The World of David Walliams 5 Book Collection. David Walliams

or “stories” as she called them. It was from an old British Vogue, and featured lots of models in wigs and metallic dresses. It looked like a scene from an old science-fiction film. Dennis loved the extravagance of these fantasies, so different form the grey cold reality of his own life.

      “You’d look stunning in that gold dress,” said Dennis, pointing to a girl with similar hair colouring to Lisa.

      “Anyone would. It’s an amazing dress. I could never afford any of these, but I like to look at these pictures and get ideas for my own designs. Do you want to see?”

      “Oh yeah!” replied Dennis excitedly.

      Lisa pulled a large scrapbook from her shelf. It was full of brilliant illustrations she had drawn of skirts and blouses and dresses and hats. Next to these Lisa had stuck lots of things onto the page: strips of glittering fabric, cut-out photographs of film costumes, even buttons.

      Dennis stopped Lisa turning the page at an especially gorgeous drawing she had done of an orange sequined dress.

      “That one is beautiful,” he said.

      “Thanks, Dennis! I’m really pleased with it. I’m making it right now.”

      “Really? Can I see?”

      “Of course.”

      She reached into her cupboard and pulled out the half-finished dress.

      “I got this material really cheap. It was just from down the market,” she said. “But I think it’s going to look really good. It’s a little bit 1970s, I think. Very glamorous.”

      She held up the dress by its hanger. Although it was still cut a little roughly around the edges, and had a few loose threads, it was covered in hundreds of little round sequins and twinkled effortlessly in the morning sunlight.

      “It’s amazing,” said Dennis.

      “It would look good on you!” said Lisa. She laughed and held the dress next to Dennis. He laughed too, and then looked down at it, allowing himself to imagine for a moment what he would look like wearing it, but then told himself to stop being silly.

      “It’s really beautiful,” he said. “It’s not fair though, is it? I mean boy’s clothes are so boring.”

      “Well, I think all those rules are boring. About what people can and can’t wear. Surely everyone should be able to wear whatever they like?”

      “Yes, I suppose they should,” said Dennis. He had never really been encouraged to think like this before. She was right. What was wrong with wearing the things you liked?

      “Why don’t you put it on?” Lisa asked with a cheeky smile.

      There was silence for a moment.

      “Maybe that’s a crazy idea,” Lisa said, backtracking as she sensed Dennis’s awkwardness. “But dresses can be beautiful, and dressing up is fun. I love putting on pretty dresses. I bet some boys would like it too. It’s no big deal.”

      Dennis’s heart was beating really fast–he wanted to say “yes”, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. This was all a bit much…

      “I’ve got to go,” he snapped.

      “Really?” asked Lisa, disappointed.

      “Yes, I’m sorry, Lisa.”

      “Well, will you come and visit me again? Today has been really fun. The next issue of Vogue is out next week. Why don’t you come over next Saturday?”

      “I don’t know…” said Dennis, as he rushed out of the house. “But thanks again for the Um Bongo.”

       7 Watching the Curtain Edges Grow Light

      “Happy Birthday, Dad!” exclaimed Dennis and John excitedly.

      “I don’t like birthdays,” said Dad.

      Dennis’s face fell. Sunday was always a miserable day for him. He knew that loads of families were sitting down together for a roast dinner, and that only made him think about Mum. When Dad did try and cook a Sunday roast for his sons, it only made their loss more painful. It was as if there was a place laid in all their minds for someone they loved who wasn’t there.

      And anyway, Dad was not a good cook.

      But this Sunday was even worse than usual—it was Dad’s birthday and he was determined not to celebrate it.

      Dennis and John had waited all afternoon to wish him a happy birthday. He had left for work very early that day–now it was seven o’clock at night and Dad had just got in. The boys had crept downstairs to the kitchen to surprise him, where he was sitting alone wearing the same red-checked jacket he always did. He had a can of cheap lager and a bag of chips.

      “Why don’t you go and play, boys? I just want to be on my own.”

      The card and cake Dennis and John were holding seemed to fade away in their hands at Dad’s words.

      “I’m sorry, boys,” he said, catching their hurt. “It’s just there’s not much to celebrate is there?”

      “We got you a card, Dad, and a cake,” offered John.

      “Thanks.” He opened the card. It was from Raj’s shop and featured a big smiling cartoon bear inexplicably wearing sunglasses and Bermuda shorts. Dennis had chosen it from Raj’s shop because it had “Happy Birthday to the Best Dad in the World” written on it.

      “Thanks, boys,” said Dad as he looked at it. “I don’t deserve it though. I’m not the best dad in the world.”

      “Yes you are, Dad,” said Dennis.

      “We think you are,” added John tentatively.

      Dad stared at the card again. Dennis and John had thought it would make him happy, but it seemed to be having the opposite effect.

      “I’m sorry, boys, it’s just I find birthdays hard, you know, since your mum left.”

      “I know, Dad,” said Dennis. John nodded and tried to smile.

      “Dennis scored a goal today. For the school,” said John, trying to change the subject to something happy.

      “Did you, son?”

      “Yes, Dad,” said Dennis. “It was the semi-final today, and we won 2-1. I got one goal and Darvesh scored the other. We’re through to the final.”

      “Well that’s good,” said Dad, staring into the distance. He took another gulp from his can. “Sorry. I just need to be alone for a bit.”

      “OK, Dad,” said John, nodding to Dennis that they should leave. Dennis touched his dad’s shoulder for a moment, before they retreated from the room. They had tried. But birthdays, Christmas, going on holiday, and even day trips to the sea–slowly all those things had disappeared. Mum had always organised them, and now they seemed a lifetime away. Home was becoming a very cold, grey place.

      “I need a hug,” said Dennis.

      “I ain’t hugging you.”

      “Why not?”

      “I’m your brother. I ain’t hugging you. It’s weird. I’ve gotta go anyway. I told the boys I was gonna hang around on the wall outside the offy with them for a bit.”

      Dennis needed to get out of the house too. “I’m going to Darvesh’s then. See you later.”

      As he walked across the park, he felt bad for leaving his dad on his own in the kitchen. He wished he could make Dad happy.

      “What’s