‘You’re so dead,’ she shouted, as the long grass flicked against her legs.
Lauren didn’t gain any ground over the first couple of hundred metres, but she was fitter than her target, who began tiring after he’d vaulted over a metal gate and turned on to a straight road that led towards the modern houses on the northern outskirts of the village. By the time she’d finally closed the young lad down, he’d cut into an expanse of lawn sandwiched between two houses.
‘Gotcha,’ Lauren yelled triumphantly, as she wrapped her arm around the boy’s chest and bundled him into the side wall of a house.
But she didn’t get her grip right and he spun out and threw a wild punch. Lauren ducked it, hooked her foot around his right ankle and swept his feet from under him. She dived on top, rolled the lad on to his back and pinned his arms under her knees. The boy was taller than Lauren and visibly shocked at how easily he’d been taken down.
‘You could have had my eye out with that glass,’ Lauren growled.
The boy jerked his head and spat in her face. ‘Good. That’s what you’d deserve.’
Lauren was furious at being spat on, but fought off the urge to punch him out. ‘What did I ever do to you?’ she asked.
‘When you let me up you’ll be sorry.’
Lauren grabbed the boy’s nose between her thumb and finger and gave it an almighty twist. ‘So I’m gonna be sorry am I?’
‘Let go, bitch,’ the kid yelled.
The chase had happened so quickly, Lauren hadn’t had a chance to consider what she’d do when she caught up. She could drag the boy back to the house and call the police, but that would turn into a whole massive thing and Ryan wouldn’t appreciate having the cops sniffing around. Her combat training gave her a range of abilities, from knocking the lad out to breaking his arms or even killing him. They were all too extreme, but he’d thrown a brick through her bedroom window and spat in her face, so there was no way she was just going to let him go with a warning.
‘Get up, turd,’ Lauren ordered as she released the boy from the pin.
He had no way of knowing that Lauren had done two years of advanced combat training and thought his opponent was nothing more than a girl, who was smaller than him and had got lucky. So as Lauren stood up, he lashed out again and his Timberland boot thumped painfully against her shin.
Lauren countered ruthlessly, snatching the boy’s wrist, jamming her heel between his shoulder blades and twisting his arm into an agonising lock.
‘Think you’re tough, do you?’ Lauren asked, as she glowered down at her opponent. ‘One more twist and you’ll have to explain to all your mates how your arm got broken by a girl.’
‘Please,’ the boy begged, as Lauren notched up the pain until the shoulder was close to popping out of its socket.
‘No funny business when I let go this time, OK?’
‘Yeah,’ the boy gasped.
The instant Lauren let go, he rolled on to his back and glanced up submissively as he rubbed his painful shoulder.
‘Nice boots,’ Lauren said, looking at the almost new Timberlands on her opponent’s feet. ‘What size are you?’
‘Two and a half.’
‘Close enough. Pass ’em over, and your trousers.’
The boy hesitated for a moment and Lauren broke into a confident smile.
‘Look dude, the choice is yours: take them off, or I beat the living crap out of you and pull them off myself.’
The boy leaned forwards and began to unlace his boots. Once they were off, he unbuckled his belt and stood up to wriggle out of his trousers.
‘Give us,’ Lauren said, snatching the black trousers and beginning to inspect the pockets.
She threw his door keys to the ground and used one of his clean tissues to wipe the spit off her face. Then she unbuttoned the back pocket and slid out a nylon wallet.
‘Well, well, well,’ Lauren said, ripping the Velcro apart and studying the sports centre membership and bus pass inside. ‘Stuart Pierce, born eighth of May 1994, number twenty-one Nicholson Villas, Corbyn Copse, Avon. Picture doesn’t flatter you, does it?’
Lauren flung the wallet at Stuart’s head. He looked close to blubbing as he stood helplessly in his socks and underpants. She scrunched the trousers into a ball and lobbed them high into the nearest tree. They snagged on a branch and unravelled, leaving the legs flapping in the wind several metres out of reach.
‘If you or any of your mates come near my house again, I’ll smash every bone in your body,’ Lauren snarled, as she bent down and picked up the boots. ‘And thanks for these, kid. They’re exactly what I was looking for.’
*
Lauren gave the boots a good blast of deodorant and wore two pairs of socks because they were a bit big. They had to get a bus to school and James was still giggling as they headed for the stop with Kyle.
‘Imagine having to run home in your undies,’ James smirked. ‘You’re so bad, Lauren.’
‘Yeah, well he could have done me an injury throwing that brick in my window – and the dirty git spat in my face. Mind you, I reckon I enjoyed myself a bit too much. It’s true what they say about power going to your head.’
‘Might be trouble if he grasses,’ James said.
Lauren tutted. ‘It won’t happen, James. If he grasses me up for nicking his boots, he’ll get done for bricking the window which is ten times worse.’
‘I know who he is,’ Kyle said triumphantly.
‘Who?’ Lauren asked.
‘That name, Stuart Pierce,’ Kyle said. ‘It was bugging me all through breakfast. I read a report about the AFM attacking a woman named Christine Pierce. She lived in Corbyn Copse and had two sons, Stuart and Andy. I bet that’s why he bricked us.’
‘I read that,’ James nodded. ‘They threw enamel paint in her face and blinded her.’
Lauren stopped walking and looked guiltily down at her boots. ‘Poor kid,’ she gasped. ‘I can’t wear these, everyone’s gonna hate me. I’d better dive home and put the veggie shoes on.’
James looked at his watch. ‘Not if you want to catch the school bus you won’t.’
The stop was on the road between the old and new parts of the village, not far from the alleyway where Lauren had humiliated Stuart. There were about a dozen secondary-school kids waiting at the stop. Three of the bigger ones steamed forward, blocking James, Kyle and Lauren’s path.
‘We’re not looking for trouble,’ Kyle said. ‘Just the bus.’
Lauren caught a glimpse of Stuart sitting on a wall about twenty metres away. He’d sneaked home for another pair of shoes and trousers, but held his shoulder like it was still hurting and his eyes had red rings that suggested tears.
‘You don’t want trouble?’ a tough-looking lad smirked, as he squared up to Kyle.
He was a bigger version of Stuart with zits and Lauren realised it had to be his older brother, Andy.
‘Well you’re getting trouble,’ another lad said, facing off James.
‘Start then,’ James said cockily, giving the boy a shove. ‘See where it gets you.’
Kyle knew James had a temper and pulled him back.
‘Peace, man,’ Kyle said, raising his hands. ‘I know you’re Andy Pierce. I read what happened to your mum in the paper and I’m sorry. But we’ve all gotta live here together and—’
‘Don’t you talk about my mum,’ Andy Pierce spat. ‘She’s blind. She’s lost her job and we’re gonna lose our house ’cos of scum like you.’
A few other boys, including some chunky-looking sixth formers, murmured their support for Andy.
‘Our mum’s shacked up with some guy and we got dragged down here to live,’ Kyle said. ‘It’s not our fight.’
While Kyle and Andy argued, the lad James pushed had closed in again and silently mouthed, Your mum.
‘What was that, penis head?’ James asked.
‘I said, your mum.’
James stepped back and held out his arms. ‘Come on then, big man. Take a shot; sho
w me what you’ve got.’
‘Don’t start, James,’ Lauren said uneasily.
The lad took a swing. James ducked out of the way, before bobbing up and planting a right jab square in his opponent’s mouth. It was a nasty punch, but not the jawbreaker James could have thrown if he’d really wanted to.
‘Leave it out!’ Kyle yelled.
‘Anyone else wanna try?’ James shouted, as the kid he’d punched stumbled back against the bus shelter and spat blood on the pavement.
The punch had cranked the tension up to number eleven and the local kids were shouting and yelling advice ranging from calm down to kick their heads in.
Lauren got the feeling that a mass brawl was about to break out, so it was a huge relief to see the school bus coming round the corner. There was a fair bit of shoving and cursing as everyone piled on board, but Kyle made sure he and James sat away from the youths they’d been facing off and most of the sting had gone out of the situation by the time the bus got underway.
‘You dick,’ Kyle whispered, scowling at James. ‘You’re too aggressive.’
James shrugged unrepentantly. ‘I wanted them to know that we’re best not messed with. They’re miles bigger than Lauren and I don’t want them getting any ideas about starting on her when we’re not around.’
Meanwhile, Lauren had noticed Stuart sitting across the aisle one row in front of her and slid across to the empty seat behind him.
‘I didn’t know what happened to your mum until Kyle told me,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t go round barefoot all day, but I’ll fetch the boots back to your house this evening, OK?’
Stuart looked around with a sour face. ‘Keep ’em,’ he said. ‘I don’t want ’em now they’ve been on your stinking feet.’
14. BUNS
Lauren didn’t make any good friends in her first three days at school, but the kids in her class were OK and nobody dared give her any hassle. The only stressful scenes had been daily slanging matches between James and Andy Pierce at the bus stop. It had only been verbals, but Lauren had a nasty feeling that it would kick off into something bigger.
The mission was progressing, althoughnothing sensational had happened since the weekend. While the kids were at school, Ryan tapped out e-mails and made endless phone calls to his contacts. Zara spent a lot of time dealing with all the domestic stuff that goes with keeping a family going and the rest catching up with the paperwork that formed a major part of a senior mission controller’s job.
She also made sure that the kids went down the hill and showed their faces at the protest site every day. Lauren would visit straight after school and put on her good girl act, dishing out drinks and hot cross buns to the pensioners who stood loyally by their placards for up to ten hours a day. They were generally decent sorts, who always made a big fuss of Lauren and raved about her tea-making skills.
Most of the oldies had dead spouses and grown-up kids and Lauren got the impression that the daily vigil behind the police barriers filled a big hole in some empty lives. And hanging out with them wasn’t a total waste of time. Even though they were about as softcore as Zebra Alliance members got, they’d overheard a million conversations and their gossip let you know whether an approaching activist was considered a sweetheart, a psycho, or someone rumoured to be an undercover cop.
None of it was hard evidence, but Lauren noted the names of anyone the pensioners didn’t like and scored a surprisingly high hit rate when she checked them against the criminal intelligence database back at the cottage. They also turned out to be right about the undercover policewoman.
Kyle and James usually visited after homework and dinner, when the sky was beginning to turn dark. The oldies had packed up their folding chairs and newspapers by then and given way to a livelier crowd of students, young couples and the odd kid. They were a friendly bunch, but every so often an eager young buck – usually drunk, trying to impress a girl, or both – would unleash paint, eggs, or bags of flour at the staff driving in or out of the Malarek compound.
It was fifty-fifty whether the thrower escaped or got nabbed by one of the police officers who concealed themselves behind the hedgerows whenever the crowd looked boisterous. The arrests were good-natured and the suspects always got cheered as they were handcuffed and loaded into a van for the twelve-kilometre ride to the police station.
*
It was Wednesday, coming up to 4:50 p.m. Lauren was cutting across the field behind the cottage holding a tray of empty picnic cups and the remains of a packet of biscuits when she spotted Stuart Pierce standing thirty metres away, up to his knees in thistles and grass.
‘Hey,’ he said, using the least threatening voice he could manage and wearing a please don’t kick my arse again look on his face. ‘I know you told me not to come over here, but is it OK if we talk?’
Stuart was in Lauren’s year at school and they’d even been on the same basketball team in a PE lesson, but this was the first time they’d spoken since Monday.
‘Guess it won’t kill me,’ Lauren shrugged, feeling an odd mix of emotions for a kid whose mum had been blinded by the AFM, but who’d also spat in her face.
Stuart smiled uneasily as he wandered over. ‘I know we got off to a bad start.’
‘I take it you’re referring to the brick that you threw through my bedroom window?’
‘I’m sorry, Lauren … Is it OK to call you Lauren?’
Lauren had come to realise that Stuart was a quiet kid. He only had one mate around school, a skinny Asian dude who didn’t live in Corbyn Copse. ‘Well, what else are you gonna call me?’ she smirked.
Stuart realised he’d said something dumb and started going red. ‘I’m not a yob or nothing, you know? I never did anything like that before. Did they fix the window? I’ve got money saved up. I can probably pay for it.’
‘They’ve put a board in, but it’s leaded glass so they’ve got to make all the little squares into a new piece.’
‘Oh,’ Stuart said weakly.
‘It’s OK,’ Lauren said. ‘I didn’t tell my mum your name and she’s claiming the money on insurance.’
‘Cool,’ he said, looking down at the black plastic shoes on Lauren’s feet. ‘You know on the bus, when you said I could have my boots back?’
Lauren nodded. ‘They’re in my room. I thought about leaving them on your doorstep, but I didn’t want to bump into your brother and his mates.’
Stuart tutted. ‘My brother’s such a dick, going round acting like he’s sticking up for me. He used to batter me all the time when my mum was out working.’
Lauren set off towards the house. ‘It’s sad what happened to your mum. But Ryan and my mum are nothing to do with the AFM. They’re totally anti-violence.’
‘You really kicked my arse. Where’d you learn to fight so good?’
Lauren used the standard CHERUB excuse. ‘My dad was a Karate instructor.’
‘Sweet. So you must be at least a black belt, or something.’
Lauren nodded. ‘Second dan black belt. My brothers – James and Kyle – are both third dan.’
‘I wish I was tough,’ Stuart said. ‘Not that I’m a weed or anything, but I’ve never had proper lessons. One time Andy had me pinned. I grabbed this massive book and knocked him spark out. He puked about eight times.’
‘Must have been funny,’ Lauren giggled, as they passed through a wooden gate into the back garden of the cottage.
Lauren’s room was just down the hall from the back door and even though she’d lived here for less than a week, she’d managed to turn it into a bomb-site, with tangled clothes, schoolbooks and fizzy drink cans everywhere.
Stuart looked guiltily at the boarded-up window as Lauren grabbed the boots from under a jacket and some dirty jeans.
‘My feet aren’t that bad and I only wore them one day.’
‘Cheers,’ Stuart grinned. ‘I told my aunt that I’d lost them when I changed for games. She was doing her nut ’cos she paid eighty quid and I’ve only had them for a
month.’
‘Your aunt?’ Lauren said curiously.
Stuart nodded. ‘She moved in with us after the attack, to help look after us and that. She feels bad, ’cos she got my mum the job at Malarek in the first place.’
‘Does your aunt still work there?’
‘Nah, she got scared and quit not long after the AFM started attacking people. My mum hated working there as well.’
‘So why didn’t she get another job?’
‘My dad went off with another woman and left a big mortgage behind. Malarek has to pay danger money. It’s three times what you can make working on a farm or in one of the superstores and they’re always short staffed so you can do all the overtime you like.
‘My mum didn’t like what they do to the animals. I even heard her crying a few times. All she did was feed the animals and hose out cages and stuff. They offered to give her training so that she could do injections and eye drops and that. It would have been more money, but she used to get upset just watching other people doing it.’
‘That’s sad,’ Lauren said, glancing at her watch. ‘Listen, it’s not that I want to kick you out, but my family’s going to some Zebra Alliance meeting at the university tonight and I’ve got to change out of uniform and stuff.’
‘Right,’ Stuart said. ‘Thanks for the boots.’
Lauren smiled. ‘I haven’t got any mates around here, so if you want to come over for dinner one night or just hang out, that’s cool.’
‘Yeah,’ Stuart said. ‘My mum’s been totally down since the attack and it’s not nice being stuck at home when she’s in a mood. Sometimes I end up wandering around the village thinking dark thoughts, like Maybe I’ll throw a brick through that window.’
Lauren burst out laughing. ‘Next time just ring the doorbell, eh? See you at the bus stop in the morning.’
15. UNIVERSITY
Ryan’s deep, Northern Irish accent seemed to pass effortlessly through ceilings and walls. His endless phone calls had driven the entire household nuts and it was even worse when you were trapped inside the people carrier with him. Zara drove, while Ryan sat in the middle row of seats, blaring into a Nokia: