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

An umbrella was sticking in his ear.
    He thought of Mum and Dad and Luke, tucked up in their beds in Australia, and wished they knew what he was going through so they could appreciate it.
    Then he realised he didn’t know which station he had to get off at for Buckingham Palace.
    â€˜â€™Scuse me,’ he said to the twenty people nearest to him, ‘which station do I get off at for Buckingham Palace?’
    No one answered. No one even looked at him.
    Perhaps they’re all French tourists, he thought.
    He said it again, louder. The twenty people nearest to him all stared intently into space. Which wasn’t easy as the only space on the train was up near the ceiling.
    Colin decided to look at his map.
    Three stations later he’d managed to get it out of his pocket.
    He was just wondering if taking some of his jumpers off would make enough space to fold it out when the train stopped at the next station. The doors slid open and everyone got off at once.
    Colin was swept off with them and carried along the platform in a tidal wave of bodies and up an escalator and past the ticket collector and out into the street.
    The city roared all around him. He got his breath back and folded out the map.
    A black man with a yellow beanie stopped and looked over Colin’s shoulder.
    â€˜Where you going to?’ he asked.
    â€˜To see the Queen,’ said Colin.
    The man grinned and pointed up the street. ‘Give the old girl my regards,’ he said.
    That’s good, thought Colin as he walked along the street, at least she’s approachable.
    It was the biggest house he’d ever seen.
    There must be hundreds of rooms in there, he thought, staring up at the rows and rows of windows. And twenty or thirty toilets.
    Folks at home’d call it a palace, thought Colin, and they’d be right. The front yard alone was as big as a footy pitch, and all gravel.
    Colin was impressed. Mrs Widdup had had her front yard gravelled, and even the cost of that little bit had meant she hadn’t been able to afford a front fence. She’d had to put up chicken wire.
    The Queen hadn’t had that problem. Her front fence was black and iron and three times as high as Colin with gold spikes on top.
    Her front gate was bigger than Colin’s house.
    And shut tight.
    Colin looked around for a bell.
    There wasn’t one.
    Then he noticed a large group of tourists nearby. They were taking photos of a guard in a red tunic and a big black furry helmet.
    Colin pushed his way through the throng.
    â€˜â€™Scuse me,’ he said to the guard, ‘I’m here to see the Queen.’
    The guard didn’t move a muscle.
    Colin couldn’t understand it. This one definitely couldn’t be a French tourist.
    Colin said it again, louder.
    The guard didn’t even look at him.
    â€˜Hey,’ yelled a French tourist to Colin, ‘you are in my picture.’
    â€˜Please tell the Queen that Colin Mudford is here from Australia,’ said Colin to the guard.
    A Spanish tourist stepped forward grinning.
    â€˜And Manuel Corbes from Madrid,’ he said.
    Colin and the guard both ignored him.
    â€˜I need the Queen’s help,’ said Colin to the guard.
    The guard ignored Colin as well. Colin moved round so he was directly in front of the guard’s unblinking gaze.
    â€˜It’s an urgent medical matter,’ said Colin, speaking slowly and trying to move his lips so that if the guard was deaf he could lip-read.
    â€˜My . . . brother . . . Luke . . . has . . . got . . . cancer.,’
    â€™My brother’s got dandruff,’ said an American tourist loudly, ‘but that don’t mean I go round messing up other folks’ photo opportunities.’
    Colin felt himself beginning to get angry.
    â€˜Look,’ he said to the guard, ‘just let me in and I’ll explain inside.’
    â€˜Me too,’ said the Spanish tourist. His friends