by Karen King
‘I almost caught him,’ I said, ‘but someone tripped me up – with that branch, by the look of it.’ I went over to inspect the bike. The front wheel was a bit bent, but it was rideable. Grandad said they made things to last in the olden days and it looked like he was right. My bike back home would have been seriously damaged if I’d crashed it like that.
‘Some toerag has put a brick through my window!’ Old Joe was fuming. ‘Did you get a good look at him?’
I shook my head. ‘He had his back to us, but I’m pretty sure he was one of those yobs who have been causing trouble for you.’
Old Joe was furious. ‘First my chickens and now this! Well if they think they’re going to frighten me into submission they’ve got another think coming. I’ll report this latest episode to PC Lambard and let him deal with them.’
‘But then they’ll probably do something else.’ Max looked worried.
‘Then I’ll report them again. And I’ll carry on until they stop. I’ve fought on the front line, lad, and I’ll not be bullied by a gang of youngsters who don’t think anyone has the right to correct them.’
He was right, but I couldn’t help feeling worried too. Skinhead and his cronies were a tough bunch and they could make things very awkward for Joe if they wanted to. I wondered if they were responsible for the burst pipe and missing roof tiles. If this was part of their plan to get revenge on Old Joe for reporting them to the police, they were taking things way too far in my opinion.
The more I thought about it, though, the more unlikely it seemed. Letting chickens loose and throwing a stone through a window was just the sort of behaviour I’d expect of them, but I doubted if they had the brains to think of doing the other stuff, let alone the ability to carry it out.
We helped Old Joe clear up the broken glass and board up the window until he could get it replaced, then we went up to the attic to start sorting things out.
We placed the old photos, newspapers and letters into separate piles so that Old Joe could look through them later and decide which ones he wanted to keep.
If I was him, I couldn’t bring myself to throw anything away. It was all so fascinating. I’d never really liked history at school, but this was different. It was ordinary people’s lives, not the civil war or how the Wild West was won. I wondered if Gran had stuff like this in her attic. I’d seen some photos of Dad when he was younger, of course, but it would be really cool to see ones of Grandad and Gran when they were young, and maybe their parents too.
We found some of Joe’s old school reports, which made us chuckle – ‘could try harder’ and ‘lacks discipline’ were repeated comments. Joe scowled and said teachers were a lot tougher then and would cane you if you so much as coughed in class. Then I came across a pile of threadbare diaries, tied together with lots of thick cord.
‘Are these your dad’s?’ I asked. ‘Is it okay if I read them?’
‘Go ahead, Amy,’ Old Joe replied. He glanced at his watch. ‘I have to go out soon, so why don’t you take them with you? You can bring them back when you’re done.’
‘Really? I’ll look after them, I promise!’ I carefully picked up the books and carried them down from the attic.
‘Can I read them too?’ asked Max.
‘Sure, come around after lunch and we’ll read them together,’ I told him. ‘We’ll get through them quicker that way.’
I put the diaries in the basket on my bike and we set off home.
Gran had said that Mr Smythe was staying for two weeks, so I was surprised to see his car parked behind Beachview, with the hatchback open. As we got nearer I could see that his suitcase, a couple of rugs and a folding chair were inside the boot. It looked like he was leaving. And I could guess why. He’d been avoiding me since I tackled him about stealing my bracelet. I bet he was doing a runner with it. Well, he wasn’t going to get away with it!
‘Have you got that whistle on you?’ I asked Max. For some reason he carried it around everywhere.
‘Yeah, why?’
‘’Cos I’m going to find my bracelet before Mr Smythe disappears with it. Go into the backyard and blow your whistle to warn me if he comes out.’
‘What am I supposed to do in the backyard?’ Max grumbled.
‘I don’t know. Use your brains. Pretend your bike chain has come off and you’re fixing it. And if he comes out, try to keep him talking, it will give me time to have a good look through his suitcase.’
‘Why do I get all the lousy jobs?’ Max grumbled, wheeling his bike into Gran’s backyard.
I ignored him, leant my bike against the fence and hurried over to the car. I had to be quick but thorough. If I let Mr Smythe go off with the bracelet, I’d never see it again.
The suitcase was right at the back of the boot. I grabbed it, but it was jammed between the folding chair and a toolbox. I glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, then climbed into the boot and unzipped the case. It was full of clothes; some of them didn’t smell very clean. I opened a plastic bag and caught the whiff of dirty socks. Gross!
‘Fancy leaving a car parked here, some people are so thoughtless.’
‘I know, there’s barely enough space to walk around it.’
It was the Arnold sisters. They lived next door to Max. I couldn’t let them see me looking through Mr Smythe’s suitcase! I quickly crouched down as low as I could, grabbed one of the rugs and threw it over me.
Then I heard three sharp whistles.
It was Max, warning me that Mr Smythe was on his way out.
Okay, I had to get out of here, and fast. But before I had the chance to do anything, I heard the boot slam shut, then someone got in the car and started the engine. Next thing I knew we were moving. Mr Smythe was off … and he was taking me with him!
I was trapped.
Chapter 10
Stowaway
I tried not to think what Mr Smythe would do if he found me in the boot of his car. I couldn’t help recalling that sinister look on his face when he warned me not to mention the bracelet to anyone. I had to keep calm; it was my only chance of getting out of here.
I took a few deep breaths and tried not to panic. At least I was locked in the boot of a hatchback rather than the closed-in boot of a saloon. That meant I could see where we were going if I lifted a corner of the blanket. It also meant that Mr Smythe could see me if I wasn’t careful, so I had to keep as still as possible.
I doubted if he was going very far, not when he was so interested in Old Joe’s land. With a bit of luck, he might not unpack his car straight away, then I could sneak out without him being any the wiser. Meanwhile, I might still be able to search through the suitcase. Dare I risk it?
I was just about to wriggle my hand through the open zip when my cellphone bleeped as a text message came in. My heart raced. I could feel my mouth drying up with fear. But I’d got lucky. Mr Smythe had the radio on, so he hadn’t heard it. I quickly switched the volume to mute – not an easy thing to do when you’re crouched in the boot of a car with a rug over your head – then read the text. It was Max. I should have guessed.
I tried to shift to a more comfortable position so I could feel inside the suitcase, but it was hopeless. All I could feel were clothes, and I was petrified that Mr Smythe would see me in the rearview mirror. I’d just have to lie still, wait until he stopped, and hope he didn’t go straight to the boot for his suitcase. I tried not to think about what would happen if he did, or how I’d get home if I managed to escape.
Stay calm and think positive, I told myself. Max knows where you are. He’ll tell Gran if you don’t come home soon. All sorts of panicky thoughts were running through my head as I lay crouched in the back of the car, hardly daring to breathe in case Mr Smythe heard me. What if I needed to sneeze or cough? After all, if he was ruthless enough to damage Old Joe’s cottage to make him sell, what would he do to me if he realised I was on to him? It was a relief when the car finally stopped. I lifted a corner of the rug and saw that we were in a car park, then
I glanced at my watch. It was 12.30 – we’d been travelling for about forty-five minutes. I heard the door open and braced myself, beads of sweat dripping down my face. If Mr Smythe opened the boot I’d have about five seconds to throw off the rug and make a run for it. I poised myself for action and waited for Mr Smythe to get out.
Instead, someone else got in. ‘You’re late,’ a man’s voice said. ‘Have you got the bracelet?’
I dropped the corner of the rug and lay as flat and still as I could.
‘It’s in my pocket,’ Mr Smythe replied. ‘Have you told the others? Are the funds ready?’
So he had the bracelet on him. I’d gone through all this for nothing!
‘Yes, and we want you to make the old guy an offer he can’t refuse. You can go over the amount we agreed, if necessary.’
‘What if he doesn’t want to sell?’
‘It’s up to you to persuade him.’
There was a pause for a moment, then the other man continued. ‘Shame you had to move out of that B&B. It was close to the cottage, convenient to keep an eye on things.’
‘Well I couldn’t really stay there once I’d taken the bracelet, could I?’ Mr Smythe retorted.
‘I guess not. Anyway, come on, the others are waiting inside.’
I heard them both get out of the car, then the doors slammed shut. I left it for a few minutes before peeking out from the rug, just to make sure it was safe. I threw back the rug and scrambled over the back, dropping onto the rear seat. For a moment I panicked – what if there was some kind of safety lock on and I couldn’t open the door from the inside? I took a deep breath, grabbed the door handle and pulled it. It opened! I jumped out, shut the door behind me and looked around to try and get my bearings.
I guessed by the Red Lion sign on the wall that we were in a pub car park. I knew I should probably make my way straight home, but I couldn’t miss this opportunity to find out who Mr Smythe was meeting and what they were planning. It would also be good to know where he was staying now. I was sure he didn’t intend to go very far if he was going to be pressurising Old Joe into selling up.
I quickly sent a text to Max to let him know I’d managed to get out of the car and would report back to him later, with a strict warning not to contact me or say anything to Gran. Then I went in search of Mr Smythe. I soon found him, sitting at a table inside the pub restaurant with another couple of men and two women, one of whom was wearing the reddest lipstick I’d ever seen. I itched to get closer to them and hear what they were saying, but I couldn’t risk Mr Smythe seeing me.
‘Are you with someone?’ a middle-aged waitress asked, kindly. ‘I’m afraid children aren’t allowed in here on their own.’
‘My mum’s in the car outside. I just wanted to go to the washroom,’ I told her.
‘Washroom?’ the woman repeated, looking at me with a blank expression.
‘Toilet,’ I quickly corrected. I thought I’d mastered most of the UK–US language differences, but every now and again I still slipped up.
‘Ah. Just down that corridor on your right.’ She pointed ahead.
‘Thanks.’ I headed down the corridor.
I thought that I might as well go to the toilet while I was here. As I was washing my hands at the sink, the two women who had been sitting with Mr Smythe came in. My first instinct was to dive into the cubicle before they saw me, but then I remembered that neither of them knew me, so I stayed put, hoping I might hear something interesting.
‘I really don’t see why we can’t just ask old Joe Whittington if we can use our metal detectors on his land,’ Red Lips said. ‘Why should we have to fork out all this money to buy his cottage when we don’t know for sure that there’s a Roman settlement there anyway?’
‘Because if we find anything, it will legally belong to the owner of the house,’ the other woman said.
‘Oh.’ Red Lips opened her handbag, took out a bright red lipstick and smothered her lips with it. ‘Well, I think it’s a shame,’ she said. ‘Alan said the old guy’s lived there all his life. He won’t want to move at his age and I don’t think we should try and force him to.’ She blotted her now even redder lips with a tissue and pouted in the mirror. ‘I find all this Roman stuff boring anyway, don’t you? I wish Alan wasn’t so obsessed with it.’
‘I know, but Neil said there’s a lot of money in it. If we buy that cottage and there is a Roman settlement under the grounds we’ll be millionaires!’
‘Really? Well, I guess the old guy would be better off in a home. He’s getting a bit too old to take care of himself anyway,’ Red Lips replied with a giggle.
Then they both walked out, leaving me seething.
There was no way I was going to stand by and let them try to force Old Joe to move into an old folk’s home. No way at all! I had to think of a way to prove they were behind this evil plot and put a stop to their plans once and for all.
First, though, I had to figure out how to get home.
Chapter 11
The Diary
Sometimes, being an American in the UK can be useful. Especially if you’re lost. I stopped a friendly looking lady in the street and asked politely, ‘Excuse me, ma’am, but what town is this? I’ve been doing a bit of sight-seeing and my folks are coming to pick me up, but I’m not sure where I am.’
‘It’s Tilmouth, dear,’ she said. ‘You’re from America aren’t you? Are you on holiday?’
‘Yes ma’am. I’m over for the summer.’ I gave her a big smile. ‘Thank you.’ Then I carried on walking before she could start asking me lots of questions.
‘You’re welcome,’ she called after me. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay.’
Okay, now I had two options. I could phone Gran and ask her to pick me up, which meant trying to think of some explanation as to how I got here – and Gran’s not easy to fool. She’s so suspicious it makes me wonder what Dad got up to when he was young. Or, I could text Max and see if he could talk his Mum into taking a trip to Tilmouth, then just ‘happen’ to bump into them.
Make that three options, I thought, as I saw Mrs Brewson, one of Gran’s neighbours, walk out of a shop over the road, carrying two bulging shopping bags. I couldn’t believe my luck. Mrs Brewson and Gran didn’t really get on, but I was sure I could persuade her to give me a lift home.
I ran up to her. ‘Oh, Mrs Brewson, thank goodness I’ve bumped into you. I’ve lost my train ticket home and have no more money on me. I wonder if there’s any chance you could give me a lift?’ I smiled sweetly. ‘I hope it isn’t too much trouble. I could phone Gran and ask her, but I hate to bother her when she has one of her headaches.’
‘Of course I will, Amy. I’ve just got a couple more shops to visit, then we’ll be off.’ She held out the bags. ‘Perhaps you’ll be kind enough to carry these heavy bags for me?’
A couple more shops? Mrs Brewson went in almost every shop in town, and guess who had to carry everything? By the time we eventually got to the car, my arms felt like they were about to drop off. I’d just collapsed on the back seat and was rubbing my wrist to get the blood supply back when I felt my cellphone vibrate in my pocket. I took it out and saw from the screen that it was Max. I’d missed four calls from him. I’d told him not to contact me, I thought in annoyance as I flicked the phone open to answer.
‘Don’t you ever do as you’re told?’
‘Where are you?’ he sounded agitated. ‘I’ve been worried sick. Anything could have happened to you. If you didn’t answer this time, I was going to tell Auntie Sue what had happened.’
‘Don’t you dare do that!’ I shouted.
‘Is everything all right, Amy?’ Mrs Brewson asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’ I lowered my voice. ‘Mrs Brewson is giving me a lift. I’ll see you soon. Don’t call me again, okay?’
‘Mrs Brewson? But how … ?’
‘Bye, Max.’ I ended the call before he had the chance to say anything else.
When we finally arrived back, I had to help Mrs Brewson
into the house with all her shopping before I could go home. Max must have been looking out for me because he ran to meet me as soon as I got to Gran’s back gate. ‘What happened?’ he asked. ‘Where did Mr Smythe go?’
Before I could answer him, Mr Winkleberry shouted, ‘Is that you, Amy? Your Gran’s been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?’ He must have been standing at the kitchen door, just waiting for me to show up.
I sighed. Now for the inquisition. ‘I’ll speak to you later,’ I told Max. ‘Come around in an hour or so and rescue me.’
Gran read me the riot act about going off without telling her where I was going, and how she was responsible for me, with Mr Winkleberry chiming in now and again for good measure. They were both too busy lecturing me to ask where I’d been, so at least I was saved from having to come up with some excuse.
Thank goodness Mrs Langham came in and distracted them enough for me to make a retreat. Max sent me a text to say he had to go out with his Mum, so I made myself a sandwich and took it up to my room, deciding to keep out of the way for the rest of the day.
I surfed the net for a bit, but got bored. My friends back in the USA were still fast asleep, so I couldn’t speak to them on messenger. I lay back on the bed, thinking about my eventful day. I was so angry about everything I’d heard in the pub. But what did it all mean? My mind was in a complete muddle.
I knew that I would feel better if I got my head around all of this new evidence. So, I reached into the drawer of my bedside cabinet, took out my notepad and lucky green pen and started making fresh notes.
I chewed the end of my pen as I mulled it over. Were any of them desperate enough to deliberately wreck old Joe’s roof and flood out his kitchen? If so, how far would they go in their attempt to make him sell? Would Joe eventually give in? I hoped not. I hated to think of that lovely cottage being demolished. Joe’s family had lived there for years. It would be nice to think that they would still live there in years to come. However, Old Joe didn’t have any family to pass it on to, did he? I thought of all that stuff in the attic; the painting, the clothes, the diaries. The diaries! They were still in the basket on my bike. Thank goodness it hadn’t rained.