“You kids dip in,” the old girl said. “My biscuits have won prizes.”
They stuck their hands in the tin and grabbed one. They tasted like they’d been baked in 1937, but they could hardly start gobbing them out in front of the old lady.
“Delicious,” James said, gagging for some water to get the stale taste out of his mouth.
“Would you like another one?” the old dear asked.
Zara clamped the lid on the biscuit tin.
“They’re off to their rooms now,” Zara said. “They’re not really allowed sweet stuff this late. It’s bad for their teeth.”
They were all thankful that Zara had saved them from another biscuit. James led the scramble upstairs to the bathroom.
“SHUSSSHH, you lot,” Zara whispered after them. “Joshua’s asleep.”
The four of them queued at the bathroom tap to get a drink; then they slugged mouthwash to get the taste out of their mouths.
“It’s like a single bite sucks every bit of saliva out of your mouth,” Kerry said.
“I bet she knows how disgusting they are,” Kyle said. “Probably gets a kick out of watching everyone suffer.”
“Hope the old bag dies,” Nicole said.
James started laughing. “I think that’s a tiny bit extreme, Nicole.”
“I can’t stand old people,” Nicole said. “Wait till they’re sixty, then give all of ’em both barrels of a shotgun.”
“My nan was great,” James said. “I got a Kit Kat or Wagon Wheel every time I saw her . . . I was her favorite. She never liked Lauren much.”
Kerry grunted. “No accounting for taste, I suppose. When did she die?”
“When I was ten.”
“Is Lauren OK now?” Kyle asked.
“I haven’t spoken to her since this morning,” James said. “Suppose I’d better ring her before I go to bed.”
After he undressed, James climbed into his bunk and gave Lauren a call on his mobile. She was embarrassed about crying earlier and didn’t want to talk about it.
Chapter 8
CONTACT
It was the first day of a new school year. The lines of miserable kids had short haircuts and new uniforms to grow into. Kyle offered to run the iron over James’s stuff to “make it nice and crisp,” as he put it. James had forgotten how annoying it was to wear a tie and blazer all day. The only good thing was, Nicole looked fit in her white blouse, with her tie loose around the collar. She’d altered her skirt so it was half the length of Kerry’s.
James had been to a few different schools since his mum died. Grey Park looked like it was the bottom of the pile. The smell was a mixture of toilets and floor polish. The curtains and walls in the entrance hall were stuck up with thousands of bits of chewing gum, half the kids weren’t in uniform, and there was an aquarium full of dead fish with a chair floating in it.
James broke off from the others and found his classroom. He recognized Junior Moore straight away, sitting at the back with a mate. You could tell, by the state of their uniforms and the way they were sitting with their trainers on the desk, that they wanted everyone to think they were bad guys.
James had to work his way in with them gradually. If you went straight up and introduced yourself to kids like that, they’d treat you like a joke. James’s plan was to act cool and win them over with bad behavior.
The teacher came in. He was a titchy little donut in a beige suit called Mr. Shawn. He seemed full of himself; the kind of teacher who gave you an urge to muck about, just so you got the pleasure of seeing him flip out.
“O-KAYYYYYY!” Mr. Shawn shouted, slamming a book on his desk to get everyone’s attention. “Summer is over, welcome to Year Eight. . . . Find your seats and settle down.”
James sat at an empty desk in the middle. This seriously weird kid sat next to him. He was tall, but stick thin. His uniform was too small and his walk was bizarre, like he was trying to move in twenty directions at once.
“You’re new,” the weirdo said. “I’m Charles.”
James didn’t want to be nasty, but a geeky pal was the last thing he needed if he was going to make friends with Junior.
“I can show you around if you want,” Charles said.
“It’s OK,” James replied awkwardly. “I’ll manage, but cheers for the offer.”
Charles didn’t carry a backpack like the other kids; he had a brown leather briefcase. Judging by the noise when he put it down, he kept a couple of bricks inside. Charles stooped over the desk and began frantically scratching at the back of his hand. A snowstorm of skin flakes drifted on to the table in front of him.
“I’ve got eczema,” Charles explained noisily. “It gets worse in the summer when I sweat.”
Mr. Shawn started handing out timetables and burbling on about the fabulous opportunities presented by the after-school chess and drama clubs. Ten minutes into school, James already wanted to burst out of the front gate and run for the hills. He’d always found school boring, but after being at CHERUB, where the classes were small and the teachers pushed you, normal school made him feel like his life was running in slow motion.
Charles was bored as well. He got an apple out of his briefcase and crunched into it. Mr. Shawn stopped talking and glowered at him.
“Charles, what on earth are you doing?”
“Eating an apple,” Charles said, as if he’d been asked the world’s stupidest question.
“We don’t eat in class, do we?” Mr. Shawn said.
Everyone started laughing. If a cool kid had bitten the apple, they would have laughed at how funny it was. But they all had Charles down as class loser, so everyone was shaking their heads and there were a few murmurs of “spastic” and “retard.”
“Put it in the bin, Charles.”
Charles took a final bite of the apple, before hurling it at the metal bin behind Mr. Shawn’s desk. He missed, so he lumbered over and picked it off the floor. The back of his trousers looked set to rip open when he bent down and you could see his bright green Y-fronts.
“Nice knickers, Charles,” one of the girls shouted.
“Yeah,” someone else shouted. “But they were white when he put them on.”
The kids went into another round of laughs.
Charles missed the bin a second time, even though he was dropping the apple from less than a meter. He lost his temper and kicked out. The bin smashed against the wall and the metal got bent out of shape.
“Charles, calm down,” Mr. Shawn shouted.
“I hate bins,” Charles steamed, booting it again.
“Into your seat now, Charles, unless you want a detention tonight.”
Charles stumbled back to his seat.
• • •
Their maths teacher was a fruitcake. She had the key for the wrong classroom. Everyone stood around in the corridor while she went looking for the caretaker. Junior and his pal wandered up to Charles. James was standing next to him.
“Did you miss us this summer?” Junior asked.
Charles kept quiet. Junior grabbed his wrist and bent back his thumb.
“Did you bring us any presents from your holidays?” Junior asked, tightening his grip until Charles’s face twisted up in pain.
“No,” Charles gasped.
“That’s not nice. I think you deserve a slap.”
Junior let Charles’s thumb go and clocked him around the face. It wasn’t hard. It was mainly done for humiliation.
“And who’s your new friend?” Junior asked.
“James,” Charles stuttered.
Junior faced James off. He was a fair bit shorter than James, but he had beefy arms and shoulders, as well as a mate to back him up. He gave James a little shove.
James felt edgy. CHERUB training had taught him that your first encounter with someone sets the tone for everything that follows. If James appeared weak, Junior would never consider him an equal and they’d be unlikely to make friends. But if James lashed out, they might become enemies and that would be
even worse. He had to get the right balance between the two.
“Try pushing me around if you want to,” James said casually. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
Junior turned to his mate and smiled.
“What’s this, Del?” he laughed. “Looks like the new boy thinks he’s a hard man.”
Junior tried to grab James’s wrist. James dodged out the way and jabbed two fingers into Junior’s belly, sending him into a spasm.
“Too slow,” James said, shaking his head in contempt.
Junior lunged again. His fist hit James in the guts, knocking the wind out of him. The force behind it surprised James. In a flash of anger, he hooked his foot around Junior’s ankle and shoved him over. All the other kids backed up, expecting a fight.
James stood over Junior with his fists bunched, defying him to get up. Junior didn’t look too confident. After a couple of tense moments, James smiled and reached out his hand.
“If you want a row, there’s plenty of easier targets than me,” he said.
Junior looked pissed off, but grudgingly let James help him up.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Junior asked, brushing off his uniform.
“From Zara, my stepmum,” James said. “She’s a karate instructor.”
“Cool,” Junior said. “What belt are you?”
“Black, of course,” James said. “What about you? Who taught you to throw a punch?”
“Boxing club,” Junior said. “I’m undefeated. Eight fights, eight victories.”
By the time the teacher got the classroom door open, the lesson was half finished. There was a spare seat next to Junior.
“Mind if I sit here?” James asked.
“Free country,” Junior shrugged. “This is Del and I’m Keith; but that’s my dad’s name, so everyone calls me Junior.”
“I’m James. Thanks for rescuing me from sitting with freak-boy over there.”
James was pleased with himself. It had only taken an hour to break the ice. He sealed the deal by blowing a massive raspberry when the teacher asked him to be quiet. Junior and Del cracked up laughing.
Junior slapped James on the back as they walked out to morning break.
“You’ve got bottle, James,” he said. “What lesson’s next?”
Del got a timetable out of his pocket.
“History,” he said.
“Balls to that,” Junior said. “What about this afternoon?”
“Maths and French.”
“Don’t fancy that,” Junior said. “You coming, Del?”
Del looked anxious. “I dunno. I don’t think we should bunk off first day. My dad’s gonna kill me if we get suspended again.”
“Well,” Junior said, “it’s sunny outside. There’s no way I’m sitting cooped up in some classroom. You wanna tag along, James?”
“Where you going?”
“God knows. We can get burgers or something, hang around the shopping center.”
“Whatever,” James said. “Anything beats lessons.”
One of the coolest things about missions was being able to break all the rules without getting into trouble.
• • •
The two boys crawled under the back gate and ran a couple of hundred meters away from the school. Junior did a strip. He had a Puma T-shirt and shorts under his uniform.
“If you’re gonna bunk off,” Junior explained, “it’s best to get rid of the uniform. Otherwise you get some old bat spotting the badge on your blazer and ringing up your school to complain.”
“Smart,” James nodded. “But all I’ve got under here is bare skin, so unless you want me to walk around in my boxers, I’m stuck with it.”
“You want to go to the Reeve Center?” Junior asked.
“What’s that?”
“Big shopping place. You’re seriously telling me you’ve never been there?”
“We only moved here a week ago,” James explained.
“Why’s that?”
“We were in London,” James lied, repeating the cover story they’d all had to memorize. “My stepdad got a job at the airport, so we moved up here.”
“If you’ve never been to the Reeve Center, we should definitely go. It’s half an hour on the bus. There’s sports shops, games shops, and a big food court.”
“Sounds cool,” James said. “But I’ve only got the three quid Zara gave me to buy lunch.”
“I can lend you a fiver, James. But I’ll send my geezers round to smash your legs if you don’t pay me back.”
James laughed. “Cheers.”
Chapter 9
THEFT
They wandered round the Reeve Center for an hour, looking at trainers and computer games that they didn’t have any money to buy. It wasn’t as boring as school, but it wasn’t exactly exciting either. When they got hungry, they got stuff off a Mexican stand in the food court.
“My dad’s loaded,” Junior said, taking a chunk out of his burrito. “But he’s so tight. He says he doesn’t want me turning into a spoiled brat. I’m telling you, half the poor scum living down in Thornton get more cool stuff than I do.”
“That’s where I live,” James said.
“Sorry,” Junior smiled. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Actually, it’s quite a laugh hanging out in Thornton. I was down there in the holidays and some kids started chucking bricks at the police.”
James laughed. “Excellent.”
“It was brilliant. One cop car got the windscreen smashed and everything. I go to boxing club down there as well. Have you been round there?”
“No.”
“My dad sponsors it, actually. You should come along, everyone who goes boxing is a nutter. It’s a good crowd.”
“Maybe I’ll try it,” James said. “Does boxing hurt?”
“Only when you get punched,” Junior said, grinning. “So that’s something you should definitely try to avoid.”
“So how come your dad’s loaded?” James asked. “What does he do?”
James knew what Keith Moore did, of course, but he wondered what Junior would say.
“Oh, he’s a businessman. Import and export. He’s a millionaire actually.”
James acted impressed. “Seriously?”
“No kidding. That’s why I get so pissed off he won’t give me decent pocket money. There are six PlayStation games I want really bad. I’ll get a couple of them for my birthday, but that’s not till November.”
“Steal ’em,” James said.
Junior laughed. “Yeah, but knowing my luck I’d get busted.”
“I know a few things about shoplifting,” James said. “My mum was into it, before she died.”
“Did she get nicked much?”
“Never,” James said. “Shoplifting is a snip, as long as you use forward planning and kitchen foil.”I
“How many times have you done it?” Junior asked.
“Hundreds,” James lied.
In fact, the only time James had tried shoplifting was when he was in care shortly after his mum died. He’d ended up in a police cell.
“So what’s the tinfoil for?” Junior asked.
“I’ll show you, if you want to go for it.”
“I’m in if you reckon it’s safe.”
James gurgled up the last of his Coke. “There’s no guarantee, but I’ve never been caught before.”
He reckoned shoplifting was a good way to cement his friendship with Junior. If they got away with it, he’d be a hero and he could invite himself round to Keith Moore’s house to play the games. It would be trickier if they got caught, but the experience of getting in trouble together would probably bring them closer.
James wouldn’t get in real trouble with the police, because they would arrest and charge James Beckett, a boy who didn’t really exist. As soon as the mission ended, CHERUB would pull James Beckett’s criminal file and have it destroyed, so no fingerprint or DNA evidence would ever be linked back to James’s real identi
ty.
James bought a roll of tinfoil in one of those everything for a pound shops. They locked themselves in a disabled toilet. James gave Junior the stuff out of his backpack and lined it with a double layer of the shiny aluminum.
“What does it do?” Junior asked.
“You know those alarms that go off when you take something out of a shop?”
Junior nodded.
“They’re metal detectors,” James explained. “They put those sticky metal tag thingies on everything, and the alarm goes off when it detects them.”
“So, won’t the metal foil make it go off?”
“It only goes off when it detects the right-sized piece of metal. Otherwise, it would ring for every umbrella and belt buckle. So, as long as you wrap the security tags inside something made of metal, the alarm thinks it’s something different and doesn’t go off.”
“Genius,” Junior said, breaking into a grin.
“All we need is a shop where they keep the PlayStation disks in the boxes, not behind the counter.”
“Gameworld does,” Junior said.
“We’ll have to go in separately. I’ll go up and stick the games in my pack. Your job is to distract the security guard, or any staff that comes near me.”
“How?”
“Anything to take their attention off me. Just walk up and ask where something is.”
“You’re sure this isn’t going to go wrong?” Junior asked excitedly. “If we get caught, my dad will crucify me.”
“Trust me,” James said. “Besides, you’re only a lookout. I’m the one taking the big risk.”
James felt confident as Junior led him through the shopping center towards Gameworld.
The security guard stood in the entrance. James went straight up the back to the PlayStation games. His foil-lined backpack was already unzipped. He found four of the games Junior wanted, then realized he might as well grab a few for himself while he was taking the risk. It was dead easy: The security guard was picking his nose and the guy at the checkout was texting on his mobile.
James zipped the pack up and slung it over his back. Junior stood in the doorway, with the security guard pointing out the DVDs to him. James headed towards the exit as nonchalantly as he could, but his heart was thumping. As he passed through the detector, an alarm went berserk and a mechanical voice boomed out: