by Andrew Lane
His mother’s conversation with Sam’s mother went well, from what she said when she came back. The takeaway arrived half an hour later, and they both shared chicken korma, lamb pasanda and saag paneer with keema naan and rice. They ended up talking about old times – Kieron’s earliest memories – the time he broke his arm by running full tilt into a padded pole at a kids’ indoor play place with his arm outstretched, the time he’d seen his first bumble bee and excitedly called out, ‘Look, Mummy – there’s a fly with its dressing gown on!’ And there were some tears when his father came into the conversation. It was one of those magical evenings which happened by accident, but which brought him and his mother closer together – at least for a while.
Later, as Kieron chased the last of the korma sauce around the plate with a scrap of naan bread, he found himself looking at his mother as she checked her tablet for emails. She had lines at the corners of her eyes and corners of her mouth that he hadn’t noticed before. A few strands of grey hair were visible as well, swept back over her ears. He was growing up, but she was getting old – bit by bit. Kieron had a sudden vision of their future – her, old and increasingly infirm, and him visiting her and doing those odd jobs around the flat that she couldn’t do any more: getting her shopping and collecting her prescriptions. It wasn’t a future he wanted. The prospect made him shiver. Where would he be then? Living in his own flat, somewhere in Newcastle? Maybe sharing a place with Sam?
He had to admit it – the future frightened him. There didn’t seem to be an upside to growing up: it just meant you had more things to worry about and less energy and free time. He didn’t want to get old. He just wanted to stay exactly the age he was forever.
His mother noticed his introspection. ‘Cheer up,’ she said in a voice slurred by the wine, ruffling his hair. ‘It might never happen.’
‘Oh, it’s going to happen,’ he said bleakly. ‘I can’t stop it from happening.’
Soon after that he realised she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. He cleared the plates away, covered her with a duvet and went to bed.
Sleep didn’t come, and eventually he texted Sam to see if he was awake too. Understand you’re coming to America, he typed. Wasn’t expecting that one.
Neither was Bex, came the instant reply.
I think my mum caught her by surprise, Kieron texted back.
Do you mind? It seemed like an innocent question, but Kieron could feel Sam worrying, even through the blandness of the text messages.
No stealing vans and driving them around without a licence, Kieron texted back, deliberately reminding Sam of what had happened when Sam had got involved in Kieron’s recent adventures.
No chance, Sam texted back, then, If Lethal Insomnia are actually in Albuquerque while we’re there, what are the chances we might run into them?
Slim to none. Remember – we’ve got work to do.
You have, Sam pointed out. I’m sightseeing. Tourist stuff. Bex has made it clear that I’m not to get involved.
Are you going to be at this lunch tomorrow? Kieron asked. He waited for a response, but nothing came through. After ten minutes he assumed that Sam had fallen asleep in mid-conversation, as he often did. Ten minutes after that, he was asleep as well.
He slept late the next day, and eventually his mum woke him up by opening the door and shouting ‘Get dressed – we’ve got to meet Chloe.’ He quickly pulled on the same black jeans, black T-shirt and battered black boots he’d been wearing the day before. When he came out of his room his mother pushed him towards the bathroom, then pulled him back and said, ‘Are you wearing fresh clothes?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘All your clothes look the same, so it’s difficult to tell.’ She sniffed. ‘And I can’t tell over the smell of the deodorant you’ve sprayed on. All right, I’ll believe you. Go and brush your teeth.’
They drove from the flat into the centre of town and parked in a central car park. Bex – or Chloe, as Kieron had to keep reminding himself – had booked a table at a decent mid-range Italian restaurant.
The greeter who welcomed them and took them to their table recognised Kieron’s mother. He smiled at her and nodded, and she smiled back at him. Kieron wondered how often she ate there. Then he wondered who she ate with. Then he shuddered, and stopped wondering. She was his mother. She didn’t have dates.
Sam and his mother were already there. Sam’s mum was almost the exact opposite of Kieron’s: blonde rather than brunette, large rather than slim, and dressed casually – tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt with a thin waterproof jacket over the top rather than tight jeans and silky blouse. The two women hugged briefly while Kieron and Sam exchanged embarrassed glances.
‘Does it get any worse than this?’ Kieron murmured.
Sam shrugged. ‘Depends. Are a bunch of kids from school going to come in and start laughing at us for being here with our mums?’
‘Ah,’ Kieron said, ‘I’ve worked out a plan in case that happens. We just find out who the alpha-male or alpha-female is in the group, then quietly tell one of the waiters that it’s their birthday. I guarantee, fifteen minutes later the lights will go down, a small iced cake will be bought out with a sparkler stuck into it, and they’ll start playing some cheesy birthday song on the music system. It always happens. Then who’s going to be embarrassed?’
Sam stared at him sympathetically. ‘Been here before for your birthday then?’
Kieron shuddered theatrically. ‘Too many times.’
They both looked up as someone arrived at the table, assuming it was the waiter again, taking drinks orders, but it was Bex. She looked … efficient, Kieron thought. Just like a publicity assistant should look. He wondered whether she’d brought the trouser suit with her from Mumbai or she’d gone out and bought it five minutes ago. She held a folder by her side.
She didn’t even glance at Kieron or Sam. Instead she looked from Kieron’s mum to Sam’s mum and back again. ‘Mrs Mellor?’
Kieron’s mum half stood and shook hands. ‘That’s me – but, please, call me Veronica,’ she said, ‘and this is Holly. She and I were pregnant with these two at the same time. We were in adjoining beds in hospital.’
Bex shook hands with Sam’s mum. ‘I’m Chloe,’ she said; ‘Chloe Gibbons.’ She turned to look at Kieron, then Sam. ‘And which one of you is Kieron?’
Feeling strangely like he was in some kind of stage play where everyone knew their lines but him, Kieron held a hand up. ‘It’s me.’
‘Congratulations, Kieron.’ Bex sat down, a professional smile and not a flicker of recognition on her face. ‘You and your friend – Sam, is it? – you’re going to enjoy this trip so much. It’ll be the adventure of a lifetime!’
Kieron suddenly realised with a slight shock that Bex – in her guise as Chloe – was wearing the ARCC glasses. They were thin and almost invisible. He wondered if Bradley was on the other end, feeding her information, but kicked himself. Bradley wasn’t physically capable of operating the kit – that was the whole reason for this elaborate charade. Perhaps she just felt more comfortable – more like she was undercover – when she was wearing them.
‘Thanks for coming all this way just to talk to us,’ Kieron’s mother said. ‘It’s a lot of trouble for you to go to. Where are you based? London?’
‘Manchester,’ Bex said. ‘That’s where the record company has its UK headquarters And I’m more than happy to be here to reassure you that this is all above board and these two will be perfectly safe in our hands.’
Kieron tried to move his head sideways to see whether she had an earpiece in her ear, but his mother punched him on the shoulder. ‘Stop squirming.’ She smiled at Bex. ‘Teenagers – they just can’t sit still. I don’t envy you – having to look after these two on a long flight. How long is it actually?’
‘Seven hours to Washington DC,’ Bex replied, ‘then another four hours on from there to Albuquerque.’
‘And this is free, isn’t it?’
Sam’s mother asked. ‘I mean, we don’t have to pay anything?’ She sounded as if the concept was so incredible that she just couldn’t believe it.
Bex shook her head. ‘That’s right – the record company takes care of everything: flights, food, accommodation. It’s all part of the prize.’
‘And the band – what are they called? Lethal Insomnia? – they’re actually going to use the album title that Kieron suggested?’ his mum asked.
The words Don’t ask her what it is! started running through Kieron’s mind. He’d not warned Bex in advance about the answer he’d had to make up on the spot the night before.
‘It’s a great title,’ Bex said smoothly. ‘And the band love it. It’ll definitely be the title of the next album.’
Kieron wondered to himself how Bex was going to manage that. Perhaps she’d get him to use the ARCC kit to hack the record-company servers and change the name of the album just before it came out without anyone realising. And all the publicity material and advertising. More likely either his mum would forget, or he’d have to explain to her that someone at the record company had had a change of heart.
‘Let me take you through the details,’ Bex said, opening her folder and pulling out a sheaf of notes. For the next twenty minutes – punctuated only by the waiter arriving and taking their order and then bringing their food – she went through what Kieron realised must have been something she and Bradley had created overnight, but which seemed totally professional and realistic – flights, hotels, dates, times … everything. The main thing he remembered was that the weather in Albuquerque was going to be hot – very hot – but dry – very dry. Oh, and they’d be staying in a hotel. An actual hotel.
‘Do you know the first thing I’m going to do when we get there?’ Sam asked, leaning across to him.
‘What?’
‘Head down to the local mall.’
Kieron stared at him. ‘What’s the point? We spend half our lives at the mall here.’
‘Yeah, but this is an American mall!’
Hearing their names, they both turned around to hear Bex saying, ‘What about passports? Do they both have them?’
They’d discussed this the day before – Bex had been confident that they could get hold of a fake passport for Kieron if necessary, but he’d told her that he still had one from a school trip a few years before. Sam had been on the same trip.
Both of their mothers said, ‘Yes,’ at the same time.
‘What about visas?’ Kieron’s mother asked.
‘It’s all done electronically,’ Bex said smoothly. ‘If you can give me their passport numbers, dates of birth and places of birth, I’ll get that organised.’
By that time they’d finished their main courses and were drifting into dessert territory. In her guise as Chloe Gibbons, Bex engaged Kieron and Sam in conversation, asking them about their likes and dislikes, their lives, and what exactly they liked about the music of Lethal Insomnia. Kieron couldn’t fault her professionalism. She’d obviously been researching the band; she knew their names, which instruments they played and everything.
‘I have to ask,’ Sam’s mother asked as she finished the last spoonful of her lemon torte, ‘do you actually like this music? I mean, we’re older than you, but you’re older than them.’ She indicated Kieron and Sam with her thumb. ‘Which side of the fence do you fall?’
‘I have to say,’ Bex answered smoothly, ‘that I love the music. I have to say that because I’m the publicist, and that’s what I get paid to say.’ She leaned theatrically across the table. ‘But to be honest, I prefer something a bit smoother; less spiky. More of a tune. And where you can actually hear the words.’
The lunch broke up shortly after that, with Bex saying that a car would pick the boys up at six o’clock in the morning, two days later. She left – supposedly to catch her train – and while the two mothers were saying their goodbyes, Sam looked at Kieron and muttered, ‘Well, I have to say, undercover work is a lot more boring than I’d expected.’
‘Yes, but the food is good,’ Kieron pointed out.
CHAPTER SIX
They flew out from Heathrow Airport on the lunchtime flight.
For Bex international travel was always dead time, a pause between more interesting things, but it hadn’t occurred to her that neither Kieron nor Sam had ever flown before. The whole experience was new to them, from the check-in (which was quick and painless), through the security checks (annoying and embarrassing, especially when Kieron had to take his boots and belt off because some pieces of metal somewhere in the massive built-up soles and the buckle set off the security scanner) to the wait in the departures lounge (tedious). Watching them experiencing everything afresh almost made her re-evaluate the whole process of travel. Almost.
‘Why is there a smoked-salmon and seafood bar?’ Sam asked as he looked across the crowd of travellers who were sleeping or sitting and staring blankly into space.
‘What?’ Bex asked, looking up from the ebook reader she’d bought with her. She’d loaded it a while back with all those novels that people were supposed to read but never did. Right now she was fighting her way through James Joyce’s Ulysses. ‘Fighting’ was the operative term. Each difficult phrase she deciphered was like a piece of hard-won ground in an interminable war of made-up words and complicated sentences. She was half inclined to jack it in and move on to something simpler, like War and Peace.
‘Over there,’ Sam said. ‘Look. There’s a kind of fast-food counter right in the centre of the concourse. It’s like a burger bar, except that they’re serving smoked salmon, oysters and prawns.’
Kieron shrugged. ‘Maybe people like it.’
‘Yeah, but you don’t find that anywhere else. Why would people in an airport want to eat seafood?’
Bex searched her mind for reasons, but failed to come up with anything. She’d passed it a hundred times without noticing. ‘I’m guessing,’ she said, ‘that it dates back to the 1950s, when intercontinental travel started became something for ordinary people, not just the super-rich. Passengers wanted to have an experience that made them feel like they were special.’
‘Yeah,’ Sam said, ‘but seafood? How special is that?’ He frowned. ‘I hope I don’t end up sitting next to someone who’s been there. I’ll be smelling prawns for the whole flight.’
‘I could check it out on the ARCC glasses,’ Kieron said, reaching into his jacket.
Bex hit him on the arm with her ebook reader. Gently. ‘Do not do that. I don’t want us to attract any attention, and I don’t want you using the ARCC equipment unless it’s in furtherance of the mission. No playing around.’
He scowled, but he brought his hand out. ‘I was just trying to help,’ he muttered.
Once they boarded the aircraft, they had seven hours of tedium ahead of them. They had three seats together, with Sam by the window and Bex on the aisle.
‘Is that so you can quickly leap into action if anything bad happens?’ Kieron asked her as they strapped themselves in.
‘No,’ she said patiently, ‘it’s so I can get to the toilet without having to clamber over you two.’ Actually, it was so she had freedom of movement if there was trouble. The chances of any terrorist activity were slim, especially flying out of Heathrow where security was intense, but she wanted to be in a position where if anyone looked as if they were trying to take the battery out of their laptop and ignite it, or set fire to their chemically treated underpants, she could do something. Not that she wanted to – especially not in the case of chemically treated underpants. But at least she had a clear line of sight up and down the aisle. That made her feel more secure.
A rogue memory from years ago struck her, and she smiled. On one of her first trips to America Bex had been sitting diagonally across the aisle from a man who, she’d noticed at check-in, had a glass eye. Halfway through the flight she had got the distinct impression that she was being watched. Bex trusted her sixth sense. She wasn’t sure whether there really was such a thin
g as a sixth sense or whether it was just the other five senses picking up on something that was just beneath the level of conscious detection, but previous intuitive feelings had turned out to be true, so she was inclined to listen when unexplained alarm bells started ringing in her head. So she had casually put her book down, stretched and looked around as if she was searching for a stewardess. The man with the glass eye, sitting diagonally behind her across the aisle, was staring right at the back of her neck. He didn’t even try to look away. Bex stared back at him, frowning, to see if he’d get embarrassed, but he just kept staring. And then she realised: the man had fallen asleep, but his glass eye was still open and staring at her. As she turned back to her book, she’d reflected that it made sense. It wasn’t as if the light in the cabin was going to keep him awake.
‘What’s so funny?’ Kieron asked.
‘Just remembering something,’ she said.
Kieron and Sam had both bought their hand-held game consoles, so they spent most of the time playing – either individually or networked together. Kieron fell asleep a couple of hours after take-off, while still playing his game, and he gradually slid sideways until his head ended up on Bex’s shoulder. She debated pushing him away, but she didn’t want to wake him up. And besides, he looked so young and vulnerable, with his eyes closed and his hair hanging across his face.
How had she got herself into this situation with Kieron and Sam, she wondered as she stared down at him? This had not been part of the career plan that she and Bradley had worked out. Each individual step had made sense at the time, but the end result was that she was embarking on an undercover intelligence mission in the company of two teenagers. This was not standard operating procedure for agents.