Read What Goes and Comes Around Page 12

  Chapter Twelve

  A gale with a haunting, vengeful howl like an ice warrior's war-cry, and a ghostly, cruel touch like his deathly blade, sliced through the wet, miserable streets. It abused Alicia Randall as she stepped from the bus station onto the pavement, her black, quilted coat too flimsy to shield her. The girl's hood blew down, and her damp blond hair streamed behind her, as if issuing a warning to go back. With watery eyes, her despondent mutter stolen by the wind, Alicia pulled her hood back up. As she did so, her black canvas bag erratically swung on its strap, twisting across her shoulder like the pendulum of a surrealist clock that could no longer keep time. The encroaching night's supernatural fierceness created in Alicia a sense that she was lost, even though she'd ably find her way blindfolded through these streets, if only she dare. Did 'things' lurk and stealthily glide through the shadows, waiting to pounce? Up above, a swathe of black cloud, like the cloak of a sinister force, concealed the untouchable beauty of the shining stars.

  Alicia hurried diagonally across the road and up onto the opposite pavement, which slimily glistened under the lamplight. She imagined gigantic slugs, urgh! Nervously looking around, she perceived that no one else was about. A stinging downpour had just abated and Alicia had caught the brunt of it as she waited for the bus that had brought her into town. Her Ugg boots, sodden up to the ankles, splished and splashed the rain they had soaked up. Her soaked jeans were frozen by the wind's breath and both her thighs ached like raw, dying flesh. Why hadn't Mum phoned to find out if she needed a lift? Humph! She was always working overtime and late home since she'd gone back to the factory. No matter what, cheap and cheerful jelly babies always sold. The girl rooted in her bag and pulled out her mobile. Her head lowered against the wind, she moved down the pavement alongside a low block of stark, sorry-looking, dirty flats, peevishly scrolling through her contacts… 'Mine!' A hand grabbed at her phone and with a scream Alicia let it go, jumping sideways - splash! - into the streaming gutter. One hand over her pumping heart, she stared into Liam Brigg's gloating, bull-dog face. 'You bloody beast!' she yelled, realising, as she glanced over his dry, grey sweatshirt and jeans, that he'd been hiding in the flat's stairwell. 'You could have had me killed! What if a car was coming? Give it back!'

  'Think I've got something of yours,' he leered, striding over the narrow, grassy verge between the pavement and the ground floor flats' front doors, 'come and get it.'

  'Liam, don't be such a fool.' Alicia stepped up onto the pavement. 'I'll phone the police.'

  'What with?' One hand was on number three's door handle, the other flaunted Alicia's mobile in the air. 'To the victor the spoils.'

  'You haven't won any…'

  Bang! Liam slammed the door behind him. That explained why the thieving sewer rat was always in trouble; what an easy job for the police! Or was it another of those brainless pranks like the boys at college tried on to grab her attention? Oh, for a boy who knew the way to a girl's heart! And what a pain to have to deal with a stupid suitor on a night like this. Liam must be some wild dreamer, and he could dream on - he was any sensible girl's worst nightmare. Her boots squelching and slipping, Alicia crossed the muddy, grassy verge to rap on the door. What she'd give for her pyjamas warmed on a radiator after a soothing hot shower! Her cold knuckles hurt on contact with number three's grimy, white UPVC entrance. Hurry up and open up, you oversized drip, I promised I'd be home for half-past six at the latest. She rapped harder, angrily. The door swung open. 'Hello. What's a nice girl like you doing calling at a hell-hole like this?'

  'Funny.'

  'The old ones are the best.'

  'Give…Hey! Let go!'

  Liam roughly grabbed Alicia's arms and dragged her towards him. She tripped over the threshold's lip and Liam, with a gleeful guffaw, let her fall to her hands and knees. The scratty brown carpet, matted with white dog hairs, felt sticky to her slender, long fingers. Disgusting! Like the web of a giant spider that preyed on pets and unsuspecting callers. Ouch! Liam kicked her feet away from the door and slammed it shut. She glared up at him:

  'Have you lost the plot, you insect? Give me my phone and let me out! Now! I'll scream so loud your neighbours will phone the police.'

  'You always were the queen of the numpties.' Liam turned the key in the lock, removed it, tossed the set in the air, caught it, and pocketed it. 'Welcome to my Cousin Eric's pad. I'm the keeper of the keys while he's away for a few weeks for, naughty, naughty, non-payment of fines. Scream, and the neighbours will think Eric's out and rowing with that mouthy McDonald's muncher he knocks off. Now get up and get in there.'

  Liam hauled Alicia to her feet, his strong hands crushing her willowy biceps, a sadistic warning not to mess around.

  'Get your filthy paws off me, you animal.' Alicia squealed and wriggled.

  'Move!' Liam half-lifted and half-pushed her through the door into the flat's living room. A small, musty box with black mould running up the corners of the cream walls. They were scuffed, stained and chipped as if they'd absorbed the blows of a thousand bloodcurdling domestics. White dog hairs were everywhere, but not a bark or a growl - Cousin Eric didn't trust Liam to look after his pet, so it seemed.

  Alicia turned up her nose at the tatty sofa; didn't it just look like it had been salvaged from a dump? How gross! It was probably infested with rats' nests and creepy-crawlies swollen to twice their normal size after feasting on pizza crumbs! She edged away from the sofa, but the battered brown leather armchair, with bright yellow masking tape covering holes in the arm rests, didn't look any more inviting. The armchair faced a huge flatscreen television, featuring a paused X-box game. The barrel of some insanely destructive gun pointed down a war-torn street with smashed, upturned cars and bombed-out hotels and shops. The beige rug under the X-box looked every bit as filthy as the sticky hall carpet. Alicia crossed her arms and shivered; the gas fire wasn't lit and the howl of the wind brought it home that the place was as cold as a crypt. Trying to generate heat, she wriggled her numb toes in her saturated socks.

  'What are you pulling faces at? And sit down!' Liam pushed Alicia on the shoulder and sent her tumbling into the sofa. She immediately stood up, imagining that she'd been infected with something shameful. Liam ferociously glowered; he pushed her down again with such rough, determined force that she relented, timidly closing her body like a spineless hedgehog.

  'What's this in aid of?' she asked meekly. 'I want my phone, and I want to go home.'

  'Let's make a deal.' Liam rubbed his hands together and smiled with such phoniness that there could be no doubt that he'd long since bartered away any halo of childhood innocence. Perhaps life demanded it from him. Alicia edged along the sofa, terrified of intimacy. 'I've no use for this phone,' he crookedly grinned, unabashed. 'How about you lend me your bank card and PIN so I can go and collect the money you've made from your shows? You can have your phone and go home when I get back from the hole in the wall.'

  'Are you real?' Alicia cried scornfully, despite her fear.

  'I seem to be all here.' Liam touched his head.

  'One, they pay me next to nothing; two, I spend it; three, I'm packing it in to concentrate on college; four, I wouldn't give you my last penny if my life depended on it.' Alicia blinked in disbelief at her courage. 'Give me my phone and I'll pretend this never happened.'

  'You and your brother are such comedians. The trouble is, your jokes sound too much like excuses to make me laugh. Davie came out with the same crap when I showed an interest in his movies, you know, the scam you alerted me to. It was nice to hear from you after so long. Going to all that trouble on Facebook to get my number, bless. But I got nothing out of that, so I want something from you.'

  'You were supposed to scare him off not rip him off.'

  'Ah, you were manipulating me. How very wicked.'

  'I was… Never mind what I was doing.' Alicia got up from the sofa and held out her hand. 'My phone. It's time I went home, you excuse for a human being.'

/>   SLAP!

  Alicia staggered and fell across the sofa like the giant spider of her imagination had injected her with the deadliest venom. The stinging force of Liam's backhand would have filled her eyes, but it was far, far worse than that: the realisation that the thug was serious caused her to weep uncontrollably. She didn't move from the sprawl into which she'd collapsed. Liam put his hands into the big, single pocket on the belly of his grey sweatshirt. 'Look what you made me do,' he said, his conflicting sensations of horror and satisfaction so monstrously twisting his expression that it was difficult to believe, until he impetuously sniggered, that he was a teenage boy.

  His phizog slowly registered a subdued confusion, as if he'd expected words fired back. 'I only want you to help me out with some money,' he said, pathetically more than apologetically. 'Tell you what,' he suggested, suddenly upbeat, trying to coax a response, 'give me your card and PIN number and I'll just take half.'

  'I haven't anything to give you,' Alicia wailed. Fear gave her the strength to get slowly to her feet, wiping away her tears with her damp coat's sleeve. With one stride Liam blocked her way to the exit. He puffed up his chest and shook his head: 'I can't let you walk out of here, free of charge.'

  'I got in for nothing.'

  'Even nice girls have to learn that getting into a mess costs nothing while getting out of one costs everything. Lucky for you, I don't want everything - I'm offering a bargain.'

  'Let me go!' Alicia threateningly raised her palm.

  'You wouldn't dare.'

  SLAP!

  'You bitch!' Liam blinked the watery shock from his eyes. 'You're going nowhere!' He furiously pushed Alicia in her chest, causing her to fall gawkily over the sofa's arm rest. On her back, her hysterical sobbing took her breath away; coughing and spluttering, her hand nursing her own stinging cheek, she stared through a teary, blurry film at nothing. Liam stood over her, paralysed - one touch of Alicia's spongy, pert breast had sent stupefying waves of tantalising ecstasy up his arms and through his whole body. Burning up, his knees shaky, he stared lustfully at Alicia's long legs hanging like forbidden fruit over the sofa's arms to the floor. Should he pull off her wet, sexy boots and touch her feet? What about her coat? Her jeans? And then? Liam had often fantasised about being alone with Alicia and a thrilling, terrible writhing in his guts and groin made him swivel away from her, his head in his hands: I'm not so bad, no, I'm not so bad! But… Alicia suddenly seemed to have a magical power that could tear him to pieces! 'Shut up!' he barked, her fearful, high-pitched whine unbearably grating, sending a spasm up his spine, infuriatingly weakening him even more. Where had Eric ended up? Prison! How long do you want to spend locked in a cell?

  Liam cruelly laughed at himself. Alicia had no power. It was his own desire tormenting him. And he was such a sad, wretched loser that he'd only seen the act in films. But if he didn't know how to do it, he knew how to spend money when he had it. He dragged Alicia's phone from his back pocket. Her contacts. There he is. Poxy Davie boy. The green call button. It rang four times:

  'What?'

  'Shut up and listen, stroppy. I've got Alicia. You can have her back in brand new Barbie condition in exchange for some of your lovely lolly.'

  'The line's bad. Did I hear that right? You're claiming you've kidnapped Alicia? Ho ho ho! I wish you had. You could keep her; she isn't worth more than a couple of pence. Who is this, anyway?'

  'Three guesses, my movie-making friend.'

  'Liam!'

  'I'm too generous with clues,' Liam laughed, relishing the instant anxiety in Davie's voice. 'Now get to a cash machine and get me what I want.' He thrust the phone in Alicia's face. 'Say something.'

  'He's got me locked up in…' Liam's sweaty palm covered her mouth. '…Mmm mmm mmm!'

  'You wouldn't put your profits before your sister, would you, little crook?' Liam's struggle to muffle Alicia and keep his fingers away from her biting teeth put an angsty menace in his tone. 'Make it worth my while and I'll free her and promise not to say a word to the law about, ouch, fuck, your films.' She hadn't broken his skin. 'You slag!' He pressed hard over Alicia's mouth, and she could feel a sharp, bust sofa spring digging into the back of her skull. Her body went limp as she concentrated on breathing through her nose, closing her eyes to avoid Liam's disturbing glare. He reckoned it was time to spice it up and drive it home. 'I've got some acid…'

  'What's going on?'

  'Don't interrupt me. I said, I've got some acid and it isn't the type that sends people bonkers at parties. You wouldn't want me to throw it in Alicia's pretty face?'

  'Liam, leave her alone.'

  'Bring my money to the sorting office, down from the bus station. Give me a ring when you arrive and I'll collect. Happy Liam equals untouched dumb sister. So think presents and not party pooping.' Liam cut the line.

  Davie had left Eddie's place two minutes before receiving the call. By the time it had been terminated he'd been so insidiously blown away that a pensioner, gazing through his kitchen window, almost believed that the bewildered, stationary boy was willing the gale to lift him into the air and up to cloud cuckoo land. 'I can't work out these blooming young uns,' he said to his wife, who was stirring sugar into brews. 'I flew a kite but, well…'

  Davie checked his call log. It had happened. Receiving a call from Alicia's phone was a flabbergastingly rare incident and… What a rotten bastard! His sister had sounded petrified! And what about her abrupt silence? What had that muscle-bound freak done? Something had to be done to put him in his place and… Davie swallowed. The task of driving Liam back to his festering black swamp had fallen to him. But what could he do on Liam's territory? He… It… Bleurgh! Wrong answer! Keep cool. Use your head because Liam wasn't using his. His brain obviously ran on a cheap battery; it might have enough charge for bullying and petty robbery, but it hadn't lit up the spotlights that would show him this sort of business belonged to a much bigger league. And how insane was he to think that Davie was loaded? Marvellous. Liam was off his rocker and therefore doubly dangerous. Even better, if Davie went to the police, Liam wouldn't keep schtum about the pirate films. It hinged on a big question: did Liam have something on him that could prove it? And what if Alex got dragged into it? Things would get… Arsehole! What was he thinking? Alicia's safety was number one priority, but, oh no! Facing the classic good cop bad cop routine would ruin everything. He'd never get a job with a criminal record! Mum wouldn't let him live it down! A grim future in the shady, drug-soaked underworld seemed to open up before Davie and… Maybe Liam wasn't a bad guy, just a blockhead who needed some sense talking into him. The great dollop probably didn't realise he was putting his black market trainers in a ginormous pile of cronk. Something could be sorted out. And Davie had enough money in his pocket for a bus ride into town. If he ran like mad, he'd make it to the stop. All he had to do was keep Liam's gob moving until he talked himself out of doing anything stupid. Simples. Full bonus points without losing a life! Clutching his mobile as if it was a golden key that opened the treasure chest at the end of a quest, Davie sprinted into the icy wind, his every step hampered by its invisible, powerful push, his every breath fought for. What a good thing he'd nipped home after school to change into his England tracksuit, but oh, how he wished he'd put on a coat! A suit of armour that stopped that wind cutting you in half!

  Had he made it? Why couldn't you walk over energy pills and instantly power up in real life? Or complete missions to win special powers that made you all but invincible until you did battle with the beast on the last level? Liam could only be like some overgrown parasite you had to wipe out on level two. Easy-pea… Get a grip! Or else it would be game over for Alicia. One life, that's all you really get. Bent double, panting, Davie peered out from under the bus shelter. Something was going his way - one hundred yards up the road a single-decker slowly nudged round a tight corner.

  'Your girlfriend must be something special,' the driver said, a cheesy grin on his pockmarked face
, 'to be worth visiting in this lot.'

  'Er, yeah,' Davie replied, tearing his ticket from the machine. He turned to the empty seats. The bus jerked forward and Davie fell into the single seat behind the driver. He took it, feeling securer near an adult. Over the aisle, in the space for prams and wheelchairs, a folded tabloid had been discarded. The last word of the screaming headline could be read: '…Idiot!' It seemed to Davie to be accusing him of making a calamitous error of judgement. Since when had Liam listened to sense? And turning up with a used bus ticket wasn't liable to make him open his ears. 'I'm walking into a fight I can't win,' Davie murmured. He seemed to taste the iron of blood. His head started to fuzzily ache and he fidgeted, unable to focus on anything but a gut-churning premonition of imminent slaughter. Why was this happening to him? But then, why did anything happen to anybody? It just did.

  The bus bypassed every stop like it was speeding to his doom. In no time it turned right through green lights and trundled up the street to the bus station. Davie bolted upright and stared out of the window. Not a sign of Liam. Was he camouflaged by the night's shadows? How can you beat someone as strong as an ape and as slippery as a shapeshifter? It's impossible. Liam was like some sort of super orc.

  Davie thanked the driver, feeling a need for human contact, however slight, rather than to express his gratitude. The bus pulled out the moment he got off. The deserted bus station seemed to echo and feed Davie's loneliness so that it grew into a caterwauling fiend so immense he couldn't take another step with it on his back. He leant against a timetable as if exhausted. The ceiling was cracked. Nothing felt real. Any second, he'd awake from a bad dream, safely tucked in bed, with Alicia's music annoyingly blaring from her room. Just close your eyes and wait - magic - open up. He remained in the bus station. Oh my god. Why hadn't he remembered that Dad knew about the films? He'd also know what to do about Liam! Yahoo! He punched the air. What? His phone. A text. 'It's nearly ugly o'clock!' Liam was losing his patience, which meant Davie couldn't hang about for help. He had to be big and brave on his own two feet. A.K.A. a suicide mission that would be no use to Alicia at all.

  Heavy drops of rain were lashed by the wind into Davie's face as he slowed to a jog along the high, blank wall of the Post Office's sorting office. He scanned the flats across the street; which was Alicia's prison? The highest blocks of flats - those furthest from the road - towered over a cluster of smaller buildings, four-storeys high. In total, hundreds of homes. Some with their lights switched on, some in the dark. Did that narrow it down? Even if it did, it would still take a posse of police hours to search them. Liam was in control. Fighting back tears, Davie gritted his teeth; he'd conquered thousands of villains in the virtual world, surely he could beat one for real? Game over was just as final for Liam. All Davie had to do was… The right thing. That meant being brave enough to be honest. It didn't matter if he 'got done' for copying a few films; what a selfish jerk to even think about that! It mattered that he was thinking straight. So, if he couldn't wait for the arrival of someone bigger and stronger because Liam would get suspicious, if he couldn't even be sure that Liam's lair was in the flats - Alicia could be anywhere - he had to… Davie's phone rang. He'd soon find out what he had to do. 'Liam?'

  'You're taking too long and I don't trust you.'

  'I'm here now.'

  'Wait on a minute.'

  'I'm not going anywhere without Alicia.' Davie strained his ears. Only screams accompanying murder would have been heard over the groaning wind, so, in this case, nothing was something. Maybe. 'Where is she?'

  'Peek-a-boo, I see you. Cool tracksuit but, tut, tut, you should have put a winter coat on. The weather's terrible. Never mind. Cross over the road.'

  'I thought…'

  'Cross over the road! That's it, mind the traffic.' A solitary red car cut across Davie's path. 'Keep walking.'

  'Where's Alicia?' From one floor to the next, Davie surveyed the flats. Not a curtain twitched. 'She'd better be unhurt.'

  'She's alive but not doing too much kicking.'

  'What's that supposed to mean?'

  'Walk down the pavement a bit. No, idiot, that's up the pavement! Come on, down you come. Stop. Face the road. What do you see across it?'

  'The Post Office car park. Where are…? Urgh!' A thunderous whack to the back of his head sent Davie reeling. An arm round his throat dragged him off the pavement, backwards, over grass and mud. The next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees on a dirty, sticky brown carpet, shaking his aching head clear. Looking up, he had enough about him to make a mental note that Liam had put the keys in his front, right pocket.

  'Now we're even for the trick on the bus. Next time, pay my fare. And while we're talking finance, hand over my money and you and your sister can be on the way. I think you'd better talk her into sealing her lips. Otherwise you might find yourself walking the law's plank, Bumfluffbeard, the softest pirate around.'

  'You'd better listen to me, Liam,' Davie said, getting to his feet. 'And then think about what I've said.'

  'How come I'm already not liking this?'

  'I've already told…'

  'Why you lying, cheating…' Liam's hand shot out and pinned Davie to the wall by the throat. 'Where is it?'

  'I haven't…' Davie couldn't finish his sentence for choking.

  'I get it! Your sister's pretty face means nothing to you?' Liam kicked open a door to Davie's right, at ninety degrees to the front door he'd been dragged through. 'Maybe I should drown you in the crapper, you dirty shit.'

  'Stop it, Liam…' Davie rasped, combustion-red.

  'Don't tell me what to do!' Liam flung Davie in the other direction, beyond the closed door and into the one that had been ajar. He stumbled through it, clutching his throat, gasping, only to look into his sister's weepy, pitiful face. He saw her hands behind her back, her ankles tied together by electric cable, and he felt his failure as if an arrow had been shot through his heart by a crossbow. No bonus points. One life down. But at least Alicia was breathing. 'How are you?' he asked, croaking.

  'He's tied me up too tightly and my hands hurt. He kept slapping my face. And I'm soaked and freezing.'

  'Don't worry about catching your death of it,' Liam snarled, 'you might be long gone before a cold can do its worse.'

  'Leave her alone. She hasn't done anything to you.'

  'That's what I like to see, brotherly and sisterly love.' Liam prodded Davie in the chest. 'Before you join your sister and become a layabout on the sofa, get your hands behind your back.' He grabbed a length of cable that had been coiled like a starved black mamba on the scruffy, brown leather armchair. 'Today not tomorrow.'

  'Have you thought this through?'

  'Of course. I thought, make it up as you go along.'

  'Good thing you haven't got any brains; you're dangerous enough without them.' Davie raised his fists. 'But I'm not scared of you.' His wide, unblinking eyes and drip-white skin told a different story. 'The bigger they come, the…'

  'Shut it, jerk. I could beat you with both hands tied behind my back.' Liam casually stepped into the centre of the room and picked up a measuring jug full of… A clear liquid. Alicia twisted her body and hid her sobbing face in a grotty, frowsty cushion. 'But I don't have to bloody my hands on your nose. Put your hands behind your back or else your babe of a sister gets the war-zone look.'

  'Do as he says!' The cushion didn't muffle Alicia's distress.

  'You'll go to prison for years!'

  'Ooo threats. Do you remember how the teachers made out I'm thick? Well, thick people do stupid things, especially when they're scared. Wouldn't it be better to play along with dumb fuck me while I wait to get clever and figure out what I'm going to do?' Liam smiled archly. 'What's it to be?'

  Davie couldn't risk it. He lowered his guard, reluctantly putting both hands behind his back. He'd have been battered in a brawl, anyway. A boy can't push back a tank.

  'Good move,' Liam said, carefully lowering the ju
g to the floor. Smiling slyly, watchful, he strode over to and behind Davie. The winner's hot breath tickled the loser's neck as the cable wrapped round his wrists. Liam yanked it tight - it dug into Davie's flesh:

  'Ah, that's too much.'

  'No, it's knot. Not and knot? Geddit?' Liam pushed Davie between his shoulders and he toppled like a skittle onto the sofa, his head slamming into Alicia's lap. 'Don't munch her lettuce,' Liam laughed, 'incest is also illegal. Haven't you committed enough crimes? You don't want a reputation for being a perverted pirate, Bumfluffbeard, me hearty.'

  'Has he done anything to you?' Davie asked his sister, hauling himself into a sitting position.

  'Not like that,' she blubbed. 'Why didn't you tell someone else?'

  'I was scared he'd do something to you. I thought he'd listen to sense.'

  The shock of Davie's admission staunched his sister's tears: 'You turned up without any way of beating him?'

  'Do you know what, Alicia?' Liam revelled in the tension between siblings. 'We've found something we agree on. Young Davie is a waste of space. And it bugs me in the extreme that he expects me to believe he's frittered away his money.'

  'The teachers were right about you,' Davie said, sourly, for want of anything better to say.

  'Who's so smart he let me tie him up?'

  'You did that with brawn not brains.'

  'I've got the brains to use my brawn.'

  'But you can't work out that we're not rich.'

  'You must have made something. And your house is as posh as a palace.'

  'We live on an estate that was originally built for miners, Liam. And you must have heard that I stopped making films ages ago.'

  'What about the money she makes from prancing about in front of dirty old men?'

  'You're really having a laugh now.'

  'I am?'

  'She spends money as soon as she gets her hands on it.'

  'Do you think bad news makes me happy? You're both in show business and here I am, a willing and eager audience, getting more and more pissed off. That's not good for your careers.'

  Liam walked over to the curtains and peered through a gap he made in them, as if checking that a crowd who hadn't bought tickets to his performance weren't about to storm the stage. Discontent with his role, Davie struggled to free his hands. 'Mine are tied too tight,' Alicia silently mouthed. She'd already tired herself trying to rewrite Liam's sketchy, barmy script by fighting with everything she'd got when he'd cut the cables from the broken vacuum and washing machine. He was too strong not to overpower her, like he was too reckless not to make a mistake...

  He hadn't seized Davie's phone. And Davie knew he had to act fast. Pretty soon Mum would be getting worried. The scrawled message he'd left on the kitchen worktop about going to Eddie's house might buy him a little time, but it would take just one call or text from someone else to alert Liam to his gaffe. Davie had to get his phone on silent mode until he had a chance to send an SOS.

  'We're in a fix,' Liam proposed, turning round.

  Davie sat perfectly still.

  'I don't get what I want, and you expect me to let you walk out of here so you can report me.' He took out Alicia's phone. 'This isn't a big enough prize for the bother you'll cause me.'

  'You should have thought about that before you did anything!' Alicia bawled angrily.

  'We won't say anything, Liam, really we won't,' Davie pleaded. 'We've got to stay quiet, Alicia, or else he'll report me for the films.'

  'Nice try, Davie. We both know that I can't prove anything. We both know that, with my record, they'll hit me as hard as they can.'

  'The longer you let this go on, the more likely we are to be missed. Let us out now and no one will ever need to know.'

  Alicia's ring tone sounded as if to emphasise Davie's point. Liam studied its screen.

  'That's our mum, isn't it?' Davie discreetly tried to slip his wrists free. 'She'll fret when there's no reply.' And, shit, that's when she'll call me. 'Act now and we can make up a cover story.'

  'After that trick you played on the bus?'

  'It's either trust me or blow it up into something mega-serious.'

  'And what about her gob? Do me a favour? Shut up and let me think.' Liam dropped into the armchair. His chin on his hand, he scrutinised them for long minutes. To Alicia his gaze seemed alien, reptilian. Any second a giant, slimy tongue might dart out of his mouth and give her the lick of death. And look at the state of Davie's throat - it had a fingerprint pattern of bruises! Davie ignored the soreness, wondering what the hell went through Liam's mind.

  It was with a question that Liam broke his brooding silence. 'What do I do with a pair of fakes who walk round like they own the place, when really they're as skint as the rest of us?'

  'Let us go, Liam,' said Davie, appealing to Liam's embryonic resignation. 'You can't do anything else.'

  'I'm cold and hungry,' Alicia complained when Liam just vacantly looked at them. 'You can't starve us.'

  'There's nothing in here for you to eat,' Liam sullenly replied.

  'That means you'll have to let us go some place where we can get food,' Alicia insisted as if she was speaking to a child who couldn't see beyond his petulance.

  'You ought to have tried living in my shoes. When I was younger I went without all of the time. The pair of you are spoiled brats.'

  'You mean you're a rat…'

  That's it, Alicia, keep him occupied, thought Davie, excited. The cable had loosened. Once his hands were free, they only had to fool Liam into leaving the room. And if he was gone long enough, Davie would do more than put his phone on silent mode. A quick call or a text to Dad and Liam's game would be over. A text, yes, that was the best idea; they could keep on pretending until help arrived…

  '…You're going to be in so much trouble for this, Liam Briggs,' Alicia said, concluding her speech, which seemed to have lifted her spirits. 'And you'll deserve everything.'

  'Excuse me if I fall asleep. Do you know I first got caught when I tried to steal crisps and a pork pie because I hadn't had any breakfast or dinner? What do you think that feels like when you're seven years old?' His lip quivered. His passion brought his fist down on the arm rest of his chair. 'Answer that!'

  'It feels disgusting breathing the same air as you. I've no sympathy. You make enough selling dope to college kids, and even then you get greedy and try to steal from us.'

  'You can never have enough when your parents kick you out because their money has been stopped. You're on the right track in another way - a smoke will chill me out and enable me to work it out. Tactics, that's what I need.' Liam got up, walked over to the gas fire, and took a pocket-sized tin and a small plastic bag of green weed from behind the clock. 'And stuff our Eric's bills. I'm not freezing while I watch his flat.' He turned the fire on, full heat. 'Better?'

  Alicia said nothing, just looked into the glow.

  'Who's Eric?' asked her brother.

  'A son of a gun.' Liam sat down. As he was opening his tin, Alicia's phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and pressed a key: 'Have a bit of voicemail, yummy mummy. Where was I?'

  'I demand you let me speak to my mum. And right away.'

  'Oh?' Liam glanced across at the jug of acid and then returned to his tin and his plastic bag. Working in silence, he soon held up a long, fat joint. 'Immaculate,' he grinned. 'And I think I'll turn this phone off - don't want any unwanted calls spoiling my smoke.'

  'Him drugged up and capable of anything, exactly what we don't need,' Alicia muttered just loud enough for her brother's ears. He grinned at her in reply. His hands were free! He kept them hidden behind his back and Liam was too busy puffing away, filling the room with smoke that smelled like stale cat's piss, to notice the sparkle in Davie's eyes. They had a chance. It was about heart, cunning and timing now.

 

  With Sherlock pulling on his leash out in front and a Spar carrier vacillating in the gale, Ian Randall turned th
e corner onto the street. Trust him to run out of bread and cigarette papers on such a godforsaken night. Hello. What had brought Dan out in it? His brother's maroon saloon was parked outside the front gate. Dan couldn't be so eager for a chat or to pick up some tools, which left bad news. A decision about selling the house? The last thing Ian wanted to worry about right now. Damn it, he'd have to bite the bullet; Dan couldn't keep a house off the market to put a roof over somebody else's head. Ian would have to suffer the indignity of moving back in with his parents at his age. Every direction seemed to allow only backward steps.

  Having taken Sherlock off his leash, Ian put his carrier of shopping on a kitchen worktop, here goes! Let's have it! He followed the pup through to the living room. Dan was down on his knees alongside, but facing away from, his half-assembled Harley. 'Grab your mutt - I've got to make sure I've got it up!'

  'What's happened?' Ian grasped Sherlock's collar and lifted up his squirming pup.

  'What possessed you to bring the big mirror down?' Using a hand brush, Dan swept the last few broken shards into a dustpan. 'What a frigging mess.'

  'Dan, I leave the place for five minutes…'

  'It was smashed when I got here. It must have slid down the wall.'

  'On the way out a gust of wind seemed to blow through me and into the house,' Ian remembered, his head to one side avoiding Sherlock's loving licks. 'I'm surprised I didn't hear it.'

  'I guess the house gets seven years of bad luck. That means you're planning on staying.'

  'Going on the state of the place when I moved in, it's already had the bad luck.' But what? Dan wasn't expecting him to move out? 'What's brought you round in this weather?'

  'Your need of a mobile. Cathy phoned me. Have you seen anything of the kids?'

  'No. Why?'

  'She can't get in touch with them.' Holding the dustpan and brush in one hand, Dan pulled his mobile from the pocket of his leather jacket, and handed it over. 'She wants you to ring her.' He went through to the kitchen. Putting Sherlock down, Ian followed his brother as far as the doorway. He watched Dan tip the remains of the mirror into the kitchen bin. 'Go on, use it,' Dan said, looking up.

  'She's all for contact when it suits her, then.' Ian looked dubiously at the phone. He felt as if he needed lines, like an actor who'd lost the confidence to improvise. Wasn't a natural conversation with his 'wife' impossible? Pfft! Failing to call her when she was worried about the kids could make things trickier than they already were, and Davie had some way to go before he was eighteen. Ian jabbed at the keyboard and raised the phone to his ear. 'Hello, it's Ian. What is it?… No, I haven't seen them… Of course I'm sure… They're probably round at some friend's place waiting for the weather to improve before they make a move… No, it isn't like Alicia… Ok. Ok. Ok. I'll make my way over there. Bye.'

  'You're not at her beck and call, you know.'

  'You soon shot here.'

  'I was driving roundabouts. I've been for a kebab which will be flat cold on the car seat, thank you.'

  'You can do me a favour, then?'

  'When are you going to get that car of yours back on the road?'

  'When I've the spondulicks. And thanks, mucker, I owe you.'

  Unsurprisingly, traffic was light, and they had soon left one town behind and passed the welcome sign of its close neighbour and traditional rival. On the road skirting the outer wall of the Norman castle ruins, a slanting deluge like the sky itself was falling caused Dan to slow down to a tentative crawl. 'Maybe the kids are shacked up in a submarine,' he tetchily joked, wishing he was at home because, hey, listen to me, Ian, kids get up to all sorts of shit their mamas and papas don't know about.

  Ian's eyes laboured to see beyond the swamped windscreen wipers. On this side of the castle wall, a malfunctioning streetlight flickered as if the wind was close to blowing it out. It emitted enough light for Ian to make out, over the castle wall, on the overgrown, muddy rampart, several blurred silhouettes of the colossal trees that the earth had thrown up over the years as natural sentinels. The gale bent and shook their leafless limbs like an invader throwing everything into a final assault to sweep the fortress from the face of the land. Of course, the ruins would still be there in the calmer morning after the storm, yet visions of loose masonry falling and ancient trees uprooting convinced Ian that Cathy was right. The kids would never willingly stay out in this. The mental image of a dripping, clammy dungeon troubled him.

  Though the downpour lost some of its wild vehemence, discomposing scenarios continued to run through Ian's mind as Dan drove up the hill, beyond the scrapyard and over the bridge across the rail lines. On the crest of the hill, they turned right, into the estate. 'It never rains,' Ian groaned. A police car was parked outside his former home.

  'We used to worry our people sick. Teenagers will be teenagers. Don't be too hard on them.'

  'They're not home. Cathy would've let us know about them turning up. Especially if the police had hauled them home by the ears. Cathy wants the police to search for the kids.'

  'You want me to have Sherlock for an hour or two?' Dan asked, after pausing for thought.

  'When he sits staring at you, it means he needs to do some business outside.' Ian unfastened his seat belt as Dan pulled up behind the police car. Reaching over to the back seat, Ian patted Sherlock. 'See you in a while, pup. I'll let you know what's going on, Dan.'

  Dan watched his brother hurry down the garden path while Sherlock whined and pawed at the window. 'Hey doggie, relax. We've got a cold kebab to share.'

  Ian halted at the door to tell himself to get his act together. Without knocking or removing his boots, he opened up and stepped inside. His stomach rumbled at the aroma of stew wafting into the hall from the kitchen. A conversation emanated from the living room. His entrance caused the middle-aged, paunchy police constable to stop in mid-speech, his grey, fuzzy moustache twitching. The brown eyes of his young, blonde female colleague distrustfully swept over Ian's face. Ian clocked the yellow-head on her chin, vaguely dismissed her as being as callow as Davie, and looked expectantly at Cathy. 'There you are,' she said, wringing her hands and unconsciously scratching at her violet nail varnish. She glanced at his boots, then from one constable to the other. 'This is Alicia and Davie's father. My estranged husband. I spoke to him over the phone before you arrived.'

  'I was explaining to Mrs Randall,' the gravelly-voiced policeman started, holding Ian's gaze, 'that teenagers often go astray for a few hours. You haven't seen or heard anything of them today, sir?'

  'I would have told Cathy if that was the case.'

  'And you feel there's nothing unusual about their lack of contact with you?'

  'I don't hear from them every day. The unusual thing is that they haven't let Cathy know where they are.'

  'Mrs Randall says as much. I note that she describes you as her 'estranged husband'. Have you been separated for long?'

  'Quite recently,' Ian replied, subdued.

  'Quite recently.'

  'That's what I said.'

  'Do you think the erm, breakdown of your marriage may have caused your children to behave out of character?'

  'Who can tell?' Ian uncomfortably glanced at Cathy.

  'Alicia and Davie have gradually adjusted to their new circumstances,' Cathy said warmly, crossing her arms. 'They're bright enough to realise that deliberately going missing won't reconcile me and my husband.'

  'Thank you for so clearly putting us in the picture,' the female constable said, subtly injecting insinuation into her every word. Her colleague's piercing gaze briefly seemed to pinpoint the blame on Ian. 'It's half-past nine, quite early,' the female constable continued, 'and it's quite possible that they're round at friends that they think you don't approve of.'

  'It's equally possible that they're knocking about somewhere together,' her paunchy counterpart added.

  'In that weather?' Ian's tone was contemptuous.

  'The leisure complex, sir?'

&nb
sp; 'I can't see Alicia hanging round bars that tend to get rowdy at this time of an evening.' Cathy sounded adamant.

  'When we grow older we often lose the sense of adventure that inquisitive teenagers thrive on.'

  'I wouldn't bet on it,' Ian said sharply, his eyes shooting sideways at the thought of Cathy's double life. He seemed to shrivel up inside. 'And generalising,' he went on, unable to quell his umbrage, 'doesn't explain why our daughter hasn't phoned.'

  'She isn't behaving out of character - something is preventing her from being her usual self,' Cathy elaborated, yet wondering - as Ian strode across the room and leaned on the wall over the mantelpiece, looking down, as if he couldn't face anyone - if it had been such a good idea to contact him. Traces of her former repulsion and attraction, indifference and sympathy, caused her to blush as the policeman observed her stockinged feet shuffling like the laminate floor was too hot to stand on. The heavy silence that hung over the room grotesquely mocked Cathy. Nothing was being done and her babies were in some sort of peril! 'What do you propose to do?' The hard resolve in her voice made Ian spin round in shame; this wasn't about their marriage, it was about their kids. Cathy didn't notice his contrite gaze. Her arms crossed, she looked from the policeman to the policewoman. 'Well?'

  'Parents don't want to believe half of the things we find out about their kids. It's important to remember that missing teenagers nearly always turn up. I'd like to ask your husband if anything jogs his memory that might help us satisfactorily conclude….'

  'What's that supposed to imply?'

  'That I'm looking at all possibilities.' Licking his lips under his fuzzy moustache, the policeman's eyes intently searched Ian's eyes. 'We've pointed out to your estranged wife, Mr Randall, that we haven't had any reports of accidents involving teenagers. Our patrols have descriptions of Alicia and Davie. The best thing you can do' - his female colleague moved towards the door - 'is remain calm and let us know as soon as you hear from them. Try not to worry. We'll make our own way out. For now, goodbye.'

  Ian spun away. The photographs of Alicia and Davie in school uniform mounted on the wall over the sofa tugged his heart strings. Cathy followed the police out of the room. Ian heard her ask: 'Are you taking my children's disappearance seriously?'

  'All calls are taken seriously, Mrs Randall, I…' The policeman's voice became inaudible under the howl of the wind. The door had opened. The howl diminished as it shut.

  'Useless,' Cathy said, on returning.

  'They could be right. Dan's of a similar opinion.'

  'Are you?'

  'If it was only Davie, I'd be less inclined to worry. Have you seen any signs that Alicia's got a boyfriend she's keeping quiet about?'

  'None at all. And she can't hold her water…' Cathy crossed her arms, recalling that her daughter hadn't let on about her affair with Michael for a long time. Her lip quivered.

  Ian stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, running his fingers through his wavy, brown locks. A little voice told him he should reach out and hug the distraught mother, and a more powerful feeling like the storm outside warned him that such intimacy belonged to another lifetime. In her denim skirt and lavender blouse, Cathy appeared to be the same woman, but, looking down at himself in his old duffel, jeans, battered boots, he was a different man. He found himself asking: 'How are you?'

  'Going out of my mind. Alicia left Sally's in time to be home just after six. Davie left Eddie's not much later. They most definitely weren't together. And they're both missing. Why aren't they answering their phones?'

  The idea of them socialising was mind-boggling.

  'I've a suspicion that Davie will be up to some caper. He isn't answering because he doesn't want to be told to come home.'

  'And Alicia?'

  Ian shrugged, uneasily.

  'I'm getting in the car to make sure someone's really out there looking for them. I've charged my mobile. They can get hold of me and I'll keep ringing home to see if they've returned. I'll put a key in the hiding place.'

  'You'll be wanting some company?'

  'Do you need to ask?'

  An appalling hush like that which descends - after the screams - on dazed, awed, terrified survivors of an explosion had come over Alicia and Davie. The wuthering gale, outside, seemed to belong to another world. This was Liam's domain, and he had very nearly done it. 'One more noise and you're finished,' he'd threatened, diabolically tilting the jug of acid over Alicia's head.

  'P-p-please…'

  'You're cold and wet? Be thankful it's rainwater.'

  Alicia sunk into the shabby sofa; it appeared to be capable of absorbing her.

  Davie's eyes goggled as he imagined trying and failing to knock the jug out of harm's way - Alicia's scalp and face melted like those of a model during an arsonist's attack on the waxworks.

  'Did you ever sing that oldie about silence being golden?'

  Alicia shook her head, her eyes glued to the jug.

  'Make up for it now. Zip it up.' Liam put the jug on the carpet and jigged to his armchair, waving his hands like a psychotic conductor who dreamed of discord and the destruction of harmony.

  S-s-scary! Tears trickled down Alicia's cheeks and, just as silently, Davie's body heaved with relief. How would he have forgiven himself if he hadn't lifted one finger of his free hands to save Alicia? Yet the element of surprise couldn't be wasted! Even if he'd acted and successfully knocked the jug flying, the danger would have been far from over. Once Liam got over his astonishment, the ensuing tussle would have produced only one winner. And then what would Liam have done to his sister? Davie closed his eyes, relishing the luck that seemed to be repenting for deserting them.

  With all the luck in the world, only boxing clever would do. Thinking, working it out, waiting for and seizing the moment. Stealthily freeing his hands had been a start that Davie had built on when Liam had stepped into the kitchen. As soon as he'd heard the taps running, he'd slipped his mobile out of his rear pocket. Hurry up! Yes! It was muted! His hands were behind his back again in the nick of time. Liam entered the room, crunching on a value brand packet of crisps. It was a minor miracle; Davie's phone silently vibrated against his rump. No doubt Mum was beside herself.

  'Look what I found,' Liam said, childishly teasing with the crisps, licking the prawn and cocktail flavour from his fingers.

  Perhaps it was the knowledge of Davie's successful move that fired up Alicia. 'Get this cable off my hands!'

  'Who are you talking to?'

  'Take it easy, Alicia.' Davie looked into his sister's eyes, futilely attempting to hypnotise her into biding their time. 'Liam deserves some crisps.'

  'I'm cold, wet, hungry, and I'm sick of the sight of his ugly mush! I want to go home!'

  'I'll show you, you jumped up poseur!' Liam dropped the empty crisp packet to the floor and reached for the jug…

  But they had survived. Somehow. Even though it was all getting far too much. Davie needed paracetamol. When nothing makes sense how do you use your head? Liam was like a brick wall that towered so high it was impossible to scramble up and peer over. Had he got acid in the house because he'd planned this? If so, why was everything else such a botch-up? Like cable cut from household appliances for restraints? And how had Liam got Alicia in here in the first place? The more Davie thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Liam had had other ideas for the acid: Alicia presented such an easy target he couldn't resist striking out. Yes, Liam had been so bent on petty revenge for that trick on the bus he'd stupidly forgotten to snatch Davie's mobile. Hardly evidence of thinking ahead; in that case, what else might Liam be up to? Such information could be the key to tricking him and coming out on top.

  Davie scanned the room for clues. Everything pointed to the grubbiest poverty but the big television and the X-box. Were they stolen goods or paid for by drugs or on someone's catalogue account? Was it relevant? How could the furnishings of someone else's room provide answers about Liam's plans? So, what ab
out him? Short cropped hair, bull-dog face, bulging muscles, thighs like a rhino's, in short, an ugly slab of brawn. His brain had to compute something. How did you get through to him? What might lull him into a false sense of security? Davie drew blanks. He'd only heard the rotten tales of deprivation, thuggery and thieving. To most people Liam was a nasty mystery that wasn't worth the effort required to work him out. Who knew what he got up to but him? He likely got away with a hell of a lot more than he got busted for. Like the time he'd confiscated skinny Jase Jackson's cigarettes and pinned him down on the school field, lighting them up, one by one, slowly stubbing out the whole packet on his victim's neck. Liam's playground motto had been 'all's fair in love and war' though nobody ever saw him play a foul trick for love's sake. He didn't recognise love because he'd never been shown it - Liam best understood enmity and fear. And that's why and how he'd exploited and controlled Alicia rather than seen that she needed kindness. In the pale, red-eyed girl Liam identified the weakness that he'd overcome in order to survive as a snotty-nosed, light-fingered urchin that had grown into some kind of beast. Liam was simultaneously pitiable and loathsome, and Davie needed to smother his intense feelings of repulsion or else he'd be the one making an impulsive mistake. And Liam knew how to punish those who opposed him.

  'Oi! I said, what are you thinking about?'

  'I've got a bit of bellyache.'

  'Or an overactive imagination. You'd better not be hatching any devious plans.'

  'No, really.'

  'You'll have to fart it out because you'll get no nursing off me. I might put you in hospital, though, if you become too much of a pain in the arse, hur hur.'

  Just how do you deal with someone who doesn't seem to know that right and wrong exist? Even unthinking animals have empathy; did Liam believe he'd only ever been wronged and so he didn't care about anything, least of all if the acid left scars on Alicia's skin or the ordeal left them on her mind. Davie knew he'd rather be dead than be like that. And he'd never felt so much for his sister. He wanted to squeeze her tight and say sorry for the times he'd tormented her. That had been in fun, hadn't it? Not for the first time, Davie's eyes searched the room for a weapon. There was nothing but the acid. If he lacked the nerve to drench Liam in it, he could at least remove its menace by throwing it up the wall. And then? Would he be fast enough to clonk Liam's tough nut with the jug? It'd likely bounce off without causing his adversary to bat an eye. And for all his bulk, Liam was as quick as a devil. Before he'd been expelled, the teachers had tried to get him interested in sports. Just the once he'd turned out for the school rugby team and run rampage, scoring three tries in quick succession before being sent-off for biting in the scrum. Davie's heart plummeted to the pits of his guts. Make a dash for the jug and Liam would swat him like a fly. Why, oh why, was I born such a wimp?

 

  On the mantelpiece over the gas fire, several unopened brown and white envelopes of various sizes were propped back to back against the wall. Two Star Wars figures - Obi-Wan Kenobi and Vader - faced each other, light sabres drawn, at the other side of a plastic red and black clock whose hands wrongfully indicated that it approached noon or midnight. Worried that he and his sister were running out of time, too scared to attempt a decisive move, Davie had, in all the drama, only just noticed the clock's tick. Ever since it had got louder, intimidating, like it was counting down… Tick, tick, tick… Atishoo! He nervously jumped at Alicia's sneeze.

  'Bless you! You both fall down.'

  'You'll have to phone us a taxi. She's coming down with something bad because you've made her sit in wet clothes.'

  'Don't be such a drip. It's the dog hairs. They make me sneeze.'

  'Why don't you vacuum them up?'

  'Because it's fucked. So shut it.'

  Where was the animal, anyway? Did it belong to the Eric that Liam had mentioned? Was he likely to turn up with it? Any mate of Liam would have nurtured a vicious brute. 'Who's Eric?'

  'For me to know and you to find out.'

  'His cousin', said Alicia. 'He won't be coming because he's otherwise detained.'

  'In prison?'

  'Shut it goes for the pair of you!'

  Tick, tick, tick...

  'Have you got a heart?'

  Liam leered at the question, getting up. He walked over to the window to peer out through the curtains again. If not Eric, was he expecting someone else? Did Eric or someone else own the dog? A hell-hound snapping at them would complete the nightmare.

  'I…' Liam started and then, frowning, seemed to think better of speaking. He took another peek outside before returning to his armchair. His increasing edginess was a big red danger sign. And didn't they say grass made people paranoid? Liam was loopy enough without added extras. Whatever Davie tried when the time came, it had to be perfectly executed. Drag Liam to the edge, he had to make sure only Liam went over. Fail, and Davie and his sister wouldn't be hanging on by their fingertips - Liam would stamp on their hands and let them plummet. Davie winced at a horrific hallucination of twisting and flailing through the air, Alicia below him, screaming, her hands grabbing at nothing and then… Her sickening, bloody end. Dashed on the jagged rocks with a wild, roaring sea rushing, foaming red, over her corpse and - no! - the rocks were arggghhhh! Davie closed his eyes, blocking it out, wondering about the dark thoughts that came to Liam, as they surely did. Like a psycho from a film he'd derived a weird kick out of terrifying Alicia with the acid. The hideous things they did to their victims in movies! And some were based on real events. Was Liam capable of any of that?

  'What you staring at?' Liam asked with strung-up aggression. Was he realising how deep he was in it? It was unlikely he'd go down without causing maximum damage to his enemies. And how would he react if or when he discovered that Davie had been fooling him again? The sight of his distraught sister engulfed the young teenager with desperation… Tick, tick, tick…. Every second had to be turned to their advantage. How did he make Liam believe he could get out of it without hurting his prisoners?

  'Lost the tongue in your head?'

  'I was thinking that I don't want to see any of us making a mess of things,' Davie replied, angelically.

  'I never knew a little turd could be so sweet.'

  'It's like my granddad says, me and Alicia are young…'

  'How clever of him.'

  '…our whole lives are in front of us and we don't want to do anything at a young age that jeopardises our futures.'

  'Pity you met me,' Liam laughed.

  'Doesn't the same thing apply to you? Think about it.'

  'I think,' Liam said, yawning, 'none of this would have happened if you weren't precious about your movies. You had the chance to be a friend and you chose to be a foe. It's your fault.'

  'I didn't lie to you, Liam; you've got to believe me.'

  'I don't have to do anything I don't want to, kiddo.'

  'I swear the movie thing didn't work out. People were complaining about dud copies…'

  'Hardly surprising. You two are duds.'

  'It was a stupid dream. And that's the truth.'

  'Everybody lies to me, Davie boy. It's always been the way. Oh, his parents are this, that and the other, so treat him like he's thick. Treat him like he's a piece of shit. He doesn't need any of the things everybody else has got. And when I go out and get some of it for myself, what do they do? Call the law. I get cautions, fines, bull from judges, bull from the police, bull from solicitors, bull from social workers, bull from neighbours, bull from teachers. Fuck their bull because they're all two-faced cheats! And fuck you! Why should I think you're different?'

  'I turned up willing to talk to you, didn't I? I didn't come with any tricks.'

  'You came here because I held the strings that moved you.'

  'Letting go of them is the way to get off.'

  'They'll be looking for you by now, my puppet.'

  'Not me...' This was hazardous territory - Liam only had to think on and ask why Davie
's mobile hadn't rung… 'I'd arranged to stay at Eddie's house. I was on the way round there…' When you phoned. Shit. 'All we need to do is make up a story for Alicia,' he quickly proposed, getting away from the subject of phones. 'Problem solved.'

  'She'd blab.' Liam glared at Alicia like he hated her guts. 'Look at the state of her. Big baby. There is a way out - I've just got to work it out. My mistake was grabbing the bitch without thinking about it.'

  He hadn't planned it! What crime had he intended to use the acid for?

  'Why didn't you cut me in with your film scam, huh? I've a good mind to give you some of this right now.' Liam held up a hammer-like fist.

  'There must be some better way to make money?'

  'Like get one of those well-paid jobs that don't exist? Don't bore me. Maybe I should do you both in and do a runner.' Liam smirked evilly when Alicia jolted upright. 'You'd be famous, Alicia. Your face would be plastered over the television and newspapers. Your problem being that you wouldn't be around to enjoy it, ha!'

  'You'd be caught in no time,' Davie claimed, rolling his eyes. It was nothing to lose your nerve about - Liam had been making a cruel joke at their expense. Hadn't he?

  'So, for all your friendly waffle about our futures, you actually think I'm capable of becoming some dumb killer?'

  'I didn't say that.' But Davie felt himself burning up red-faced at the knowledge he'd taken some bait. Idiot! Wasn't he the one supposed to be laying traps?

  'Maybe you're right.' Liam grinned cynically.

  'Just let us go!'

  'With my record? They'll throw the book at me and I hate reading. So, Davie boy, little shit, I ask myself again: what do I do with the pair of you?'

  Such blustery, wet, miserable streets wouldn't seduce a teenage girl who panicked at the very thought of being seen in public with a hair out of place, or her kid brother who spent half of his life shut in his room as if his games console was a portal to a better, more fascinating world; on that much, Ian and Cathy agreed. 'But you must have overlooked the one person who knows their whereabouts.'

  'Like who?' Cathy asked, irritably, changing gear. 'And you've already said you thought they wouldn't be together?'

  'I don't know and I did, but…' She was right. Ian had racked his brain and hadn't come up with one new idea. 'I daren't ring my parents to see if they've turned up round there. Not yet.'

  'I told you they were the first people I thought about. Because I haven't rung them again they probably think the kids have got home.'

  'Just as well. It could give my mother a heart attack.' Ian sighed frustratedly. The whole town had shut itself indoors judging by the dim lights behind drawn curtains from one empty street to the next. Even the doorways of a row of shops where a notorious teenage gang hung out, making no good plans, were abandoned. Not a cigarette end glowed in the shadows. 'Hey! What about that bloody deluded butcher who thinks he's the missing link between Brian Epstein and Simon Cowell? Has he got Alicia a gig you don't know about?'

  ‘He couldn't wait to put the phone down. Alicia told him on Tuesday that she'd had enough. The slaughterhouse has more life than the last dive he expected her to win over.' Cathy shuddered; her earlier macabre vision of a blood-soaked Boden, fiendishly grinning, putting the heinous tools of his trade away after filling black bags with… 'He's unpleasant but not…' One of the monsters that made headlines? How could anybody tell? Her poor babies! 'Do you think something serious has happened?'

  'Don't be running away with yourself, Cathy, please.' It was bad enough that he was wobbling all over the place. 'I'm sure they're fine other than being short of a good old-fashioned rollicking.' That sounded better. 'I can see them turning up, throwing tantrums, making out they're allowed no freedom.' Yes, these were the right lines! 'There's just something we're missing. Are you sure she hasn't got in with some half-soaked lad?'

  'That wouldn't explain Davie's disappearance.'

  'No.' Balls. The 'right lines' had led to a dead end in record-breaking time.

  'I've gone over everything a thousand times. The things that have entered my mind…' Like evil shadows overpowering and forcing her kids into the back of a van with a false registration plate, or tempting them with the designer drugs that sent sleazy stars on their way to immortality. What if they'd overdosed and collapsed, vomiting, in a seedy alley? No! It wasn't true! Alicia and Davie weren't ignorant! There would be a perfectly innocuous explanation. What?

  Cathy had arrived home shortly before six after unenthusiastically completing another stint of overtime. All said and done, she supposed she ought to be thankful, some people couldn't get enough hours, and her new job in despatch kept her out of Michael's way and seemed, well, time would tell whether or not robotically pressing the same computer keys would send her round the twist. She put the kettle on and skimmed over Davie's note about going to Eddie's. Alicia had said she'd be home around six; the stew needed to be heated ready in time for tea at quarter to seven.

  It was still simmering at seven, but, ok, Alicia's eighteen, let her have some room for manoeuvre. Cathy watched the hand of the clock reach quarter past. Another ten minutes came and went. For the umpteenth time, Cathy guessed that her daughter was stuck in the eye of the storm. High time to make a call! Alicia couldn't accuse her of nagging if she offered a lift. It wasn't unusual that Alicia didn't answer, but it was extraordinary that she didn't call back in a couple of minutes. Maybe Sally's mum was driving her over and Alicia didn't want to be embarrassed by an 'over-protective parent'. Oh gawd, listen to that rain against the windows! And that wind! 'Well, madam, like it or lump it,' Cathy said aloud, 'it's time to sort this out!' Come on, answer it! Alicia's phone switched to voicemail. What was the girl up to? Saying thanks and goodbye as she got out of Sally's mum's car? It would be typical, getting worked up when Alicia was almost on the doorstep. Cathy strode through to the living room and peered hopefully through a gap in the curtains. The lamppost illuminated the driving, torrential rain, nothing else. Oh, Alicia was going to get such a flea in her ear for making her worry on a night like this! 'But I'm an adult!' That was all Cathy seemed to hear of late. Well, Alicia had to learn to abide by house rules! Just you wait, lady… Alicia's phone had been switched off! Had she lost it? Had someone picked it up, finders keepers? There was one thing left to do, and that was break Alicia's prohibition and ring Sally's home number.

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive. Alicia left ages ago - she didn't want to be late home for her tea.'

  Cathy stared at Alicia's old school photo mounted on the wall. Such a pretty young thing. They had got her this far through life, please, please, don't say something has happened to her! And what the hell were they playing at letting her walk to the bus stop in weather like this? 'I do hope my call hasn't been too much of an inconvenience,' she said stiffly. 'Goodbye.'

  'No bother. Bye.'

  A vague inclination to pray made Cathy feel ridiculous. She had to pull herself together because everything was up to her! No, no, no, being melodramatic wasn't any help, calm it. Alicia wasn't yet two hours late, so where could she be? Had she called at her grandparents' place or a friend's house to get out of the dreadful weather? What was Cathy waiting for? She was just a few phone calls from knowing everything was as it should be.

  'No, I haven't seen Alicia,' Ian's mother said, curtly. 'I'll get my husband to give her a lift if she pops round.' No 'how are you'? Just goodbye with a slam. But this wasn't the time for any of that…

  'No, Mrs Randall.'

  'Afraid not, Cathy.'

  'Have you tried…?'

  She'd tried them all. Not one of Alicia's friends had gone out or had an unexpected visitor. Wait! That creep Boden! Had he got in touch with Alicia to try to change her mind? His flat, uncaring tone brought bloody knives, raw meat, black bags to Cathy's mind. 'Thanks for your time, Mr Boden,' she said, shivering, fighting off an urge to accuse him of murder. What was going on? And where in the blazes was Davie? Thoug
h he wouldn't be with Alicia, he might know something. And Cathy needed some company, someone to tell her it was going to be fine. 'Get off that game, Davie!' she said through clenched teeth. 'Answer your phone!' Could you believe it? Right. Mr Woods. Where was his number?

  'Sorry, Cathy, Davie left quite a while ago. Is something wrong?'

  'I don't know where Alicia is and now Davie's gone missing. It's probably nothing. You can't help fretting.'

  'I'll let you know if he turns up round here. Is there anything else I can do?'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Ok. Let me know when they get home.'

  Such a nice man, and what a shame about his wife… Oh. My. God. It had ended too soon for her! No, that’s leaping to conclusions. There must be someone… Ian! Had he invited them to tea without letting her know? She'd bloody well kill him if he was starting those games! Oh, how farcical would this get? Ian's phone was switched off! What now? Brother Dan!

  'Ian's phone's dead.'

  Thanks, Dan, what a way of putting it.

  'Is it important?'

  'I urgently need to speak to Ian. The kids are missing.'

  'They'll turn up.'

  'I'm sure you're right. I'd still like to speak to my husband.'

  'I'll go and let him know. I'm picking up a kebab from the place round the corner, more or less.'

  'That would be a great help.'

  'Cheerio.'

  'Yes, bye.'

  But how could she be sure Dan wouldn't be in a bigger hurry to tuck into his fast food? An abrupt image of Alicia, unconscious in the back of a dark van, tormented Cathy. Time to involve the police…

  'I keep thinking…' Her voice trailed away.

  'What?'

  Cathy stared ahead, down the rainy street. She didn't want to talk about it, after all.

  'I'll tell you what often puzzles me. What happened to us? Our family?'

  'And that's a criticism of me. One that I don't need right now, thanks.' Cathy accelerated, demonstrating she wanted to move it on.

  'I was asking a question not pointing a finger.'

  'We grew apart.'

  'That's it?'

  'Ian, we need to find the kids,' she said, her eyes flashing with vexation.

  'And when we do,' Ian replied, 'they're in for it. They've given us the run-a-round for too long. I knew as soon as Alicia saw the reality of singing in the pubs and clubs she'd want to jump onto some other bandwagon.'

  'Don't go on, Ian.'

  'I'm talking about the things we should have addressed a long time back. What's Alicia's next big thing?'

  'A portfolio for modelling,' Cathy said, sighing resignedly.

  'And Davie? If it wasn't for this splitting up business, he'd have been over the high jump for that escapade with films and music. Piracy is a serious crime. The trouble he could have ended… Bloody hell!'

  'What?' Cathy tersely demanded. What Ian called putting the world to rights, she interpreted as ranting, and it grated on her nerves.

  'Liam Briggs, that's what.'

  'What's that sorry soul got to do with anything? You ought to have seen him go starry-eyed over Alicia at some of her shows. And she wouldn't even speak to him.'

  'That Davie shunned him was exactly the problem.'

  'What problem?'

  'Liam was menacing Davie to get his hands on the fortune he'd supposedly amassed through bootlegging.'

  'How come I haven't heard about this?'

  'I told Davie to let us know about it the moment Liam tried anything else on. I assumed, because he hadn't said anything, Liam had backed off.'

  'You assumed? Charming. But what can Liam do? He isn't as bad as they say. He's a kid like our two.'

  'He's big enough to do plenty. And we hope he isn't bad. Why don't we drive round to see his mother and that guy she's shacked up with and make out we think the kids are friends? If Liam's around, we can rule him out, unless he acts funny. Their house isn't five…'

  'I know where they live. But we're barking up the wrong tree. What kind of world is it when we're suspecting - accusing - other people's kids of…? What are we accusing Liam of doing?'

  'It's a world that's teaches our young people to value money and possessions above people. We're losing the most basic grasp of right and wrong and justice. Anything's possible.'

  'Have you started going to church with your mother?'

  'Don't be facetious. And think about it; it's all we were bothered about.'

  'At least you said 'we'. But you still haven't said what we're supposed to be accusing Liam of doing?'

  'We're not accusing him of anything. We're checking things out.'

  'I suppose it's our only lead, however tenuous. But Chrissie Briggs and Pete need help. What with their health problems and the changes to their money - someone was talking about them at work the other day - people barging round there and dragging them into other problems…'

  'I know they need help. And I feel sorry for Liam as much as the next person. But that sort of poverty is ugly; it doesn't necessarily create decent human beings, and yes, I know, his sisters aren't bad lasses. Whatever. Right now I'm concerned about the help our kids need more than anything.'

  'We'll have to be careful. They'll probably be drunk and willing to fight if they hear something they don't like.'

  'More importantly, they'll likely be too drunk to hide anything. Pick up on anything dodgy, and we contact the police. I'll do the talking. You can stay in the car if you don't feel like confronting them.'

  'No,' said Cathy, indicating left. 'I'll do the talking. Me and Chrissie go way back. She was the brightest, friendliest girl in my class. It was often the clever ones who couldn't cope with the lack of opportunities. I've more chance of communicating with her than you have.'

  Liam got to his feet and stretched, exposing, as his sweatshirt lifted, his belt buckle. For a split-second, the silvery skull prophesised utter doom. Then Davie twigged a basic necessity of living was gifting him his chance. 'I need a dump,' Liam announced, yawning.

  'We'd hang flags and bunting out,' Alicia responded, her upper lip curling in disgust, 'only our hands are tied. At least we won't be expected to wipe your fat, spotty arse. Although it must be prettier than your face.'

  'Think on what might happen to your mush.'

  'Ah! It's about your jealousy because nobody wants to kiss you,' Alicia bravely retorted.

  'Nobody wants to kiss me, hur, hur.' Liam's forced laughter didn't cover up his embarrassment or his inability to comeback.

  Excellent, thought Davie, Alicia has her wits about her. The way she'd seemed entranced by the blank television screen had suggested that she was already critically damaged. She'd likely figured that when Liam walked out of the door, hope walked straight in.

  Davie thought his heart would beat a hole in his chest. His brow squeezed out beads of sweat. Like an animal, would Liam sense his excitement? He stared calculatedly from brother to sister. Nooooo! It was over! He was going to check their restraints and discover Davie's deception! Hold on! Liam stepped towards the door. Yes! For now, they were safe. 'I forgot to mention,' Liam said, smirking, 'if you want to answer the call of nature, do it in your knickers or pants. It'll avoid all that messing with knots and cable, and I'm sure I can find a washing-peg for my nose.'

  'So kind of you.' Davie scrunched his face, feigning revulsion. Laugh as much as you want, Liam, you clumsy amateur, my acting is better than your kidnapping! Leaving the door wide open doesn't mean that you're not napping! Davie and Alicia eagerly watched Liam walk down the hall and, near the front door that he'd dragged them through, turn into the toilet.

  'Go on', Alicia whispered, 'do it!'

  Davie counted to ten, allowing Liam enough time to unbuckle his belt, pull down his trousers and pants, and get seated. The goblin king was taking to his throne to produce a fitting soundtrack to the collapse of his kingdom… Or was he? Davie's face paled as he stared at his mobile's screen. 'I don't know
the number of…' he practically blubbered.

  'Three!' Alicia hissed. 'I looked when I knocked on the door.'

  'You knocked?' Davie's jaw dropped.

  'The message! Get on with it!'

  'No. 3,' Davie mumbled, bemused, frantically typing, 'ground floor flat across from PO car park in town. Help!' He located Dad's number. Send. 'Done it,' he whispered, repressing an emotional desire to dance around the room, whoop-whooping. 'We're getting out of here!'

  'Send it to Mum! Send it everywhere!'

  'Genius!' Dad frequently mislaid his phone or left it switched off. How had Davie forgotten that? Multiple messages. Mum. Granddad. Eddie…

  'What are you whispering about?' Liam bellowed over the flushing toilet. Far too late, bozo. The SOS was out there! Davie pocketed his mobile and hid his hands behind his back before Liam stepped into the hall, belting up. 'You'll regret trying anything funny,' he meanly promised, entering the room.

  'I was asking Alicia if she's all right.'

  'She hasn't had any of that,' Liam growled, pointing to the jug. 'And you haven't had any of this,' he added, making a fist. 'You're doing fantastic. Make sure it stays that way.'

  'We intend to.' Davie could have kicked himself around the room! Once he'd sent the messages, why hadn't he snatched the jug and used it to prize the keys from Liam? Did he have the bottle to throw it? Liam was crazy enough to call his bluff. Perhaps this was the smarter way. When help arrived Davie could dash for the jug and strip some paint off the wall. It wouldn't be long before things happened.

  Their tormentor glanced at the jug and rubbed his chin, deep in thought.

  The dull ring at the other end of the line sounded crushingly forlorn to Ian's ears. An incomparably bleak sound. 'Nope, they haven't got back home. We've got to do this.' As he put the phone on the dash a message arrived. 'Fingers-crossed Big Dave isn't about or else we're a few streets away from hell. Through his rose-tinted spectacles everybody is out to victimise Liam.'

  'And who can blame him for being defensive? David works all the hours God sends and spends the rest of his time trying to hold that family together. I can't help thinking we're cooking up a complicated, nasty mess that's going to bog us down rather than help anybody.'

  'You've said it yourself; it's the only lead we've got.'

  'Are you going to read the message?'

  'I thought it might be private.' If the night's events weren't bad enough, Ian couldn’t face an introduction to his wife's love life on top of them. An attractive woman like Cathy had too many admirers to stay single for long. 'You'd better pull over and read it.'

  'You've just been using the phone, you foolish man,' Cathy responded caustically, reading her husband's thoughts. 'There are only the kids and that's the way it's staying. Read the message, please.'

  Ian huffed and grabbed the phone. Only an idiot would need to be told that the green monster should be locked in his dungeon in these circumstances. He'd never got it right with his wife. 'How do I access…? Oh, like so… Hell's bells! A message from Davie! Turn the car around!'

  ‘What does it say?'

  Ian excitedly read the message aloud and Cathy swung round into the immediate right turn. They jolted and mounted the kerb - whoa! - quickly screeched away from a brick wall, bumped down onto and straightened up on the clear, wet road. 'What else does it say?'

  'Nothing. Get your foot to the floor. I'll phone the police.'

  'If anything's happened to them, I'll be the one up before a judge.'

  'Hello. You've had a report about two missing teenagers…'

  Liam paced the room, repeatedly punching his right hand as if a palmist had read of a bleak future that he had to obliterate. 'What shall I do with you?' he eventually asked. 'You've nothing to offer. Is it fair to make the trouble you're going to cause me seem worthwhile? Should I slice you up and leave your useless carcasses to rot? That's what they'd do in those films you sold, eh, Davie?'

  Davie said nothing. Liam could only spin out his fast-fading power by stirring up the deepest fears. In a very perilous sense, it didn't matter that someone was coming to the rescue - Liam couldn't stay cooped up indefinitely - he had to make a decision, and he was damned whichever way he went with it. This knowledge had smoked out the cornered, fang-baring beast that lurks somewhere in us all. 'Of all the shits I've met you're the worst, the most useless, the… Gah!' He was working himself up, preparing to do something. Like taking revenge before he had call for it. Davie nervously glanced at Alicia. She stared at the jug as if it had a mind capable of atrocious schemes. How would Liam react when he heard someone at the door? Believing he'd give up required a nature so optimistic it would kill you sooner rather than later. Until someone forced their way in, Liam indisputably had a hand to play; should it include jokers like Batman's nemesis, he might still have some cruel, last laugh. Getting out was no use if, in the process, Alicia received a makeover like the victim of a mad super-villain's last stand.

  Davie's phone vibrated in his pocket for the third time since he'd sent the texts. Out there, the people they loved and who loved them were frantically moving, and that meant the jug needed taking out of the equation sooner than now… Thud, thud, thud - the door! Boom, boom, boom, Davie's heart echoed, leaping to his mouth and then plunging through his body like it ignominiously intended escaping via the other orifice. But, the kid told himself, it was the time for courage.

  'Not a word,' Liam said, putting a finger to his lips. He betrayed his tension by ducking down beside the armchair as if his unknown caller had x-ray vision and could see through the walls. He caught Alicia's disparaging gaze and self-consciously scowled, standing up, clenching his fists. 'They'll go away,' he said manfully, articulating his wishful thinking. Thud, thud, thud. Alicia indicated with a jerk of her head that Davie should make a move. And do what? Shouldn't he wait until Liam answered the door so they'd got him from the front and the back? Thud, thud, thud. Bang, bang, bang. They'd started kicking! Who was it? Dad? Mum? Granddad? Davie gulped; Liam had the will and the power to overwhelm Mum and Granddad. He could drag them into his lair! Davie's look of admiring gratitude for Alicia's lifesaving idea to send multiple messages was met with an unsisterly glower that demanded to know why he remained on his arse.

  'Who is it at this time?' Liam's glazed eyes blazed at Davie. 'What have you done?'

  'Go answer it,' Davie replied, somehow composed. 'Complain that they've knocked you up.'

  'You what?' Liam's fists tightened, his knuckles whitening. 'Who is it?'

  'How do I know? I don't live here.'

  'You might die here if you've been up to your tricks.'

  'With our hands tied behind our backs?'

  'We're in here!' Alicia impulsively yelled. 'Get us out!'

  'Shut it!' Liam roared, wild with confusion.

  'It's over, douchebag!' Davie bounced to his feet, pulling his mobile from his pocket. Liam was stunned - Davie found the time to connect with his mother's phone and scream, 'We're inside!' And then Liam lunged, grabbed Davie's phone, and smashed it against the wall. The falling battery took down the figures of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Vader. In blind rage Liam swung at Davie who nimbly jumped over Alicia's legs to the far side of the sofa. It passed through his mind to leap through the window, feet first, and then he remembered… Too late. Liam flung the contents of the jug in Alicia's face. A hushed second of shock tremored by and then she screamed like her soul was on fire. Liam hurled the empty jug at Davie, who dived under its trajectory. It shattered on the wall as Davie's elbows hit the carpet in front of the television. 'I'm burning!' Alicia shrieked. 'I'm burning!' Davie scrambled to his feet and over to his sister, expecting a barrage of blows. To his surprise, he dragged Alicia to her feet unimpeded. He spun her round and frenziedly pulled at the knots. Liam must have collected cable from all over the flat. She'd been bound four times over; her wrists were swollen and red. Her screams were tearing Davie's heart out. Struggling with the first knot, he look
ed over Alicia's shoulder and examined her face. It was dripping wet, but her flesh wasn't yet dissolving to raw wounds. Her eyes were open! 'What colour are the curtains?'

  'Brown!' she cried. 'They're brown!'

  She could see! And the first knot was undone! Starting on the second knot, Davie looked over his shoulder. Down the hall, Liam was unlocking the door that shook with the pounding from the other side. He wrenched it wide open as Ian Randall took a flying kick. His momentum carried him over the threshold to a bruising crash-landing. Liam had hopped to one side. Sneering, he looked down, 'Nice of you to drop in.' One hammer-like blow knocked Ian clean out. Stepping over him, Liam looked one way and then… 'Arrggh! I can't see! I can't see!' Cathy had thrust forked fingers into his eyes. He stumbled out onto the grassy verge, his hands over his eyes. Cathy stepped over her prostrate husband into the flat.

  Davie was dragging Alicia out of the living room, her feet still bound together. 'Into the bathroom! That door, Mum! Open it!' Cathy kicked the door open onto a tiny, grotty, stinky bathroom. A shower was affixed to the brown, tiled wall above the bath taps. His hands under her arms, Davie lifted Alicia over the side of the bath and turned the shower on. 'Wash it off your face!' Sobbing Alicia turned into the spray, shivering. The water began to steam and Davie reached out, adjusting the control. Acid was hot enough. 'Phone an ambulance, Mum! He's thrown acid in her face!'

  'One's already on the way.' Cathy squeezed between Davie and the side of the bath. 'My poor baby,' she cried, 'they're coming to help you.'

  'I think the shower's washing it off! My eyes don't hurt. Is my face burnt? Is it burnt?'

  Cathy peered into her daughter's despairing, red eyes and shook her head, unable to speak because of the choking lump of love in her throat. Alicia again turned into the spray, huddling into her drenched coat as if it could still provide warmth.

  Davie left the bathroom. Dad was dazedly leaning on the frame of the open front door. 'You ok, Dad?'

  'It's you kids we're worried about,' Ian grimaced, rubbing his jaw.

  Davie put his arms round him and they hugged until Dad's legs almost gave way. His son had to help him outside into the cold air.

  Several occupants of the neighbouring flats were stood in their doorways or leaning over the balcony of the floor above, watching Mr Woods and Eddie pin a struggling Liam to the muddy, grassy verge. The wind and the rain swirled round them. The Woods's neighbour, a scrawny, bald man with a goatee beard, observed the commotion from the safety of his white van, parked up against the kerb. A wailing, flashing police car sharply braked to a standstill behind it. Two officers leapt out as another car pulled over from the opposite direction. Granddad!

  As the aging man got out of his motor, Cathy, wet through - as if she'd stepped in and out of the shower fully clothed - came to the doorstep, anxiously looking around. On recognising her father-in-law, she shouted, 'Open the back doors! Alicia needs casualty!' Led by the hand, a dripping Alicia, her legs finally unbound, quickly followed her mother out of the flat. To Davie's apprehensive eyes his sister didn't appear to be disfigured…

  Never! Oh no! The police had got it wrong! The Woods were in handcuffs and Liam had shot across the road. He staggered over the far kerb, regained his balance, and fled down the pavement. Obviously still half-blinded, his arms were outstretched, zombie-style. 'He's the one!' Davie shouted, letting go of Dad and running over to the police. The teenager pointed at Liam as he escaped up the street towards the castle ruins. 'Follow him!'

  'Calm it, son,' said one of the constables, officiously.

  Unbelievable! Davie looked round with his head in his hands. Granddad was back in the driver's seat. Mum was climbing in the back to join Alicia.

  'You'll have to stay here,' one of the policemen sternly called out, 'we need…'

  Cathy slammed the door and Granddad sped off.

  Grimly staring after the vehicle, the policeman reported over his radio that suspects were getting away by car, registration… 'It wasn't them or them!' Davie shouted, the hard rain freezing his face. 'You let the criminal escape!'

  'That's usually about the measure of it,' said muddy-cheeked Mr Woods, sourly. 'Are you going to get these bloody cuffs off us?'

  'We have some questions to ask, sir.'

  'I told you it wasn't them!'

  'What do you know about this, son?'

  'More than you.'

  Another wailing, flashing squad car whizzed round the corner a few hundred yards away, beyond the bus station. Granddad had just taken the opposite left, and was out of sight.

  'Never mind, kid,' said Mr Woods. 'They'll work it out eventually.'

  'Work what out?' The lawman breathed into Mr Wood's face.

  'You let the real…'

  'Quiet, Davie.'

  Davie felt Dad's hand on his shoulder.

  'Me and my wife phoned you about the abduction of our kids. Mr Woods, here, and his son, Eddie, were restraining the culprit.'

  The penny dropped. Both policemen awkwardly stepped back as their colleagues from the newly arrived squad car paced over. A paunchy, middle aged constable with a fuzzy moustache and a young, blond female with a big zit.

  'At least Davie seems to be in one piece,' Ian said, hostilely. 'Let's hope we can say the same for his sister.'

  Davie shivered. His tracksuit was saturated. He realised everybody was getting as wet as Alicia. And he was exhausted.