‘There’s no point in my printing out the programs. I wouldn’t understand them,’ I admitted.
I started typing again.
>PRINT LIBRARY
UNIBATCH/LIST=FULL/SINCE=15MAY
‘What does all that mean? I’m sick of asking you that all the time,’ Gib complained.
‘Then you should have paid attention when Dad was telling me all this,’ I replied, without much sympathy. ‘I’ve asked for a print out of all program modifications and additions made since last Monday, the fifteenth of May.’
‘What’s UNIBATCH?’
‘That’s the name of the library where all the bank’s batch programs sit. I think it stands for Universal Bank batch job – or something like that,’ I replied. ‘Now are you going to get under the table or not?’
Muttering under his breath, Gib scooted under the table. He picked up the printer and put it in his lap before bending over it. With one last nervous look at the ceiling, I clicked on the confirm print command. Within seconds the printer had started up again.
‘I’m going to get a drink,’ I said, standing up.
‘No, you can’t,’ Gib protested quickly. ‘If you open that door, Mum will hear us for sure.’
I sat down again. ‘This is going to take ages,’ I moaned.
‘At least you don’t have to sit under the table, cradling the printer,’ Gib snorted. ‘Besides, there can’t have been that many programs added or changed since Monday.’
‘Maybe I should have done it for the whole of May?’ I queried.
‘We can always go back further if we don’t find anything at first,’ Gib said. ‘But I think this is enough. Sitting here is cheesing me right off!’
After a couple of minutes, all the information had been printed.
‘Can I stand up now?’ Gib whined.
‘Oh, go on then. I’ve only got one more thing to print off and it’ll take some time to set up. I want to print off the transaction log file for yesterday. If two cashiers did do it then that’s where we’re going to find out about it.’
‘Haven’t we finished yet?’
‘Stop whinging,’ I ordered. ‘You’re getting on my nerves.’
Gib emerged, bending and straightening his legs to get the blood going again. I turned back to the PC screen, ready to start typing.
‘Oh-oh!’ I said. My heart began to hammer inside me.
‘What’s the matter?’ Gib asked, stopping his leg exercises to look at the screen.
>MESSAGE: THIS IS THE SYSTEM OPERATOR. WHO IS USING THIS ACCOUNT? PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF.
>MESSAGE:
‘Do something!’ Gib said urgently. ‘You’re not supposed to be on the bank’s computer. Vicky, do something. Log off.’
I didn’t even bother to log off. I clicked on the icon for the router that allowed me to get onto the Internet, then clicked on the option to turn it off. It must have taken me about a second and a half.
>CONNECTION LOST
appeared on the screen. I quickly switched off the PC.
‘Will they know it was us?’ Gib asked anxiously.
‘I’m not sure. I think all the operators would’ve been able to see was that someone had logged on to the TEST account. But hopefully I disconnected us from the Internet before they could trace us.’
‘Are you sure?’
I shook my head. I wasn’t sure at all.
‘Great,’ Gib fumed. ‘We can’t help Dad if we’re arrested too.’
‘We won’t be. They can’t prove it was us,’ I replied, faking confidence.
‘You don’t know that for certain,’ Gib pointed out.
‘Well, we’ll soon find out,’ I said. ‘If they do know it’s us, they’ll do something about it.’
‘Like what, for example?’ Gib asked quietly.
‘Like call the police,’ I replied.
Chapter Five
IT ONLY TOOK Gib and me a couple of minutes to get back to our bedrooms. Gib said that he’d take the printouts upstairs with him and I didn’t argue. I went into my room, switched off the light and got into bed – but I didn’t even try to sleep. I knew that it would be impossible. How could I sleep when the police might knock on the door at any second?
‘Please, please don’t let the police arrive,’ I prayed into the darkness.
I was scared for myself, but I was more terrified about what it might do to Mum. How would she take it if Gib and I were arrested too? I tried to tell myself that it was just my imagination rushing about at warp speed, but it didn’t help.
‘Don’t panic, Victoria,’ I told myself. ‘Think of something else.’ But what?
I waited for something slight and silly to pop into my head. Nothing arrived.
Come on, Victoria Gibson, I thought sternly. Don’t you dare panic. You won’t help anyone by panicking. Victoria … Everyone called me Vicky – except Dad and Mrs Bracken. I preferred Victoria to Vicky. Vicky sounded like something you stuffed up your nose when you had a cold, but I’d never told anyone that. I didn’t want people to think I was trying to be grand or something, because I wasn’t. But Victoria was such a grand name. VIC-TOR-EEE-AH!
And I knew why I was called Victoria too. One of my real mum and dad’s friends had told the social worker who had told my current mum and dad.
I wasn’t called Victoria after Queen Victoria or even because anyone felt particularly victorious at having me. I was called Victoria because I was almost born there. At Victoria Station. My real mum and dad had just stepped off the Orpington train when my mum started getting labour pains. Some quick-minded person called an ambulance and Mum only just made it to Westminster Hospital in time to have me. And Victoria was a better name than Westminster!
I can’t remember my real mum and dad at all. I didn’t like admitting that to myself, but it was true. They had gone off for a weekend’s holiday. Their first holiday since I was born. They were on the last day of the holiday when the accident happened. I was only a few weeks old when they drowned. They were in a hired boat when a sudden squall blew up. They’d left me with friends until they got back – only they never got back.
They had died. I hadn’t. That made me feel strange, guilty – like somehow Mum and Dad dying was my fault in some way. Like maybe it was somehow wrong for me to live when they’d died.
It was as Gib said – they had needed to get away from me …
I thought about the only photo I had of my real mum and dad. It was taken at their wedding. I’d put it back in my top drawer under my socks and I was that close to taking it out again. I didn’t look at it very often – it made me feel funny peculiar. It was a good photo though. Mum and Dad were smiling at the camera and they looked so happy. I usually only took it out to look at when I felt happy too, but earlier I’d needed to look at them. I’d needed to remember that I had belonged once, to people who’d cared about me.
They’d wanted me … except for the weekend when they went away on holiday … maybe …
Mum and Dad had given up all hope of having any children of their own, so they fostered me practically as soon as my real parents died. Then Mum number two discovered she was three months pregnant. They kept me though and, after a year, they adopted me. So I’m only a few months older than Gib. I’m one of the oldest in my year, Gib’s one of the youngest. He acts it too!
My second mum and dad told me that I was extra-special.
‘Not only have you had two sets of parents rather than one …’ Dad began.
‘But you were chosen by us rather than born to us the way your brother was,’ Mum finished.
That had made me feel good. I was chosen. With Gib they’d had to take what they got!
Thinking about Gib began to make me sad as well as double-worried. Even after what he’d said, I still thought of him as my brother. His real name is Richard but a couple of years ago, he got everyone to call him Gib. I once asked him what was wrong with Richard.
‘There’s no way I’m going to let people call us Ricky an
d Vicky. Yuk! Double and triple yuk!’ he told me.
Gib looks like Dad. They both have short black hair and the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. Mum’s hair is really peculiar. She calls it Titian red. Dad’s always teasing her that it looks more like milky-tea brown to him! She has dark green eyes, the exact same colour as oak-tree leaves.
As for me, well, I have black hair and dark brown eyes and good teeth with only one filling in my entire mouth. I’m proud of that. Gib’s got more metal in his mouth than in the whole of Dad’s car.
Please don’t let the police come for us.
The thought sneaked into my head. Frowning, I turned over to lie on my side. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of only good things. I thought about my teeth. I thought about Mum and Dad and our trip to Scotland last year. I counted all the good things I could remember instead of counting sheep. And it worked. The panicky feeling began to fade. My eyelids felt heavy. I counted more good things: playing tennis for the school team; the way my friend Gayle made me laugh; Mr Jackson, my English teacher …
The next thing I knew, it was morning. And a horribly bright, sunny morning at that. The sort of morning when things should’ve been all right instead of all wrong.
After my shower, I went down for breakfast. Mum and Gib were already downstairs. Gib and I exchanged a look of relief before I turned to Mum. No police! We’d got away with it.
Mum had on her shoes instead of her slippers and already had one arm inside her jacket.
‘I’m off to the court now,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ve left twenty pounds on the dinner table. Both of you can have a pizza for lunch if I’m not back in time.’
‘Can’t we come with you, Mum?’ I asked.
A part of me was curious. I’d never been in a courtroom before. But more than that I wanted to see Dad. I wanted to tell him how Gib and I were trying to help him. And seeing him would reassure me that he was all right. I was already missing him dreadfully.
‘No, dear,’ Mum replied. ‘Your dad doesn’t think a courtroom is the place for you and Gib, and I agree. Besides, he’ll probably be in and out of the court in ten minutes. You’ll see him this evening when he comes home.’
As I opened my mouth to argue, I felt a sharp pain in my shin. Gib had kicked me under the table. I gave him a filthy look, but I did get the message. I shut up.
‘Now where on earth is my taxi?’ Mum muttered. She sipped at her cup of decaffeinated coffee, then frowned at the kitchen clock.
The doorbell rang. Mum put her coffee cup down, then glanced down at her watch.
‘On time – for a change!’ she said, impressed.
We followed her out into the hall. Mum opened the door. Sunlight streamed into the hall, despite the two men standing at the door. My heart stopped beating as I recognized the man wearing black jeans and a blue shirt, open at the neck. It was Eric Jones, the Systems Manager in charge of all the computer operators at Dad’s bank. He’d sometimes come round our house for dinner, and Mum and Dad had been to his thirty-fifth birthday party. The other man I didn’t recognize. He wore heavy-rimmed glasses and blinked a lot. He had on jeans and a clean red T-shirt. Both of them looked serious, almost stern. I looked at Gib. He looked at me. I held my breath.
‘Hello, Laura,’ Eric said quietly. ‘This is Patrick, one of my operators.’
‘Hello, Eric, Patrick,’ Mum said, surprised. ‘What brings you here?’
Eric winced and looked totally uncomfortable.
‘I … I’m sorry, Laura, but … well, we’ve got orders to take back your PC.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Mum said slowly.
I could see her lips thinning and her eyes getting hard.
‘We’ve … we’ve been told not to leave without it,’ Eric said apologetically.
‘And just why should you want the PC back? Isn’t my husband, David, innocent until proven guilty or have Universal Bank already made up their minds?’ Mum said angrily.
‘We’re just following orders,’ Eric began, but at the look on Mum’s face he shut up.
‘Why the intense hurry to get the PC back?’ Mum asked, still fuming.
Eric and Patrick looked at each other.
‘I think the bank felt it was … advisable, Mrs Gibson,’ Patrick said slowly.
Mistake!
‘Advisable! And just what does that mean? Advis …’ Mum had saddled her high horse and was off at a gallop now.
‘Laura, it’s for your own protection in a way,’ Eric interrupted. ‘You see, last night I was logged on to my SYSTEM account and someone with a remote PC dialled into the bank’s computer. They logged on to the TEST account which is used by a number of people and logged off before we could get the IP address, so we have no way of knowing who it was. Luckily for us, they logged on to the development machine rather than the live machine, so no harm was done, but—’
‘And you think it was me …’
I thought Mum was going to explode.
‘Mum, you’re not supposed to get upset – remember?’ Gib said, taking the words out of my mouth.
Mum took a deep breath, then another.
‘I’ll have you know, I barely know how to switch on the wretched thing, much less log on to Universal’s computer. And I resent the implication,’ Mum said. Her voice was now steadier but icy.
‘No one’s accusing you, Laura.’ Eric raised a placating hand.
‘You could’ve fooled me,’ Mum said. ‘Or maybe you’re blaming my children now? Go on – confess, Vicky! You got up at three o’clock in the morning to break into Universal’s computer, and Gib was there helping you!’
My face was burning. I looked at Gib and we both looked down at our feet.
‘We’re just doing our job, Mrs Gibson,’ Patrick said.
‘I’m sorry but we do have to take the PC back with us, Laura,’ Eric continued. ‘I tried to argue against it but the General Manager wasn’t having any. That’s why I came here personally, even though I shouldn’t have. I didn’t want operators you didn’t know knocking on your door. We’re friends and I didn’t want you to feel that I’d turned my back on you. I’m doing everything I can from my end to prove that David had nothing to do with that money appearing in his account.’
‘Take the PC then. And be quick about it,’ Mum ordered. ‘Vicky, show these gentlemen where your dad keeps it.’
‘But, Mum, they can’t take the PC,’ I protested. ‘I use it for my computing homework. What—?’
‘You’ll just have to do without,’ Mum interrupted. ‘I wouldn’t keep that thing in my house if Universal Bank begged me.’
Reluctantly, Gib and I led the way into the living room. I pointed to the PC, then turned away. I couldn’t bear to watch. It was like watching one of my arms or legs being taken away. Dad hadn’t bothered buying one of our own as the one the bank gave him was more than enough for all of us to use.
This was disastrous. How was I supposed to get back on to the bank’s computer when I didn’t even have a PC to use? And all those listings we’d printed out – they were absolutely useless. By mistake I’d logged on to the development system rather than the live system. Like a fool, I’d forgotten that the TEST account was on the development system where all the programs were written and tested.
Everyone at the bank – except the programmers – had an account on the live machine. The programmers’ finished programs were automatically copied across from the development system to the live one, but only when they’d been thoroughly tested by acceptance testers first. The thing was, for the money to be put into Dad’s account, it had to be done from the live system, so everything Gib and I had done during the night had been an utter waste of time. And, looking at Gib, I knew he realized it too.
Patrick carried the printer with the screen on top of it, while Eric put the keyboard on top of the PC processor. Then he saw the storage case that contained Dad’s memory sticks and the writeable CDs he’d burned.
&n
bsp; ‘You can’t take those. Dad bought them with his own money,’ I said vehemently. ‘They don’t belong to your rotten bank. And they’ve got my homework on. Take your eyes off them.’
‘Vicky, I am sorry.’ Eric tried to smile at me but it didn’t come off. He looked only slightly less unhappy than I felt. ‘Believe me, I know your dad is innocent of this. I’m doing everything I can. I promise.’
‘Yeah, of course you are,’ Gib scorned. ‘We can see that.’
Eric’s face flushed a slow red.
‘Just don’t touch our private stuff,’ I said through gritted teeth.
Both men looked doubtfully from the disks to me, but it worked. They didn’t take them. It was stupid, I knew. CDs and memory keys wouldn’t be much good without a PC, but all I could think about was that the bank shouldn’t take everything back. Gib and I followed the men into the hall and watched as they left the house.
‘You go on ahead, Patrick. I’ll catch you up,’ Eric said.
We all watched as Patrick walked out to their car, parked in front of our house.
‘I’m sorry, Laura. I really am,’ Eric said softly. ‘But I want you to know I’m doing all I can to clear David. I’m almost sure he had nothing to do with this business.’
‘Well, we know he’s innocent for a fact,’ Gib interjected.
‘Gib …’ Mum warned. ‘Thanks, Eric.’
She was still furious. Eric walked out of the house and Mum … well, she didn’t exactly slam the door shut but she did close it really hard. The doorbell rang again almost immediately.
‘If they’ve forgotten anything, then tough,’ Mum mumbled.
She opened the door. A tall woman with short hair stood halfway down our garden path.
‘Did someone here order a taxi?’ the woman asked. Behind her I could see Eric and Patrick getting into their car.
‘Yes, I did,’ Mum replied. ‘I’ll be right with you.’
She turned to us. It took her a few seconds to remember how to smile.
‘You two be good. I’ll see you later.’
‘Be careful, Mum,’ I said, ‘and send Dad our love.’
Mum nodded, then left the house. I turned to Gib.