But it didn’t happen that way.
Shortly before lunch, she was called into the headmistress’s office. There was no explanation, just a brief: “Mrs Ridgewell would like to see you at twelve fifteen.” Scarlett was nervous as she climbed the stairs. In a way, she’d been expecting trouble ever since the trip to St Meredith’s. She had been the centre of attention for far too long and for all the wrong reasons. Her work had gone rapidly downhill. She’d been told off twice for daydreaming in class. And then there had been that terrible maths test. The teachers had already decided that all the publicity had gone to her head and Scarlett fully expected Mrs Ridgewell to read her the riot act. Get your head down. Pull your socks up. That sort of thing.
But what the headmistress said came right out of the blue.
“Scarlett, I’m afraid you’re going to be leaving us for a few weeks. I’ve just had a phone call from your father. It seems that some sort of crisis has arisen…”
“What crisis?” Scarlett asked.
“He didn’t say. He was very mysterious, if you want the truth. But he wants you to join him immediately in Hong Kong. In fact, he’s already arranged the flight.”
There was a moment’s silence while Scarlett took this in. There were all sorts of questions that she wanted to ask, but she began with the most obvious. “Has this got something to do with what happened to me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then what?”
“He didn’t say.” Mrs Ridgewell sighed. She had taught at St Genevieve’s for more than twenty years and it showed. Her office was cluttered and a little shabby, with antique furniture and books everywhere. A Siamese cat – it was called Chaucer – lay asleep in a basket in a corner. “You haven’t had a very good term, have you Scarlett?”
“No.” Scarlett shook her head miserably. “I’m sorry, Mrs Ridgewell. I don’t know what’s going on, really. Everything seems to have gone wrong.”
“Well, maybe we should look on the bright side. A complete break for a few weeks might do you good. I’ll ask your teachers to prepare some work for while you’re out there – and, of course, we’re going to have to recast the Christmas play. I have to say that it is all very inconvenient.”
“Didn’t he say anything?”
“I’ve told you everything I know, I’m afraid. I thought he would have discussed it with you.”
“No. I haven’t heard from him.”
“Well, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about. He told me he’d ring you tonight. So you’ve just got time to say goodbye to your friends.”
“When am I leaving?”
“Your flight is tomorrow.”
Tomorrow! Scarlett couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Tomorrow was only a few hours away. How could her dad have done this to her? He hadn’t mentioned anything when they were in the Italian restaurant. What crisis could possibly have arisen in less than a week?
Scarlett spent the rest of the day in a complete daze. Her friends were equally surprised, although the truth was that she was beginning to get a bit of a reputation. She was weird. First the church and now this. She didn’t even get to see Aidan. She looked for him on the way home and tried texting him, but he didn’t reply. Mrs Murdoch had already heard the news. She had started packing by the time Scarlett got home. And she didn’t seem pleased.
“Not a word of warning,” she muttered. “And no explanation. What do you suppose I’m meant to do, sitting here on my own?”
Paul Adams rang that night as he had promised, but he didn’t tell Scarlett anything she wanted to know.
“I’m really sorry, Scarly…” His voice on the line was thin and very distant. “I didn’t want to do this to you. But things have happened … I don’t want to explain until I see you.”
“But you’ve got to tell me!” Scarlett protested. “Is Mum all right? Is it you?”
“We’re both fine. There’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just that there are times when a family has to be together and this is one of them.”
“How long am I staying with you?”
“A couple of weeks. Maybe longer.”
“Why?” There was silence at the other end of the line. “Can’t you tell me anything?” Scarlett went on. “It’s not fair. It’s the middle of term and I’m going to miss the school play and all the parties and everything!”
“Look, I’m just going to have to ask you to trust me. You’ll be here in twenty-four hours and I want to explain everything to you face to face, not over the phone. Can you do that for me, Scarly? Just wait until you get out here … and try not to think too badly of me until you arrive.”
“All right.” What else could she say?
“I’ve booked you into business class, so at least you’ll be comfortable. Make sure you bring lots of books. It’s a long flight.”
He rang off. Scarlett stood there, holding the receiver. She was feeling resentful and she couldn’t stop herself. This wasn’t fair. She was being bundled onto a plane and flown to Hong Kong as if she were a parcel being sent by Fed-Ex. She was fifteen years old. Surely she should have some control over her own life?
The taxi came at midday. Scarlett’s flight was leaving Heathrow at half past three. Mrs Murdoch helped carry the cases out and load them into the back and the two of them got in together. The housekeeper was coming with her as far as the airport and would then return to the house alone. It was a grey, overcast day and the weather reflected Scarlett’s mood. She twisted round as they pulled away and watched the house disappear behind her. She knew she was only going to be abroad for a couple of weeks but even so she couldn’t escape a strange feeling. She wondered if she would ever see it again.
They reached the bottom of the street and were turning left into Half Moon Lane. And that was when it happened. A car crash. Scarlett only saw part of it and it was only later that she was able to piece together what had happened. A car had been driving towards them – it had just come from the main road – and a second car, a BMW, had suddenly pulled out in front of it. Scarlett heard the screech of tyres and the smash of impact and looked up in time to see the two cars ricocheting off each other, out of control. One of them had been forced off the road and was sliding down a private driveway. She could make out at least three people inside.
“London traffic!” The taxi driver sniffed. He completed the turn and they picked up speed.
Scarlett twisted round and looked out of the back – at the crumpled bonnet of one of the cars, steam rising into the air, glass scattered on the road. A bus had been forced to stop and the driver was climbing down, perhaps to see if he could help. The accident was already disappearing into the distance behind them and she supposed it was just a coincidence. It couldn’t mean anything.
But even so it made her uneasy. It reminded her of the moment – two years ago, and just a short distance away – when she had almost been killed. And that made her think of the man who had contacted Aidan, wanting to meet her at the restaurant that had been blown to pieces before she could arrive. Scarlett sank back into her seat, feeling anxious, unable to control what was happening to her. Mrs Murdoch gazed out of the window with no expression on her face.
They parted company at the airport. Scarlett was flying as an unaccompanied minor – what the airline called a Skyflyer Solo. She had to suffer the indignity of a plastic label around her neck before she was led away. She said goodbye to Mrs Murdoch, hugging her awkwardly. Then she picked up her hand luggage and headed for the departure gate.
It had been so close. None of them would ever believe just how close it had actually been.
Matt Freeman had landed at the same airport earlier that morning. There had been a uniformed chauffeur waiting for him and the others, and soon they were sitting in the air-conditioned comfort of a new Jaguar, being driven to their hotel. Richard was dozing in the front seat. He had spent much of the flight working on the diary and had barely slept at all. Jamie was looking out for his first sight of the city. M
att could see that so far he was disappointed. They were driving through a wasteland of blank, modern warehouses and unwelcoming hotels – the sort of places that always surround airports – and Matt wanted to tell him that this wasn’t London at all.
But then, twenty minutes later, they turned off the motorway and suddenly they were in the city itself, passing the Natural History Museum in Kensington – it was still closed for repairs following Matt’s last visit there – then the Victoria and Albert Museum, Harrods and Hyde Park Corner. Jamie stared, open-mouthed. He had spent much of his life in the desert landscape of Nevada and he wasn’t used to seeing anything that was actually old. For him, London with its monuments and palaces was another world. He saw red buses, pigeons, policemen in blue uniforms, taxis… It was like falling into a pile of picture postcards. His one disappointment was that Scott wasn’t with him. The two brothers had never been so far apart.
The driver took them to a hotel in Farringdon, a quiet part of London with narrow streets and a meat market that had been around when the animals were driven there in herds rather than delivered from Europe, pre-packed in boxes. The Tannery, as it was called, was small and anonymous – Richard and Matt had stayed there before. It was just a few minutes away from the private house where the Nexus met. By the time they arrived, it was eleven o’clock. A meeting had been arranged for half past seven that evening, giving them the rest of the day to relax and unwind from the long flight.
They made their way into a reception area which was like the front room of someone’s house, with thick carpets, flowers and the comforting tick of a grandfather clock. The receptionist was a tight-lipped woman who took care not to give too much away. She glanced disapprovingly at Richard – still in his Hawaiian shirt, looking more like a beach bum than ever – and the two boys who were with him, then asked for their passports and slid forward some forms for them to sign.
“How many nights?” she asked.
“We’re not sure,” Richard said.
“Two rooms. I see they’ve been prepaid…”
The telephone rang. The receptionist plucked the receiver as if it were an overripe fruit and held it to her ear. “The Tannery Hotel,” she said. A moment’s silence. Her eyes fluttered and she handed the phone to Richard. “It’s for you, Mr Cole.”
Richard took the phone. Whatever he was hearing, it wasn’t good news. He muttered a few words, then put the phone down.
“What is it?” Matt asked.
“Scarlett Adams… She’s leaving London.”
“What?” Matt couldn’t believe what he had just said. “Where’s she going?”
“We can still catch her.” Richard looked at his watch. “She’s going to Hong Kong. She’s booked on the three thirty flight…”
“Not back to Heathrow!” Jamie groaned.
“No.” Richard weighed up the options. He was finding it hard to concentrate. He needed a shave more than ever and his eyes were red with jet lag. “We can’t intercept her at Heathrow,” he said. “It’s too public. She’s never met us. She might not even want to talk to us. But her taxi isn’t collecting her until midday. We can reach her before she leaves.”
The decision had been made. The three of them dumped their luggage with the receptionist, turned round and walked out again. Fortunately, the driver was still waiting. Richard went up to him and told him where they wanted to go. The driver didn’t argue. Matt and Jamie got back in again.
They hadn’t even seen their rooms. The next moment they were off again, threading their way through Farringdon and down to Blackfriars Bridge. But it was now approaching the lunch hour and London had changed. Although they had made good progress from the airport, the traffic had snarled up. Every traffic light was red. It felt as if the entire city had turned against them.
“Who was it on the phone?” Matt asked.
“Susan Ashwood. She’s already in London.”
Miss Ashwood was a medium who also happened to be blind. Matt had first met her in Yorkshire and it had been she who had introduced him to the Nexus.
“How did she know?” Matt asked.
“The Nexus are still bugging Scarlett’s phone. They had two people following her too…”
It didn’t look as if they were going to make it. The whole of South London had become one long traffic jam. The car crossed Tower Bridge – giving Jamie a quick glimpse of the River Thames and St Paul’s – but after that, the city just felt drab and overcrowded with an endless stretch of cheap shops and restaurants punctuated by new office developments that would have looked out-of-date the moment they were built. Bermondsey, Walworth, Camberwell … they crawled from one district to the next without ever noticing where one ended and the next began and all the time they were aware of time ticking away. Half past eleven, twenty to twelve … they didn’t seem to be getting any nearer.
“This is hopeless,” Richard said. “Maybe we’d better go to Heathrow after all.”
The driver shook his head. “We’re nearly there,” he said.
They dropped down a steep hill – Dog Kennel Hill, it was called – and, looking out of the window, Matt began to feel something very strange. He had never visited this part of London … he was sure of it. And yet, at the same time, he knew where he was. He glimpsed a radio mast in the distance, a road sign pointing to King’s College Hospital. They meant something to him. He had been here before.
And then it hit him. Of course he knew this part of the city. He had lived here – from the time when he was a baby to when he had been about eight years old.
He should have remembered it. It hadn’t been that long ago. But perhaps he had blocked it out. It wouldn’t have been surprising after everything he had been through. Now it all came flooding back. The mast belonged to Crystal Palace. He had often played football there. He had gone into the hospital on his seventh birthday with suspected food poisoning. He remembered sitting miserably in reception – short trousers – with a plastic bowl balanced on his knees. They drove past a very ordinary house but Matt knew at once who lived there. It was a boy called Graham Fleming who had been his best friend at school. The two of them had always thought they would be inseparable. Matt wondered if he was still living there. What would he say if the two of them met now?
And there was something else he remembered. If he went past Graham’s house, turned the corner and walked past the old scout hut, he would come to a small, terraced house in a leafy street where all the houses were small and terraced. Number 32. It would have a green door and – unless they’d finally mended it – a cracked front step. It was his home. That was where he had once lived.
“How much further?” Richard asked.
The driver glanced at his sat nav. “We’re a minute away,” he said.
They went through a traffic light at a busy junction, then drove up towards North Dulwich station, turning into Half Moon Lane which was just opposite. Matt felt dazed. It was extraordinary to think that for half their lives, he and Scarlett had almost been neighbours. They might have passed each other a dozen times without even knowing it. She lived in Ardbeg Road, which was the next on the left, and just for a moment the way ahead was clear. The driver accelerated, glad finally to be able to use the Jaguar’s power.
“Look out!” Richard shouted out the warning too late.
A car shot out from a private drive and smashed right into them.
Matt saw everything. He heard the roar of an engine and that made him turn his head. The car was coming straight at them. The driver was staring at them, his hands clenched on the wheel, not even trying to avoid them. He was middle-aged, clean-shaven – and there was no emotion in his face. He should have been scared. He should have been showing some sort of reaction, knowing what was about to happen. But there was nothing at all.
Half a second later, there was a huge crash of metal against metal as he smashed into them.
The other car was a four-by-four, a BMW, and it was like being hit by a tank. The Jaguar was swept off the road, th
e world tilting away as it was hurled towards a wide, modern house with a short driveway sloping steeply down to the front door. There was a second collision as it hit the door, more crumpling metal. The house alarms went off. Jamie cried out as he was thrown sideways, his head hitting Matt’s shoulder. Matt tasted blood and realized that he had bitten his tongue. The Jaguar was lying at an angle, almost underneath the front wheels of the BMW which was still on the road above them. Both the windows on the driver’s side had shattered. The engine had cut out.
For a moment, nobody moved. Then Richard swore – which at least meant he was alive. He twisted round in the front seat. “Are you two all right?” he asked.
“What happened?” Jamie groaned.
“An accident…” Richard said. “Idiot … wasn’t looking where he was going.”
He was wrong. Matt knew that already. He had seen what had happened. The BMW driver had been waiting for them, knowing they would come this way. Why else would he have shot out like that, slamming straight into them? Matt had seen him, gripping the wheel. He had known exactly what he was doing.
Richard was already out of the car.
“Wait…” Matt said.
But Richard hadn’t heard. He staggered up onto the road, only now becoming aware that he was in pain. There were no cuts or bruises but, like all of them, he had suffered from whiplash. “What the hell do you think you were doing?” he demanded.
The driver of the BMW had got out and was standing in the road. He was a middle-aged man, well-built, wearing a long, black coat and leather gloves. His mouth was soft and flabby, with small teeth, like a child. His skin was very pink. He had curly hair. His head was almost perfectly round, like a football.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” he said. “I didn’t see you. I was in a hurry. I hope none of you are hurt.”
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