Adrian Mole and The Weapons of Mass Destruction by Sue Townsend Read Free Book Online Page A

looked up to see my own car being parked in a disabled bay and a young man in mechanic’s overalls get out and go into the Foot Locker shop opposite.
    I immediately got on the telephone to Les, who said that one of his lads had been tipped off that the new Adidas trainers had arrived in Leicester and that it was first come first served. He said, ‘’ave a heart, Mr Mole. You were young once.’
    I said icily that I was only thirty-four.
    Les said, ‘Sorry. I took you to be a much older gentleman.’
    Working with antiquarian books has obviously aged me prematurely.
    Picked the car up on the way home from work. Les charged me £339 less the petrol for the Foot Locker expedition. I paid him with my Visa card.
    Les said, ‘I’ve given you a complimentary Christmas tree air freshener.’
    I could barely open my mouth to say thanks.
    Spent the evening trying to book three cheap hotel rooms in the Deepcut area, but the only rooms available were ridiculously expensive. I was forced to book two doubles, one for my parents and one for me and Sharon Bott. I will sleep on the floor if necessary. We are staying at the Lendore Spa Hotel.
    I rang Pandora and caught her just as she was about to go into the lobby to vote on the MPs’ working hours bill.
    She snapped, ‘What do you want?’
    I said that if she bumped into Tony Blair, I would be grateful if she could remind him that he hadn’t yet answered my letters.
    She said, ‘Look, I’ve got to go.’
    I asked her if she was supporting the new hours bill or was against it.
    ‘Against it, of course,’ she said. ‘It’s only the mummies and daddies who want to tuck their kiddies up in bed who want the hours changed.’ She added harshly, ‘All women MPs should have their bloody wombs removed before making their maiden speech.’
Friday November 1st
    All Saints’ Day
    Glenn’s passing-out day.
Saturday November 2nd
    Rose at dawn yesterday, showered, made tea, took tea into parents. There was a bottle of wine and two glasses on my father’s bedside table. The television was still on from the night before. It took a long time to wake them.
    I was worried that they had both, in an amazing coincidence, fallen into a simultaneous coma. I urged them to hurry, to get themselves ready for departure at 8.30, as I had to pick my suit up from the dry-cleaner’s, then drive to the opposite side of town to pick Sharon up.
    As I was closing their door, I heard my father say, ‘Bags I sit in the passenger seat, next to Adrian.’
    *
    When we drew up outside Sharon’s house, her new partner, a youth of twenty-seven, Ryan, came to the front door and stared at my car and its occupants. He was holding Sharon’s latest baby in his arms.
    Sharon appeared in the doorway, carrying a large suitcase, a cigarette, a handbag, a black velvet hat, an umbrella, a vanity case and a pair of gloves.
    ‘Christ’, said my father, ‘she looks like a contestant from
Crackerjack
.’
    I got out of the car and opened the boot.
    Ryan joined me at the back of the car. ‘What time will you be bringing her back tomorrow?’ he said.
    I replied that it depended on weather conditions and the volume of traffic on the motorways.
    ‘I need her back for 12.30,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a gig at Cooper House.’
    He made it sound as though he was Fat Boy Slim playing at Stringfellows, whereas in fact I knew that he earned £8 a fortnight for playing a few Vera Lynn records at Cooper House, the old people’s home.
    It took longer than I had hoped to get to Deepcut Barracks, due to the many cigarette stops demanded by my passengers. I was forced to change into my suit, shirt and tie in the back of the car in the car park at the barracks.
    When I stepped out, my mother gave a little scream and said, ‘What’s that white stuff on your trousers?’
    She spat on a handkerchief and tried to remove the stains, but they had been baked on by the dry-cleaning fluid.
    I spent most of the day, when I remembered, with