Tom Jones Saves the World Read online

  to him at Aunt Ella’s funeral.

  Sorry about being drunk.

  I’ve stopped drinking in the past six weeks. Well, almost.

  I know you don’t like me much.

  I hope you like all the bottle tops.

  I didn’t drink all the beer to get these tops!

  Do you like the ones from China?

  That son of yours, Tom, seems like a good boy.

  Your father,

  Bob

  All we need to do now

  is get

  Grandpa to sign it.

  The Treasure Chest of Mystery

  At last!

  After eleven weeks of trying

  I’ve finally won

  Ms Watkins’ Treasure Chest of Mystery.

  The bell rings for recess

  and everyone races outside.

  Ms Watkins calls me forward

  to choose a present.

  When I’m sure everyone

  has left the room

  I stand in front of Ms Watkins

  and say,

  “Ms, do I have to choose a present?”

  Ms looks at me like I’m half-crazy.

  “I mean, Ms, I’d love a present,

  but you see, there’s something

  I’d rather have.”

  Ms Watkins looks interested,

  and a little confused.

  “It’s a favour, Ms.

  I hope you don’t mind.

  But I know how you

  and Mr Beatty are friends.

  And I know how Mr Beatty loves a beer

  because I heard him

  telling the Principal

  he felt like a beer

  on Friday afternoon last week

  after the Smoke Detector

  went off in the Library

  and poor Mr Beatty had to rush

  to get a ladder, then climb up

  and switch it off, with Class 2W

  screaming at the top of their lungs.

  Well, do you think

  you could ask Mr Beatty

  if I can have his bottle tops?

  It’s for my Dad.

  He collects them.

  Only you can’t let Dad know,

  it’s a surprise,

  like your Treasure Chest surprise.

  What do you think, Ms?”

  Ms Watkins looks at me

  for a very long time.

  I think she’s trying to decide

  if I’m telling the truth or not,

  but I mean,

  who’d make up such a stupid lie!

  Finally, she says

  “Okay Tom.

  I’ll ask Mr Beatty for you.

  No promises though.

  I mean, he may drink cans

  not bottles. Have you thought of that?”

  “Oh yes, Ms.

  I’m sure Mr Beatty is a bottle man!”

  “Okay Tom, we’ll see.”

  I turn to leave

  but when I get to the door

  Ms Watkins says:

  “Tom, how do you know

  Mr Beatty and I are friends?”

  “Easy, Ms. The whole school knows!”

  And I leave before

  she can ask me any more questions.

  Cleo’s letter #2

  Dear Mum and Dad,

  Thanks for the bottle tops—it’s the best present ever!

  And I’m sure I’ll get a top mark for my Project.

  My friend Tom is helping me with it.

  Tom says his Grandpa has been to China, long ago.

  His Grandpa says the Great Wall made him stare in wonder.

  I hate walls, but I’m sure it’s big, and much better than the walls around here.

  Uncle Robert and Aunt Ruth are well. Uncle Robert is taking cooking lessons, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. Last week we had to take the dog to the vet after Uncle Robert’s Chicken Surprise.

  Don’t worry, I didn’t eat any! Aunt Ruth wouldn’t let me.

  Well, thanks again for the bottle tops.

  If you find any more, keep sending them.

  I’m sure Tom and I will find a use for them.

  Love

  Cleo

  Chapter Nine

  TOM FALLS IN LOVE ... WITH A DICTIONARY!

  Cleo plan # 3

  This is the month

  of my brilliant plans.

  Yep,

  I’m in Maths,

  again.

  I’m thinking of Tom’s Dad

  and how he talks

  in really strange sentences.

  It’s hard not to giggle

  when I visit Tom.

  I wonder if his Dad

  knows how silly he sounds?

  So,

  what if Tom talks at home

  the way his Dad does—

  As a test?

  Maybe, just maybe,

  Tom’s Dad will hear himself

  and realise how troppo he sounds.

  Simple!

  Of course,

  the opposite may occur

  and he’ll love Tom

  sounding like him

  and then Tom will

  have to keep talking that way.

  I may fail Maths,

  but I deserve an A

  for ideas!

  My love affair with the dictionary

  All week, at lunchtime,

  Cleo and I have sat in the Library

  with the school dictionary.

  I’ve learnt

  vertigo means dizziness,

  trumpery means showy but worthless

  voracious means greedy

  footle means to play the fool

  and the best one so far—

  twaddle—which means to talk silly nonsense!

  I’m sure Cleo’s plan

  isn’t going to work

  and, even worse,

  what if I start learning

  so many of these words

  I can’t help myself

  and start using them naturally?

  I’ll end up like my Dad!

  Dinner with Dad

  “I say, Thomas,

  would you consider

  transporting the mashed potato

  in my direction, please?”

  “Certainly, Father.

  The consistency and flavour

  makes one positively voracious,

  don’t you agree?”

  “Pardon, Thomas?”

  “I said the taste and aroma of

  Mother’s cooking has me feeling

  a sense of vertigo in anticipation

  of the next delights. I don’t wish

  to footle but this cooking

  certainly displays no sign of trumpery.”

  “Ah, yes, quite.”

  “Not wishing to indulge in

  speaking twaddle, but wouldn’t

  you concur that “exquisite” would

  be an apt word to use at this stage

  in our degustation?”

  “I ... I ... I...

  I just wanted some potato.”

  “And potato as delicate and memorable

  as silk. The pure definition of heaven

  can be found by treating oneself to

  such an experience.”

  “Yeah ... Thomas...

  it’s good.”

  Rejoice (meaning “to celebrate, have fun, etc”)

  Arnold stopped talking

  for the rest of dinner.

  I love Cleo!

  Thomas extends his vocabulary

  “Good morning Mr Smith.

  Thank you for protecting
>
  we children from the ravages

  and dangers of the outside world.

  You are a hero, a legend,

  a colossus rolled into one.”

  “What?”

  “A colossus!

  A giant among men.

  A guard of intellect, valour,

  and wisdom.”

  “Yeah...

  Well...”

  “You should be Mayor

  of Pacific Palms, not guard.

  You could outlaw rubbish!

  Make anyone who forgets

  their Personal Entry Number

  pay a toll!

  Vote One, Mayor Smith!”

  “Mayor?

  Me?”

  “Ruminate on this today, sir.

  A chance awaits.

  I must depart.

  The bus beckons.”

  “Ruminate?

  Hey.

  No one’s allowed to

  ruminate in public

  when I’m Mayor!”

  “Ruminate!

  Not urinate!”

  “Oh well.

  That’s different...

  I think?”

  Cleo

  On the bus

  to school,

  Tom says I’m

  brilliant

  perfect

  fantastic

  splendid

  illuminating

  innovative

  rare and treasured

  invigorating

  luminious

  captivating

  and

  really really really smart!

  I think he likes me!

  Tom

  No,

  I haven’t turned into Dad.

  Not yet.

  Poor Mr Smith.

  He looked so confused.

  Still,

  it stopped him

  going on about rubbish.

  He even let

  everyone sit against the wall

  while waiting for the bus.

  Normally

  he treats

  it like a palace wall.

  Precious.

  Ornamental.

  Sacred.

  Inviolable.

  Oops.

  Maybe I am

  like Dad!

  Double gobbledegook?

  “Good afternoon, Dad.

  A successful day?”

  “Why yes, Thomas.

  Thank you for inquiring.”

  “A pleasure.

  I wish to extend my interest

  in all matters pertaining

  to society and its activities.”

  “Good...

  And your school experience?”

  “Very gratifying.

  Cleo and I confided in each other

  at refreshment-time and then

  we perused the Library

  seeking further knowledge.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We talked at lunch,

  then we hung out in the Library.”

  “Oh...

  that’s real...

  I mean, splendid.

  I best retire to my study.

  Work awaits.”

  “Enjoy your evening activity, Dad.

  Time wasted only lessens

  our capacity for industry.”

  “Yeah...

  sure, Thomas.

  Goodbye.”

  A virus

  A familiar refrain

  once uttered

  becomes oddly attractive

  and one can’t help but

  resort to such language

  at every opportunity.

  Oh no!

  It’s like a virus.

  Once you start

  you can’t stop!

  After three days, a breakthrough?

  “Thomas,

  may I enter your room

  to communicate a concern to you?”

  “Why yes, Father.

  I would welcome the opportunity

  to converse.”

  “Thomas,

  why are you pontificating

  in such a manner?”

  “I’m attempting to be as

  succinct as you are, Father.”

  “But Thomas,

  I don’t sound so pompous

  and stilted. Do I?”

  “Quite the contrary, Father.

  You are succinct in the extreme.”

  “Thomas?”

  “Actually, Dad,

  I’m sorry. Yeah, you do sound like that.”

  “Pompous?”

  “Yep.”

  “Stilted”

  “Double stilted!”

  “Oh dear,

  Barbara mentioned this

  prior to my entry into your room.”

  “Dad!”

  “Sorry.

  I mean your Mum

  told me before I came up here.”

  “See, Dad.

  You can talk good when you want.”

  “That’s ‘you can talk correctly

  when you want’, Thomas.”

  “Dad!”

  “Sorry. It’s my job, Thomas.

  It’s cluttered with such language.

  I guess I transport my work

  into our abode.”

  “You mean you bring your work

  home with you, don’t you, Dad.”

  “Precisely, Thomas.

  An accurate summary

  of my predicament.”

  “Dad!”

  “Sorry, Thomas.

  It may take a while to change.”

  “Sure, Dad.

  I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Why don’t we have a signal,

  just between you and me.

  When you hear me pontificating

  you make a sign,

  and I’ll try and stop, okay?”

  “Sure, Dad. That’d be great.

  How about I cough, sneeze, then burp.”

  “How about a single word

  instead, Thomas?”

  “One word.”

  “One word?”

  “Twaddle!”

  “Twaddle it is, son.”

  Mum was right.

  Dad could still surprise me.

  Breakfast

  This morning I woke early

  and had breakfast with Dad.

  It went something like this.

  “Morning, Thomas.

  Did you maximise your rest time

  last night?”

  “Twaddle, Dad.

  But yes, I slept well.”

  “Sorry, Thomas.

  Do you require financial

  assistance for lunch today?”

  “Twaddle.

  Yeah, I’d like lunch-money, please.”

  I could see Dad

  struggling over his Vita-Brits,

  trying hard not to say anything.

  “I might visit Cleo

  this afternoon, Dad. Is that okay?”

  “Certainly, Thomas.

  Friendships are paramount,

  and should be maintained.”

  “Twaddle, Dad.”

  “Sure, son. Visit Cleo.

  I have to work, as usual.”

  Chapter Ten

  QUIVERING LIPS, TREMBLING HANDS, BEATING HEARTS AND OTHER STUFF

  Grandpa and the bottle tops from China

  “Hi Grandpa,

  I know you can’t talk.

  This is Cleo, my friend.

  Remember? I told you

  about her brilliant escape plan.


  Well.

  Cleo and me,

  we have another idea.

  A plan.

  To get you and Dad talking.

  To get Dad to like you.

  Just think, Grandpa,

  if it works,

  you’ll be able to visit,

  and Mum and me,

  and maybe even Dad,

  can visit here,

  and we can go on picnics together.

  Sorry, Grandpa,

  I know,

  I shouldn’t get carried away.”

  “This is the plan.

  Cleo and I have collected

  one hundred and eighteen bottle tops.

  We’ve even got some from China!

  And we’ve written this letter

  to Dad—

  and it’s from you, Grandpa,

  and I think

  that if we send these bottle tops

  and this letter to Dad

  he might change his mind

  about you.

  So, what do you reckon, Grandpa,

  Will you sign it?

  Please?”

  Quivering lips, trembling hands, beating hearts and other stuff

  I hold the letter