Belly Flop by Morris Gleitzman Read Free Book Online

Malleys.’
    Gran waved a letter at me.
    â€˜I wouldn’t have done it,’ she said, ‘if I’d known you’d been stealing my mail.’
    I stared up at her.
    â€˜It was in your school bag,’ she said. ‘Dunno how a person’s meant to manage their investments when letters from their bank get left in school bags.’
    I realised what had happened.
    This morning, when I was at the mail box checking for birthday cards and I panicked about Dad and the Malleys, I must have stuffed her letter in my bag.
    â€˜Sorry, Gran,’ I said.
    She grunted.
    I saw her looking at my bruises and I could tell she was blaming Dad.
    â€˜It was my fault,’ I said. ‘I wanted to fight the Malleys and get it out the way so I can concentrate on being a champion diver.’
    She stared down at me.
    â€˜I knew I wouldn’t get too bashed,’ I said, ‘cause Doug’s back looking after me.’
    Gran’s stare turned into a frown.
    I hope I didn’t hurt her feelings, letting her know she didn’t save me single-handed.
    I hope she was just frowning cause Grandad’s been dead seven years and it’s a long time since she’s seen a willy.

 
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    G’day Doug.
    If you’ve got a sec, I’ll explain what I’m doing up here on the roof.
    And what all the mattresses and pillows and cushions from the house are doing piled up down there on the ground.
    It’s like this.
    Last night before I went to sleep I decided to get a bit of diving practice in.
    Mr Tristos is always saying that to learn something new you’ve got to do it several times.
    Trouble is, it’s really hard doing a double somersault off the top of a wardrobe onto a bed.
    The most I could do was a single somersault with a half twist.
    I hadn’t even planned the half twist, I had to do it to avoid the bedside lamp.
    For a double somersault you need extra height, so now Mum and Dad have left early for work, I’ve decided to use our roof.
    The reason I’m telling you all this, Doug, is I’m a bit worried that if I bounce off the mattresses at the wrong angle there might not be enough pillows and cushions to stop me splitting my skull open and scattering teeth all over the driveway.
    I don’t want to wake Gran up to ask her for her pillow, so I’m asking you to keep an eye on me.
    Thanks, Doug.
    OK, I’d better stop yakking and get a few dives in before my soles melt and stick to the roof.
    I don’t want to be up here scraping my thongs off the tin when Gran wakes up.
    If Mum and Dad find out about this they’ll go mental.
    Mum and Dad have gone mental.
    I’ve tried to explain to them it’s partly their fault for coming home only ten minutes after they left.
    They should have told me they were just going to Conkey’s for tights and aftershave.
    But they won’t listen.
    They’re too busy yelling things up at me like ‘don’t move’ and ‘step back off the guttering’ and I’m gunna tan your hide’ and ‘don’t jump, we love you’.
    I’m trying to tell them about my diving career and how I was never in serious danger and neither were the lounge room cushions because you were protecting me, Doug.
    I know they don’t believe in you, but I don’t know what else to say.
    I’ve got to calm them down somehow.
    Oh, no.
    Dad’s climbing up the ladder.
    Help him, Doug, please.
    No, it’s OK, I can handle it.
    Once I’ve unhooked his trouser leg from the TV satellite dish and unjammed his shoe from the bathroom window, he’ll be fine.
    Doug, are you feeling hurt?
    You know, by the things Mum and Dad have just been saying about you?
    They weren’t really about you.
    When Dad said ‘Oh God, not again’, it was mostly because when I got him off the ladder he was so tense he sat on the four-wheel drive winch and ripped his daks for the second time this