Read My Brilliant Idea (And How It Caused My Downfall) for Free Online Page A

me,” he says. “If you’re anything like me, it’ll be a bloody disaster. Don’t worry about it, though. You’ll do fine in with us. You’ll love it.”
    â€œI think it might be too hot for me,” I say.
    â€œNo,” he says. “It won’t. It’s fine.”
    â€œBut what about in summer? I don’t think I can take that. And the noise. How do you put up with the noise?”
    â€œWhat noise?” he asks. “There isn’t any noise.”
    â€œThe noise from the machines,” I say, and he shakes his head.
    â€œYou won’t notice that,” he assures me. “You go deaf after the first week. That’s another plus point. The sooner you get deaf, the sooner you get your compensation payment—it’s a nice bonus on top of your first year’s wages.”
    It might come in handy during conversations like this, too, I think to myself. I have a shot at dealing with some of the pizza and peas. I don’t get very far, but the attempt convinces me that it’s definitely not a thing.
    â€œSo what do you think?” Dad says. “Will I talk to Frank in the morning?”
    â€œLeave it for a week or two,” I say.
    â€œI’d better not,” he tells me. “These things can take time. I’d better get it moving. It’s not like you’ve got many other options, is it? You don’t want to end up on the bins.”
    â€œWell . . .” I say, “I’ve got this thing that I’ve been working on. An idea.”
    â€œAn idea!” he says. He doesn’t exactly laugh when he says it, but it sort of sounds as if he should. It’s a bit like the bookshop bampot’s “Yes.” It’s quite impressive. I file it away for future use. These things can really come in handy. “Ideas are all well and good,” he tells me, “but when it comes right down to it, they don’t put food on the table.”
    I think about saying there hasn’t been any food on the table tonight anyway, but I don’t bother.
    He spends a while telling me a story about a friend he had in school. It goes on a bit, so I use my dinner to try to block it out, and then I use his droning to try to block out the taste of the food. I go back and forward like that till I’ve managed to make quite a reasonable dent in it, and I decide that should be enough to get me through most of the night. I put my knife and fork in the finished position, and Dad’s still talking.
    â€œBlew his hands clean off,” he says. “Blood everywhere. That’s where ideas get you, as far as I’m concerned. Steer well clear.”
    He picks up both our plates then and scoops the remains of my meal into the bin. I notice with amazement that his is completely empty. As he drops the plates into the sink, he finally turns off the radio.
    Hallelujah.
    â€œI didn’t realize that was still on,” he says. “Could you hear it?”
    â€œA bit,” I say, and he sits back down with a bottle of beer from the fridge and starts rolling up a collection of tiny cigarettes.
    â€œWhat about tonight?” he asks me. “Any plans?”
    I shake my head. “Just trying to work out how to get a boy from school naked,” I say. Or in your dreams I do, anyway.
    In the actual real world I just say, “Homework.”
    And he nods.
    â€œDon’t work too hard,” he tells me. “We’ve got you sorted now. Remember, though, this is just between you and me—don’t tell your mum.”
    I get up from the table and thank him for the dinner, and he tells me it was his pleasure. Then I head upstairs to try to work out how to get a boy from school naked.
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    Here’s the worst of it: I don’t even know Drew Thornton. In fact, until Greensleeves pointed him out to me in her totally bonkers fashion, I wasn’t even aware he existed. I don’t know what year