Lauren was totally flattered that Rat had taken a huge risk, just so that he could give her a gift. Rat cared about her and why the hell
was
she ashamed of that?
She stepped back towards Rat and gave him a big hug followed by a theatrical smooch on the cheek.
‘Sometimes …’ Lauren smirked, but was unable to finish her thought. ‘Sod it, we’ll tell everyone. We can go to the cinema together and hang out in each others’ rooms and …’
Lauren’s excitement was contagious and Rat tightened his arms around her back and pulled her feet off the ground. He might have made more of it, if it hadn’t been for a blast of pain from the ankle he’d twisted earlier in the day.
‘I don’t care what James says,’ Lauren said happily. ‘But there is one condition.’
‘What?’
‘You’ve got to get a decent haircut.’
Rat sounded shocked. ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’
‘Nothing,’ Lauren said. ‘I mean, if I was the sort of girl who went for guys who looked like they had a bird’s nest mounted on their head …’
Rat self-consciously inspected a strand of his tangled hair. ‘Do you really think it’s that bad?’
Lauren slowly nodded, but her smirk disappeared when she heard the clatter of a diesel engine coming up the dirt path towards the camp.
Rat poked his head out between the branches. ‘It’s Mr Large and Arif in the truck.’
Arif was a nineteen-year-old ex-cherub who was being paid to help out around campus until he returned to university.
‘Dammit,’ Lauren said. ‘They’re right between us and the tents. If Large does an inspection and finds us missing, we’re gonna be
so
dead.’
The pair crouched down low and watched as the army-green truck came to a halt. Arif sat at the wheel as Mr Large opened the passenger door and stumbled out of the cab.
‘Are you sure you’re OK, Norman?’ Arif asked.
‘I’m a happy man,’ Large boomed, as his giant body rippled with drunken laughter. ‘I can’t wait for the looks on those kids’ faces when they see those granite blocks and the size of the hill they’ve got to drag them up.’
Arif had been through many of Mr Large’s training exercises himself and clearly didn’t share the joke.
‘OK, misery guts,’ Large slurred. ‘You’d better get moving, ’cos the supermarket closes at half twelve. Stick to the cheap sausages and don’t go buying any extra stuff; I want to keep those brats lean and hungry.’
Large slammed the door of the truck and a thick blue plume shot out of the exhaust as Arif pulled away. Back in the trees, Lauren and Rat exchanged looks of dread as they contemplated spending a day dragging granite blocks up a hill.
‘At least he’s in no state to inspect tents,’ Rat whispered.
‘Yeah, but think of the mood he’ll be in tomorrow if he’s got a hangover.’
Mr Large clearly had no idea that he was being watched as he unself-consciously scratched between his legs and broke into song:
‘
I’ve been a wild rover for many a year, and I’ve spent all me money on whiskey and beer
…’
‘Total saddo,’ Lauren whispered, stifling a giggle. ‘My dad always sang that when he was off his face.’
‘
But now I’m returning with gold in great store
…’
Rat smiled briefly, until he saw Mr Large turn and start walking towards them. The cluster of trees was isolated, which meant they’d be spotted if they tried to run off. All they could do was crouch down low and hope Mr Large didn’t come too close.
‘
And it’s no nay never
…’ Large sang, as he unzipped his fly and began liberally peeing against a trunk less than a metre and a half from Lauren and Rat. ‘
No nay never, no more. Will I plaaaaaay the wild rover
…’
Lauren covered her mouth and gagged slightly as the smell of alcohol-tinged urine caught on the breeze. But Rat couldn’t help seeing the funny side of Mr Large’s singing and the extraordinary capacity of his bladder as the hot liquid steamed in the moonlight.
‘That is
sooooooo
much better,’ Large told himself happily, as he zipped up and turned back towards the tents.
Rat cracked up as soon as Mr Large was out of earshot. ‘I thought he was never gonna stop.’
Lauren screwed up her face. ‘I don’t know why you’re laughing. It’s all soaked into the knee of your trousers.’
‘Eww!’ Rat gasped, as he sprang out of the grass.
‘Gotcha,’ Lauren giggled, as she tore the wrapping off her Twix.
She put one chocolate-covered end in her mouth and closed up to Rat, who bit on the other. The idea was to munch towards each other and end with a kiss, but after the first bite they heard a choking noise.
Lauren looked up in time to see Large’s silhouette doubling over, then crashing on to the grass near the tents.
‘Holy
shit
,’ Rat said as he jumped up, intending to run over and find out what was wrong.
But Lauren pulled him back. ‘Maybe he spotted us. It might be one of his tricks.’
Rat looked at her uncertainly. ‘Even he wouldn’t stoop that low.’
‘It’s Mr Large,’ Lauren muttered. ‘He’ll do anything, especially to me. He hates my guts.’
Large now lay at the side of the dirt road, his legs twitching as he fought for breath.
‘You stay here if you want,’ Rat said. ‘It looks serious.’
As soon as Rat ran out of the trees, Large gave a desperate scream for help, which finally convinced Lauren that he wasn’t play acting.
‘Are you OK?’ Rat said nervously, as he leaned over Mr Large.
Large’s face was white and cold sweat bristled all over his forehead. ‘Do I damn well look OK?’
Lauren arrived a few paces behind Rat and did a better job of remembering her first-aid training. ‘Have you got pains down your arms or in your chest?’
‘Both,’ Large slurred as Lauren undid his belt and loosened his collar.
‘He’s clammy all over,’ Rat said. ‘Is it a heart attack?’
‘He’s got all the symptoms,’ Lauren nodded.
The kids hadn’t been allowed to bring their mobiles on the training exercise.
‘Sir, I need your phone,’ Lauren said.
Large managed to briefly point at his trouser pocket before retching violently and erupting into another spasm.
Lauren flipped the mobile open, staring briefly at the wallpaper image of Large’s beloved Rottweilers before dialling the CHERUB campus emergency number. She held the phone up to her ear waiting for a connection, but all she heard was a metallic bing-bong sound.
No Service. Please Try Later
.
Lauren gave Rat a spooked look. ‘There’s no signal out here,’ she said anxiously. ‘Arif’s gone off with the truck. We’ll have to figure out some way of getting him to the hospital ourselves.’
The six-kilometre run and the birthday messages boosted James’ mood, but it sank as soon as he sighted the apartment complex that counted for home.
The Brezhnev Apartments were a three-storey block that had been built for Aero City’s elite during the communist era. It was now owned by an elderly relative of Denis Obidin, who collected the rent but spent little of it on keeping the building in shape.
The interior walls were decorated with dangling wallpaper and clumps of mildew, the boiler room in the basement only provided warmth and hot water when it fancied and the prefabricated sections from which the apartments were constructed were badly cracked and didn’t seem up to a strong sneeze, let alone a Russian winter.
Despite this, the small community of foreigners who worked in Aero City all resided here and stumped up the extortionate rent because it was protected by Vladimir Obidin’s best police officers.
Any foreigner brave enough to set up home elsewhere could expect to find their valuables stolen if they were lucky, whilst the unlucky found themselves brutally mugged or escorted to one of the city’s two cash machines to make a withdrawal at knifepoint. When the victims complained to the police, they were greeted with indifference and advised to move back into Mr Obidin’s apartment block.
Damp hung in the air as James stepped through the entrance. Most of the lighting tubes were either burned out or flickering. After squelching up four flights on damp carpet, James cut down a short corridor and put his key in the door of apartment 2-17.
The interior was slightly more accommodating than the public spaces. There was a modern kitchen and bathroom fitted by a previous tenant and some half decent furniture. But no amount of airing quelled the damp that penetrated every fibre of the building.
‘Honey, I’m home,’ James yelled, as he slammed the front door and dumped his backpack on the hallway carpet.
He put his head around a bedroom door, where his fake aunt and uncle stood in their underwear. Cheap body spray hung in the air and the smart clothes laid out over the double bed showed that they were getting ready for an evening out.
‘Ooops,’ James gasped, embarrassed as he sighted the giant knickers stretched over Auntie Isla’s cellulite-pitted bum.
Uncle Boris stood buttoning up his shirt. He was in his forties, a birdlike figure who stank of small brown cigars. He wore a pair of aviator-style glasses with a dark orange tint, even on the gloomiest Russian days.
‘Come on in, James,’ Isla smiled. ‘Don’t be shy. How did it go at the compound?’
‘I didn’t get the two bugs in,’ James said, as he tried not to see too much of the decrepit bodies standing in front of him. ‘Vladimir came in and chucked me out before I had the chance to go in the kitchen. But all the others are working fine.’
‘Don’t worry yourself,’ Isla shrugged. ‘They weren’t important.’
‘Do you think tonight’s meeting will be enough to secure the missiles?’ James asked.
Boris broke into a slightly girlish laugh. ‘Anxious to get back to that girlfriend of yours at CHERUB?’
‘Don’t be daft,’ James said, shaking his head in mock protest. ‘I love it here: the cold musty air, the half-starved pensioners, the corrupt cops sitting at the front gate stroking their machine guns, the fact that there’s nothing to do except go to school and freeze my butt off all day, then come home in the evening and sit in front of the TV – provided the power stays on. I mean, why would I
ever
want to leave?’
‘Obidin will either sell us the missiles, or tell us to take a walk,’ Isla said, as she zipped up her skirt. ‘Either way, we’ll be out of here soon, ten days at the most.’
‘Thank god for that,’ James groaned. ‘Have you done me any dinner?’
Boris nodded. ‘Macaroni cheese in the fridge. It’ll take two minutes in the microwave, just make sure you give it a stir half-way through. Oh, and I checked the internet. It looks like that TV show downloaded OK. I burned it on to a DVD so you can watch it on the big screen.’
‘Sweet,’ James nodded. ‘That should kill half the evening.
What’s the hot water been like?’
‘I’d stick to the bowl and sponge if I were you,’ Isla said. ‘The water pressure is down to nothing and the shower is running close to boiling.’
The taps in the bathroom only provided water with a yellow tinge, so James stepped through to the kitchen and ran scalding hot water into a plastic bowl, before adding some cold and carrying it through to his bedroom. He caught a blast of cold air as he put the bowl on his bedside table, then splashed a crusty flannel and bar of soap into the water before shutting the window. James faced a daily choice between opening his window to clear the smell of damp and keeping it closed for warmth.
After washing as well as a flannel and bowl allows and putting on clean underwear, James wandered out into the hallway and was surprised to see Isla, smartly dressed and carrying a large suitcase out of the bedroom.
‘What’s all that in aid of?’ James asked. ‘Looks like you’re moving out.’
‘Documents, recording equipment,’ Isla explained. ‘It was either this or that little attaché case, and it won’t fit in there.’
Boris came out of the bedroom in a shabby suit and bow tie.
‘Snazzy,’ James grinned.
‘Do you like it?’ Boris said proudly, totally missing the irony in James’ voice.
‘Boris baby, I could see you on a Paris catwalk in that get-up.’
Boris now realised that James was teasing him and looked slightly cross. ‘It’s an appropriate outfit,’ he said, twitching his nose. ‘We’re leaving now. I wouldn’t wait up, we might not be back until two or three in the morning.’
‘No worries,’ James said. ‘I’ve got my DVD and my macaroni cheese.’
James sauntered into the kitchen and put his plate in the microwave. While the little oven buzzed, he dashed through to the living-room to set up his DVD. It clattered into the tray and he was relieved to see that the download had worked as the title screen popped up:
When Movie Stunts Go Wrong Volume II
.
‘Nice one,’ James told himself, as he grabbed the now steaming hot macaroni from the microwave and hoped that the DVD had something as cool as the spurt of blood when the stuntwoman got her arm chopped off in Volume One (James had laughed, Kerry had screamed and said he was a heartless pig, but they’d made up and had a great snog afterwards).
The meal wasn’t gourmet, but it was the kind of stodge that felt satisfying after being out in the cold all day. James put his feet up on a coffee table as a man with his arm in a sling earnestly told him that the stunts he was about to see were performed by professionals and should not be attempted at home. Then the screen cut to a scene of two fat men running towards each other with chainsaws buzzing in their hands.
‘
Even with the very best preparation, the art of the stuntman is a dangerous one
,’ the commentator said solemnly, as the fatter of the two men tripped over and let out a piercing scream.
‘
Sick!
’ James grinned as the stuntman rolled on to his side revealing a huge wound in his chest.
Then the screen went blank and the lights went out. Electrical appliances shut down as James found himself plunged into complete darkness.
Sometimes a power surge caused a fuse to blow and the caretaker would restore power within a few minutes, but James walked to the window and saw that the streetlamps and all the lights in the surrounding apartment blocks were off too. This meant there was a full-scale power cut, and once the electricity went down, it never came back on before morning.