Watchers

by Philip Caveney

  Will frowned. ‘It’s miles,’ he grumbled. But he started walking and Ari fell into step with him.

  ‘Well, how did we do?’ asked Ari.

  ‘A bit too good,’ said Will. ‘I mean, I know I asked you to improve my game, but that was ridiculous. No wonder Terry got suspicious.’

  ‘Hmm. Well, maybe we were a bit too enthusiastic,’ admitted Ari. ‘But that’s the thing about football. We got caught up in the excitement.’

  Will looked at him.

  ‘We?’ he echoed.

  ‘Yeah. Well, you didn’t think I did all that by myself did you? For something like that, we all link together telepathically. You had the whole crew working with you during that match. I was just channelling them.’

  ‘That explains a lot. But did you have to have Shaun hurt his leg like that?’

  ‘You said you wished that he would.’

  ‘Well, yeah, I said it . . . but that doesn’t mean I wanted it to happen, does it?’

  Ari frowned. ‘I assumed you meant it. You need to be clearer about things in future. You know, there’s an old saying − ‘Be careful what you wish for, you might just get it.’ Ari waved a hand in dismissal. ‘Anyway, don’t worry about it, there’s no damage. The kid’s just temporarily forgotten how to use his left leg, that’s all. I can arrange for him to have a miraculous recovery, if you like. The thing is, how did it feel? When you were out there on the field being brilliant?’

  ‘It felt great,’ admitted Will. ‘And it was good having Mum there to see me do it. How did you . . .?’

  ‘Oh, just a little whisper in her ear. Works every time.’

  ‘She seemed to think it was a nice day,’ said Will. ‘She told me . . .’ He broke off in surprise as he realised that Ari was no longer beside him. He stopped, looked back and saw that the Watcher had ducked into a shop doorway. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

  His question was answered as he heard the roar of motorbikes coming from up the street. He turned to see a couple of powerful bikes go past, the riders conventionally dressed in leathers and crash helmets. As they went by, Ari stepped rather sheepishly out from cover.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘A bit of a reflex I have whenever I hear that sound.’

  Will stared at him. A sizeable penny had just dropped into place.

  ‘The Hell’s Angels,’ he said. ‘It was them!’

  Ari gave him a puzzled look.

  ‘Come again,’ he said.

  Will told him about the column of powerful bikes that had followed the school bus that morning. As he spoke Ari’s expression became grave.

  ‘I thought there was something funny about them,’ said Will. ‘And the guy leading them, the one on the Harley Davidson. That would be Lou, I suppose?’

  Ari frowned.

  ‘Sounds like him,’ he admitted. ‘I was hoping it would take him a bit longer to come sniffing around. We’ve still got a lot to do here.’ He started walking again and Will had to run a few steps to catch up with him.

  ‘You’re afraid of him, aren’t you?’ said Will. It was more of an observation than a question.

  ‘We’d be stupid not to be,’ said Ari. ‘They’re here to try and take your father’s soul. You’d do well to remember that. If you see them again, just run or hide or whatever it takes. Don’t let them get to you.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. I got a good look at them. They didn’t . . . well, they didn’t seem to have any wings.’

  Ari nodded.

  ‘That’s right. A long time back, Lou and his followers decided they had no wish to return to heaven. So they tore their own wings off.’ Ari couldn’t mask the look of revulsion on his face. ‘It’s a terrible thing. They gave up hope of ever achieving redemption. I admit, I’ve come close to it myself a few times over the years, but somehow, I’ve managed to hang on to my hopes.’ He fixed Will with a look. ‘Never give up on your dreams, young Will, no matter how hopeless it seems.’ He sighed. ‘I’d better get back to the others,’ he said.

  ‘To tell them about Lou?’

  ‘Oh, they already know,’ Ari assured him. ‘That’s the thing about Watchers. Cut one of us and we all bleed. But we’ll need to draw up some plans together, that’s for sure. And that’s better done face to face.’

  A terrible thought assailed Will.

  ‘You . . . you won’t run out on me, will you?’

  Ari smiled.

  ‘No, Will, don’t worry on that score. We can’t run out on any mission we undertake. Fact.’ He paused and looked around. ‘Now, we need to get you home safely.’ He studied the traffic in the street for a moment and a taxi that had been travelling in the other direction suddenly performed a screeching U-turn. The taxi drew to a halt alongside them. ‘In you get,’ said Ari.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ asked Will. ‘I can’t afford a taxi!’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, he won’t ask you for any money,’ Ari assured him. He moved to the front of the cab and motioned for the driver to wind down the window. Then he reached in and touched the driver lightly on the forehead. The man soon had the kind of dreamy expression that Will had seen on Terry. Ari motioned for Will to get in.

  ‘Why don’t you ride with me?’ Will asked him, as he slipped into a seat ‘I can drop you off on the way.’

  But Ari shook his head. ‘Against the rules,’ he said, sadly. ‘We can only help others, remember? Oh, that reminds me . . . the homework for tonight? Your computer knows what it is; I believe it’s already working on it.’

  ‘Right . . .’ said Will. He glanced nervously through the glass partition at the driver, but the man was looking straight ahead, apparently not hearing a word of what was being said. ‘See you later then.’ Will pulled the door shut and the taxi moved away. He looked back through the rear window to see Ari trudging slowly along the high street. It would take him hours to get back to the riverbank, he thought. How maddening must that be when you had a fabulous pair of wings under your coat?

  After a little while, the taxi caught up with the school bus and pulled out to overtake it. Will caught sight of Terry, sitting in his usual place up on the top deck. He was staring straight ahead with that same dopey expression on his face, but even so, Will ducked down in his seat and held up a hand to mask his face. He didn’t want to have any more explaining to do.

  THIRTEEN

  Will instructed the cab driver to park some distance away from his house, not wanting to have to explain to Mum why he had come home from school by taxi. He experienced a few moments of uncertainty when it was time to get out, half-expecting to be stuck with a fare he couldn’t pay, but happily, the driver simply gave him a cheery wave and drove away.

  ‘Amazing,’ muttered Will.

  He strolled back through the estate and let himself in at the back door. Spot greeted him with the usual tail-wagging frenzy and Mum wasn’t much less restrained.

  ‘Here he is!’ she cried, as though announcing it to a crowd of waiting fans. ‘My son, the superstar!’

  She looked different, Will thought. She was wearing makeup and had dumped the usual jeans and sweatshirt for a stylish black dress, over which she wore her striped cook’s apron. For once, the aroma issuing from the kitchen actually smelled quite appetising.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Will, suspiciously.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, a tad defensively. ‘I’m making lasagna al forno. I just thought we’d have something a bit special. You know, to celebrate your victory.’

  ‘It was only an old football match,’ he muttered. ‘Nothing to get excited about.’

  ‘That’s not what Mr Varney said. I spoke to him after the match. He was very excited. He told me that was the first time St Brendan’s had beaten St Chad’s. Ever! He also said that he was astonished by your performance.’

  That makes two of us, thought Will. But he said, ‘I got lucky, that’s all.’

  ‘It was a bit more than luck, Will. I was watching you; you were doing things you only see in the Premier League. Whe
n you did that cartwheel and kicked the ball into the net when you were upside down? Wayne Rooney couldn’t do that! You know, your dad would have been so proud . . .’

  ‘When are we eating?’ interrupted Will. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Not just yet,’ she told him. ‘Why don’t you go and change for dinner? Put on that new shirt I bought you. And your best trousers.’

  He gave her a suspicious look. ‘Why?’ he asked her. ‘We never do that.’

  Mum looked a bit wary. ‘I know, but er . . . well, actually, somebody else is coming to dinner. A guest.’

  ‘Yeah? Like who?’ demanded Will.

  ‘Like . . . Jake Kirby,’ said Mum.

  Will’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘But . . . I . . . I thought he was in South America!’

  ‘He was. But he came home, just a few weeks ago. Turns out he’s buying a house up the road.’

  Mum turned back into the kitchen and Will followed her. She went over to the cooker to inspect the contents of a saucepan. Will couldn’t believe it. A chance remark to Amy and suddenly Jake was back in Mum’s world. If Will had ever doubted the power of the Watchers to make things happen, he was beginning to realise that they didn’t make idle boasts.

  ‘It was the weirdest thing,’ said Mum, stirring a pot of sauce. ‘I’d just left the football match and I was walking back through town, feeling really good and I nearly walked right into him. I couldn’t believe it, Will! He recognised me, said I didn’t look a bit different than when he’d last seen me. Bloody liar!’ She tried to look dismissive but failed completely. She’d clearly been flattered by the remark. ‘He . . . knew all about your dad,’ she continued. ‘He’s kept in touch with a few old friends by email and somebody must have told him what happened . . .’

  ‘That why he’s back?’ asked Will, suspiciously.

  ‘No, no, of course not! Goodness me! The very idea!’ She looked at Will expectantly but when she didn’t get a reply, she continued. ‘No, he was coming back anyway. Said he’d finally achieved what he set out to do . . . whatever that was.’

  She kept stirring the pot even though it didn’t seem to need it. She was smiling to herself and she seemed excited. Will couldn’t remember when he had last seen her like that. ‘Anyway, Jake said he had lots of wild stories about what happened out there. He was in the jungle apparently. I thought . . . well, why not invite him over for some dinner? He’s never met you . . . and when I told him about the football match . . .’

  ‘Forget the bloody football match,’ growled Will and she turned her head to look at him.

  ‘What do you mean, forget about it? You don’t seem to realise how good you are. Mr Varney said . . .’

  ‘And forget Mr bloody Varney, too. Honestly, you’d think I’d won the World Cup or something.’ He turned away. ‘It was . . . it was nothing, ok?’ He glared at her for a moment. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry. He supposed it was because he knew he hadn’t done anything to earn the praise. ‘I’ll go and change,’ he said.

  He went out to the hallway and started up the stairs, but stopped in his tracks when the mobile phone in his pocket sounded, the single beep that announced an incoming text. He took the phone out, flipped it open and looked with delight at the words on the screen.

  Hi there. U were fantastic today.

  Sophie.

  Will stared at the words, vaguely aware of the colour rising to his cheeks. She had noticed him, after all! Smiling, he went on up the stairs to his room.

  Once there, he viewed the message again just to be sure his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Several questions sprang into his mind. How had Sophie found his number? Or rather, who among his few friends at school had passed it on to her? And at what point had she left the match? Had she seen him helping others to get goals and not just taking all the glory himself?

  He felt too elated to worry too much about any of that. With uncharacteristic boldness he pressed reply and wrote back the first thing that came into his head.

  Thanks. U were pretty cool yourself.

  Will

  He pressed ‘send’ and the text whizzed off before he had much of a chance to worry about the content. It was only after it was gone that he had second thoughts. What was it supposed to mean? And what would Sophie think when she saw it? Wasn’t it about the dumbest thing anyone had ever said in the history of texting? But it was too late to worry. He sat looking at the phone for a few minutes, just in case a reply came winging right back at him, but it didn’t. So, with a sigh, he closed the phone and went to the wardrobe to look for his best clothes.

  Half an hour later, dutifully dressed as per Mum’s instructions, he came back down the stairs and ducked his head into the study, where he found his computer industriously printing out a science project. He cast an eye briefly over the twenty-odd pages as they slid out onto the tray. They looked pretty good, he decided. Then he experienced a sharp pang of guilt, realising that yet again, he hadn’t had any hand in what was happening. Yes, it was a relief that he wouldn’t have to worry about doing it himself, but it was just like the football match; something he couldn’t genuinely take any credit for. And that didn’t make him feel anything like as good as it was supposed to.

  Back in the kitchen, Mum’s cooking continued to smell appetising, long past the point where it would normally be creating a stench like the aftermath of a terrible industrial accident. Will saw that she had taken a great deal of trouble over the dining table; putting out the best cutlery and even proper cloth napkins. She was in the kitchen, mixing up a jug of salad dressing. She dipped a piece of cucumber in it and offered it to Will.

  ‘What do you think?’ she asked. He took it with great reluctance and put it gingerly into his mouth, having experienced too many of Mum’s culinary experiments in the past not to be cautious. But against all the odds it was delicious and he told her so. It seemed the Watchers had once again managed to do the unthinkable – turn Mum into a cross between Delia Smith and Nigella Lawson.

  ‘Where did you get the recipe?’ he asked her.

  She shrugged and smiled. ‘Didn’t use one,’ she said. ‘I just kind of made it up as I went along. It . . . I know it sounds mad, but it was almost as though a voice was whispering directions in my ear! I mean, how crazy is that?’ She carried the bowl of salad to the table and stood there surveying her handiwork. ‘How do you think it all looks?’ she asked him.

  ‘You don’t think you’re overdoing it, do you?’ he muttered. He still hadn’t quite accepted the idea that his dad’s old love-rival was descending on the house, possibly with the intention of staking a claim. But, he told himself, he was the one who’d first mentioned Jake as a potential partner for his mother . . . and unless he wanted his dad’s soul to take up permanent residence in hell, he was going to have to try and be gracious about the whole thing.

  The doorbell rang and Mum looked like she was about to have a panic attack.

  ‘Get that for me, will you, love?’ she said. ‘I have a couple of things to finish up in the kitchen.’ Before he could say anything, she closed the door firmly in his face. Will scowled, but made his way out to the hallway and opened the front door.

  Jake Kirby was tall and lean and dressed in what was probably his best suit. He didn’t look very comfortable in it. His skin was tanned dark brown from years of exposure to the sun, his hair was down over his collar and he would probably have been more at home in khaki pants and a T-shirt. He was carrying a bottle of wine wrapped in crêpe paper. He smiled at Will, revealing even teeth that were shockingly white in the midst of his sunburned face.

  ‘You must be Will,’ he said. He reached out a hand to shake and Will had little choice but to accept it. ‘Your mum tells me you played like a champion today.’

  Will tried not to look annoyed. He was beginning to wish he’d never asked the Watchers to boost his performance and it didn’t help that Mum seemed to be blabbing about it to everyone she met.

  ‘Yeah, I did ok,’ he
said. They stood for a moment, awkwardly shaking hands. Then Will realised that Jake was probably waiting to be invited inside. ‘Oh er . . . come in,’ he muttered, letting go of the hand. ‘Mum’s just . . . doing . . . stuff in the kitchen.’

  ‘Very interesting stuff, judging by the smell,’ said Jake. ‘It’ll be quite a novelty to enjoy a home-cooked meal. Back at the camp, we seemed to exist on a diet of rice and black beans.’ He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. When he turned back, his expression was serious.

  ‘I was really sorry to hear about your dad,’ he said.

  Will didn’t really know what to say to that. He just nodded. Then Jake handed him the bottle.

  ‘I wasn’t sure what we were having, so I bought white wine. I hope it’ll be ok.’

  Will shrugged. He was no expert on the subject. He turned and led the way into the dining room. Jake looked at the table.

  ‘Wow,’ he said.

  Just then the kitchen door opened and Mum breezed in. She’d taken off her apron and had obviously just given her makeup a last going-over in the back loo. But she did look amazing, Will thought. It was funny. He’d never really thought of his mother as being good-looking before, but now he could see she was, as Ari had observed, ‘a babe’.

  ‘Will, why didn’t you tell me our guest had arrived?’ she cried. ‘Jake, you’re welcome. I’m afraid it’s not much, but we call it home.’

  ‘Are you kidding? You should see some of the places I lived in Brazil. This is lovely.’ Jake motioned to the table. ‘You didn’t have to go to so much trouble for me.’

  ‘Nonsense! Will, get Jake and myself a glass of white wine, will you? There’s some on the go in the fridge.’ She took the bottle from Will and made a big show of unwrapping it. ‘Sauvignon Blanc!’ she cried. ‘My favourite! How did you know?’

  Will escaped into the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Tonight promised to be an ordeal, but he told himself he’d just have to go with the flow. There was a lot at stake. He found the open bottle in the fridge and poured a generous measure into a couple of the best glasses. He had a sudden impulse to take a large gulp himself but thought better of it.