Fing. David Walliams

37: Silence

       Epilogue

       Footnotes

       More from the World of David Walliams

       Also by David Walliams

       About the Publisher

      For Percy, Wilfred and Gilbert

      

      Sometimes perfectly nice parents have children who are monsters.

      Meet the Meeks.

      This is Father, Mr Maurice Meek. As his name suggests, Mr Meek is a mild-mannered man. He likes to wear socks with his sandals, and would not dare to eat a peach in public. Mr Meek works as a librarian. He loves LIBRARIES as they are quiet, like him. This is a man who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. Or, indeed, any species of bird.

      This is Mother, Mrs Meredith Meek. She wears her glasses on a chain round her neck.

      The most embarrassing moment of her life was when she once sneezed on a bus, and everybody turned round and looked. It will not surprise you to learn that she is also a librarian. Meredith met Maurice at the LIBRARY. They were both so painfully shy that they never spoke a word to each other for the first ten years of working there. Eventually, across the poetry aisle, Maurice and Meredith fell in love. Some years later, they were married, and some years after that they had a baby girl.

      This is their daughter, Myrtle. You might be thinking that nothing could be sweeter than a little baby girl. WRONG! From the moment she was born, Myrtle was an absolute HORROR. Whatever she was given – dummies, cuddly toys, rubber duckies – the baby demanded more.

      Myrtle’s first-ever word was “more”, and she uttered it on the very day she was born. It was more milk Baby Myrtle was demanding, even though she had already guzzled a gallon. “More” was a word the infant would say over and over and over again.

      “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

      Being Meek by name and meek by nature, Maurice and Meredith didn’t dare stand up to their monster of a child. Whatever Baby Myrtle wanted, Baby Myrtle got. Her parents bought their baby daughter toys and toys and MORE toys, even though she would instantly smash them to pieces. BISH! BASH! BOSH!

      “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

      As a toddler, they gave their daughter crayons and crayons and MORE crayons. Myrtle would use them to scrawl all over the walls.

      SCRATCH!

      Before snapping them in two.

      SNAP!

      “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

      As she grew bigger and bigger and bigger still, Mr and Mrs Meek would feed Myrtle chocolate biscuit after chocolate biscuit after chocolate biscuit. More and more and more. Even though Myrtle would take great delight in spitting the crumbs back in their faces.

      

      The years passed. Mr and Mrs Meek secretly hoped that their daughter was just “going through a phase”. But this “phase” was not one she ever grew out of. In fact, Myrtle’s behaviour became worse and worse* over the years.

      The nasty noughts turned into the outrageous ones. Then followed the terrible twos, and the tumultuous threes. After the fearsome fours and the frightful fives came the sickening sixes and the spiteful sevens. Then there were the egregious eights and the noisy nines.

      Oh my word, they were noisy. Now nine, Myrtle would wake her parents up every morning by howling…

      I wanna teddy bear!”

      I wanna pony!”

      I wanna suitcase full of money!”

      The girl would make such a din that the little Meek family house would actually shake.

      RATTLE!

      Books would fly off the shelves.

      WHOOSH! BONK!

      Pictures would fall off the walls.

      DUNK! SHATTER!

      Plaster would shower down from the ceiling.

      CRUMBLE! DUNK!

      Poor Mr and Mrs Meek would be hurled out of bed.

      DOOF! DOOF!

      They would scramble to their feet, and immediately run around doing their daughter’s bidding. They gave Myrtle everything. But everything was never, ever enough.

      Oh no.

      The girl wanted

      one more

      “FING”.

      Over the years, Myrtle’s bedroom became so piled high with stuff her parents had got her