Don't Disturb

By Francesca Sweeney-Androulaki


Illustrated by Neal Stepp

In the pearly-moon, wide-awake night, Max was trying to sleep. Clicketty, click, click went his mum's computer keyboard. Where was that sinking feeling tonight, that heavy-head-on-a-pillow feeling? Where were his cannon-ball eyes, all sandy and itchy? "Wide awake, slide-on-a-lake, wide awake, ride-a-steak, wide awake, bake-a-snake, wide awake, shake-a-cake, wide awake." No, word games weren't working either. Bother, bother, bother. Max ran into the sitting room where his mum sat at her computer.

"Now Max. Do you remember I told you that I have some very important work? Do you remember that Max? Do you remember I told you not to disturb me until tomorrow? Well Max?"

"I remember Mum, but I can't sleep and…"

"Lie on the sofa and don't say another word," said Max's mum through her teeth. In a moment, Max was covered with a robe and feeling snug. Three moments later, he was sleeping snorily. When he woke up, his mum was still working at the computer.

"Morning Max," said mum, never taking her eyes off the screen. "Now, I'm going to lie down for an hour or two. I didn't sleep at all last night and I still have a few things to finish off. Get yourself some cereal, watch the TV, do a puzzle or some coloring, read a book, but Max, please don't disturb me, OK? If anyone knocks on the door, look through the peep hole before answering. Don't forget!"

"But what about the park? What about swimming? What about a film at the cinema? Mum - you promised!"

"I know, I know," said Max's mum, flicking through some print outs. "But it's been crazy, Max. I promise that as soon as I send this work in, we'll do something special together. Promise. Now, I need to close my eyes for a while." Max's mum closed her bedroom door.

"Great! So much for promises." Max hurt his toes kicking the door then dived onto the sofa. A nosey, buzzy fly landed on his leg. He flicked it off. It came back. He flicked it off again. Once again, it settled on his leg. This time Max watched it: "So Spiderman, what do we do now? We have to find some things to do. Any ideas?"

"No problem, Batman! I suggest we start by cutting open this fly's stomach and pulling its insides out!"

"Good thinking, Spiderman! Where are the tools? You hold him down and I'll do the cutting."

"Help me! Mercy! I promise I won't disturb you again! Please let me go. I beg you!"

"No, you germy fly, you dirty beastie you! It's time I taught you a lesson."

"Mercy! Nooooooooo! Mercy! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

The fly buzzed off lazily and landed on the television screen. Max started drawing a picture of Spiderman and Batman cutting the fly open. He was just about to add the bloody bits when there was a knock at the door. Max placed the stool in front of the door, climbed up and peeped through the hole. It was the milkman. Max opened the door.

"Hello youngun! Is your mum there?"

"She's in bed. Wait a minute and I'll tell her you're here."

"Right-e-oh lad."

Max raced off to his mum's room.

"Mummy. The milkman's at the door. Where's the money?"

"Oh, great! I was just dropping off. It's in the bureau, Max, in a blue envelope marked 'MILK MONEY.' Maaaaaaaaax! Close the door!"

Max gave the envelope to the man.

"Good lad!" said the milkman and left with a wink. Max took the two bottles of milk into the kitchen, drank the cream off them both, making sure to top them up with water, and settled down to his drawing again. He had drawn so many pictures of Spiderman and Batman that he could almost draw them with his eyes closed. The fly, however, was a bit tricky. He'd never drawn one before. There! Finished. He held his picture at arm's length and admired the result. Then he remembered a puzzle he had never done. Puzzles and drawing were his two all-time favorite things to do. Having found the puzzle, he cleared the coffee table by sweeping everything off with his arm. Then he tipped out all the pieces - lots and lots of tiny pieces - and started organizing them into straight bits and wonky bits. DING-DONG. Not again. Who could that be?

"Who is it?"

"It's Mr. Rodgers, the insurance man. Is your mother in?"

"She's sleeping. Wait a minute!" Max went carefully into his mum's room again. This time, she was fast asleep and snoring to prove it. He rocked her shoulder. Nothing. He patted her cheek. Still nothing. He turned on the light. Still mum slept. "Boy," thought Max, I wish I could sleep like that. A goldfish burping can wake me up.

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