by J Ryan
Becks hisses, ‘Why did you do that?’
I whisper as Talia gets closer, ‘Because in this country, you’re innocent till they find you guilty!’
‘Like you felt, before they cleared you of that hit and run?’
‘That was different…Hi, Talia. How’re you doing?’
Her pale blonde hair is tied up in an elaborate knot. It makes her face look older somehow. ‘I am good, thank you, Joe. How are you both?’
‘We’re cool.’ Becks was right about Talia’s English. It’s not the hesitant words she first spoke to me. All three of us walk on together for a few yards then Becks shouts at a friend, ‘Hey, Demi, could you answer that last question in the French homework?’
Demi’s lithe dark body does a dramatic little dance, finishing with a pose, head back. ‘Like, can a cat fly to the moon, babe?’
‘Let’s sort it then.’ Arm in arm, Becks and Demi swing off towards their form base. Talia watches them. I can’t make out the look on her face. She’s frowning slightly. Is it envy? Loneliness? She must know what so many people are thinking. Crowds of kids flow round us, leaving us like an island.
‘How are you settling in, Talia?’
She looks at me with a start as though she was miles away. ‘Oh, I am just fine, thank you, Joe. But I heard…your friend, Andy? He is ill?’
I struggle to keep an even note. ‘Andy’s your friend too, isn’t he? You were at lunch together, yesterday.’
‘Oh…so, that was Andy. I didn’t know his name. Ciao, Joe.’
As she saunters away, I shout after her, ‘It’s ‘See you later’, not ‘Chow’!’ She doesn’t look back.
Speechless with rage, I rush into my form base five minutes late. Mrs Baker looks at me as she ticks off arrivals and no shows. Her motherly face is sympathetic. ‘It’s not like you to be late, Joe. But I heard about Andy – we all did. I’ll mark you in.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Baker.’ My hands shake as I log on and email Becks. ‘Break still on at Mr Piers’ place. Lunch – Library.’
Seconds after I hit Send, the reply flashes back. ‘C U.’
***
‘You should study medicine.’ Becks reaches for her bag and carefully fishes out her baguette. I peer cautiously over the railings for Miss Higgins as we sit on the library platform. Eating and drinking are banned in here, like they are in the ICT rooms.
‘I’m sort of relieved it was appendicitis. But Mr Piers said it was touch and go till they operated, didn’t he?’ I unwrap my bacon and egg, coughing loudly to conceal the crackling noise of the wrapper.
‘Don’t overdo it! Miss Higgins will ban you with Bird Flu.’
‘Good. Then we can all go home in quarantine.’
‘You’d be bored out of your head. We’ll go see Andy tonight, then?’
‘Around six. Grandad says he’ll run us in there.’
Becks takes a bite from her chicken salad baguette and mumbles, ‘What about the website?’
‘I managed to get onto it this morning. The blurb said something about looking for people who aren’t ‘risk averse’, whatever that is.’
‘People who are up for taking risks, I suppose.’
‘Like drug runners?’
She licks mayo from her fingers. ‘I think it’s usually a finance sort of thing – like, people are ready to risk losing their money if they can make a bigger profit.’
‘How does that work, if they lose their money?’ I take a mouthful of roll and watch tomato sauce plop onto my trousers.
‘They gamble that they won’t. What else did it say?’
‘It hit me with a load of questions that I didn’t feel like answering. Like name, address, you know…’
‘Yuk. And you could have been feeding all that to her.’
‘I’d think twice before I sent it to anyone.’
Becks munches thoughtfully, while I grab some paper from the recycling box and scrub at my trousers.
‘That mate of mine at Aston Uni – the one who’s doing Computing? She might be able to get onto this site and find out more.’
‘Like, without giving anything away?’
‘Yeah. And without hacking. Ayesha’s too smart to even think of trying that.’
‘Worth a go, then?’
Becks nods. ‘I’ll email her tonight.’
I start to log on. ‘We might as well check ours while we’re here. Oh, by the way. They’ve got Bertolini.’
‘Who’s got him?’ Becks types her user name and password into her computer.
‘The Corsican police. I saw this newspaper article the other night. I was going to tell you yesterday…then…’
‘Yeah…Andy…’
‘DIW was in the article, too. But he’s not saying who tipped him off.’
‘I’m getting to like DIW.’
I stare at the screen. ‘That’s weird. All my Favourites have disappeared.’
‘Snap. And I’ve got this message about another network upgrade. That explains it.’
‘I’ve got a message, too. Guess who from.’
Becks looks across at my email. ‘Talia wants to see you at bus call? What about?’
‘Doesn’t say, does it? She’d better be quick. I’m not missing my bus for her.’
‘Just don’t take candy from a stranger – right?’ Becks smiles but her eyes are serious. I know she’ll always be suspicious of Talia now. And, unfairly or not, so will I.
***
The Head’s voice blares over the tannoy as I join Jack in the queue. The roadworks have delayed our bus again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Talia slipping behind the Reception building. I dump my bag next to Jack. ‘Back before the bus goes.’
‘Like I can stop it if you’re not?’
Talia stands there, leaning against the brick wall. She looks like a fashion model, the way she wears that blazer scrunched up to her elbows. Her casual style reminds me again of the woman with those pale blue eyes, who Becks and I met on the plane back from Marseille. The woman who said she had a daughter she never let out of her sight. Talia’s smile shows perfect white teeth. But it doesn’t get to her eyes. I guess it never did. I was too blown away by the heart-shaped face to notice. The husky voice greets me. ‘Thank you for coming, Joe.’
My reply is gruff. Ungracious. ‘We’ve got maybe thirty seconds, Talia. Make it quick.’
‘I…have to go away for a few days.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘To Paris. My mother is holding a big party, for my birthday.’
‘Right. Well…have a great time, then.’
The blue eyes with their long lashes look at me. ‘I would love it if you would come to my party, Joe. And Becks, of course.’
‘What…?’
‘It will be a wonderful event. A rock band…dancing…delicious food. Wouldn’t you like to come, Joe?’
‘It’s very kind of you, Talia…but Becks and I can’t just give school a miss, even if we had the dosh to get to Paris.’
She smiles again. ‘Oh, that. My mother will pay for everything. She is very eager to meet you, Joe.’
My blood runs cold. ‘Why…?’
‘You were my friend on my first day. You were kind to me. Now, so many people are not kind.’
‘Yeah, well…’
Her eyes glisten. ‘They think…I do bad things.’
I look straight at her. ‘You did one bad thing. You deleted Nat’s coursework.’
The blue eyes look at me incredulously. ‘You don’t believe those lies do you, Joe?’
‘I believe Nat. No reason not to. Why did you do it, Talia?’
The Head’s voice rumbles over the tannoy. ‘The Stroud bus has now arrived. Please go quietly to the bus bay.’ A Year Seven fr
om my bus rushes past us, swinging his bag. He glances briefly at us then tears on into the bus bay.
‘I’ve got to go, Talia. Thanks, and no thanks, for the invite.’
The rest of the bus queue for Stroud starts to jostle past us. Jack thrusts my bag at me. ‘I’ll save you a seat.’
As I turn to follow him, Talia calls after me. ‘A friend of yours will be there at my party, Joe. Arnaud?’
I stop dead in my tracks and swing round. ‘Wh…what do you mean?’
Her voice is steady. Controlled. ‘I think you know who I mean, Joe.’
‘There are millions of people called Arnaud.’
‘But only one Arnaud whose father is Le Comte de la Rochelle.’
‘Joe!’ Jack waves frantically at me. As I hurry across to the bus, I stumble and nearly fall. It’s like the ground is heaving beneath my feet in an earthquake.
***
On the way to the hospital in Grandad’s car, I sit in the back with Becks. My head’s still spinning after Talia’s bombshell. I take a careful glance at Grandad. He seems absorbed in wrestling with the gears of his ancient Citroen. I whisper, ‘We’ve got to talk, Becks.’
‘Is it Andy? Has he got worse?’
‘No. Not as far as I know, anyway. It’s something Talia said.’
‘When she wanted that meet with you at bus call?’
‘She’s going to Paris – her mum’s throwing this big bash for her birthday.’
‘Is that all?’
‘She invited us. Her mum wants to meet us. So much, she’ll pay for everything.’
She shivers. ‘That horrible woman is after us, then. I take it you said No Thanks.’
‘Yeah, course. But then she said something that blew my brains out. Arnaud’s going to be there.’
I hear her quick intake of breath. ‘Are you sure?’
‘She said his father is Le Comte de la Rochelle.’
‘Monsieur! How could Talia know Arnaud?’
‘When Bertolini got him onto the cocaine there was a black hole in his life for what – maybe two years? He could have got in with all kinds of…’
‘So this Palestrina woman could be planning something awful…’ Becks is quiet for a few seconds. Grandad indicates left and pulls into the hospital car park. The engine grumbles and stalls. Muttering, he coaxes it back into life. ‘Then we’ve got to go to this party haven’t we, Joe? It’s the only way we can warn Arnaud and Monsieur.’
‘Yes. But, how?’
‘I’ll wait for you here.’ Grandad switches on Radio Four and settles down with his sailing mag.
‘Thanks, Grandad.’
When we find Andy’s ward there’s a queue outside. Mick’s chatting to Nat and other mates from our team. Girls clutch flowers and chocs, whispering to each other. Mr Piers smiles at us. ‘I don’t think Andy knows how popular he is.’
A nurse with bright brown eyes and tiny feet with laced up shoes bustles up to us. ‘Three at a time, no more, and just a couple of minutes please, or you’ll wear him out.’ She herds more fans out of the ward and lets in the three girls at the front of the queue.
Becks whispers, ‘No sign of his dinner buddy, then?’
‘Not even Talia could face this out.’
She frowns. ‘It’s all so stupid. She could have made loads of mates if she hadn’t done that to Nat. Now, everyone’s avoiding her.’
‘And she still won’t admit to it. I tried to get her to own up, but she just did the Victim thing.’
‘Why did she do it, Joe?’
I’ve been thinking about this ever since it happened. The words tumble out. ‘I think she must have some kind of past that makes her do it. Like, her mother does awful things and they’re like, normal in that family? Maybe she can’t even help it.’
Becks’ green eyes flash me a warning glance. Mr Piers is turning to us. ‘Looks like we’re next, guys.’
Andy is sat up in bed. He grins at us as we come in. That awful whiteness in his face has gone. His short, black hair is gleaming, like he’s had a shower; he looks tired but relaxed. His bed is almost totally covered with boxes of chocs and bunches of flowers. The bright-eyed nurse rushes around, finding plastic beakers to put the flowers in. I exchange a high five with him. ‘Dude, some people will find just any excuse to get girls to give them chocolate!’
‘You gotta be nice to me or I won’t give you any. Hi, Becks. Mr Piers.’
Mr Piers gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder. ‘How long will you be in here for, Andy? We want our best striker back!’ Andy lobs a box of Heroes to Becks. She rips it open, grabs a fistful and hands it to Mr Piers. He gives the box to me. ‘It’s alright for you lot. We oldies have to watch our waistlines.’
‘About a couple of days, Mum and Dad said.’
Becks chews on a toffee. ‘Doesn’t it hurt?’
‘Nothing like it did on Friday night. It was good…you being there, Joe. Thanks, bud.’
I stop unwrapping my solid Dairy Milk. ‘You can remember me being with you in the ambulance? I thought you were out of it. You were so scary.’
He grabs the box off me and fishes out a choc. ‘Like, when am I not scary?’
‘Like, when are you not out of it!’
The nurse suddenly appears and whisks the choc out of his hand. ‘That can keep, Andy. Time for your last visitors. Now, out you go, all of you.’
Andy winks at me as I turn to leave. ‘I think she’s hoarding them for herself.’
‘See y’later, dude. Soon, yeah?’
‘Soon, mate.’
***
‘Blast, I’ll have to get this beast serviced.’ Grandad tries for a third time to start the reluctant Citroen. The engine coughs and gives up again.
‘Want a push, Grandad?’ I flick a look round the packed hospital car park. Not much room for a push here.
Becks whispers, ‘Shall I call Steve?’
Grandad takes off his glasses and gives them a polish with a corner of his jacket, like that will sort it all out. ‘One more go…’ The starter motor churns the engine again. It splutters. He floors the accelerator and a huge whoosh of black smoke blasts out behind us. We have ignition. A young woman with a baby on her back sprints away from the choking fumes and dashes towards her Smart car. Grandad keeps his foot flat on the floor. ‘That’s got it. Now, the trick is to keep it going.’ The tired old engine sounds like it’s going to explode. A Hiroshima cloud is now blooming at our rear.
‘Nice an’ easy, Grandad. Or they could call the fire brigade.’ He shifts into first. We have lift off. The Citroen trundles towards the exit. Grandad keeps gunning the engine. Each time, a massive puff of smoke billows behind like a black fog.
Becks grins. ‘Bond should know about this one. Great getaway tactic.’
Grandad pushes the electric window switch to shove his ticket into the machine. Window doesn’t want to know. He gets out, cursing quietly, and pushes in the ticket. The barrier swings up. Grandad leaps back into the driving seat and we escape from Gloucestershire Royal, leaving a trailing cloud in our wake.
As we hit the M5, I have to tell him. ‘Grandad, slow down. I think the head gasket’s blown. You’re burning oil.’
‘Was that all the black smoke?’
‘That was the black smoke, Grandad.’
‘So, we’ll grind to a halt…will we?’
‘We could get home, with a bit of luck. But you have to get the car sorted, Grandad. It’s ill.’
He says cheerfully, ‘Well, at least your mate’s on the mend. That must be a relief for you both.’
‘Yeah. It is a relief.’
Becks whispers, ‘I love your grandad. Can I adopt him?’
‘Maybe you should. He’s an endangered species.’
It’s gettin
g dark as Grandad stops to drop Becks off at her house. He leaves the engine staggering on tickover and gets out in his old-fashioned way to take her to her front door. She gives him a big hug. ‘Thanks! It was really kind of you to take us to see Andy.’ Grandad’s glasses fly off his head. I rush to help him pick them out of the border plants, as he stoops and fumbles around for them in the light from the front door.
‘Let’s get moving, Grandad – before the car has a heart attack?’
‘What? Oh, yes…’ He gets back into the driving seat and floors the accelerator again.
I call to Becks through the drifting smoke, ‘Catch you at break? Library?’
‘Library’s cool.’ She puts her key in the door and slips inside. There’s a light on in the front room but the house is probably empty. It’s a long time since Becks’ mum and dad split. Her dad isn’t always around. And big brother Steve has girlfriends on his mind.
Chapter 5
Secret Lives
When we get back, the kitchen’s in darkness. The soulful notes of ‘Misty’ float out of Jack’s door upstairs as I fumble in the freezer for food. Twenty minutes later, Grandad divides the pizza into two. ‘It’s a bit brown.’
‘It’s fine, Grandad. Want some baked beans to go with?’
‘Now, that is a good idea. And I’ll put the kettle on. Jack sounds wonderful, doesn’t he?’ He pauses, his hand on the cold tap. ‘It’s funny, I was never that keen on jazz until your brother started playing saxophone. Then, it was like a door opening into a room I didn’t know was there.’
‘I thought your generation was right into jazz, Grandad.’
‘Actually, I was more of a Pink Floyd fan.’
I laugh. ‘Like Jack and me are now! I can’t believe they were around that long ago. Sorry, I mean…’
He smiles. ‘It only feels like yesterday that I was listening to Floyd on my parents’ gramophone. Looking out for their car coming back.’
‘Why? Didn’t they like you playing music?’
‘Not with them in hearing distance. They preferred Strauss waltzes to ‘The Wall’.’