.
For Lisa,
but also for my brother Adam and his girls,
Dawn, Hazel and Fern
.
CONTENTS
PART ONE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
PART TWO
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
PART THREE
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
PART FOUR
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
PART FIVE
Imprint
.
PART ONE
Stanley sits down on the hard plastic chair opposite Detective Inspector Lockett. There is a video camera pointing at them. A younger policeman called PC Ryan stands in the corner. Stanley thinks that DI Lockett has kind eyes, but PC Ryan makes him nervous because he keeps looking at him oddly. Lockett smiles sympathetically and says, ‘I need to ask you some questions, Stanley. I need to know where you’ve been for the last seven days.’
‘I already told you. I was in space,’ replies Stanley.
PC Ryan lets out a snort of laughter.
DI Lockett throws him a stern look then turns back to Stanley. ‘The officer who picked you up said you were covered in a kind of white dust. Why?’
‘It was ether dust. You get covered in it after teleportation. It’s harmless, but it gets everywhere and you end up picking it out of your belly button for weeks afterwards.’
‘Where did you get your jacket from?’ Stanley is wearing a navy blue military jacket made out of a material she has not seen before.
‘General P’Tang gave it to me.’
‘Whereabouts does this General P’Tang live?’
‘On the Goodship Gusto.’
‘In space?’
‘Yes, on the other side of the universe.’
‘You’ve only been away for a week. Wouldn’t it take longer than that to go that far?’
‘I went through cutspace.’
‘Cutspace?’
‘It’s a seven-dimensional universe that runs alongside our own four-dimensional one and allows you to travel millions of light years in a fraction of the time. Professor NomVeber discovered how to use it. Before that, only steppers could go through. Hal is a stepper. He’s the cook on the Black Horizon. That’s Captain Flaid’s ship. He was the leader of the Marauding Picaroons, which are kind of space pirates with heads like birds . . .’
Lockett turns to PC Ryan and says, ‘Do you want to sit down, constable? This may take a while.’
‘No, ma’am. I’m fine, thank you,’ he replies.
‘Suit yourself.’ Lockett fixes her gaze on Stanley. ‘Now, Stanley, people have been very worried since you vanished. I need you to tell me the truth.’
‘What people?’ asks Stanley. He is surprised how angry he sounds.
‘Well, your brother for one.’
‘Doug’s my half-brother, and he doesn’t care where I’ve been as long as I don’t cause him any grief.’
‘I’m sure that’s not true. And what about your friends at school?’ she says.
‘I haven’t got any friends,’ says Stanley glumly.
‘What about . . . ? What’s the name of that American boy who made the appeal on TV, constable?’ asks Lockett.
‘Lance Martin,’ answers PC Ryan.
It comes as no surprise to Stanley that Lance used his disappearance to get on TV.
‘That’s the one – nice boy, good talker,’ says Lockett. ‘He made a most heartfelt appeal for your safe return.’
‘He’s the reason I don’t have any friends,’ replies Stanley. A few weeks ago Stanley would have described Lance as his worst enemy. Now there are more worthy contenders for that title.
‘Stanley, I don’t think you realise how serious this is. Please, starting from the beginning, tell me where you’ve been.’
.
1
ONE WEEK EARLIER
‘You’re off the rails, that’s what you are’
The jukebox was playing a sad song about lost love as Stanley pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Castle and greeted the regulars.
‘Evening, Stanley,’ said Old Bill, from his usual seat by the fireplace.
‘Wotcha, mate,’ said Young Bill, who was standing by the fruit machine.
‘Hello, young man,’ said Gullible George, who was sitting on a stool by the bar.
Stanley had lived above the pub all his life. The squeaky sign outside his bedroom window showed a picture of a turret and a drawbridge, but in reality there was nothing castle-like about the place. Sometimes it felt more like a prison, with his half-brother Doug as the jailer and the regulars as fellow inmates, albeit ones with no desire to escape.
‘Where’s Doug?’ asked Stanley.
‘In the cellar, changing barrels,’ replied Young Bill. ‘Good day at school?’
‘Brilliant – I got a science prize, scored the winning goal in football and was voted most popular boy in school for the third term running.’
It was a joke he made every day, but Young Bill still laughed and Gullible George still said, ‘That’s very impressive, Stanley. Well done.’
‘Another miserable day, eh?’ said Old Bill. ‘I don’t know why you bother going to that place.’
‘He’s thirteen, you idiot,’ said Young Bill. ‘He has to.’
‘Thirteen? I was working by then, learning real lessons, hard lessons, lessons in life. They don’t teach you things like that at school,’ said Old Bill.
‘And what lessons did you learn sweeping up hair in a barber’s shop?’ asked Young Bill.
‘I haven’t always been a barber,’ replied Old Bill. ‘I’ve seen things that would make your hair curl.’
‘Yeah, they’re called curling tongs,’ said Young Bill, winking at Stanley.
With his parents gone and only Doug to look after him, the regulars were the nearest thing Stanley had to a family. He liked sharing a joke with Young Bill, often at George’s expense. Old Bill would offer advice and give him and Doug free haircuts in return for an occasional pint and packet of crisps.
Doug emerged from the cellar door. ‘Oh, back now, are you?’ he said. He was in a bad mood, but this was nothing new. Doug had been in a bad mood for as long as Stanley could remember. He was always complaining that business was slow, or that it was unfair that he had to look after Stanley.
‘You been up to no good again?’ he asked accusingly.
‘No,’ said Stanley.
‘Tell him about your science prize,’ said Gullible George.
‘Don’t lie to me. You’ve been up to something.’
‘I’m not lying. I don’t lie,’ said Stanley.
‘Why else are strangers coming in here asking for you?’ Doug pulled one of the beer taps and sent foamy beer spluttering into a pint glass.
‘What strangers?’ asked Stanley.
‘There were two of them,’ said Young Bill. ‘Tall fellas, pasty faces, funny clothes.’
‘What did they want?’
‘You tell me. But your teacher called me today to say that you’ve been late every day this term. It’s funny, because you always leave here with plenty of time . . . And now these two men turn up.’
‘Give him a break, Doug. He’s a good kid,’ said Old Bill.
‘Mind your own business, Bill, unless you want to find yourself barred again,’ snarled Doug. ‘This orphan’s going off the rails.’
‘Don’t call me that,’ said Stanley.
‘That’s what you are, a kid with no parents.’
‘I thought you two were brothers,’ said Gullible George.
‘We’re half-brothers, and my mum’s still alive, ain’t she?’ said Doug. ‘When my old man went and remarried I told him no good would come of it. When they died I got lumbered with this little thief.’
‘I’m not a thief,’ protested Stanley.
‘You must have got that from your mum, because my old man was straight up.’
‘I didn’t get it from anyone because it’s not true.’
Doug picked up Gullible George’s empty pint glass and refilled it. ‘I remember kids like him at school . . . liars and thieves. Do you know where they ended up?’
‘Bromley?’ asked George.
‘Prison,’ replied Doug. ‘He’s heading the same way, I reckon.’
Stanley went upstairs. There were only so many times he could protest his innocence. Doug would never believe him.
The next day, he was sitting on the top deck of the bus on the way to school. Downstairs, the windscreen wipers squeaked rhythmically against the window as they fought a losing battle against the rain. Upstairs, the inside of the windows steamed up with the passengers’ stale morning breath. Stanley wiped away the condensation from the window to check that no one from his class was waiting to get on. Even though he caught a later bus these days, there was always the possibility that someone else was running late.
Thankfully there were no school uniforms amongst the herd of grumpy wet commuters at the bus stop. Stanley noticed a short man in a purple suit standing at the back of the queue. Stanley wasn’t the only person to have noticed him, but it wasn’t his size or odd fashion sense that made him stand out. It was his beard and his bowler hat. They were the wrong way round. His hat was fastened tightly to his chin, while a small pointy beard sprouted from his forehead.
Stanley wondered whether it was one of those TV prank shows where they do something weird and secretly film everyone’s reactions to it. When the bus doors opened, everyone lost interest in the man and jostled to get out of the drizzle on to the overcrowded bus.
‘Don’t push,’ shouted the bus driver grumpily.
Stanley looked down to find that the odd little man was staring directly at him. The man waved excitedly and tried to barge his way on to the bus, upsetting a number of people as he did so.
‘Stop pushing,’ shouted a woman carrying a crying baby.
‘Wait your turn,’ said a man in front of her.
Stanley felt unnerved by the man’s behaviour. What did he want with him? Had he mistaken him for someone else? Stanley had certainly never seen him before. In his experience you tended to remember people with beards on their foreheads and hats on their chins.
‘No more passengers,’ shouted the disgruntled bus driver, shutting the doors.
The odd man banged on the bus door, but the driver ignored him and pulled away.
Stanley sighed a breath of relief, but the man kept his eyes on him as the bus drove away. Stanley wondered why, of all the people, the man had decided to focus his attention on him. It was attention he could do without. Things were bad enough since Lance Martin’s lies had ruined his life.
.
2
‘If you’ve done nothing wrong then you have nothing to worry about, do you?’
Before the arrival of Lance Martin, Stanley wasn’t exactly swimming in friends but nor was he drowning in enemies. Lance changed all that. He arrived halfway through the first term of Year 8 and was an instant hit. He was good-looking, naturally athletic and spoke with a cool American accent straight out of a movie. As if all that wasn’t enough, Lance also liked to boast about his handsome actor dad and enthral the tutor group with stories of films his dad had worked on, big parts he had almost got and film stars he had met.
Around the same time, things started to go missing from the class. To begin with they were small things like exercise books and pens. Next, food from pupils’ bags was taken. When someone said their mobile phone had gone and money started to disappear, Ms Foster addressed the students. She said that if the phone and the other things were handed in, no one would get in trouble. If not, she would be forced to call the police.
Looking back, it should have been obvious that Lance was behind the thefts. His arrival coincided exactly with the first disappearance, but why would anyone suspect the boy who frequently boasted about how rich he was?
Then one Sunday morning Stanley turned a corner near home to see Lance and his dad getting out of a car. Even though they lived in the next road, Stanley had never seen Mr Martin before and was surprised to see that he was some way off how Lance had described him. He was a short, plump, angry-looking man and he was shouting at Lance.
‘You wanna go back and live with your mom? Be my guest.’
‘At least she’s got a real house and at least she’s working, unlike you. When did you last get a job?’ Lance yelled back.
‘The thing is your mom don’t want you, Lance. She don’t want either of us. Besides, I’ll get my break soon.’
‘You’re an embarrassment, Dad. An out-of-work, overweight, failed actor.’
If Stanley was surprised by the yelling and insults, it was nothing compared to what happened next. Mr Martin raised his hand and slapped Lance in the face, so hard that he sent him to the ground. Lance said nothing. He just stood back up and stared at his father defiantly. His father bent down and picked up something which had fallen from Lance’s pocket.
‘What’s this?’ he demanded.
‘It’s mine.’
‘You don’t have a cellphone. Where’s this from?’
‘A friend lent it to me.’
At the moment that Stanley realised it was the stolen phone, Lance turned his head and saw him. Their eyes met. Both knew what had just happened, but nothing was said and Lance followed his dad into his flat.
The next day at school Stanley wasn’t sure what he was going to do with the information that he had unintentionally uncovered. He wanted the thefts to stop. He hoped that now Lance had been found out he would return everything as Ms Foster had asked.
But Lance didn’t acknowledge him when he came in. Instead he was busy entertaining a group of girls with a story about his dad making a pop video with a famous singer, a story Stanley now knew was, most likely, completely fictitious.
In the afternoon Stanley came in from lunch and saw Lance standing by Ms Foster.
‘I’m extremely disappointed to tell you that something else has gone missing,’ she announced. ‘Lance says that a signed photo of a famous film star has been taken from his bag.’
‘It’s worth a lot of money. I’ll sue the school if you don’t get it back,’ insisted Lance.
‘Thank you, Lance,’ said Ms Foster. ‘This has gone too far. Everyone, open your bags and pour the contents on to your desk. If you’ve done nothing wrong then you have nothing to worry about, do you?’
At first Stanley thought that Lance was just trying to eliminate himself as a suspect. Then he saw a piece of paper flutter out of his own bag and land on his desk. It was a picture of a famous ac
tor with an autograph across the front. Even though Stanley knew that it was probably faked by Lance, the realisation of what had happened hit him instantly. This was compounded when the stolen mobile phone landed next to it.
‘You see?’ said Lance. ‘I told you it was him.’
Stanley tried to protest his innocence, firstly to the tutor group, then privately to the teacher and then again when Doug was forced to close the pub early and come into school. But none of them believed him. Ms Foster thought she was being kind when she gave him a chance to stop stealing and return what he had taken in order to avoid suspension.
The next day the stolen goods reappeared and the thefts stopped, leaving everyone believing that, having been caught, Stanley had given up his life of crime. Stanley’s popularity plummeted. He became known as Stealing Stan. His protests of innocence fell on deaf ears. His efforts to implicate Lance looked like churlish attempts to involve the person who had exposed him.
Meanwhile, Lance’s lies grew and Stanley was helpless to stop them. Because of his lies, Stanley was now officially the most unpopular person in the tutor group. Because of his lies, Stanley caught a later bus every morning so he didn’t have to see anyone he knew on the way to school. He hid in the toilets at the end of the day to avoid seeing anyone on the way home. Because of Lance’s lies, life was hell.
.
3
‘My friends call me Eddie’
‘I want you all to think of an experience in your life that has had a big impact on you, something interesting or exciting, and then write about it, describing it as colourfully as possible,’ said Ms Foster.
Stanley felt miserable. Nothing had happened to him. Nothing interesting, and certainly nothing exciting.
‘So, for me,’ continued Ms Foster in her sing-song voice, ‘I would choose the first time I ever went on an aeroplane. I remember as the plane came in to land I looked out the window and watched bright sunshine disappear as we flew through the dark clouds, down into the rainy day below them. I realised that even on horrible days the sun was still shining up there. I think about that whenever it’s bad weather and it cheers me up. Now, without any discussion, everyone think of your own and write it down.’
Space Crime Conspiracy Page 1