A Raucous Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) (6 page)

For one magical moment Rhyllann
did
believe. Staring down at his best trainers, Primark’s finest, he imagined sauntering into a shop, and the luxury of trying on Nike, a smart phone and the latest MP3 player in his pocket, Becky Roberts on his arm. Then reality kicked in.

Shaking Wren’s hand off he sneered ‘Yeh – well. Why don’t you wish in one hand, shit in the other. See what gets filled first.’ One of gran’s favourite sayings. Wren grinned, then sobered.

‘Think about it Annie. Do your own research. I’m not pulling your leg.’ He retrieved his notebook as he spoke, placing it carefully on the coffee table. ‘Or roasting you.’

Rhyllann glared. ‘One. Stop calling me Annie. Okay? Enough. We’re not kids anymore. Two. Do something with your hair. It looks like some mad professor’s. Three. I’m not watching any “Black Swan’s Speech” crap. Come on. It’s going to take hours to get up the road anyway.’

Bickering like an old married couple, they left the house, heading for the local shops. Rhyllann adjusted his pace to Wren’s dot and carry skip, and it only took them ten minutes. It took them ages though to settle on the DVDs they wanted. In the supermarket, they stacked a trolley with pizzas, microwave meals, crisps, sweets, grabbing bottles of coke and tubs of ice-cream. Neither he or Wren speculated on what social services held in store. Rhyllann suspected his cousin conjured the same Dickensian orphanage, and was determined to make the most of his last few days of freedom.

With Wren perched on top of the laden trolley, Rhyllann charged round the corner, galloping for the home strait. The wheels revolved madly, spinning a complete circle, scattering pedestrians. Wren screeched in delighted terror. Grabbing the handle, Rhyllann chugged the trolley behind him cart like.

'Oi! Slow down – Annie – it hurts – mind the bumps – I’m gonna fall!’ Wren called between shrieks.

Rhyllann whooped and sped up. Then skidded to a halt. The trolley crashed against his heels, and Wren yelped in genuine pain. Levering himself from the trolley, retrieving the elbow crutch, he lurched to Rhyllann’s side to stare at the pulsating red and blue lights dominating the road.

’Oh no. Annie … is that your house?’

Abandoning both trolley and Wren, Rhyllann sprinted forward. Of course it was his house.

Wren did the talking.

'My fault, its all my fault. My cousin wanted to call social services. He even phoned Detective Crombie and left a message. I begged him to wait till Monday. Aunt Tricia had to go back to Wales. She left us some money, she didn’t want to leave – but her work’s crucial. …No, I don’t know her work number. She’s a medical research scientist. It’s all very confidential. Gran’s got the details, but we’re not allowed – in case we let something slip at school or something.’

Rhyllann let the words rain over him, leaning against the open kitchen door jamb, away from most of the devastation. Four uniforms had arrived, one was upstairs, one interviewing Wren in the lounge, two were doorstepping neighbours. Idly he watched a cat stalking a bird in the garden, wondering if or when he should intervene.

‘Quite an imagination your cousin’s got!’

Rhyllann turned his head, unsurprised to see Crombie picking his way through the doorway. He managed a faint smile, thinking you don’t know the half of it.

Gesturing towards the broken crockery, cornflakes and coffee spilling from the worktops onto the floor Rhyllann said.

‘I’d offer you a drink … but.’

‘Sorry son, I made a bad call.’ Something in Crombie's tone alerted Rhyllann.

‘You set us up? Used us as bait?’

Crombie shrugged, sweeping debris from the bench to the floor, he seated himself at the table.

‘I had bodies outside all the time. One even drove your cousin home for a tenner! These guys are professional – too professional to try anything while we were watching. They waited until one squad got called away and the other followed you … we were only minutes too late.’ Crombie shrugged again, peering at the DVD case in his hands. '“Man of the House.” That’s an oldie!’ Angling it towards Rhyllann. ‘Your choice?’

‘Yeah. Half naked cheerleaders and Tommy Lee Jones knocking crap out the bad guys.’ Rhyllann snorted. ‘Real life should be like that.’

Crombie smiled agreement.

‘Detective Crombie?’ Wren balanced in the doorway. ‘What’s going to happen to us?’

Inching down the bench, Crombie patted for Wren to perch.

‘I’ve lined a foster home up. A good one. Just temp. Till your aunt gets back from Wales.’ Adding slyly. ‘Or back from the shops.’

Wren grimaced, seeming fragile next to Crombie’s bulk.

‘Wren. Wren, look at me.’ Crombie tilted his chin. ‘This trouble seems centred around you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Wren jerked away with a quick nod, staring resolutely over Crombie’s shoulder.

‘Son – if you know anything – if there’s anything you’re not telling me.’ Crombie waited while Rhyllann counted the kitchen clock's second hand sweeping around. After a while he sighed. ‘I see. Haven’t there been enough people hurt? Mike Stern – you – your gran – your mum.’ This caught Wren’s attention; he glanced at Rhyllann, seeking reassurance, before fixing Crombie with eyes that seemed bluer than ever in a face drained of colour.

‘Mum – what about my Mum?’ He demanded.

Crombie frowned at Rhyllann. ‘Haven’t you told him?’

‘I meant to … I haven’t had a chance to explain – you don’t know what its been like here!’ Rhyllann spluttered.

But he was talking to Crombie’s back.

‘Your mum’s …’ Even Crombie faltered under Wren’s scrutiny. ‘Your mum – she assaulted two guards. Made an escape bid. She’s back in maximum security.’

Gasping, Wren bent forward as though he’d been hit, still keeping his eyes on Crombie.

‘Lie. You’re lying. My mum. My mum – I’ve known her open a window to let a fly out.’ Wren choked. ‘Liar. She wouldn’t. Three months – her parole board’s in three months. She’s been locked up for two years!’ He turned to Rhyllann – eyes begging.

‘Tell him Annie. Tell him!’ His voice rose, cracking painfully. ‘My mum would never do that. She wouldn’t do that to me!’

Rhyllann shuffled his feet. Crombie answered for him.

‘She hoarded some valium. When they took her out for day release, she shared her coffee flask with the guards. Then hijacked the mini-bus. I’m sorry son.’

Wren’s face lifted. ‘But that’s not assault. She didn’t hurt anyone.’ He flailed at Crombie as though he could slap him into agreement. Crombie pinned him back against the bench with one arm.

‘She didn’t hurt anyone!’ Wren’s face contorted with fury.

Rhyllann spoke. ‘No but she made them look silly.’

Unable to bear anymore, Rhyllann stalked from the kitchen, into the jumble sale of a lounge. He began piling cushions back onto the sofa’s ripped upholstery, then dropped to his knees to search underneath, hunting for Wren’s notebook; wishing he could close his ears against the sobs leaching from the kitchen, hating everyone in the house. Including himself.

He sensed Crombie looming over him:

‘WPC Hewes and PC Davidson will help you clear up, and secure the house. When you’re ready, they’ll take you to Mrs Reade’s. Nice lady. Salt of the earth. You’ll like her.’

Rhyllann refused to look up.

‘Son, make him understand. She drugged two officials. I want to help you, but you’re not helping yourselves. You are in danger.’

Stooping suddenly, Crombie grasped Rhyllann’s wrists, staring intently into his face.

‘Do you understand? Step out of line one more time, and I will have you locked up for your own safety.’

Rhyllann jerked away, trying to squirm free.

‘Rhyllann, please. I want your word. Promise me you won’t put yourself or your cousin in harm’s way.’ Crombie sounded concerned.

Rhyllann nodded absently, his gaze still searching the room. Crombie’s grip tightened, forcing him to make eye contact.

‘Say it son.’

From the room above Rhyllann heard drawers rolling open and shut, probably Wren, packing for them both. Strange how his notebook had vanished, but he didn't seem to care. Rhyllann gave up.

‘I promise.’

For a moment he thought Crombie was going to say something else, but he merely nodded.

Moments later the snarl of an unwilling engine signalled Crombie’s departure, leaving Rhyllann feeling strangely alone and vulnerable.

******

PC Davidson explained on the drive over that Mrs Reade only took short term foster work. Mainly children whose parents needed some respite.
Mrs Reade confirmed this, telling them to call her auntie Dottie, proudly displaying the fourteen month old baby she was caring for, then ushering Wren upstairs and into the bathroom. 

Now she bustled into the garden, hurrying over to check on the baby, sprawled on a rug next to Rhyllann, trying to grab fistfuls of hair and shouting with laughter when he succeeded and Rhyllann squealed.
 

‘Little darling. Mum’s picking him up tomorrow, it’ll be just the three of us.’

He smiled. ‘You’re not what I expected.’ Dottie Reade was around Gran’s age, but that was all they had in common.

Rhyllann eased a strand of hair from the baby's fist, marvelling at the softness of skin and strength of grip. The miniature hand flew open, impulsively he blew a raspberry onto the palm, delighted when the baby's eyes lit up, and the little body convulsed with merriment. Rhyllann couldn't resist doing it again, there was something addictive about being the centre of someone's world.

‘Some of us actually like kids. Couldn’t eat a whole one though.’ She chortled at her own joke. ‘Derek’s told me to keep an extra eye on you two. I’m to take you to school, and pick you up.’

Rhyllann started to protest - he’d never live it down; the coolest kid in school, well his year anyway, having his hand held like a mummy’s boy.

‘Now then.’ Auntie Dottie's voice sharpened. ‘I never ask why my kids are here. I don’t want to know. I just look after them the best I can. Derek’s laid on extra security, and until you two leave, I won’t have any more kids staying here. You’ll be completely safe.’ She said pointedly. ‘Do you want to see if your cousin’s ready for dinner?’

Sensing discord, the baby's face crumpled. Before it could begin to howl, Rhyllann jumped to his feed and headed for the house.

He found Wren in the bedroom they’d been given, towelling his hair.

‘What d’you think of her?’ he hissed. Wren hadn’t spoken since learning about his mum. A bath and the smell of good home cooking seemed to have helped a little. Still he surprised Rhyllann when he answered.

‘OK. Bossy but harmless. You’d better unpack.’ Shrugging a dressing gown over borrowed pyjamas he nodded towards Rhyllann’s bag.

Rhyllann emptied it onto one of the beds. He frowned.

‘Did you pack this?’ Showing Wren the glossy photo. A photo of him, at his first cadet camp. A chubby thirteen year old wearing a green flying suit, silver helmet, holding two thumbs up to the camera and grinning as he posed in front of a small plane. His first time: The thrill, the excitement listening to air control, then his pilot confirming flight details. The pre-flight checks, the rush to get into the air, the ground falling away behind him. On the fields far below the mid day sun projected a tiny silhouette of a plane, pleasing him enormously. Then he’d actually been given the controls. Pulling the joy stick towards him, feeling the plane respond to his every whim, dancing through air. Just as he began to anticipate each uplift and down draught, they were landing, and Rhyllann wanted more than anything to be up in the air flying again. Each time was like the first time. The exhilaration never palled.

Wren peered over his shoulder.

‘Happy days.’ He said bleakly.

Without comment, Rhyllann slid the photo into the bedside cabinet drawer between the two single beds. His fingers brushed against paper, and he drew out a wrap of notes. He blinked in surprise, holding them out mutely to Wren for an explanation.

 ‘My savings. I found them on the kitchen floor.’ Closing his fingers round the notes he pushed them into Rhyllann’s pocket. ‘You keep it Annie, look after it. Our money.’

Rhyllann nodded agreement.

‘Annie … d’you think we’re safe here?’

‘We’d better be. Crombie’s threatening to lock us up.’

Wren snorted. ‘That’s their answer to everything.’

‘They? Who are they?’ Rhyllann lowered his voice. ‘And just who have you hacked off brawd? Who is after you?’

Wren surveyed him silently. Then: ‘Remember that beetle I showed you? I hope there’s no bugs in this room.’ With a smile he added. ‘Wouldn’t it be funny if insects spoke different languages? Like – I dunno – Welsh.’

With that, he turned to clump down the stairs.

Jesus. Wren could be such a geek, and needed to get his paranoia under control. Bugged! As if his life wasn’t weird enough.

His house had been trashed, Wren’s notebook appeared to be the only thing stolen. Wren had attracted some bad company; he knew a couple of names at least. But he wouldn’t tell Crombie. Why? It hit Rhyllann like a lightning bolt. Because they wanted what Wren knew. And Wren reasoned that if he turned them in, chances were everything would come out. The whole story. Crombie and the Met Police would go after the treasure. Jeez! Rhyllann tugged at the chain around his neck. The stupid little sod. There was no treasure. Things like that just didn’t happen to people like them. The sooner he got that through Wren’s thick head the better. Except Wren was the brightest kid he knew. A year below Rhyllann, yet still in most of his classes. Auntie Dottie called up to him. Exhaling heavily, he rushed to shower and change.