Part 7 (1/2)

Kerry looked perplexed. 'But we didn't steal the car.'

'Kerry,' Kyle said, laughing, 'how naive are you? In an area like this, cops and kids are like oil and water: they don't mix.'

'Well,' Kerry said indignantly, 'none of this would have happened if we'd gone home when I said.'

'Oh, shut your smug hole,' James said.

'So, which way?' Nicole asked.

They were all out of breath when they burst through the front door. It was pure luck finding the right street at the second attempt, without b.u.mping into any cops. Zara leaned out of the kitchen into the hallway.

'Ahh... Here they are. My little monsters,' Zara grinned. 'Late as usual.'

The kids were expecting a roasting, but they got off because there was an old couple sitting at the table in the kitchen, drinking tea with Zara and Ewart.

'This is the adopted family,' Ewart explained. 'Kids, meet Ron and Georgina. They live next door and they brought us home-made biscuits to welcome us to the neighbourhood.'

'You kids dip in,' the old girl said. 'My biscuits have won prizes.'

They stuck their hands in the tin and grabbed one. They tasted like they'd been baked in 1937, but they could hardly start gobbing them out in front of the old lady.

'Delicious,' James said, gagging for some water to get the stale taste out of his mouth.

'Would you like another one?' the old dear asked.

Zara clamped the lid on the biscuit tin.

'They're off to their rooms now,' Zara said. 'They're not really allowed sweet stuff this late. It's bad for their teeth.'

They were all thankful that Zara had saved them from another biscuit. James led the scramble upstairs to the bathroom.

'SHUSSSHH, you lot,' Zara whispered after them. 'Joshua's asleep.'

The four of them queued at the bathroom tap to get a drink; then they slugged mouthwash to get the taste out of their mouths.

'It's like a single bite sucks every bit of saliva out of your mouth,' Kerry said.

'I bet she knows how disgusting they are,' Kyle said. 'Probably gets a kick out of watching everyone suffer.'

'Hope the old bag dies,' Nicole said.

James started laughing. 'I think that's a tiny bit extreme, Nicole.'

'I can't stand old people,' Nicole said. 'Wait till they're sixty, then give all of 'em both barrels of a shotgun.'

'My nan was great,' James said. 'I got a Kit Kat or Wagon Wheel every time I saw her ... I was her favourite. She never liked Lauren much.'

Kerry grunted. 'No accounting for taste, I suppose. When did she die?'

'When I was ten.'

'Is Lauren OK now?' Kyle asked.

'I haven't spoken to her since this morning,' James said. 'Suppose I'd better ring her before I go to bed.'

After he'd undressed, James climbed into his bunk and gave Lauren a call on his mobile. She was embarra.s.sed about crying earlier and didn't want to talk about it.

8. CONTACT.

It was the first day of a new school year. The lines of miserable kids had short haircuts and new uniforms to grow into. Kyle offered to run the iron over James' stuff to make it nice and crisp, as he put it. James had forgotten how annoying it was to wear a tie and blazer all day. The only good thing was, Nicole looked fit in her white blouse, with her tie loose around the collar. She'd altered her skirt so it was half the length of Kerry's.

James had been to a few different schools since his mum died. Grey Park looked like it was at the bottom of the pile. The smell was a mixture of toilets and floor polish. The curtains and walls in the entrance hall were stuck up with thousands of bits of chewing gum, half the kids weren't in uniform and there was an aquarium full of dead fish with a chair floating in it.

James broke off from the others and found his cla.s.sroom. He recognised Junior Moore straight away, sitting at the back with a mate. You could tell, by the state of their uniforms and the way they were sitting with their trainers on the desk, that they wanted everyone to think they were bad guys.

James had to work his way in with them gradually. If you went straight up and introduced yourself to kids like that, they'd treat you like a joke. James' plan was to act cool and win them over with bad behaviour.

The teacher came in. He was a t.i.tchy little donut in a beige suit called Mr Shawn. He seemed full of himself; the kind of teacher who gave you an urge to muck about, just so you got the pleasure of seeing him flip out.

'O-KAYYYYYYY,' Mr Shawn shouted, slamming a book on his desk to get everyone's attention. 'Summer is over, welcome to Year Eight ... Find your seats and settle down.'

James sat at an empty desk in the middle. This seriously weird kid sat next to him. He was tall, but stick thin. His uniform was too small and his walk was bizarre, like he was trying to move in twenty directions at once.

'You're new,' the weirdo said. 'I'm Charles.'

James didn't want to be nasty, but a geeky pal was the last thing he needed if he was going to make friends with Junior.

'I can show you around if you want,' Charles said.

'It's OK,' James replied awkwardly. 'I'll manage, but cheers for the offer.'

Charles didn't carry a backpack like the other kids; he had a brown leather briefcase. Judging by the noise when he put it down, he kept a couple of bricks inside. Charles stooped over the desk and began frantically scratching at the back of his hand. A snowstorm of skin flakes drifted on to the table in front of him.

'I've got eczema,' Charles explained noisily. 'It gets worse in the summer when I sweat.'

Mr Shawn started handing out timetables and burbling about the fabulous opportunities presented by the after-school chess and drama clubs. Ten minutes into school, James already wanted to burst out of the front gate and run for the hills. He'd always found school boring, but after being at CHERUB, where the cla.s.ses were small and the teachers pushed you, normal school made him feel like his life was running in slow motion.

Charles was bored as well. He got an apple out of his briefcase and crunched into it. Mr Shawn stopped talking and glowered at him.

'Charles, what on earth are you doing?'

'Eating an apple,' Charles said, as if he'd been asked the world's stupidest question.

'We don't eat in cla.s.s, do we?' Mr Shawn said.

Everyone started laughing. If a cool kid had bitten the apple, they would have laughed at how funny it was. But they all had Charles down as cla.s.s loser, so everyone was shaking their heads and there were a few murmurs of spastic and r.e.t.a.r.d.

'Put it in the bin, Charles.'