Chapter Thirteen
They hobbled along the small parade of shops, trying to look inconspicuous; at least they weren’t in school uniform. Rhyllann felt panic setting in, any moment he expected a hand to clamp down on his shoulder. He couldn’t shake off the feeling they were being followed. He kept his eyes downcast, certain everyone was looking at them. He hadn’t meant to make a bolt for it, not without getting a lot more from Wren. Wren had forced his hand. In fact, he seemed to be in charge now. Rhyllann didn’t like it.
‘You and me brawd, are going have a long chat. Soon.’
Wren nodded, his face drawn and pale. Rhyllann paused, trying to picture the best place to hide – the shopping mall – gran’s house – or … Wren plucked at his sleeve.
‘Annie, round here.’ On the corner of an alley leading to the shoppers' car park was a building society. Above it were the offices where Aunt Sarah once worked. Blinds covered all the windows, the offices had been empty for months, the building society closed for years.
‘We can’t break in …’
Wren swiped at him, tugging him into the alley where the office entrance was located.
‘Quiet. Let me think.’ His fingers tapped the security panel as he spoke. Shaking his head, lips moving silently, he tried another number, then another. An electronic buzz sounded, and the door swung open, giving access to a small brown carpeted entrance hall. Six paces away, a wide staircase climbed two flights to the offices above, and safety.
‘They change the code, but just rotate the sequences!’ Wren explained.
‘You never forget a pretty number do you?’ Rhyllann teased, grateful to get off the streets. Hanging onto the banister, Wren hopped up the stairs, pushing through double swing doors into the main office. As little kids, they’d often called in after school, doing homework in the room which doubled as a kitchen for the office workers, waiting for aunt Sarah to accompany them home. Most of Mr Green’s “girls” were grandmothers; he and Wren had been treated like princelings.
Now Rhyllann drifted through the open plan office feeling a sense of relief tingled with sadness for its forlorn deserted state. Desks and chairs had been shoved to one side, the huge photocopier remained in place. Some of the stuff dated from the eighties, probably too heavy to shift down the stairs. From the kitchen he heard cupboards banging and went to see what Wren was up to.
‘Look – cup-a-soups; half a jar of coffee; a tin of Quality Street! And they’ve left the kettle!’ Water gushed as Wren filled it, thrilled with his finds. ‘The ‘letric’s still on too!’ He crooned.
‘Allow that!’ Rhyllann mocked. ‘There’s a McDonald’s up the road.’ He swung himself up on the worktop counter, the wad of notes burning a hole in his pocket. The comfy sofas had been left behind too. They could camp here for days, living off take-aways until gran was out of hospital. Or Crombie managed to catch up with Stern and his pathetic gang. Maybe get a couple of sleeping bags, or a duvet from the local shops, it would be almost home from home.
‘So brains. What next?’
’Pen and paper. Take notes!’ Now they were safe, Wren had recovered his brightness.
It seemed Rhyllann had to do the leg work. Collect the text, then visit the library for more information on John and his lost treasure.
‘The diary is only across the road there – I can get that. I’ll change the entrance code at the same time.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll change it back again when we leave.’
Rhyllann spoke slowly. ‘No, not that. This precious diary. It’s where?’
‘It’s waiting over the road. “Mail boxes are us.” Mike posted it to his own box number.’
Rhyllann loved it. ‘Jokes man!’ He said.
‘OK. We’ll go over there together, then back here. You change the code. Tell me the new number. Then research at the library. That ok?’
It sounded like the script from "Shaun of the Dead".
‘Kill dad, get mum, rescue Liz …’ Rhyllann chanted, following Wren as he levered himself down the stairs.
Rhyllann shifted his weight from one leg to another, under the shop-guy’s blatantly curious stare. He started upright, relieved when Wren emerged from the storeroom, a bulging A4 jiffy envelope tucked under his arm.
‘My granddad’s.’ Rhyllann babbled. ‘His war memoirs. I think they’ve been rejected by every publisher in the country now!’ With that he rushed to open the door for Wren, then headed towards the library armed with the new key code and a new confidence now that school was officially out.