by J Ryan
Jack’s looking at the Merc too. ‘D’you know her?’
‘New girl on the block.’
‘Bet she’s not short of pocket money.’
I remember that five pound note. ‘Yeah.’
***
Becks phones after tea. ‘She’s trouble, Joe.’
I sit with Jack, watching his angel fish cruising slowly around in their huge tank. If we’re really quiet we’ll see the Black Ghost Knife Fish emerge from the wreck, with his dark, rippling body.
I whisper, ‘What do you mean?’
‘She ruined our lunch. We had half a minute to talk about Monsieur. Have you forgotten how urgent this is?’
‘No! I’ve tried three times tonight. Still no answer.’
Jack sighs. I go out onto the landing. ‘Anyway, how is she trouble? She bought me lunch.’
‘And where was the need for that?’
‘She was like, grateful? Being on your own in a new school, trying to speak a foreign language…’
‘Oh yes, and that’s another thing.’
‘What?’
‘She’s very good at speaking English, Joe. I only found out how good this afternoon.’
‘How…what…?’
‘We were in History. Nat offered to help Talia catch up. He was well ahead of most of us, predicted for an Ak. Half way through the lesson, all his coursework got deleted.’
‘Becks, it happens. The network crashes. Files go missing. You know that.’
‘It doesn’t happen to Nat. He’s so careful. And guess what she said to Mr Banks? In very clear English?’
‘I expect you’re going to tell me anyway…’
‘She said she saw Nat delete it by accident.’
‘Well, what did he say?’
‘He was so gutted he just rushed off to IT Services to try and get it back.’
‘But, why would she…?’
‘Because she enjoyed it. She was smiling, Joe.’
‘Oh, come on, Becks. She smiles a lot. So do the other students who come from Poland, Nigeria and all those other places. It’s scary for them, being here. They want to make friends…’
‘You should be a teacher! That’s just what Mr Banks told Nat.’
Becks has never said anything that annoyed me more. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re being paranoid. It was Nat having finger trouble. Or maybe IT Services screwing up again. I can’t see Talia doing something like that.’
‘Then you’re an IDIOT, Joe! She’s evil.’
I open my mouth but before I can speak, Becks has switched off her phone.
In my room, Fats is on the bed, giving himself a good going over with his pink tongue. I could never stick my leg in the air like that. But then, I wouldn’t want to lick my bum either. I slump down beside him. ‘God, Fats. What am I going to do?’ All I get is a rumbling purr and a lick on my hand. I wipe it on my jeans. Then I call Becks.
‘Sorry, I’m not here. Or I might be here but I’m busy. Or asleep. Leave a message if you haven’t dozed off listening to this.’
‘Becks…’ I can’t think of anything to say.
***
The next morning I’m still in bed when Grandad brings me beans on toast. I blink at him through a haze. ‘Cup of tea coming up next, Joe.’ He pats my arm and disappears. I’m still not sure I’m awake. I struggle up, and stare at the plate. What time is it? Half seven. Why is Grandad bringing me breakfast in bed? Then I remember that phone call with Becks. It makes me feel sick. If only I could turn the clock back.
‘Two sugars isn’t it, Joe?’ Grandad puts the mug on my bedside table.
‘Yeah. Thanks, Grandad.’ I make an effort with the beans on toast. Grandad sits down on the end of my bed. He’s in his work suit. His tie is in a tight knot and loose at the collar. ‘Better straighten that out, Grandad.’
‘What?…Oh, yes…’ He fiddles with the tie. ‘Damn things, they’re so idiotic.’
He looks at me as I push my beans around the plate. ‘I always think it’s ludicrous, adults expecting children to wear ties when we hate them ourselves. Well I do, anyway…’
‘What’s all this about, Grandad?’
‘Sorry?’ He fumbles in his pocket and pulls out his glasses case. Opens it. It’s empty. ‘Blast. I’ll lose my head next.’
‘What’s with the breakfast in bed, Grandad? I mean, it’s really kind of you, but…?’
He puts a hand into his other pocket and retrieves the glasses. ‘Thank God. Another prescription would cost a fortune.’
I take a mouthful of beans and toast to encourage him. ‘Grandad…?’
‘Yes. Sorry, Joe. It’s just that you…didn’t seem to have a good night.’
‘What makes you think that?’
He puts on the glasses then takes them off again. ‘I must have sat on them.’
‘Grandad!’
He puts the injured glasses back in their case. ‘Well, actually, you were shouting out in your sleep, Joe. I was worried. You’ve had so many…great escapes? Always come back in one piece, thank God. I…hope you don’t mind me asking?’
‘What was I shouting?’
‘It…sounded like Palace…something. Does that mean anything to you, Joe?’
I grab my dressing gown and jump out of bed. ‘Have to take a shower, Grandad, I stink. Thanks for breakfast.’
Chapter 2
Hyperlink
On the bus, Mick Arnott’s bagged the back seat again. He hasn’t forgotten. He says loudly, ‘I’ve got some coke here for my mates.’ Three Year Seven boys turn around, eyes out on stalks. He hands the plastic bottles to his two gofers, takes a swig from his and glares at me and Jack.
I look at him earnestly. ‘Do you know what forensic scientists soak teeth in to get the enamel off when they want a corpse’s DNA, Arnott?’ I can’t remember how I found out that random fact. Actually, I might even have made it up. But Arnott & Co go really quiet. Jack and I look out of the window, exchanging a grin.
As soon as we get off the bus, I go looking for Becks. She’s in the hall, queuing for a breakfast baguette. Nat’s with her. She’s chatting to him, waving her hands around, the way she does when she’s on some kind of mission. Now, Nat seems to be her new cause and she doesn’t seem to see me at all. I reel away, like a bird hitting a window pane it didn’t know was there. She must still be angry with me after that stupid argument.
Library. Google. Palestrina. I click on the link. Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina. An Italian composer of the Renaissance who transformed church music. I go back and click on another link. Palestrina. An ancient city that was the home of this dude, who lived and died so many hundreds of years ago. I’m going nowhere. The bell rings, calling me to Business Studies. As I log off, I wonder where Becks is.
At the top of the steps to the Business Studies block, I bump into Nat’s tall, skinny figure. I play in the same footie team as this guy. His long, straggly hair fools the opposition into thinking he’s harmless. But he’s dangerous on the field. He’s on his way down the steps, in a hurry. I take a deep breath. ‘Nat, Becks told me…have you got your coursework back?’
He looks at me briefly. ‘I got it back. But why did Talia do it? I was just trying to help her.’
‘So…what happened?’ We stand there on the steps, with armies of Year Sevens and Eights jostling past us.
He brushes a long strand of hair back from his face. ‘You said Becks told you.’
‘She said your coursework got wiped. And Talia said it was you?’
‘That’s what she told Banks.’
‘Did you see her do it?’
‘She asked me if I could lend her a pen. So I’m rummaging in my pencil case. When I look up, six months’ work has disappeared.’
‘Didn’
t anyone see?’
Nat shakes his head, grey eyes resigned. ‘Like I’m going to ask? Remember that foul with Bentings that laid you up for two weeks? Everyone knew what had happened but no one said a thing, did they?’
I’ve still got the scar on my knee from that foul. Nat swings on down the steps. He calls back to me as he heads towards the Tech block. ‘Just stay away, bud. She’s poison.’
I remember Talia, on her own, at that table in the hall.
***
‘Definition of a limited company?’ Mr Beaston stalks round the room, making sure we’ve all got our monitors off and aren’t quietly on email. ‘Come on, you covered this last term. It’s not rocket science.’
Mick Arnott snaps his screen off and volunteers, ‘Like, there’s not much it can do?’
‘On the contrary, Mick, a limited company can do a great deal. So, what is it that’s limited?’ I don’t know why my hand’s in the air. Normally I’m rubbish at Business Studies, like I am at everything else, except French and PE. But there’s a bell ringing, somewhere.‘Joe – so glad you’ve woken up.’
‘If the company does something wrong, the directors can get away with it?’
He nods, goes back to his laptop and taps another slide up onto the whiteboard. ‘Close, Joe. Limited liability. Far less limited these days. But there have been many cases where a UK limited company went into liquidation, owing money to its customers for products that it failed to supply – and the directors simply set up another one and carried on trading.’
‘That’s against the law isn’t it, Sir?’
Mr Beaston adjusts his immaculate pink and grey striped tie and runs a hand through carefully spiked hair. He shouldn’t do spiked. His hair’s too thin. He must be thirty. ‘Unless they’re barred from being directors, it’s perfectly legal, Josh. Although personally, I don’t think it should be.’ That bell is still ringing. I’m back in that room with DI Wellington, where Becks and I looked at those cold blue eyes that had sent the deadly email to Monsieur. Remembering what I couldn’t before.
I stick my hand up again. ‘What about…in other countries, Sir? Do the directors get away with it there?’
Mr Beaston looks at me so hard I think I’m going to get a detention for this. Then he smiles. ‘Good question, Joe.’ He turns to the class, flicking another slide up onto the whiteboard. ‘Companies that operate internationally are sometimes called Holdings. And it can be very difficult to find out who owns them. The Revenue and Customs have a horrible time collecting tax from holdings. Before I trained to be a teacher, I used to work for them.’
P H S A. Part of that coded message. My brain is doing P for Palestrina and H for Holdings. I feel a kind of shiver. What is S A? Sophie Rawlings pushes long blonde hair up onto her head. She’s been fiddling with it for the whole lesson. ‘Do you mean you used to work for Holdings, or the Revenue and Customs, Sir?’
‘I don’t think you’ve been listening, Sophie. I worked for Revenue and Customs of course.’
Sophie’s voice is polite but relentless. ‘Why did you quit, Mr Beaston?’
Mr Beaston’s face goes red and I suppress a groan. So many new teachers have been caught out this way. The ones who boast that they’ve had a past life that was SO interesting. Like teaching us losers is second best to what they used to do. It’s easy to nail the patronising ones. Is Mr Beaston one of them? The whole class has gone quiet.
Mr Beaston looks at us, brushing his hair back over his head. There won’t be much of it left at this rate. He speaks slowly. ‘I was made redundant. Anyone want to define what that means?’
Mick Arnott’s hand goes up. ‘Your job like, disappeared overnight? Happened to my dad, too.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mick. And has your dad found another job?’
I look at Arnott. His pudgy face with its small eyes suddenly looks droopy and miserable. ‘He used to be the manager on a production line for car parts. But they closed the factory down. No more jobs like that. He’s on benefits. Hates it.’
Mr Beaston nods. ‘I hated it too, Mick.’
Sophie’s voice is softer now. ‘Sorry, Mr Beaston. I didn’t mean…’
‘I know you didn’t, Sophie. And it’s good that the discussion’s gone this way. Because we’re looking at a major issue of our times – unemployment. So, what are the options? ‘
The whole class shouts, ‘Become a teacher!’ Their voices aren’t hostile. And Mick Arnott is shouting the loudest.
As we pile out of the classroom I catch up with Mick. ‘Sorry about all that stupid stuff on the bus. How’s your dad?’
He glares at me. ‘What’s it to you?’
I look straight back at him. ‘Is that why you don’t do after school footie anymore?’
‘Yeah, well…don’t have the time now. Got a job in Tesco’s, two nights a week.’
‘You were always our best goalie, Mick. You nuked them. Will you think about coming back?’
‘Mr Piers never asked me.’
‘I’m asking you, now. We need you. Could you re-arrange your shifts?’
He stares. ‘What’s in it for me?’
I shrug. ‘Pack of Revels? Plus, we don’t give each other any more grief on the bus. And we might win for a change, with you in goal.’
His voice is suspicious. ‘Is Nat still onside? I heard he’s well hacked off with you.’
‘Oh…that…’
‘Yeah, that. You being so matey with the new girl who shot up his coursework.’
‘We talked this morning. He’s cool. And I’m not that matey with Talia. I was just trying to help her settle in.’
‘As you do.’ His voice is heavily ironic.
‘Yeah, as you do. So, will we see you Friday?’
He hoists his school bag onto broad shoulders. ‘I’ll think about it.’
***
At break I go back to the library, find the last spare computer and log in. It’s hot. No air con here, on or off. The sun blazes onto the back of my neck. Sweat trickles down my face as I watch the endless messages pop up onto the screen. ‘Establishing your profile.’ ‘Loading your settings.’ ‘Ranger is checking your password.’
I growl, ‘Big Brother has your number.’
‘Wanna bet?’
‘Becks…I…’
She sits down next to me, taking off her blazer. ‘God, Joe, how can you work in here? It’s like a sauna.’
‘I’m so sorry…’
‘I was horrible to you, too. It’s just that…’
‘I know. I spoke to Nat. It happened alright, didn’t it?’
‘What you said made me think. It could have been one of these random things. But she really was smiling.’
‘Don’t let’s go there again. I think I’ve made some progress on the email that woman sent to Monsieur.’
‘Like?’
‘I remembered the first group of letters. It was
P H S A, I’m sure of it.’
‘OK.’
‘How about H for Holdings?’
‘Like, there’s this company she runs? A cover for her drugs operation, maybe?’
‘Mr Beaston says that Holdings can be really hard to get a handle on. For tax, and that sort of thing?’
Becks’ green eyes sparkle. ‘I think you’re onto something, Joe.’
‘Except, I have no idea what S A is.’
‘Let’s Google it.’
Wikipedia is the only link that looks remotely helpful. ‘Great. French for an anonymous society. Where does that get us?’
‘If it’s a cover for drug running it would be anonymous, wouldn’t it?’
‘And no prizes for guessing what the P is for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Talia is what I mean. Her surna
me is Palestrina, isn’t it?’
Becks frowns. ‘Yes, but…’
‘Remember, on the plane back from Marseille? That woman said she had a daughter.’
She says slowly, ‘And Talia has blue eyes and blonde hair, like her. But that’s as far as it goes. That woman’s face was so hard…’
‘The voice. Think back, Becks…’
She whispers, ‘God, you are so right. Her voice was sort of husky, wasn’t it? Like Talia’s…’
‘Talia walks like her, too.’
‘Well, you would notice that. Let’s check it out.’ She hits Google and keys in ‘Palestrina Holdings SA.’ We’re right back to the Palestrina websites. ‘Who was he?’
‘The Pink Floyd of the Renaissance. I’m going to try something else.’
I type in four letters, smack Enter…and there it is. PHSA. Top of the list of links. With the blurb…‘Investment opportunities with new horizons. If you’re tired of old money, invest in the future. Palestrina Holdings invites you…’
‘Well, go on. Click on it, Joe!’
I click and get Filtered. ‘Damn. The schools network doesn’t like PHSA.’
‘They must think P is for porn. We can look at the website at home.’ Becks wipes a trickle of sweat from her forehead. ‘But you know what this means, don’t you?’
‘Like, what a coincidence?’
‘Just days after this woman spots us coming back from France, her daughter is at our school.’
‘You can’t get a kid into a school in that sort of time.’
Becks looks at the strand of hair she’s winding round and round her index finger. ‘She must have been planning this for months. She recognised us from the cliff rescue, didn’t she? That was more than five months ago.’
‘So, Talia could be here to spy on us? To get information that will lead her mother to Monsieur?’
‘That’s what it looks like, doesn’t it?’
Miss Higgins the librarian picks up a book from the table just behind us. You never hear her coming. She’s a tiny woman in her neat black trouser suit, and she doesn’t make a sound. I lower my voice. ‘Then she’s on a loser. We’ve got no idea where Monsieur is. I wish we did.’