Aquila 2

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Aquila 2 Page 4

by Andrew Norriss


  ‘You … you think we’re working too hard?’ asked Tom.

  ‘I do.’ Miss Taylor nodded.

  ‘And you want us … to have more fun?’ said Geoff.

  ‘Yes.’ Miss Taylor nodded again. ‘Having fun is important too, you know.’

  Neither of the boys was quite sure what to say.

  ‘My advice would be to throttle back a bit.’ The Deputy Head leaned back in her chair. ‘Particularly on things like experiments with UV lamps. We don’t want you to burn out, do we? Not in any sense of the word. You understand?’

  ‘Wow,’ said Geoff when they left the office. ‘Miss Taylor telling us not to work too hard. That’s a first!’

  ‘Norway …’ said Tom. ‘I haven’t been asking any questions about Norway. Have you?’

  ‘I thought it might be a nice place to visit one day,’ said Geoff. ‘It’s got fjords and things, hasn’t it?’ He set off briskly down the corridor. ‘Come on, let’s get some lunch. I’m hungry.’

  They had lunch in Aquila, sitting in brilliant sunshine at ten thousand feet and, as they ate their sandwiches with miles of dazzling white cloud stretched out beneath them as far as the eye could see, Geoff remarked that it was hard to believe how much life had changed in the last few weeks.

  Tom agreed. Life at school was certainly very different from the way it had been even recently. And the odd thing was that, despite all the extra work, despite all the looking things up in books and asking teachers questions, school life was actually a lot more relaxed.

  Before, if a teacher had spoken to them at all, it would probably have been to ask why they hadn’t handed in some work or to demand, suspiciously, where they were going. These days, however, if Mr Bampford saw them in the corridor, he would stop them to say he had a magazine article on gravity he thought might interest them. Or Miss Poulson would wave them down to say she had a new book on Stonehenge. And when Mr Urquart saw them come into his classroom at break, he would give a little chuckle and ask what it was they were after this time …

  For some reason, all the teachers seemed to approve of them, and it was surprising how much difference that approval could make.

  At four thirty, they went back to the Eyrie for tea – two large slices of chocolate fudge cake – before flying over to the Stavely recycling centre.

  They usually had a look around the recycling centre at least once a week. It was astonishing what people threw away and, one way and another, the centre had provided a lot of comforts for the Eyrie. It was where they had got the colour television, the bookshelves and two of the chairs, and today they were looking for a microwave oven. Tom thought it might be more convenient for heating food than using Aquila’s laser – and probably safer. Last time he had tried to reheat a piece of pizza with the laser, he had managed to evaporate not only the food, but the plate it was on and a small section of the table.

  The centre closed at four thirty, which meant that when they flew over the locked gates and landed in the parking area, they had the place to themselves. They didn’t find a microwave oven but, in one of the bins, Tom found a large oil painting of mountains which he thought would look good on the Eyrie wall, while Geoff found a dartboard and a huge pile of comics. Cheered by their finds, they took them back to the Eyrie before Geoff flew Tom back to his house. Almost the first thing they saw there was Alan’s silver Lexus parked in the driveway.

  ‘Looks like your friend’s here again,’ said Geoff.

  ‘He is not my friend,’ said Tom, surprised at how quickly his mood had changed at the sight of the car.

  Geoff looked at him. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t like him,’ said Tom, ‘I don’t like him or not like him. I don’t know anything about him, do I? He could be a bank robber for all I know.’

  Geoff considered this.

  ‘You haven’t asked him what he does?’

  ‘No,’ said Tom determinedly. ‘I don’t talk to him if I can help it.’

  Tom had decided, as far as possible, to avoid all conversation with Alan. Talking to him might make it look as if he were interested, and Tom wanted it to be quite clear that he was not interested in Alan at all.

  ‘There’s other ways of finding out about him without talking to him,’ said Geoff. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well …’ Geoff ran his fingers lightly over the lights on the dash. ‘We have the perfect spying machine here, don’t we? If you want to know anything about Alan, all we have to do is follow him. If he does rob banks for a living, it wouldn’t take long to find out.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  There were two problems with following Alan in Aquila. The first was that, during the week at least, the boys only had a very limited time in which to work. They had about half an hour in the mornings before they went to school, sometimes another half hour at lunchtime, and perhaps an hour or so when school finished – and that was it.

  The other problem was finding Alan so that they could follow him. They knew where he lived – Tom had looked it up in his mother’s address book – and went round to his house first thing Monday morning, but Alan wasn’t there. The house was quite large and modern, set in a nice garden, but there was no sign of Alan, nor of anyone else. Presumably he had already gone to work – wherever that might be. They flew Aquila up and down the front and back of the house, peering in all the windows as they did so, but without learning anything useful.

  When they came back to the house at lunchtime and after school, it was the same story. They waited a bit, in case Alan came home, but the place remained firmly deserted. What they really needed, said Geoff, was the address for where he worked.

  ‘Couldn’t you ask your mother or something?’ he asked.

  ‘I’d rather not,’ said Tom. ‘Like I said, I don’t want her to think I’m interested. I’m sure he’ll turn up if we wait long enough.’

  And on Thursday lunchtime, Alan did indeed turn up. Hovering in Aquila, the boys watched the Lexus sweep up the drive to the house and Alan dash out and disappear indoors. A few minutes later he came out again in a different shirt, got back into the car and the boys followed him as he drove through Stavely to Tom’s house, where Mrs Baxter hurried out of the front door to join him.

  They followed the car back into town and watched as Alan parked outside an Italian restaurant off the high street, then took Mrs Baxter by the hand and led her inside. Soon after that, Tom and Geoff had to get back to school for history with Miss Poulson.

  ‘We might find out more at the weekend,’ said Tom as Geoff brought Aquila in to land behind the domestic-science block. ‘He’ll be home then. If we watch him on Saturday and Sunday, that’s when we’ll see where he goes and things.’

  ‘Watch him on Saturday and Sunday?’ said Geoff.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Tom, ‘but it’s important.’ The sight of his mother and Alan holding hands had made him more determined than ever to find out as much as he could. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘Well …’ Geoff climbed out of Aquila and blew the four short blasts on the whistle that would send Aquila thirty feet in the air to wait for them. ‘If you pushed me, I’d probably admit a slight preference for New York but …’ He smiled at his friend. ‘I guess it’ll wait.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tom. ‘It’s only for this weekend. Next week you can choose what we do on both days, OK?’

  When the weekend came, however, it was not from following him that they learned something new about Alan.

  It was Saturday morning, and Tom was up in his room reading in his book about how the blue stones at Stonehenge had been carried from a quarry in
Wales, when his mother called him downstairs.

  In the hallway, he found Alan with a boy about eight years old. He was small, with short, cropped hair and a large pair of glasses framing big dark eyes that looked unblinkingly up at Tom.

  ‘This is Dunstan,’ said Mrs Baxter. ‘Alan’s son.’

  Tom took a moment to absorb that information.

  Alan had a son?

  ‘We’re going to look after him,’ Mrs Baxter went on, ‘while Alan deals with an emergency at work.’ She reached across and patted Dunstan’s head. ‘Isn’t that right?’

  ‘I’m going out,’ said Tom. ‘I’m meeting Geoff.’

  ‘Geoff’s got a reading lesson until twelve, hasn’t he?’ said Mrs Baxter. ‘That’s not for a couple of hours.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about this,’ said Alan. ‘If it’s inconvenient in any way …’

  ‘Of course it’s not inconvenient!’ said Mrs Baxter. ‘We’re delighted to have him.’

  ‘Well, I’m very grateful.’ Alan ran his fingers through his hair and turned to Tom. ‘I don’t think he’ll be any trouble. Usually all you need to do is sit him down in front of a computer.’ He turned back to Mrs Baxter. ‘I shouldn’t be too long. Three hours at the most.’

  Fortunately, it turned out Alan was at least right when he said that Dunstan was no trouble to look after. Tom took him upstairs and showed him a computer game he had been given for Christmas that involved attacking a space station, and for the rest of the morning Dunstan swept his way through it with a fierce concentration that gave him maximum points at the first try.

  It was as well that he was concentrating on the game because otherwise he might have seen the arm that appeared from out of nowhere outside the window and tapped on the glass soon after midday.

  ‘Dunstan …’ Tom pressed the pause button. ‘Would you go downstairs and ask Mum for a drink?’

  ‘Why?’ asked Dunstan.

  ‘Because I’m thirsty.’

  Dunstan hesitated a moment, but then got up and walked without a word to the door. As soon as he was gone, Tom went over to the window and opened it.

  ‘Who was that?’ Geoff’s head appeared, leaning out of the invisible Aquila.

  ‘Dunstan,’ said Tom. ‘He’s Alan’s son.’

  ‘He has a son?’ Geoff gave a low whistle. ‘Does that mean he’s –’ His head suddenly ducked out of view.

  ‘What sort of drink?’

  Dunstan was standing in the doorway.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What sort of drink did you want?’ asked Dunstan.

  ‘Water,’ said Tom. ‘Just … water out of the tap.’ He waited until he had heard Dunstan going downstairs before telling Geoff that the coast was clear.

  ‘I wondered why you weren’t at the Eyrie,’ Geoff said. ‘Thought I’d come round and see what had happened.’ He paused. ‘If Alan has a son, does that mean he’s married?’

  ‘He used to be,’ said Tom. It was the first question he had asked Dunstan himself. ‘She died. He’s had to leave Dunstan here because he’s got an emergency at work.’

  ‘At work?’ Geoff nodded thoughtfully. ‘Interesting …’

  ‘Is it?’

  ‘Well, if you wanted to know what he does for a living,’ said Geoff. ‘Now’s your chance. All we have to do is go and look.’

  ‘I can’t go anywhere,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve got to look after Dunstan.’

  ‘You may have to,’ said Geoff, ‘but I don’t, do I? All I need is an address. If you ask Dunstan where his dad is, I can –’

  He blinked out of view again, and Tom turned round to find Dunstan in the doorway with a glass of water.

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ Tom walked across the room to collect it. ‘Dunstan, do you know where your dad works?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Dunstan, and sat back down at the computer.

  Asking Dunstan a question, Tom realized, was a bit like talking to Aquila. You had to be quite precise.

  ‘So where does he work? Exactly.’

  ‘On the industrial estate,’ said Dunstan. ‘Hillside Road. Unit Seventeen.’

  The Stavely industrial estate covered an area almost as large as the town itself and consisted of a network of warehouses, small factories and commercial buildings, most of which, as it was Saturday, were deserted and quiet. Geoff found Hillside Road and followed it up a steep hill, past a car-repair firm and a bathroom fitter before finally arriving at Unit 17.

  He knew he was in the right place because he could see Alan’s Lexus parked in front of the main building. There were several other cars there, but no sign of anyone working and Geoff was debating what to do next when Alan walked briskly out of the main entrance. He was wearing a boiler suit, had a pair of wellingtons on his feet and was pulling on a pair of large rubber gloves as he strode round to the back of the building.

  Geoff followed him, a few metres behind, hovering silently in the air, and watched as Alan walked towards a row of tall box-shaped objects, each about the size of a telephone kiosk. There was a long row of them set out on the tarmac and a man with a forklift truck was unloading more from a lorry parked to one side. When Geoff brought Aquila down to where he could look closely, he realized they were lavatories. A long row of portable lavatories.

  Three more men, dressed as Alan was in boiler suits and rubber gloves, were busy cleaning the inside of the lavatories that had already been unloaded. One of them had a pressure hose, one was on his hands and knees scrubbing at the floor and the third was attaching the hose from a small tanker to one of the lavatories and turning on a pump.

  Alan himself grabbed a bucket and some bleach and set to work.

  Well, Geoff thought, they knew what Alan did for a living now.

  He cleaned toilets.

  ‘You’re quite sure that’s what he was doing?’ asked Tom. The two boys were sitting on the patio while indoors Dunstan was watching television. They spoke in low voices but Tom had already made sure the volume on the TV was turned up enough for them not to be overheard.

  ‘Positive,’ said Geoff for the third time. ‘He had the boots, the gloves, the bucket …’

  Tom sighed. If his mother had to go out with someone, you could at least hope they managed a football team or spied for the government or something. But if they cleaned toilets …

  Mrs Baxter put her head out of the kitchen window and called out that lunch was ready if anyone was hungry.

  Tom wondered if she knew what Alan did for a living. And, if she did know, did she care?

  ‘We’re still not absolutely sure there’s anything going on between him and your mum,’ said Geoff as they moved indoors. ‘They could still just be friends …’

  But you could tell from his voice that he didn’t really believe this.

  And nor did Tom.

  Half an hour later when Alan turned up to collect Dunstan, he was wearing a suit and tie, and smelling faintly of soap. If you hadn’t seen him on his hands and knees scrubbing out toilets an hour earlier, Geoff thought, you’d never have believed it was the same man.

  ‘Thank you again for looking after Dunstan,’ he said, standing in the hall with Mrs Baxter and the three boys. ‘I hope he hasn’t been too much trouble.’

  ‘No trouble at all,’ Mrs Baxter assured him. ‘They’ve all been playing on the computer upstairs. Having a lovely time. Did you get your emergency delivery off to Preston?’

  ‘We did indeed, thank you,’ said Alan. He beamed down at Tom and Geoff. ‘And I’m sorry to have taken up your Saturday morning. Perhaps I can make it up to you both? How about I take us all bowling tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘That’s very kind,’ said Geoff smoothly, ‘but I can’t go a
nywhere tomorrow. I have to visit my gran.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Alan. ‘What about you, Tom?’

  Tom was still trying to think of a reason why he couldn’t go when his mother answered for him.

  ‘We’d love to,’ she said. ‘Tom used to enjoy bowling, but he hasn’t been for ages. When shall we meet up?’

  Later, when they were back at the Eyrie, Tom asked Geoff why he had said he was visiting his grandmother.

  ‘Your gran lives in Portugal, doesn’t she?’ he added.

  ‘She does,’ Geoff agreed, ‘but I didn’t really want to go bowling. Thought I’d rather go flying. If that’s all right?’

  Tom sighed. ‘So while I have to go out with Alan, you’re going to go swimming in France again or something, are you?’

  Geoff grinned. ‘Do you mind?’

  And Tom didn’t really mind. His friend had, after all, spent a lot of time during the week waiting outside Alan’s house when they both knew he would much rather have been flying around. And earlier that afternoon he had flown Tom out to the industrial estate and shown him where Alan worked. So it seemed only fair that, while Tom was with Alan on Sunday, Geoff should be free for once to go wherever he wanted.

  Tom’s only regret was that he wasn’t going with him, and he knew exactly whose fault that was. It was Alan’s. It was all Alan’s fault. Everything in life had been fine until he had appeared and begun turning everything upside down. Don’t I have a say in any of this? Tom wanted to ask. Doesn’t anyone want to know what I think?

  But apparently they didn’t.

  At the bowling on Sunday afternoon, Tom and Dunstan were teamed up against Alan and Tom’s mother and, at the start, Dunstan didn’t do very well. He was using a ball that was too heavy for him and had just sent it into the gutter for the third time when the mother of the family playing in the next lane leaned across to Tom.

 

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