a white and searing light.
    Colin knew Uncle Bob and Aunty Iris would chuck a mental and they did.
    They controlled themselves while the police lectured them on the sins of letting kids out at 3.30 at night and pointed out repeatedly to them how lucky everyone was that no one was being charged. This time.
    But when the police had gone they really let rip.
    â€˜This is the thanks we get,’ yelled Aunty Iris, ‘for taking you into our home to give your mother and father a chance to cope with . . . things. Alistair, stop snivelling.’
    â€˜We’re in the computer now,’ roared Uncle Bob, ‘this whole family, in the police computer. Alistair, use your hanky.’
    â€˜You could both have been killed,’ yelled Aunty Iris. ‘Specially you, Alistair. Well, that’s it.
    You’re both staying in the house from now on. I’ll be locking the doors when I go to work and they’ll stay locked till I get back.’
    â€˜That won’t stop me,’ yelled Colin. ‘The Queen’ll get to my letter eventually, then she’ll come round here with a tank and hash the door down.’
    â€˜No she flippin’ won’t,’ roared Uncle Bob.
    You’re right, thought Colin, she won’t.
    Afterwards, when the shouting had stopped and Colin was lying on his bed, he was surprised to see Uncle Bob’s face appear round the door.
    â€˜Forget the Queen,’ said Uncle Bob. ‘The likes of her hasn’t got time for the likes of us. In this world ordinary people have to solve their own problems.’
    â€˜I was just thinking that,’ said Colin.

Chapter Nine
    Colin started with the local doctor’s surgery. He got the number from Alistair and dialled.
    â€˜G’day, could you tell me which is the best cancer hospital in London?’
    â€˜How old are you?’ said a woman with a posh accent, which Colin could tell a mile off she was bunging on.
    He told her.
    â€˜Sorry, we haven’t got time for school projects,’ she said and hung up.
    Colin put another 10p into Aunty Iris’s phone money tin and thought who to ring next.
    The City of London Information Centre? The Houses of Parliament?
The Times?
    He rang the Royale Fish Bar in Peckham.
    â€˜Cancer ’ospital?’ said the fish bar man, concerned. ‘You poorly are you, son?’
    â€˜It’s my brother,’ said Colin.
    â€˜Poor bleeder,’ said the man. ‘’Ang on, I’ll ask the missus.’
    He came back after a bit and said that the customers in the shop all agreed that the best cancer hospital in London was the one that had cured Ernie Stringfellow’s prostate trouble. He told Colin the name and the address.
    â€˜Hope it does the trick for ’im, son, God love ’im,’
    Colin thanked the man, put the phone down and went out to the kitchen, where Alistair was trying to tie a lasso knot in his pyjama cord.
    This was going to be the tricky bit.
    Aunty Iris and Uncle Bob had locked both the front door and the back door and taken the keys to work with them. Ten seconds after they’d gone, Colin had checked all the downstairs windows and found that they’d got locks on them too.
    He was a prisoner.
    â€˜Is there a screwdriver around?’ asked Colin.
    â€˜Dad keeps all his tools out in the garage,’ replied Alistair.
    Colin had feared that.
    â€˜What do you want a screwdriver for?’ asked Alistair.
    â€˜To take the lock off the back door.’
    Alistair’s eyes widened with horror.
    â€˜You can’t do that. They’ll go bananas. They’ll kill us. You don’t know my mum. She’ll . . . they’ll . . .’
    Alistair was panicking.
    Colin had feared that too.
    â€˜Listen,’ he said, ‘it’s OK.