Lydia and Lewis stared at each other and then straight ahead. Just when he felt he couldn’t bear the tension anymore, the window began to roll down.
‘Lewis Spottiswood.’ It wasn’t a question, more of a statement. ‘Get into the car, please.’
‘Are you arresting me?’
‘No, we’re not arresting you. You can return to your friends as soon as you’ve had a word with the Chief Constable.’ Lewis gulped. The back door opened and he slid inside.
Chief Constable Railings was what is politely referred to as “portly”. He was in shirtsleeves and beads of sweat pricked his forehead.
‘Spottiswood,’ said the Chief Constable. ‘Have some pop?’ The woman in the front seat handed him an ice-cool can of Coke.
‘Thank you,’ said Lewis.
‘Spottiswood. Making a bit of a nuisance of yourself, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Lewis.
‘Just a bit of a shame that you have to do it on my patch.’
‘Are you going to stop us?’ said Lewis boldly.
‘No, no. I don’t have the authority to stop you. Leastways, I wouldn’t if I could. I don’t want 500 unwashed brats clogging up my nice new police station. I’m here to mark your card, Lewis.’
‘Sir?’
‘My chief concern is safety. 500 children on a major traffic artery is a bit of a logistical problem, you know, and between you and me, you’re not the only children on the move. When you come to the junction with the A417 you’ll be greeted by 700 children from four different schools. Hand me one of those Cokes, would you Constable?’
Lewis kept a straight face.
‘So,’ continued the Chief Constable, ‘what’s going to happen from now on is that my officers will be posted at every roundabout and every major junction. You will report to them if there’s any trouble and they will make sure that you are not too bothered by traffic queues and prying journalists etc.’ Lewis betrayed a moment of surprise. ‘Yes, journalists, Spottiswood, you didn’t think this might not attract a little bit of attention, did you? We’ve been heading them off up until now but I can’t hold them back for ever. Expect the odd camera crew to join you shortly.’
He zapped his Coke open and took a deep slurp. ‘Hot, isn’t it,’ he said cheerily.
‘You mentioned marking my card, sir?’
‘Oh yes,’ he said and mopped his brow. ‘I’m guessing that the reason I haven’t been ordered to stop your little protest is that others are on the way to do just that. They never keep us informed, you know,’ he added petulantly. ‘I’m Gold Command for this district and I’m always the last to hear. But my officers have noticed a build up of green trucks and jeeps and the like. So I think you can guess what’s going to happen next.’
Lewis nodded, sagely.
‘In return for my candour and openness, Spottiswood, I trust you will ensure that your little band doesn’t do anything stupid. It would really annoy me if someone got run over. Have you considered how you are going to feed and water them?’
Lewis said that they had got all that covered. But it was a lie.
* * * * *
They wasted an hour at the next service station, filling up water bottles and queuing for the toilets. The manager stood on the forecourt, eying them malignantly, but didn’t interfere. Probably because what little money they had left went on chocolate and chewy things.
Push bought a road atlas so they could check the route. Southampton looked like the best port to head for: although it had the longest of the three ferry crossing to the Isle of Wight it was also the closer to them by a good ten miles.
At one o’clock they found themselves on a wide bit of verge. Lewis called a halt and everyone settle down on the grass to eat lunch. A police inspector in uniform approached them and asked them to stay put for at least an hour while they moved the backlog of traffic round the obstruction. Streams of slow moving cars threaded past them. Most people simply gawped out of their windows but some shook their fists angrily and quite a few parped their horns. It wasn’t clear whether this was to show support or disapproval.
Near the end of the tailback, a convoy of large vans, each complete with a satellite dish on its roof, edged past the marchers and pulled as best as they could onto the verge ahead of them. The vans disgorged dozens of adults with cameras and microphone booms. They picked their way through the seated marchers, stopping now and then to ask where they could find Lewis Spottiswood.
Parker took charge. ‘I am Mr Spottiswood’s agent,’ he declared. ‘If you want an interview, you’ll have to come through me.’ A man from the BBC in a suit pushed brusquely past him, but after ten minutes of further searching they realised that nobody was going to give them Lewis’s whereabouts. They returned to Parker and interrupted his cheese and pickle sandwich.
‘Mr Spottiswood will see gentlemen from the BBC, ITV and Sky News. For five minutes only,’ Parker said, importantly. ‘The rest of you will have to get your copies from the major networks.’ Lewis was pushed to the fore from where he was hiding behind Push.
A little tent materialised from nowhere. It was little more than a parasol on poles but it kept the sun off. Several desks and equipment were arranged in its shade. Lewis recognised a woman from the telly but couldn’t quite remember her name. She was bossing the sound recordists. When she saw Lewis, she grabbed him by the arm, bent over him and put on her biggest, most patronising smile. ‘Now Lewis, all you have to do is answer our questions clearly and slowly and everything will be fine.’
‘Great,’ said Lewis, ‘I may have a few questions myself.’
The woman looked slightly perplexed. By now, a bank of cameras and microphones had surrounded the little tent and they all appeared to be pointing at Lewis. A fat man in a puffer jacket said, ‘Joining studio in five… four… three…’ and then switched to waving his fingers.
‘Thank you, Peter,’ the woman said to wall of cameras. ‘You join us on the A34 south of Flintwick. I’m here with Lewis Spottiswood, the leader of the Children’s Revolt.’ She turned to face him. ‘Did you know, Lewis, that the media have dubbed you “Spoticus”? What do you think about that?’
‘I’m not the leader of anything,’ said Lewis, ignoring the question. ‘We’re just here to find out what has happened to our brothers and sisters.’
‘Now, your intention, it appears, is to walk to the Isle of Wight. What good do you think that will do?’
Lewis squinted into the cameras. ‘You can’t just disappear half the kids in the country and expect us not to take an interest. Will they be coming for us when we reach our thirteenth birthdays?’
‘But this is properly constituted legislation by the government with full consultation. Isn’t it a bit late in the day to be raising objections?’
‘Full consultation! It’s the first we’ve heard of it. Nobody’s told us what’s going on. Nobody’s asked us what we think.’
‘Nevertheless, some would say that your behaviour is reckless. What do your parents have to say about this?’
‘None of us have seen our parents for weeks. As far as I’m aware, they’re all out of the country, partying in the South of Spain.’
‘But aren’t you just proving that this kind of wilful disobedience is exactly what the Prime Minister was elected to eliminate? Surely, you’d have to call this off if you had direct orders from your parents?’
‘Why don’t you get a few of them here and we could talk it over?’
‘How do you intend to feed and water ten thousand children?’
Lewis gulped. Ten thousand! ‘We’ve got that covered, thank you.’
‘Not to mention sanitary arrangements?’
‘All sorted, thank you very much,’ said Lewis. The little lie was beginning to gnaw at his stomach again.
‘Finally, you seem to have some sort of political agenda. Have you been in negotiations with any dissident groups or opposition parties?’
‘We haven’t been talking to anybody. In case it’
s escaped your attention, we’ve been locked up in a boot camp for the last four weeks.’
The presenter turned back to the camera but before she could speak Lewis interjected. ‘I do have something I wish to say to Colonel Jackman, if you don’t mind.’
The cameras swung back to Lewis. ‘Go on, then,’ she said cautiously.
‘If you’re listening, Colonel Jackman, we don’t think it’s right that you’ve stolen all our brothers and sisters. I just want you to know that, when you’ve thought about it a bit, you’ll be very sorry that you did this.’
‘Well,’ said the presenter, with eyebrows raised. ‘With that I’m handing you back to the studio. This is Wilhelmena Caldwell, BBC News 24.’
Before the other networks could pounce, she dragged Lewis to one side. ‘You’ve just been on network TV. That film will be bounced all over the globe and repeated hundreds of times. And you totally blew any chance of winning any friends with your sarcy comments. Not every adult in this country is fooled by Jackman, you know. Have you got a media plan?’
Lewis stared at his feet.
‘You better get media savvy, Lewis, or you’re never going to change the world!’
The same rigmarole was repeated for Sky News, with more or less the same questions. Lewis thought about the woman from the BBC’s comments and he tried to come over more sympathetically. When ITV claimed it was their turn, Lewis called up Lydia and asked her if she’d do the last slot. ‘I don’t want them to think it’s a one-man show,’ he explained. He was getting well fed up with this Spoticus business.
He returned to his half-eaten tin of baked beans. When Lydia had finished, the other networks all started to clamour for more interviews until the police intervened and herded them back to their vans.
Chapter Eleven
Parker, sporting a brand-new Sky News baseball cap, flopped down next to Lewis. ‘There’s one more interview you should do.’
‘I’m not doing any more. They’ve got what they need. It’s time we got moving again.’
‘I think you should see this one.’ He slipped a roll of banknotes half out of his pocket so that only Lewis could see it.
‘Where the fridge did you get that?’
‘I thought this might come in handy when we run out of food. See that black van at the end of the TV vans – the one with no windows. The chap inside says there’s double the money if you’ll agree to talk to him.’
‘Do you think it’s a trap?’
‘Dunno, but, just in case, we’ll ask for the money up front.’
Lewis felt reassured.
* * * * *
‘It’s him, isn’t it,’ shouted Jackman. ‘That little bastard has got my cat.’
He was playing and rewinding the interview with Lewis. He turned to the man in front of his desk.
‘Military Intelligence,’ said the man, ‘suggests that you are correct, Prime Minister.’
‘Don’t talk to me about Military Intelligence. Those two words shouldn’t exist in the same sentence,’ he snarled. Behind him, a cinema-size screen was looping the news report. The giant figure of Lewis Spottiswood was saying, “…when you’ve thought about it a bit, you’ll be very sorry that you did this”, over and over again.
‘I want that boy’s head on a plate, do you understand, Devonish. I’ve appointed you Child Finder General because you have a certain reputation for thoroughness.’
‘My teams have been fully engaged rounding up the errant teenagers who decided they didn’t want a little holiday on the Isle of Wight, Prime Minister.’
His truculence failed to mollify Jackman. ‘Excuses is all I ever get from you people. Now, do your job. Bring him in!’
‘May I enquire, Prime Minister, what Benson has been up to for the last 24 hours? I don’t believe he has made much progress with the cat problem.’
‘Benson doesn’t work here anymore. Let’s just say,’ said Jackman, ‘that Benson is making a useful contribution to our Motorway Building Programme.’
Devonish backed out of the Cabinet Office and flipped open his mobile. ‘Get me a chopper,’ he said. ‘We’re going to Flintwick.’
* * * * *
Lewis knocked on the side door of the black van. It slid gently open.
‘Lewis, my dear boy,’ said a voice. ‘Step inside, why don’t you.’
‘I think I’ll stay in the sunshine, if it’s OK with you,’ said Lewis politely.
‘Ah,’ said the voice, and it was followed by the round and friendly face of a gentleman in his early sixties. He had ginger sideburns and a large, similarly coloured moustache. ‘I can understand your reluctance. I wouldn’t get in here with me if I was you, if you know what I mean. Let me make you a proposal. See this dog?’
A little Yorkshire Terrier scurried forward and jerked to a halt at the limit of its lead. ‘This is Perkins, my favourite terrier. Why don’t we let young Parker over there hold her?’
Lewis noticed that Parker was hanging around in the bushes.
‘And then, if you are worried about your safety, Perkins can act as hostage. I’m hoping that by the end of our conversation there won’t be any such need for mistrust. But I understand your caution.’
Parker came over and took the dog’s lead, a big grin on his face. Lewis took its place on the step of the van.
‘Have you eaten? Good, good. Take a seat.’ Lewis pulled himself up onto the sumptuous leather upholstery. Glancing around, he discovered that the interior of the van was decked out like some luxury hotel room. There was a television, a small fridge, even a sink and towels.
‘Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking?’
‘I am,’ said the old man, ‘your fairy godmother. At least I’d like to be. Allow me to explain. My name is John J. Macreedy and I’m the owner of a number of successful companies. One of which is Scilly Burgers. I’m a ludicrously wealthy man. At least I was until a few months ago when that mad man Jackman got into power and stopped every child in the land eating my burgers.’
Lewis nodded. ‘Where do we come in?’
‘Ah, I’m coming to that. I rather like the cut of your jib. I saw you on the telly just now and I’d rather like to see your campaign succeed. It’s pure naked self-interest, of course. The most important thing to me is that this government is exposed as the bunch of wallies they really are. Then we can all get back to business as usual.’
‘Selling burgers to kids?’ said Lewis. There was a slight hint of disapproval in his voice.
‘Ah, I understand where you are coming from, Lewis. Yes, I do make a lot of money out of making people fat. But you could say I’ve had time to reflect recently. If you help me, I guarantee that my burgers will be the healthiest things on the planet from now on.’
‘What do you want us to do?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ said the old man. ‘Just exactly what you’re doing now. Just carry on being a nuisance.’
‘And the fairy godmother bit?’
‘Well, from what I gather, you are about to be joined by about 15,000 similar school children from schools up and down the south of England. There is absolutely no way you can feed and water them.’
‘I know,’ said Lewis. ‘I’ve been putting off thinking about it.’
‘That’s where I come in,’ said Macreedy. ‘These are Giga Credit Cards.’ He held up three, wafer-thin, gold-coloured strips, each with a key pad and a tiny screen. He handed one to Lewis.
‘It’s very heavy for a credit card.’
‘That’s because it’s made of real gold. Only the very rich or famous get to handle one of these. They’re yours to keep – well, at least, to borrow for the time being. You have unlimited credit; they are accepted absolutely everywhere and you will find that they will open doors for you in any shop or business all over the country. Please take good care of them – I suggest you only hand them over to your most trusted lieutenants.’
‘Wow,’ was all that Lewis could say.
‘In addition, I’ve arranged for portable toi
lets to be stationed on every lay-by from here to Southampton. Please make good use of them.’
‘This is great,’ said Lewis. ‘You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble. But wouldn’t it be simpler to just send us a load of coaches? Then we could be in Southampton by teatime.’
‘Yes,’ said the old man. ‘But, I’m afraid, I can’t officially be seen to be doing anything for you. Certain forces in this country wouldn’t take kindly to me openly supporting a rebellion, even if it is only children. It would be in both our interests if you forgot about this conversation.’
‘Why are you different to all the other adults we’ve come across in the last few days? What happened to the glazed look and the parrot answers?’
‘Yes, I’ve been wondering about that,’ said Macreedy. ‘My people suggest that the government has been indulging in a certain amount of brainwashing. They use subliminal messages on the television and, apparently, the back of stamps are coated with suspicious chemicals. Fortunately, I never watch television and other people lick my stamps for me,’ he smiled. ‘Well, you’d better run along now, sonny. You’ve got a lot of miles to cover.’
‘Thanks Mr Macreedy. There’s one more thing; I don’t suppose you could get us a phone that can’t be traced, could you?’
* * * * *
When Lewis’s head emerged from the van again he discovered that they were moving forward slowly. The march had already started south again and the unseen driver had kept pace with Lydia and the other team leaders.
‘What did he want?’ asked Push.
‘Can I have a word with you and Parker and Lydia?’ said Lewis.
* * * * *
It was agreed that Lydia would look after two of the gold cards and Lewis and his mates would hang onto the third.
At each of the following road junctions they were greeted by more marchers, waving placards and shouting, “Spoticus”.
‘I can’t understand how you’re all finding us,’ said Lewis, shaking hands for the five hundredth time.
‘Oh, that’s simple,’ said the latest newcomer. ‘We just ask the news crews. They’ve been following us everywhere and keeping us informed of your whereabouts. I think they’d be happy to see us all join up – makes more of a story.’