David Walliams - The Midnight Gang

Once again, no one laughed except Matron.

“Now get this on right away or I will report you to the principal of the hospital, Sir Quentin Strillers. He would take a very dim view of a boy like you and could have you thrown out on the street!” said the lady as she whisked the curtains round the boy’s bed. She stayed on the outside, leaving Tom to try to wriggle out of his clothes and into the nightdress on his own.

“Quickly!” ordered Matron.

“I am nearly there!” called out Tom as he pulled the thing over his head. “OK!” he said, even though he felt far from OK.

Matron then whisked the curtains back to reveal Tom.

There stood Pink-Frilly-Nightdress Boy in all his pink-frilly-nightdress glory.

“Actually, it suits ya!” said George.

“I so wish I could see it,” murmured Robin.

“No you don’t!” replied Amber.

Tom had had some humiliating things happen to him at his school over the years.

There was the time when … his shorts split while he was doing gymnastics …

his clay spun off the wheel in Pottery class and hit his art teacher on the face, sending her flying …

he bent over to pick up a book from the floor in the library and he blew off loudly …

he left the toilet cubicle with the toilet roll trailing from the back of his trousers …

he was in the school cafeteria and he slipped on some gravy and landed headfirst in a blancmange …

he was holding his violin the wrong way round in music class, wondering why he wasn’t making a sound until he realised the strings were facing down …

some of the older boys hid his games kit so he had to play rugby in his pants …

he had to put on a tight-fitting all-in-one bodysuit, with a tail stuck to his bottom. He was meant to be a cat, and had to sing and dance for a production of the musical Cats …

he thought it might be a trick question when his Maths teacher asked him what 2 + 2 was, so he answered 5 …

chalk dust set off a sneezing fit, and he sneezed right in his headmaster’s face, covering Mr Thews in snot.

But now here he was, standing in the middle of a hospital ward, wearing a pink, frilly nightdress.

“It fits you perfectly!” laughed Matron. Once again, it was only her that was laughing. Then she checked her watch, which was pinned to her uniform. “One minute past eight. Way past all your bedtimes! Right, children. Lights out!”

Matron began to march in the direction of her office at the end of the ward.

As if they were all playing Grandma’s Footsteps, she suddenly turned round after a few paces to see if any of the children had moved. Then she did it again. And again. Matron gave one last swivel-eyed look at the children, before switching off the light.

CLICK!

The ward descended into darkness. Tom hated the dark. He was relieved that some light came from the giant clock face of the Houses of Parliament, not far away from the hospital across the rooftops of London. People called the clock tower “Big Ben”, after the huge bell inside it that chimed every hour.

BONG! The light from the clock face glowed eerily through the tall windows.

There was also a small desk lamp in Matron’s office.

The lady sat there behind the glass, staring out into the gloom. She was scanning the beds in the children’s ward for any sign of movement.

Silence.

Then out of that silence Tom heard a sound. It was the sound of a tin opening. Then followed the sound of paper rustling. But not just any paper. It sounded like the crinkly silver paper that sweets are wrapped in. Then Tom heard the sound of munching.

Tom hadn’t eaten since lunchtime, and he had barely eaten his lunch as school dinners were so disgusting. Today it had been liver and boiled beetroot, followed by stewed rhubarb. Lying there on his hospital bed, Tom could feel his tummy rumbling. When he heard another sweet being unwrapped, and another, he couldn’t help calling out softly in the dark, “Please can I have one?”

“Shush!” came a voice back. Tom was pretty sure it was coming from George’s bed.

“Please?” whispered Tom. “I haven’t eaten for ages.”

“Shush!” came another voice. “Any louder and you’ll get us all into trouble.”

“I only want one!” said Tom.

The boy must have spoken too loudly as at that moment …

CLICK!

… the lights in the children’s ward flickered back on.

Blinking at the brightness, Tom could make out Matron rushing out of her office.

“THERE IS NO TALKING AFTER LIGHTS OUT!” she shouted. “Now who was talking?”

All the children remained silent.

“You must tell me now who was talking or you will all be in deep, deep trouble!”

She scanned the ward for signs of anyone cracking under pressure. She looked to George, who looked guilty.

“Was it you, George?” she demanded.

George shook his head.

“Speak up, boy!”

Even from across the room, Tom could tell George’s mouth was full.

George tried to speak, but because of the large quantity of chocolate in his mouth, he couldn’t form words. “Mmm, mmm, mmm,” he murmured.

“What have you got in your mouth?”

George shook his head and tried to say “nothing” but it came out as, “Mmm, mmm, mmm.”

Matron approached his bed like a crocodile stalking its prey. “George! You are meant to be on a strict diet after your operation. But you are scoffing chocolates again, aren’t you?”

George shook his head.

The lady whipped back his bed sheet to reveal a large tin of chocolates. The tin was huge. It was the kind that your family might receive at Christmas and would last until next Christmas.

“You greedy pig!” said Matron. “These are confiscated!”

With that, she snatched the tin from his hands and whipped a tissue from a nearby box. “Now spit out the one you have in your mouth.”

Reluctantly, the boy did so.

“Who sent you these?” she demanded. “I know it couldn’t have been your father. I am not sure they are allowed chocolates in prison!”

Tom could tell George was angry, but the boy was doing his best to keep it in.

“They came from me local newsagent,” replied George. “I’m ’is favourite customer.”

“I bet you are! Look at the size of you!”

“You see, ’e knows I love these chocolates the most.”