She glanced around, hoping to spot Peter or the twins among the departing pupils but it seemed they’d already gone. All she could think to do was hide behind the bike shed and watch the door till Lee came out. Maybe he wouldn’t find what he was looking for.
He didn’t. At a quarter to four he emerged empty handed, looking glum. Rosie’s heart soared. You can’t hide a metre of wood in your pocket, but I can’t believe he missed it. She watched as the boy trailed disconsolately out of the yard, then slipped back inside.
It was there, in the corner where she’d propped it. She grabbed it, peeked round the door to make sure no cleaner was about and left the building, intent on catching up with Peter and the twins. She was in such a hurry that she jogged right past the phone box without noticing that Lee was inside, and that he’d clocked her.
As Rosie approached the phone box, Kippax senior was blasting his son’s eardrum. ‘OF COURSE SHE WAS LOOKING FOR THE SAME THING AS YOU, YOU DAFT LITTLE GROMMIT. SHE’S PROBABLY IN THERE RIGHT NOW SHOVING IT IN HER …’
‘Dad!’ The boy goggled through the glass. ‘You’re right, she’s just gone past with it in her hand.’
‘WELL WHAT YOU WAITING FOR, YOU PILLOCK? GET AFTER HER – GET IT OFF HER. GO ON!’
‘OK, Dad. I’m off.’ Lee slammed down the handset and burst from the kiosk. Rosie was disappearing round a curve, pumping the bit of frame up and down like a relay runner with the baton. He raced after her.
At first he did well because the girl didn’t know she was being chased. She jogged up the road, swerving through kids dawdling homeward, expecting any minute to see Peter and the twins in front of her. Lee, going full pelt, was closing the gap. Then, when he was no more than twenty metres behind, some daft kid swerved into his path and they collided. ‘Hey!’ cried the startled child. ‘Why the heck can’t you watch where you’re going?’ Normally Lee would have taken time out to flatten him, but Rosie had heard the kid’s cry and glanced back. As soon as she saw Lee she knew what he was after and put on a spurt. Raised in the country, she could run like a hare. In seconds the gap had widened to thirty metres, then forty, then fifty. The thought of what his dad would do to him if he let the gipsy get away acted as an accelerator to Lee, who pounded after her.
Rosie was lean and fit but Lee was desperate and she couldn’t shake him off. She was blowing hard and getting a stitch in her side when she saw Peter and the twins ahead.
‘Hey, wait!’ They recognized her voice and turned. Rosie lolloped up to them, gasping. ‘This.’ She held out the gilded wood. ‘Proof, I think. Off up the Manor … make sure. Grab him.’ She jerked her head towards Lee, who had spotted her in company and slowed. ‘Give me a start, OK?’ She staggered on.
Lee swerved into the middle of the road to avoid them. They spread out to block him and he ran roaring at Carrie, thinking she’d chicken out. She didn’t. As he charged her she lowered her head and rammed him in the pit of his stomach. He collapsed onto his knees, hugging his middle while his face turned purple. As he toppled sideways the two boys threw themselves on him, pinning him to the ground. Carrie glanced up the road. Rosie was well clear but limping. They’d need to hold Lee for a minute or two but it wasn’t a problem. Badly winded, the bully lay spread-eagled like a dead starfish under Con and Pete. She’d just permitted herself a faint smile when she heard the sound of a motor moving at speed. A blue van came zooming up the road and screeched to a halt. The driver’s door was flung open. Bob Kippax emerged looking murderous. He strode towards them.
‘GERROFFIM! LERRIMUP!’ The two startled boys rolled off their victim as his father stormed towards them. Lee sat up, wrapped his arms round his stomach and rocked. Kippax glared down at him without sympathy. ‘Where’s that bit of wood, you useless lump – don’t tell me you didn’t get it?’
‘I … she ran off, Dad.’
‘She’s a GIRL, you plonker. Girls don’t run, they flap about. Which way’s she gone – where does she live, for Pete’s sake?’
‘She’s not gone home,’ blurted Peter. ‘She’s …’
‘SHUT IT, PETE!’ This from Carrie.
Peter clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘S … sorry.’
Kippax eyeballed him. ‘Where has she gone, boy? Spit it out or I’ll shove two fingers up your nose and pull an eyeball down.’
‘I … I dunno, Mr Kippax.’
‘Yes you do. I bet it’s the police station, isn’t it?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ The man smiled tightly. ‘So what does that leave?’ He frowned, thinking.
Peter and the twins started backing away, ready to run. Lee had risen to his knees and was knocking dust off his uniform. He gave his father a sulky look. ‘Bet I know where she’s off to.’
Kippax senior glanced at his son. ‘Come on then, Einstein – enlighten us.’
‘What – in front of them?’ Lee nodded towards the three children.
Kippax glared at them. ‘Make yourselves scarce NOW, or I’ll report you for assault. GO ON!’ He watched as they pelted up the road, then turned to his son. ‘OK – where? And do get up out of the dirt, you boneless twit.’
Lee clambered to his feet. ‘That bit of frame – it’s off a painting, isn’t it? One of those nicked from the manor.’
‘’Course it is. Why else would I care if someone got hold of it? Where’s she gone with it?’
‘Up the Manor.’
‘The Manor? What the heck for?’
‘To make sure.’
‘Make sure of what, you prawn?’
‘To make sure it is off one of the Turners. She’ll show old Miss whatsername – Massingberd – then take it to the police.’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘D’you think so? D’you think she’s that smart – a ruddy gipsy?’
‘She’s not a gipsy and she is pretty smart. I’d bet a year’s pocket money that’s where she’s gone.’
Kippax chuckled unpleasantly. ‘You just did, sunshine. Come on.’ He strode towards the van.
They ran till Lee, his father and the van were way behind. When they stopped, panting and swiping sweat from their foreheads, Conrad gasped, ‘D’you reckon Lee does know where Rosie’s gone?’
Peter shrugged. ‘Dunno. His dad called him Einstein, but Frankenstein’s more like it. I don’t see how he could know.’
Carrie pulled a face. ‘He might guess though, and I wouldn’t want to be Rosie if he does. I think we’d better get up there in case she needs help.’
Peter looked at her. ‘How could we help, Carrie? You saw what old Kippax is like when he’s mad. We need the police.’
Carrie sighed. ‘Yes, Pete, I know we need the police, but the police need evidence and we haven’t got it – Rosie has. We’re kids – they wouldn’t believe a word we said.’
‘So you suggest something.’
‘OK.’ She gazed at the two boys. ‘I know we can’t stand up to Kippax as we are now, but it’d be different if we were invisible, right?’
‘Ugh!’ Conrad shivered. ‘No more invisible for me, Sis. Not after what happened to me last time.’
‘You were being a div last time, Con. Messing about. There’d be none of that this time.’ She turned to Peter. ‘Tell him, Pete.’
Peter pouted. ‘Actually I’m not keen myself, Carrie. Stuff can happen when you’re invisible. Bad stuff. I vote we tell a grown-up – our parents or The Bee or somebody.’
Carrie snorted. ‘Waste of time, Pete. Nobody’d believe us. Listen – we’re supposed to be a gang, aren’t we? Well – aren’t we?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I suppose.’
‘And the point about gangs is that members stick together, right? Help one another.’
‘Uh … yeah.’
‘Hmmm…’
‘Well then – Rosie’s a member, she could be in trouble – in danger – so it’s up to us to help her. Am I right?’
‘Haaar.’
‘Umph.’
‘Is that a yes, or what?’
<
br /> ‘Ah … yeah.’
‘Uh … mmm.’
‘Well come on then – let’s go.’
‘Where?’
‘The ice house, of course. How else do we go invisible? Move.’
‘Just when I’m dying for my flipping tea,’ groaned Conrad.
Charlotte dawdled along the road feeling glum. OK, so it’s Friday. No school tomorrow, but it’s also the first weekiversary of not getting Split le Beau’s autograph, so it’s a bummer. Everything’s a bummer, and invisibility’s the biggest bummer of them all. She aimed a kick at a drift of fallen leaves, turned the corner and stopped dead. Right in front of her, not twenty metres away, stood a long silver Mercedes. Beside it, leaning on its gleaming roof, smoking a cigarette, was Split le Beau.
She couldn’t believe it at first, but stood gaping as her jaw dropped and her knees turned to jelly. It isn’t him. It can’t be. He’s a superstar. He wouldn’t hang around this dead hole for a week. She was gathering her courage to go up to him and say, Excuse me, but has anybody ever told you you look just like Split le Beau? when he noticed her and smiled across the polished roof.
‘Hello.’
‘Huuu … uuu … hello. Is it you, really?’
‘It’s me, really’ The cigarette wagged as he spoke. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Charlotte. Charlotte Webb. I…’ She’d been about to say I saw you at school, but changed it to ‘I missed you at school. Last week. I was away.’
He grinned round the cigarette. ‘Shame. Still you’ve caught me now, haven’t you?’
‘Uh … yes.’ She giggled, feeling her cheeks flame. ‘Can I… would you mind… ?’ Fumbling with her bag.
‘An autograph?’ He smiled. ‘Don’t worry about paper, I’ve got some snapshots somewhere.’ He opened the driver’s door and stooped to the map pocket. Here y’are.’ He rested the photo on the roof and spoke the words he was inscribing as Charlotte moved closer. ‘To Charlotte – sincerely – Split.’ He looked up. ‘What’s today’s date?’ She told him in a hoarse whisper and he added it with a flourish. ‘There. That all right for you, Charlotte?’ He handed her the glossy photo.
She glanced at it, nodding. ‘It’s … fabulous, Split. Fabulous.’
The superstar chuckled. ‘Good. Well – better get on. Got an appointment at four. ‘Bye, Charlotte.’
‘Oh, yes. Bye, Spl…’
He was swinging himself into the driver’s seat when there was a sound of running footsteps and Rosie came tearing round the corner. She saw the car, then Charlotte, and as he leaned across to get the door, she saw Split le Beau. ‘Wha… ?’ The shock broke her rhythm. She came to a panting halt, looking from Charlotte to Split and back to Charlotte. ‘Charlotte, how the … what’re you doing with … oh, heck!’ She glanced behind, held up the bit of frame. ‘Gotta go. The Manor. Kippax behind. I’ll phone later. See you.’ With a last yearning glance in Split’s direction she ran on, sweat glistening on her forehead.
His chuckle diverted Charlotte’s attention from her friend’s flight. ‘What was all that about?’
‘Oh…’ She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. That’s Rosie. We’re just…’ She broke off as a blue van came screeching round the corner. Split had to slam his door to keep it from being torn off its hinges as the vehicle swerved by. He shook his head. ‘Crazy folk you got around here, Charlotte. You better …’
‘Please, Split…?’
He looked up at her. ‘What is it kid? What’s going on?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think that van’s after Rosie. D’you think you could … ?’ Never get in someone’s car, hissed her mind, but surely … Split le Beau…
‘Sure, hop in.’ He leaned across, opened the passenger door. ‘Did I hear your friend mention the Manor?’
‘Yeah, that’s where she’s gone I think.’
‘Weird.’ He put the car in gear and it shot forward, slamming Charlotte back in her seat.
She looked across at him. ‘What?’
‘The Manor. It’s where my four o’clock appointment is. Hold on.’ They screamed round a bend and sped on.
Charlotte felt unreal.
Made it, and still no sign of Kippax. Rosie hurried up the driveway and mounted the mossy steps. The yellow Polo was parked at the bottom, which meant the nurse was here again. Rosie hoped she wouldn’t stop her seeing Miss Massingberd.
There was a bell-push screwed to the door. She thumbed it, glancing over her should. Come on, Flo Nightingale – it’s urgent. She knew it would be the nurse and not Miss Massingberd who came to the door. It felt like ages before she heard footsteps. The door opened a crack and the nurse frowned down at her.
‘Yes?’
‘Can I see Miss Massingberd for a minute, please? It’s really important.’
‘Oh it is, is it? Why?’
‘It’s about her pictures. The ones that were pinched. I know who did it.’
‘Do you, now?’
‘Yes, look.’ Rosie held out the piece of frame. ‘I think this is off one of them. If Miss Massingberd could just…’
‘I’m sorry. Miss Massingberd is unwell, and besides she’s expecting somebody at any minute. If you come back tomorrow …’
‘It’ll be too late.’ She heard an engine down by the road, knew it was Kippax. ‘Here.’ She thrust the gilded strip at the woman. ‘Take this to the old lady. She’ll recognize it.’
She was halfway down the steps when the nurse called after her. ‘What’s your name, little girl?’
‘Rosie.’ She flung the word over her shoulder without stopping. ‘Rosie Walk.’ She could see the van through thin autumn foliage. Another second and the driver would see her. She heard the door close behind her as she raced for the shrubbery.
Too late. She was less than halfway there when the van overtook her, slewing to a stop in a spray of gravel. The driver’s door flew open and Kippax baled out. Before she had time to cry out or change direction he’d grabbed her. A brawny arm circled her neck, a rough palm clamped her mouth.
‘OK, gipsy, where is it?’
‘What?’ She kicked and writhed and tried to bite his hand.
‘You know what. Come on – what you done with it?’ The arm round her neck tightened. She began to choke. Through her tears she could see Lee in the passenger seat, watching. The pressure eased a fraction and she croaked, ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She prayed the nurse was showing the strip to Miss Massingberd right now.
‘YOU KNOW ALL RIGHT’ He was shouting, shaking her. ‘SPIT IT OUT OR I’LL THROTTLE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU!’
She was choking. Flashes in her eyes like stars exploding and blackness round the edges, flooding in. A hand gripped her flailing forearm. A hand she couldn’t see. A third hand, and a voice hissed in her ear, The ice house. Say it’s in the ice house. Carrie’s voice.
She battered the brawny arm with both fists.
The stranglehold loosened. ‘Well?’
‘The ice house. I hid it in the ice house.’
‘That’s better.’ The arm was removed. Rosie sucked in air as the man grabbed a fistful of hair to steer her by. The blackness was receding. ‘Come on – show me.’
She was stumbling through a tangle of neglected shrubs, her head thrust forward. Twigs scraped her face and Kippax kept treading on her heels as they waded through wet leaves. He was panting with exertion as he shoved her along, sounding like a big dog. The ice house came in sight through the trees. What would she do when they reached it? What would Kippax do to her when he realized she’d lied?
Hey, Rosie, stay cool. Carrie whispered to you, right? That means the Invisibles’re here. Or does it? What if being strangled makes you hear things that aren’t really there?
Well if that’s the explanation you’ll be hearing ’em again, dude. Real soon.
The nurse punched in the number, heard the first ring and handed the receiver to the old lady. Miss Massingberd held it to her ear, gazing at the strip of gilded wood on the table. Somebody
picked up.
‘Hello? Is this the police? Good afternoon, Constable Stables. This is Miss Massingberd, calling from the Manor. That’s right, the Manor. There’s been a… development, I suppose you’d say, in the matter of my stolen paintings. Well, a child rang my bell a few minutes ago, claiming to know who took the paintings. A child, yes. A little girl. She handed my nurse part of a picture frame and it is from one of my Turners. Her name?’ Miss Massingberd shot the nurse an enquiring glance and lip-read the woman’s response. ‘Walk, apparently. Rosie Walk. Oh, you know about her? Is she a gipsy? I really couldn’t say, Constable – didn’t see her myself. Oh, I don’t think … she’d hardly come up here and ring the bell if she was the thief, would she? Her father? But why would a daughter … did you say double bluff? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the term. Oh, I don’t think she’s here now, Constable. The nurse told me she ran off. Come by all means if you think that’s best. You can collect the bit of frame if nothing else. Good, then I’ll see you presently. Goodbye.’
The nurse put down the receiver. ‘On their way, eh?’
The old lady nodded. ‘Keen, our Constable Stables. Very. Doesn’t like gipsies by the sound of him.’ She looked at the nurse. ‘Did the child look like a criminal to you, my dear?’
The nurse pulled a face. ‘No, but then if criminals looked like criminals there’d be no need for detectives, would there?’
Rosie knuckled her eyes and sniffled. No fun, being lowered into darkness by your hair. It hurts, plus she was dead scared. Who wouldn’t be, alone in an abandoned ice house with a guy like Kippax? Even down here he didn’t relax his grip. Her scalp felt tender, as though it was lifting from her skull. He squeezed and she cried out, the sound echoing eerily in the damp blackness.
‘Right, gipsy … where is it?’
‘This way.’ She chose a direction at random, creeping forward. Where are you, Carrie? Do something for goodness’ sake, quick. Don’t let me die down here.
They must have been halfway across the floor when Kippax gasped and swiped at something in the blackness. The movement caused a tug on Rosie’s hair and she yelped.
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