AWOL 2

by Andrew Lane

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ she called.

  ‘What I have to!’ he called back. He had one arm inside the car, hanging on, while he perched on the edge of the open window. Reaching up with his free hand, he grabbed hold of the hovering drone.

  ‘Cut the motors,’ he shouted to Kieron. ‘I’ve got it!’

  Moments later he had pulled himself back inside, triumphantly holding the drone. Two of the propellers had been knocked off as he manoeuvred it through the gap, but the all-important removable hard drive still hung underneath it.

  ‘Can we please,’ Sam said breathlessly, ‘never do that again?’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Kieron’s mother was sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine when Kieron got back home. Her coat had been thrown casually over a chair and her shoes lay untidily on the floor, upside down and pointing in different directions.

  She pulled her attention from the news broadcast she was watching and gazed quizzically at him as he walked in. He could tell from her slightly unfocused gaze that she’d already had a large glass of wine. Possibly even two. It was pretty much par for the course on those evenings when she wasn’t working late. He couldn’t find it in his heart to blame her. She worked so hard to pay the mortgage on the flat, and buy the food that she and Kieron ate and as well as his clothes, his mobile phone, his computer and everything else. Since his father had left, she’d had to take up all the slack on running the house, and that meant he hardly ever got to see her. It didn’t make him angry – not at his mum, anyway. Maybe at his dad, just a bit. It mostly made him sad. It also made him determined to get a job (as soon as he could find one that didn’t involve menial work in a shop) and contribute to the family finances, and help his mother to relax a bit. Maybe, he thought, Sam was right – maybe they could actually get someone interested enough in this non-lethal brainwave device to buy the idea off them.

  ‘Kieron,’ she said, ‘what’s happened to your lip?’

  For a moment he didn’t know what she was talking about. He raised his hand to see if there was some blood there, or a trace of food or something. His fingers brushed across the piercings in his lower lip, and a sudden jolt of guilt ran through him. He hadn’t told her! He hadn’t even asked her! It had all seemed so grown-up a few hours ago, but suddenly he was a kid again, trying to explain how the vase had got knocked over or the crayon pictures had appeared on the wall.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Yes. I got some piercings.’

  ‘I can see that.’

  ‘I probably should have asked you first.’

  ‘You definitely should have asked me first.’

  He felt his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. ‘Sorry – I just really wanted them.’

  The long silence that followed made him even more uncomfortable. His mother just stared at the piercings with a slight frown on her face.

  ‘Did it hurt?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘A little bit,’ he admitted.

  ‘How did you afford them?’

  ‘I saved up.’

  ‘And did you lie about your age?’

  He winced. ‘Yes.’

  Another long silence, then: ‘They suit you.’

  ‘Really?’ He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

  ‘They do. I mean, I wouldn’t dress the way that you do, but if I did I’d probably get piercings just like that too.’

  ‘They’re called snakebites.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Please tell me you haven’t had any tattoos done.’

  ‘No tattoos. I promise.’

  ‘If you ever decide you want a tattoo, talk to me first. I’ll tell you some personal horror stories.’

  ‘You’ve got tattoos?’ he asked, aghast.

  She nodded. ‘Had them since I was sixteen.’

  Kieron couldn’t believe this. ‘Where?’

  She raised an eyebrow, and he looked away.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. Then, as things seemed to be going well, he decided to go for broke. ‘Mum – can I go to America?’

  ‘Sorry?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought for a moment there you asked if you could go to America.’ She glanced at the glass in her hand. ‘This stuff must be stronger than I thought.’

  ‘No, I’m serious. Am I allowed to go to America?’

  She sighed. ‘Oh, Kieron, we’ve had this conversation. All the money I earn goes to keeping this flat, and on food and the essentials. I wish I earned enough to take us on holidays abroad, but I don’t. Look, I’ll see if there are any other jobs going around Newcastle that I could do – jobs that pay more money. That, or I’ll walk into my boss’s office and ask her for a raise. You never know – it might work. But don’t pin your hopes on it, kid.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean us going on holiday.’ He flapped his hands, trying to make it look as if he was surprised and pleased about something. ‘There was this competition. There were flyers in the local record shop, and a website. You had to come up with a title for the new Lethal Insomnia album. The title the band liked best would win, and the person who came up with it would get a free, all-expenses paid trip to America to see them actually record the album.’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘And I won.’

  His mother’s eyes went wide and it looked for a moment as if she might spill her wine. She took a sudden gulp.

  ‘You’re serious? Of course you’re serious! You actually won a competition.’

  He smiled. ‘Yeah, I did.’

  ‘I’m so proud of you! I don’t think I’ve ever won a competition in my life! I always thought we were an unlucky family, because nothing good ever happens to us. And a trip to America! I mean, a free copy of the album, yes, or a mention in the credits, or maybe even a VIP ticket for the next concert they do in England, but actually flying you out to America?’ She fluttered her free hand in front of her face. ‘I’m feeling faint.’

  ‘Take a breath,’ Kieron advised.

  ‘This is going to be the most amazing experience of your life,’ his mother said. ‘You’ll need new clothes, a new toothbrush and luggage! I think your dad took the big suitcases when he left – which is probably a good thing, otherwise I’d have killed him, chopped him into pieces and taken the pieces to the rubbish tip in them.’ She reached out to touch Kieron’s arm. ‘Don’t worry – I’m kidding. I wouldn’t have wasted a good set of luggage on disposing of his body.’ Her face, which had shed about five years as surprise and joy replaced her usual harried frown, collapsed into the lines that Kieron was all too familiar with. ‘Oh, hang on. This isn’t real, is it? It can’t be!’

  Kieron felt a wave of panic run through his body. What had they missed? What had given them away?

  ‘I’ve heard about things like this,’ she went on, her voice suddenly controlled and quiet. ‘They call it “phishing”, don’t they? They explained it in the newspapers. People set up fake websites that lure in unsuspecting teenagers. Then when the kids are hooked they’re told to go somewhere for what they think is an innocent meet-up, but they’re kidnapped and horrible things happen to them. Look, Kieron, I’m really sorry to tell you this, but I think this is a set-up. You’ve been conned.’

  The wave of panic receded, but only far enough that he could still sense it lurking in the background. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. The last thing he wanted to do right now was to start an argument. That would only backfire badly. ‘The competition is on the record company’s website as well as the band’s website – and they’re a well-known record label, not some kind of fly-by-night operation. Look – I’ll show you. Give me your tablet.’

  His mother reached under a cushion on the sofa and pulled her tablet computer out. She handed it across to him with some reluctance, saying, ‘These websites can be faked, you know? “Spoofed”. They warn us about this kind of thing at work. We go on courses about it. One of the finance assistants fell for something like this a few months back. She was sent an invoice vi
a email for ten thousand pounds. She checked out the company on the Internet, and they seemed legitimate, so she paid the invoice, but it was a trick. Someone else had done the work; she’d paid the wrong company. When the police tried to track them down, they’d closed the website and done a runner.’ She reached out and touched his arm again. ‘I’d hate for something like that to happen to you.’

  ‘I haven’t got ten thousand pounds,’ he pointed out as he launched the browser and typed in the address of the fake website that Bex had mocked up. His mother was right – it was all too easy to do.

  ‘You know what I mean. Bad things.’

  Kieron handed the tablet back. ‘Here – take a look.’

  His mother frowned. ‘Hang on – I thought I’d password-protected this thing.’

  ‘You did. You always use my birthday as your password.’

  She sighed. ‘You are far too clever. I really don’t know where you get it from. Certainly not your father.’ She glanced over the website. ‘It looks authentic, I suppose, but what do I know? These people are very clever. Kieron, I’m sorry, but I’m not convinced.’

  Time to bring in the big guns. ‘The email I got telling me I’d won said that they’d write to us confirming the details. Maybe the letter arrived this morning.’

  ‘Do you want to go and check?’ she asked, looking uncertain.

  Kieron raced to the front door and picked up the letter that he had placed on the doormat when he’d arrived, ten minutes earlier. Bradley and Bex had written it an hour or so ago, and then printed it out and put it in an envelope. It had joined several other letters that his mother had left lying there. He knew all too well that she tended to let the mail build up, unopened, until it was a trip-hazard, and only then would she go through opening the envelopes and complaining in a low voice.

  ‘Here. “Parent or Guardian of Kieron Mellor” – that’s you, isn’t it? You open it.’

  His mother weighed the envelope in her hand. ‘Good-quality paper,’ she said. She slid a fingernail beneath the flap and opened it. Several sheets of paper were inside. She took them out and started to read.

  ‘Very polite,’ she murmured as she scanned the pages. ‘It’s not a form letter. Good grammar and spelling too. Those fake emails that come in telling you that someone wants to send you ten thousand dollars if you only provide them with your bank details and a ten-dollar handling fee are always really badly written. I often wonder if they do it deliberately, to filter out people who are too suspicious and leave behind the idiots who are likely to fall for the con. So – yes, it’s from the record company, and it says you’ve won their competition to name the next album for the band Lethal Insomnia – first prize, an all-expenses paid trip to Albuquerque to meet the band and watch them recording the album.’ She glanced up at him. ‘What was your title? I hope it wasn’t something horrible. I know the kind of music you listen to.’

  Kieron’s mind suddenly went blank. All of the preparation and planning, all of the effort in creating the website and the letter and making sure the story hung together and made sense, and they hadn’t done the simplest thing – they hadn’t actually come up with his winning entry! He had to think of something, quickly, or his mother would suspect it was all a ruse. He couldn’t claim that he’d forgotten – how could he forget something that important? But what would Lethal Insomnia call their new album? What kind of title would make sense?

  He quickly ransacked his brain for ideas, but everything he came up with was boring, stupid or obvious.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘you can tell me. Don’t be embarrassed. After all, everyone’s going to know about it soon.’

  ‘Saccades,’ he said suddenly. He had no idea where the word had come from. It had just popped into his mind.

  ‘Saccades?’ she repeated. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘It’s the medical term for the small, involuntary movements that the eye makes,’ he explained, remembering a split second before speaking. ‘When you’re looking at something, like someone’s eyes when you’re talking to them, your gaze actually moves around randomly over a small area, taking in all kinds of other details that you don’t even realise. I thought it was a good, interesting word, and there aren’t any other albums with that name. That’s the kind of thing you have to watch for if you’re in a band: calling an album something like Live in Newcastle when there’s already sixteen different Live in Newcastle albums out there.’

  ‘Wow,’ she said, looking impressed. ‘You know so much more than I do. How do you cram all that knowledge into your head?’

  ‘Sometimes I wish I couldn’t,’ he admitted, relieved.

  His mother turned back to the letter. It was strange watching her face – she didn’t move her lips, like Sam did when he read something, but her eyebrows moved up and down slightly, and her eyes opened wider and then narrowed as her brain processed and reacted to the words on the paper.

  ‘Actually,’ she said cautiously, ‘this does look OK. The woman who wrote this – Chloe Gibbons, her name is; she apparently works in the publicity department at the record company – says that I can phone her any time. She says she appreciates how much of a surprise this is, and how it would raise suspicions in any sensible parent’s mind, and she says that she’d be happy to come up to Newcastle, meet us for lunch and talk it through.’ She nodded. ‘I have to say, I like her already.’

  ‘Chloe Gibbons’ was of course Bex, and she was only just up the road, but she and Kieron had agreed that his mother needed the reassurance of meeting someone that was part of this apparent competition.

  ‘So what do you think?’ Kieron asked nervously.

  ‘I think I’m going to give this Chloe Gibbons a ring,’ his mother said, getting up off the sofa clumsily while still holding her glass of wine in one hand and the letter in the other, ‘and see if she works weekends.’

  ‘She works for a rock band,’ Kieron pointed out. ‘She probably works all kinds of hours.’

  Kieron watched as his mother headed towards the kitchen. Part of him wanted to follow, just so he could hear at least one side of the conversation with Bex, but another part of him knew that it was best to let his mother have the lead on this. What was the phrase they used on TV sometimes, in pretentious documentaries? She needed to ‘take ownership’ of it.

  He sat there nervously, hearing voices from the kitchen. He couldn’t tell if his mother was angry, grateful, suspicious or amused. He thought about turning the TV up to distract himself, or finding some game on his mother’s tablet to play, but he knew he wouldn’t be paying attention to whatever was happening. He was too on edge.

  Eventually he heard his mother saying goodbye. It was a few moments before she came back into the living room, and when she did her expression was serious. She sat on the arm of the sofa and stared at him for a few seconds. He forced himself to say nothing.

  ‘Right – there’s good news, bad news, and then more good news,’ she said. ‘The first lot of good news is this all seems above board, and this Chloe Gibbons is happy to travel up tomorrow and meet us for lunch somewhere near the station and explain more.’

  ‘And the bad news?’ Kieron asked.

  ‘The bad news is that the only dates that the record company can offer are right in the middle of a new project I’ve got starting at work. It’s a really unfortunate coincidence. Kieron – I won’t be able to go. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Does that mean I won’t be going?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not necessarily – Chloe has said that she’ll be going along anyway to make sure everything goes OK with the trip, and she’s more than happy to look after you – if, of course, I agree when we meet tomorrow. Obviously I’m not going to leave you in the hands of someone I don’t like or trust. I’m really sorry I won’t be able to go – are you all right about flying out to America with just this Chloe woman?’

  Kieron was more than happy to fly anywhere with Bex, but he put on a serious face and said, ‘I think I’ll be OK once I’ve
met her. After all, I’ve got to grow up some time.’

  ‘You already have,’ his mother said sadly, ‘and so fast.’ She smiled. ‘Let’s order a takeaway to celebrate.’

  ‘Hang on,’ Kieron said, remembering, ‘you said there was more news. What is it?’

  ‘Oh – yes.’ His mother grinned triumphantly. Kieron got nervous whenever he saw that smile. It was the expression she had whenever she thought she’d done something wonderful for him, like buy him a book that he knew he would never read or an album by a band he hated. ‘I asked this Chloe person if, given that I wasn’t able to come, perhaps you could take someone else as a guest. She sounded a bit surprised, as if it hadn’t occurred to her, but she said yes, she supposed so, depending on who it was. I suggested your friend – Sam. I hope that’s all right – I’d feel a lot better if you had a friend with you. It’ll stop you from getting lonely. And of course it’ll be really good for Sam. I know his family didn’t have a holiday this year either.’ Her face fell. ‘Oh, I hope they don’t think this is like charity or something. I’ll stress that it’s a free trip and you won it in a competition.’

  ‘And this – Chloe – she was OK with Sam coming along?’

  ‘She seemed fine with it. I’ll go and give Sam’s mum a ring. You wait here. Oh, and I’ll order that takeaway. Indian OK with you?’

  ‘Yeah, fine,’ he said as she walked back into the kitchen. For some reason she always made phone calls out of his earshot. It had started when she and his father were splitting up, and afterwards when various companies kept calling to chase up unpaid bills, and it had just become a habit. Kieron was surprised to realise that he wasn’t sure how he felt about Sam coming along. On the one hand Sam was his friend, but on the other hand he felt as if this was his adventure.

  A sudden flush of shame made his cheeks burn. He wasn’t being fair. Sam had been hurt by the fascist Blood and Soil organisation, and he’d risked his life helping Kieron and Bex. He deserved to come along. It was a shame they wouldn’t be seeing Lethal Insomnia, but it would be good to have someone else his age to compare notes with, and play games with on the flight. He got the impression that Bex would be all business once they set out.