Also, was that what Jess Jackson had done, when relaying the information about Harry and Pierre at the cinema? Was it simply the case that Harry had been ambushed too, but had not responded in any meaningful way?
All these thoughts.
All these dilemmas.
He was lost in his own little world, but he still saw her. The lone woman, sitting in a black Vauxhall Astra, parked across the street, pointing a camera in his direction and taking photos.
He instinctively looked over his shoulder. What was so interesting and photo-worthy?
Nothing.
He stared in her direction, a tingle playing on the back of his neck. Something didn’t feel right. He hurried off, but he needn’t have worried. She started the car and pulled away, disappearing quickly up the road and round the corner, swallowed up into the night.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Noah sighed and flicked off his anglepoise lamp, staring at the English homework he’d been unable to complete. Sometimes, being so au fait with Murder, She Wrote was a total curse, because there he was, stressing himself out, when there were probably a million and one explanations for the sinister mystery woman in the car taking photos. Like, maybe she was a professional photographer getting new pictures for her exhibition… Maybe it had a “night life” theme, capturing the nocturnal activities of a broad cross-section of people in semi-rural England. Sure, you usually needed some sort of legal waiver to have your image used, but…
Noah moved to the window, staring out across the back garden and into the dark field beyond the fence. The possibilities were gnawing at him, but he must not give in to yet more paranoia. Let’s face it: it was probably just a misunderstanding. People take photos all the time. It doesn’t have to mean anything.
He checked his Casio digital watch. Quarter to nine. Time to see what Pierre was really up to. He got himself together. Grey joggers, his hoodie from Harry (which he would burn if it turned out Harry was at the shed with Pierre – burn with the white-hot, anguished tears that would cascade from his betrayed eyes), espadrilles, a compass, binoculars and his lightweight, packable cagoule – perfect for unpredictable weather, with its tough nylon exterior, adjustable hood and drawstring waist. Finally, he pulled his pièce de résistance from his bottom drawer, last used on a two-day orienteering expedition with the Scouts. Yeah, his three-hole FlexiTog balaclava. Double knit, long neck, ten-gauge acrylic: you couldn’t get better.
He was ready.
He would now be able to slip stealthily and unseen towards the school shed, operating in the shadows, off the grid and under the radar.
“What are you doing?” his mother said, standing immediately outside his door when he opened it.
Noah blinked at her through the balaclava. “I’m testing my outdoor wear for durability. I may leave online reviews.”
His mother considered him. “Fine,” she said eventually. “Don’t walk my espadrilles through any mud.”
“I won’t,” he muttered, trying to get past her.
“What was that?”
“I WON’T!” he repeated. “God, can I just go?”
She stepped aside. “Back before ten, Noah, and remember to use a condom.”
“Will you please shut up?” he said, already down the stairs and out the front door before she could respond. They were surely both perfectly aware that no one had ever got laid wearing a cagoule and a balaclava.
He darted through the darkness towards the school, swift, stealthy…
“Who’s the prick in the balaclava?” some drunk men shouted from across the road.
Noah grimaced and swung a left down Linwood Road. Fewer street lights. Now he really was invisible – a whisper in the wind! He had often imagined himself working undercover for MI5 … in fact, he was expecting the tap on the shoulder from one of their recruiters any day now. He would be known as “The Ghost” – mysterious, unseen…
“Nice cagoule, Noah!” a pair of Year Nines, who shouldn’t have been out anyway, said as he walked past them.
Noah ignored them. There was a possibility his cover had been compromised. Too bad. He had to check out what the “asset” was up to in the shed, like it or not. Yeah, “asset”. He knew all the words.
Feeling particularly heroic and powerful, he hunkered down behind a bush located a good twenty metres from the shed and checked his watch: 20:56. The moment of truth would soon be upon him. Four minutes. Was that enough time to have a nibble on the Kendal Mint Cake he’d packed? Probably not. He should stay focused. He got his binoculars out and trained them on the door to the shed, heart in his mouth, dreading the sight of Harry appearing at this assignation.
The sound of a car in the distance, growing louder.
A flash of headlights. The crunch of gravel.
A car drove across the access drive towards the shed, stopping by the door and cutting the engine.
Noah swung the binoculars across, but he couldn’t see who was driving, past the glare from the headlights. He swung his view back to the shed, and then towards a movement he saw off to the left. Pierre. Walking from the other direction, a holdall hanging from his right hand.
The driver got out of the car.
It was Ms O’Malley.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
Noah watched as Ms O’Malley and Pierre exchanged a few words before Pierre opened his holdall and let her look inside. Ms O’Malley poked around, looking at the contents, looked back up at Pierre and said something Noah couldn’t make out, then patted him on the shoulder (very chummy!) and led him around the back of her car. Noah couldn’t see what they were looking at when she opened the boot, but whatever it was made Pierre laugh and say “Fantastique!” – so it must have been fairly good.
Although this was highly curious, Noah’s main feeling at that very moment was one of relief. Pierre was not here to meet Harry. There was no secret love affair happening (well, not right now, anyway). The meeting was not about secret shagging, it was something else entirely. That was excellent news.
But now he also felt guilt, for thinking it in the first place. Because of course Harry wouldn’t do something like that. Harry was too lovely and loyal and kind to do anything that would hurt Noah. And he also wasn’t stupid enough to get involved in some sort of love triangle, nor fickle enough to get together and have a holiday-type romance with a boy who would only be here for a little over a week anyway. Noah could see that now. Why hadn’t he before?
He sighed. When he next saw Harry, he would explain everything. He would tell him the truth. He would explain all his feelings and all his worries, and hope Harry would understand. And because it was Harry, he probably would.
Pierre and Ms O’Malley came back round the front of the car again, Ms O’Malley now jangling a set of keys from her fingers, which she used to unlock the shed. Then Noah watched as they unloaded two wooden crates from the boot of the car and went inside.
What the actual hell?
Noah kept the binoculars trained on the door to the shed, his mouth getting increasingly dry. There were two ways of looking at this situation:
1)Noah had read nearly all of Agatha Christie’s novels, so was highly attuned to the possibility of wrongdoing, so much so, he saw it when none actually existed and lived in a constant state of paranoia which was entirely unjustified. Or…
2)Noah had read nearly all of Agatha Christie’s novels and therefore knew wrongdoing when it was staring him in the face – and this was what he had just stumbled across.
OK, there were some facts here. Noah knew that teachers were not supposed to meet up secretly with students. That was how teachers got their photos on news sites, shielding their faces from the camera, or leaving court with a towel over their heads. At least Ms O’Malley wouldn’t struggle to find a suitable towel – there were loads of rank, minging ones in the PE lost property basket.
But before he had a chance to consider the clues further, Ms O’Malley had stepped out of the shed,
now on her mobile. “Yes! The money has been received. Yes … from Moscow…”
Moscow…
The money…
And then Noah remembered…
The Russian wire transfer that Noah had seen in her office!
Noah swallowed three times in quick succession. Oh, the terrible burden of having a curious mind! It would have been better not to witness any of this, to have never tasted the forbidden fruit of Knowledge! Ignorance would have been bliss. Now, like it or not, he knew stuff. He had a responsibility.
Pierre came out of the shed. Ms O’Malley finished the call and took a bundle of cash out of her pocket, which she counted into Pierre’s hand. A few more words, and then they nodded at each other and Pierre hurried away – the holdall still hanging from his fingers … only now, it was clearly empty.
Ms O’Malley locked up the shed and glanced around. Satisfied they had worked undetected, she got in her car and drove back along the access lane, disappearing into the night.
Noah lowered the binoculars and stared towards the shed, shivering as an icy wind prickled the back of his neck: who exactly was Pierre?
Noah wanted to know.
And who exactly was Ms O’Malley?
Was she deep undercover for the KGB?
He pushed his way out from the bushes, on to the small path, and pulled his balaclava off as he rejoined the main road. Something was afoot; he could feel it. The clues were there, they always had been, he just couldn’t see how they connected. He just—
“Have you got the time?”
“Um, yes, it’s—” He looked up, and straight into a familiar face. A woman. The woman from earlier. Taking photos from her car. His chest tightened, as he shot a glance at his watch. “Ten past nine,” he muttered.
She smiled. “Thanks.”
Noah looked at the man she was standing with, tapping away on his phone, on the pavement … waiting for a cab, maybe? Yes. That was probably it. The woman who had a perfectly good car was probably now waiting for a cab…
“Hope you’re not only just leaving school,” the woman said, cocking her head towards the sign that pointed to the gates from where Noah had just emerged.
“No, I haven’t…” Noah swallowed, flicked his eyes towards her and then away, “I haven’t…”
“Been at school?”
“No.”
The woman looked at him for a moment, then nodded.
Noah gave a tight smile. “Good evening,” he mumbled, hurrying away up the pavement. If he wasn’t worried before, or had at least been able to think of a logical explanation, he couldn’t now. Twice in one night wasn’t coincidence – it was a sign. A sign that something was definitely up. And whether they were undercover police or secret government agents or plain old DANGEROUS UNDERWORLD GANGSTERS, they were on to something … something in Little Fobbing…
Noah’s mind raced as he hotfooted it back home. Dad, Bambi, Eric, Ms O’Malley and the Russians, and whatever she and Pierre were up to … any one of those things.
And how could he be so sure?
That man had been using a mobile phone.
No one asks for the time when it’s always on your mobile phone.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR
Noah had taken the shortcut through the PE corridor in the hope of getting to Design Technology early and thereby securing one of the better soldering irons, but he now wished he hadn’t. A mob of squirming, wriggling Year Sevens were swarming around the entrance to the changing rooms, and ahead, at the centre of it all, was Jack Hooper.
It was no good. Noah couldn’t avoid him for ever. He was going to have to bite the bullet. Noah scuttled up to the boy. “Jack—”
“Too late. Found another source,” Jack said, turning away from Noah.
“What? Who?”
“Can’t reveal that.”
Noah nodded, the tension in his shoulders subsiding. “Well, I wish you well, Jack.” Some other sucker can make a loss selling it to you. Noah held out a hand to shake with Jack. “Good luck.”
Jack stared at Noah’s hand and shook his head. “No.”
“What do you mean?”
An evil grin played across Jack’s mouth as he stepped in close. “This is my patch now. There’s not room for both of us, so you need to back right off.”
“Look, I’m not going to be told what I can and can’t do by – AH!” Noah gasped as Jack somehow pushed him face first into a Year Nine display entitled “How to Spot Bullying” on the corridor wall. “Jack – no! Please!” Noah said as Jack started pulling Noah’s rucksack off. “No! You’re being too rough! Ow! AHH! Stop!” Two lackeys pinned a squirming Noah still whilst Jack rifled through his bag.
“Nice! A Laughing Cow cheese triangle!” Jack said, triumphantly holding it aloft.
The lackeys released him, and Noah turned and brushed himself down. “That’s part of my lunch, Jack. That’s my Laughing Cow triangle. Put it back.”
“Point is,” Jack said, keeping his eyes fixed on Noah as he carefully peeled back the foil wrapper, “things will get a whole lot worse for you unless you agree to my demands and stop selling the shake. My territory, my rules.” Jack stepped closer to a quivering Noah, waving the naked soft-cheese triangle under his nose. “Get me?”
“You won’t get away with this!” Noah hissed.
“Oh,” Jack said, smearing the Laughing Cow triangle gently over Noah’s lips, nose and cheeks, “I think I will. I think you’ll do exactly what’s right. In the end.” Jack stepped back and tutted. “Oh, Noah, you’ve got cheese all over your face. Cheese Face!”
“Shut up.”
“Cheese Face! Cheese Face!” Jack started chanting.
“Jack, this isn’t—”
But Jack’s obvious popularity and influence meant the other Year Sevens started joining in the chant. “CHEESE FACE! CHEESE FACE!”
“SILENCE! ALL OF YOU!” It was Ms O’Malley – red and furious. “Grimes!” she said, spotting him. “What sort of message does it send our youngest students if you are playing with your food, like some sort of pig? Go and get cleaned up and think about your actions.”
Noah glared at Ms O’Malley and then at Jack, who gave him the sweetest smile. “Yeah, that’s really immature, Noah! You shouldn’t waste food when there are people less fortunate than us who don’t have enough to eat.”
“Exactly right, Jack!” Ms O’Malley said. “Two merit marks for showing maturity and consideration.”
Noah stomped off down the corridor, fists clenched, now forced to make a detour to the boys’ toilets, dreams of the best soldering iron in tatters. How was he going to secure the funds for Gran’s dream care home now? How dare Jack behave like this! How dare the little shit screw him over! How dare—
“You need to show kids like that who’s boss!”
Noah turned as Connor strolled up to him. Huh. Easy for Connor to say. Connor was tall and packed a healthy nine-and-a-half stone of toned muscle in his uniform that somehow looked fashionable and cool on him. No one would mess with him.
Connor put his arm across Noah’s shoulders. “How do you think you could do that, Noah?”
“Advanced weaponry?” Noah shrugged.
Connor shook his head. “Nah, carrying that sort of shit will get you arrested. You gotta stop them from even engaging; you’ve got to intimidate them with how you look.”
“What, like, being bigger and stronger, you mean?”
“Sure.” Connor nodded. “And hey, added bonus, bet Harry wouldn’t complain either!”
“Huh,” Noah said, flicking his eyes to the floor.
“I know,” Connor said. “Big mountain to climb, right? Lots of hours in the gym, and gym sucks, right?”
“Pretty much,” Noah agreed.
Connor sighed and shook his head. “Unless!” He jumped back, an amazing idea suddenly forming in his head. “Unless there’s an easier way! A way to get bigger … without so much effort…”
Noah looked up sharply.
Surely this wasn’t going the way he thought it was?! “What like?”
“Like this!” Connor said, whipping his rucksack off his back and pulling out a tub of protein shake. “Now, normally this retails at thirty quid a tub, but—”
Noah held his hand up. “Connor, I know about this. I’m a rep.”
“A rep?” Connor spluttered. “This is my patch, mate! You back off and sell somewhere else!”
“I wasn’t told anything about areas!” Noah protested.
“Well, you have been now.” Connor shook his head and turned back down the corridor. “Jesus,” Noah heard him mutter.
This was just brilliant. Who else was a rep for this sodding shake? His gran? Sophie in Milton Keynes? The Queen of bloody England?!
“Noah?”
“Not now, Harry!” Noah snapped.
“Why have you got cheese all over your—”
“BECAUSE I JUST HAVE, OK?!”
Harry looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. Eyes that seemed to be pleading, don’t be cross with me. “Do you want a tissue?”
“Yes, please,” Noah muttered.
Harry pulled one from a pack in his blazer pocket and handed it to Noah. “Um, I wanted to apologize for the whole quiz thing, so … here I am. Saying sorry. I was wrong to even think the club was a good idea – I know how hard you’ve worked on the quiz and it was thoughtless of me. Sorry, Noah.” Harry looked at him and chewed his lip. “And I only mentioned to Pierre that you had to be careful with cash because he was asking why you didn’t want to come out and do stuff. So, again, I’m sorry.”
“Well, I wish you hadn’t, Haz. It’s awful having no money. It’s a horrible thing. I like nice things – you know I do. I like posh food and fancy restaurants. Well, I like the idea of them anyway, I’ve never actually been to any. I suppose it’s stupid, really. There are plenty of people worse off.”
Harry nodded. “I know. But I’m sorry for saying anything to Pierre. It’s none of his business, and I didn’t think.”
“OK, well, I’m sorry too. For overreacting and … calling you a wank weasel.”
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