Authors: Robert Muchamore
Joshua stopped screaming as soon as James took him. When Kerry tried to take Joshua back, he went nuts again. Kerry gave James the bottle and Joshua began drinking calmly.
‘Looks like we’ve found James’ job for this mission,’ Zara said, grinning. ‘He likes you for some reason.’
Kyle laughed. ‘Kerry probably traumatised him with the funny faces she was pulling the other afternoon.’
James wasn’t used to babies. He was terrified he might do something wrong and either hurt Joshua or get puked over. It turned out OK, apart from a few dribbles of milk. After feeding, Joshua lay quietly in James’ lap playing with the laces on his shorts. Once James got used to it, he thought having the warm little body wriggling on his lap was quite cool.
*
A third of the houses on the Thornton estate were boarded up. The detached homes looked decent enough, but nobody wanted to live in them because of the airport a kilometre south. Every few minutes, a couple of hundred people thundered overhead, shaking the ground and filling the air with the sickly smell of jet fuel.
You only ended up living on Thornton if you didn’t have a choice. The residents were a mix of refugees, students, ex-convicts and families who’d been chucked out of better places for not paying the rent.
A gang of lads had to stop their football match to let Zara drive through.
Ewart
and Nicole had arrived minutes earlier. Nicole had unpacked the mugs and started making tea.
The windows in the house were triple glazed to keep out the aircraft noise, but that didn’t stop everything vibrating. Besides, it was too warm to leave every window closed.
There were three bedrooms between seven people. Kyle and James got a box room with bunk beds, a chest of drawers and a tiny wardrobe.
‘Just like old times,’ James said, remembering when he and Kyle shared a room in a council home before he joined CHERUB.
‘There’s nowhere to hang my clothes,’ Kyle said miserably. ‘They’ll get creased.’
‘You can have the whole wardrobe,’ James said. ‘I’ll just dump my stuff in the bag or under the bed.’
‘If there’s anything that stinks in this room, I’m chucking it out,’ Kyle said. ‘I don’t care if it’s a sock or a seventy-quid pair of trainers – if it smells like you, it’s going in the bin.’
James laughed. ‘I’d forgotten what a complete tart you are.’
*
Zara made dinner for everyone: fish fingers and oven chips, with frozen peas.
‘Sorry,’ she said, handing plates to the line of kids in front of the TV. ‘You better get used to my cooking. It’s not exactly gourmet.’
Something crashed outside the living-room window. All the kids downed cutlery and bundled towards the window. There was rubbish all over the front lawn and a metal dustbin rolling towards the gutter. A couple of boys were sprinting off down the pavement.
Ewart
burst out of the front door, but they’d disappeared up an alleyway.
As James mopped his last chip through his ketchup,
Ewart
strode in and switched off the TV.
‘I always watch
Neighbours
,’ Kerry gasped.
‘Not today you don’t,’
Ewart
said. ‘You kids have a job to do.’
‘Go outside and start making friends,’ Zara said. ‘There’s bound to be some dodgy characters in an area like this, so stick together. I want you back here as soon as it gets dark.’
‘And James,’
Ewart
said, ‘you better pick all that rubbish off the front lawn before you go.’
‘Why’s it my job?’ James said bitterly.
Ewart broke into a smile. ‘Because I said so.’
James thought about starting a row, but you never win against someone like
Ewart
.
*
It was easy starting conversations. The summer holidays had dragged on for weeks and the local kids were bored. James and Kyle played street football until they got knackered. Kerry and Nicole stood by the kerb, nattering with a bunch of girls. When it started getting late, the four of them got invited to a kiddies’ playground.
There was nothing special about it: a burned-out park keeper’s shed sprayed with graffiti, a busted roundabout, a climbing frame and a slide. But once the sun started to go down, it came alive. Kids aged between ten and sixteen gathered in fours and fives; smoking, arguing and being loud. There was a tense atmosphere. Flash kids dressed like Nike commercials ripped into refugees dressed out of the charity box. Boys were trying to get off with girls and there was a rumour going around about a gang from another estate turning up and starting a fight.
Apparently, a kid had been stabbed in the playground a couple of months earlier. He’d ended up with between eight and two hundred stitches, depending on what version of the story you believed.
‘This is boring,’ Kerry said, after half an hour of standing around without anything happening except a lot of talk. ‘We better go home.’
‘You go if you want,’ James said. ‘I’m staying to see if a fight breaks out. It might be good.’
‘It might also be dangerous,’ Kerry said. ‘I’ve seen a couple of kids with knives and Zara told us to be home before …’
James interrupted, mocking Kerry’s voice. ‘Zara told us
da-de-da-da
… Chill out, Kerry, what’s the point having a curfew unless you’re gonna break it?’
Kerry looked at Nicole for moral support. ‘Are you coming?’
‘No way,’ Nicole said. ‘I want to see some action.’
They all waited another twenty minutes. A guy aged about fifteen came over and started chatting up Nicole. Then someone’s mobile rang and a rumour shot around. There was a car coming.
‘So what?’ Kerry asked.
‘Stolen car,’ one of the local kids explained. ‘
Joyriders
. They usually put on a good show.’
Fifty-odd kids piled out of the playground and hurried to a deserted car park a few hundred metres down the road. A cheer went up when everyone spotted the headlights. It was a Subaru
Impreza
turbo, metallic silver with a giant wing on the back. The driver did a couple of handbrake turns, spinning the car and stinking up the air with tyre smoke. Then he overdid it and smacked into a bollard, leaving a massive graze down one side of the car. The audience whooped and cheered, even though he’d nearly splattered a couple of girls standing astride their bikes.
‘These guys are
nutters
,’ James giggled. ‘I’d love to have a go at that.’
Kerry gave him a filthy look. ‘It’s so stupid. They could kill themselves, or an innocent bystander.’
‘Loosen up, Kerry,’ James said. ‘You sound like an old fart.’
The Subaru squealed to a halt a few metres away. As the cloud of tyre smoke cleared, the driver and his mate opened the doors and ran around the car to switch seats. They both looked about fifteen.
‘Where are our babes?’ the new driver shouted.
A couple of
tarty
-looking girls jogged to the car and clambered in the back. When they were inside, the driver lit up the rear tyres and started driving circuits around the estate. He skidded on every corner, nearly losing the back end a couple of times on sharp turns. When the car was out of sight, you could still hear the engine and squealing tyres. The
joyriders
kept coming back to the car park for more adulation from their audience.
The excitement level went into overload when a police siren went off. James was hoping to see a chase, but the
joyriders
didn’t fancy their chances. They slammed on the brakes, jumped out and merged into the crowd of kids as three police cars turned into the car park.
Everyone started running. One of the guys they’d been playing football with tugged James by his T-shirt.
‘Don’t stand there gawping,’ he said urgently. ‘The pigs will bust you if they get hold of you.’
Kerry, Kyle and Nicole were already gone. James sprinted off, but the whole of Thornton estate looked identical in the dark and he couldn’t remember the way home. He ended up in the centre of the estate, in a large paved square with lanes of identical houses branching off in six different directions.
‘You know which way?’ a voice asked breathlessly.
James spun around. It was a massive relief to see Kyle. Kerry and Nicole were with him.
‘We can ask one of the policemen,’ Kerry said.
‘Are you totally brain-dead?’ James asked, tapping his head. ‘The police are looking for two boys and two girls. They’ll nick us.’
Kerry looked perplexed. ‘But we didn’t steal the car.’
‘Kerry,’ Kyle said, laughing, ‘how naive are you? In an area like this, cops and kids are like oil and water: they don’t mix.’
‘Well,’ Kerry said indignantly, ‘none of this would have happened if we’d gone home when I said.’
‘Oh, shut your smug hole,’ James said.
‘So, which way?’ Nicole asked.
*
They were all out of breath when they burst through the front door. It was pure luck finding the right street at the second attempt, without bumping into any cops. Zara leaned out of the kitchen into the hallway.
‘Ahh… Here they are. My little monsters,’ Zara grinned. ‘Late as usual.’
The kids were expecting a roasting, but they got off because there was an old couple sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking tea with Zara and
Ewart
.
‘This is the adopted family,’
Ewart
explained. ‘Kids, meet Ron and Georgina. They live next door and they brought us home-made biscuits to welcome us to the neighbourhood.’
‘You kids dip in,’ the old girl said. ‘My biscuits have won prizes.’
They stuck their hands in the tin and grabbed one. They tasted like they’d been baked in 1937, but they could hardly start
gobbing
them out in front of the old lady.
‘Delicious,’ James said, gagging for some water to get the stale taste out of his mouth.
‘Would you like another one?’ the old dear asked.
Zara clamped the lid on the biscuit tin.
‘They’re off to their rooms now,’ Zara said. ‘They’re not really allowed sweet stuff this late. It’s bad for their teeth.’
They were all thankful that Zara had saved them from another biscuit. James led the scramble upstairs to the bathroom.
‘SHUSSSHH, you lot,’ Zara whispered after them. ‘Joshua’s asleep.’
The four of them queued at the bathroom tap to get a drink; then they slugged mouthwash to get the taste out of their mouths.
‘It’s like a single bite sucks every bit of saliva out of your mouth,’ Kerry said.
‘I bet she knows how disgusting they are,’ Kyle said. ‘Probably gets a kick out of watching everyone suffer.’
‘Hope the old bag dies,’ Nicole said.
James started laughing. ‘I think that’s a
tiny
bit extreme, Nicole.’
‘I can’t stand old people,’ Nicole said. ‘Wait till they’re sixty, then give all of ’em both barrels of a shotgun.’
‘My
nan
was great,’ James said. ‘I got a Kit Kat or Wagon Wheel every time I saw her … I was her favourite. She never liked Lauren much.’
Kerry grunted. ‘No accounting for taste, I suppose. When did she die?’
‘When I was ten.’
‘Is Lauren OK now?’ Kyle asked.
‘I haven’t spoken to her since this morning,’ James said. ‘Suppose I’d better ring her before I go to bed.’
After he’d undressed, James climbed into his bunk and gave Lauren a call on his mobile. She was embarrassed about crying earlier and didn’t want to talk about it.
8. CONTACT
It was the first day of a new school year. The lines of miserable kids had short haircuts and new uniforms to grow into. Kyle offered to run the iron over James’ stuff to
make it nice and crisp
, as he put it. James had forgotten how annoying it was to wear a tie and blazer all day. The only good thing was, Nicole looked fit in her white blouse, with her tie loose around the collar. She’d altered her skirt so it was half the length of Kerry’s.
James had been to a few different schools since his mum died. Grey Park looked like it was at the bottom of the pile. The smell was a mixture of toilets and floor polish. The curtains and walls in the entrance hall were stuck up with thousands of bits of chewing gum, half the kids weren’t in uniform and there was an aquarium full of dead fish with a chair floating in it.
James broke off from the others and found his classroom. He recognised Junior Moore straight away, sitting at the back with a mate. You could tell, by the state of their uniforms and the way they were sitting with their trainers on the desk, that they wanted everyone to think they were bad guys.
James had to work his way in with them gradually. If you went straight up and introduced yourself to kids like that, they’d treat you like a joke. James’ plan was to act cool and win them over with bad behaviour.
The teacher came in. He was a
titchy
little donut in a beige suit called Mr Shawn. He seemed full of himself; the kind of teacher who gave you an urge to muck about, just so you got the pleasure of seeing him flip out.