Boom! Read online

  I kicked Charlie for a second time.

  And that’s when I saw it again, for a fraction of a second. A fluorescent blue flicker inside the man’s eyes. He smiled. “Who I am is not important. Nor am I going to tell you. Only one thing is important and it is that you stop your little games.”

  As he spoke these words he pulled back one of his cuffs and pressed the tip of his forefinger to the surface of the table. I pushed myself further back into my seat. The end of his finger began to glow with an eerie neon-blue light. And the plastic tabletop under his finger started to blister and melt.

  “It’s very simple,” he explained, beginning to move his hand along the table. “You have a choice. You can behave. Or you can face the consequences.”

  The air began to fill with black smoke and the stink of burning plastic. He was slicing the table in two, the heat from his glowing finger eating through the surface like a soldering iron.

  When he’d finished, we could see his polished black shoes through the gash down the centre of the table.

  “Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “Yes,” said Charlie. “We understand.”

  And then the man did what we’d seen both Pearce and Kidd do. He put his right hand over his left wrist. It had always looked as if they were calming themselves down. Now I saw what they were really doing. Around his left wrist was a brass band, just like the ones we’d found in Mrs Pearce’s attic. He pressed it briefly with the fingers of his right hand, then let it go.

  “Good.” He stood up. “In that case I shall bid you good day. Charles…James…”

  And with that he was gone.

  We sat there, stunned, for several seconds. Then Charlie looked down and said, “This smells really, really bad,” and a spotty bloke in a Captain Chicken hat started walking towards us, saying, “What the hell have you done to my table?”

  We ran.

  Five minutes later we were sitting on a bench in the little park in front of the flats.

  “Gordon Bennett!” said Charlie.

  “Gordon Reginald Harvey Simpson Bennett Junior!” I replied.

  We were silent for a few moments. Then Charlie said, “You saw that thing he did with the wristband?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Kidd did the same thing. So did Pearce.”

  “I know.” He fished in his pocket, and suddenly there it was in Charlie’s hand – a wristband.

  “You nicked one?” I asked incredulously. “From the box in the loft? Charlie, that is seriously not a good idea.”

  “Bit late now,” said Charlie. “She had a whole pile. I was kind of hoping she didn’t count them very often.”

  “Charlie, you idiot.” Horrible pictures filled my head. The most horrible one involved me being cut in half by a hot neon-blue finger. “Get rid of it. Get rid of it now. If they find out…”

  “OK,” said Charlie. “Point taken. But first…a little experiment.”

  He pressed the bangle. Nothing. He squeezed it. Nothing.

  “That guy was not joking,” I insisted. “Please, Charlie. Chuck it.”

  Then he put it on his left wrist, placed his right hand over it and pressed it.

  “Snakes on a plane!” hissed Charlie, pulling his hand away as if he’d just touched an electric cooker ring. “Try it,” he said, taking it off and handing it to me.

  “No way,” I said, holding up my hands. “Absolutely not.”

  “Just put it on,” he insisted, taking my arm. “This is important.”

  I struggled briefly, then gave up. Wincing, I tensed my muscles as Charlie slipped the thing over my wrist.

  “Now touch it.”

  “Is it painful?”

  “No, it’s not painful, you big girl’s blouse.”

  I touched it with the fingers of my right hand and a high-pitched scream roared through my head as if a plane were landing somewhere between my ears. This was followed by a few clicks. Then I heard a voice saying, “Gretnoid?”

  I spun round to see who was talking to me. But there was no one there. We were alone in the park, apart from Bernie, the homeless guy, asleep under the hedge in the corner.

  “Adner gretnoid?” said the voice. “Gretnoid? Parliog mandy? Venter ablong stot. Gretnoid?”

  It was conning from inside my own head. It was like having earphones screwed directly into your brain. I took my hand away and tore off the band.

  “Heavy, eh?” Charlie nodded.

  I decided it was time to go home and lie down.

  ∨ Boom! ∧

  7

  Raspberry Pavlova

  I got into the lift. An elderly lady stepped in behind me with two bags of shopping. Was she a Watcher? Was she going to stop the lift and attack me with a luminous finger? I bent my knees a little, trying to see whether she was wearing a brass wristband. She gave me a worried look and left the lift at high speed when it reached her floor.

  Were Pearce and Kidd the Watchers? Were there more of them? And why were they watching?

  I got out and sprinted down the corridor, found my key, fumbled it into the lock, ran inside and slammed the door behind me.

  “Are you all right, Jimbo?” asked Mum, holding a little orange watering can.

  “No,” I said. “No. I’m not all right.”

  “What’s the problem?” She put the watering can down on the phone table.

  I stared at her. What could I possibly say? I didn’t want to end up talking to the police. I didn’t want to end up talking to the headmistress. I didn’t want to end up talking to a doctor.

  Mum gave me a hug. “Hey. You can tell me. You know that.”

  I mumbled a bit.

  “Have you done something bad?” she asked. “Or has someone done something bad to you?” She was very good at this kind of thing.

  “A tiny bit of the first thing,” I said. “But mostly the second.”

  “Well, tell me about the second thing. That’s the important one.”

  I mumbled again.

  “Is someone bullying you?”

  Yes, I thought, that was a pretty good description. I nodded.

  “Do you want me to talk to one of your teachers?” asked Mum.

  I shook my head.

  She ruffled my hair. “They do it because they’re weak. You know that, don’t you? Bullies are cowards at heart. They only feel safe when other people are frightened of them.” She took hold of my shoulders and looked down at me. “And if you need me or Dad to come into school, just say the word, all right?”

  “Thanks,” I replied.

  “Hey, Jimbo,” said Dad, sticking his head out of the kitchen door. “Come and help me decide on the menu for tomorrow night. I need something to follow the salmon mousse and the duck. It’s going to be a spectacular, a real spectacular.”

  I flicked through 500 Recipes for Beginners, plumped for the raspberry pavlova, then went and knocked on Becky’s bedroom door.

  I had to talk to someone. I had to talk to someone immediately. And I had to talk to someone who wasn’t going to blab to the headmistress or the police or the nearest mental hospital. Unfortunately the only available person in that category was my sister. She wasn’t an ideal choice but I was at the end of my tether. If the only thing she said was, “That’s awful,” or “Don’t worry,” it might make me feel a little better.

  “Yeah?” she said.

  I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

  “Becky?” I said, sitting down on the bed, “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  “What about?” she asked grumpily, staring into the mirror and applying her black eyeliner.

  “This is going to sound really stupid…”

  “That’s pretty much par for the course,” she said, finishing off her eyes and starting to backcomb her hair. “So why don’t you just get it over with?”

  “I’m in trouble.”

  “Going to chuck you out of school, are they?” she laughed.

  “Shut up and listen,” I snapped.
r />   Something in my voice persuaded her that I was serious. She put her comb down and turned to face me.

  “I’m all ears, baby brother.”

  “You know Mrs Pearce and Mr Kidd?”

  “I’ve been at that school for eight years, Jimbo.”

  “OK, OK,” I apologized. “Well, they’re…” I took a deep breath. “They’re out to get me and Charlie. They speak this strange language when no one is around. They’ve got these brass wristbands that send messages into their heads.” I was gabbling, but I couldn’t stop myself. “And they’re called the Watchers. At least, I think they’re called the Watchers. Although the Watchers might be someone else. And we were spying on them. And this really weird guy sat down next to us in Captain Chicken. And he told us to stop spying on them. And his finger glowed and he sliced through the table with it…”

  I ground to a halt. Becky was looking at me as if I had a tap-dancing hamster on the top of my head.

  “Becky, Becky,” I stammered, “I know it sounds unbelievable, but it’s true. Really. Cross my heart.”

  She stared at me for a few more seconds, then said slowly, “I don’t know what you’re up to, Jim. I know I was having you on about getting expelled and all that. It was a joke, OK? And you deserved it. But I am not going to fall for this guff just so you can get your own back. Drop it, right? You’re cross with me. Fine. I apologize. End of story.”

  She picked up her lipstick and turned back to the mirror.

  I didn’t even try to sleep. I waited until everyone else had retired to bed. Then I crept out of my room, made myself a Cheddar cheese and strawberry jam sandwich, sat down in front of the TV and discovered that the DVD player was broken.

  I watched the highlights of the World Chess Championship. I watched an Open University programme on diseases in pigs. I watched the first fifteen minutes of a scratchy black and white film called Son of Dracula. But I had to switch off the TV when he crawled down a castle wall and turned into a bat. I turned on the radio. I played four games of patience. I played myself at Scrabble. I did the easy crossword in the paper.

  At seven-thirty in the morning Dad sauntered into the kitchen in his dressing gown, did a double take and said, “Goodness me, Jimbo, you’re up bright and early for a change. Full of the joys of life, eh? Can’t wait to get started on the day?”

  And with that he began to rustle up a breakfast of fresh coffee, grapefruit slices, croissants, blueberry conserve and wild mushroom omelette.

  Only when Mum and Becky had both emerged from their bedrooms did I finally feel safe enough to sleep. I went through to the living room, lay down on the sofa and passed into a coma.

  Mum woke me seven hours later, saying that Charlie was on the phone wanting to speak to me urgently.

  I sat up and waited for a few seconds until I could remember who I was and where I was and what day it was. I got to my feet and stumbled out to the hall.

  “Jimbo?” he said.

  “Nnnn…” I grunted. “Charlie?”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Listen…”

  “Yep.”

  “I need you over here, asap.”

  “What’s the time?” I asked.

  “Half five. Get your skates on. Dad solved the puzzle. You remember? Coruisk?”

  “So what does it mean?”

  “I’ll tell you when you get here,” said Charlie.

  I looked up. Mum was standing further down the hall, wagging her finger at me. Behind her Dad was slaving over a hot stove.

  “Sorry, Charlie,” I said. “Just remembered. It’s Dad’s big meal tonight. His spectacular.”

  “Jimbo,” he insisted, “this is important.”

  “I know, I know,” I apologized. “But this meal means a lot to him. Can’t it wait?”

  “Jeez, Jimbo, I thought we were…” He trailed off. “OK. School. Tomorrow. We’ll talk then.”

  “Course.”

  The phone clicked off.

  Dinner started with salmon mousse on a bed of green salad with home-made oatcakes. This was followed by duck a l’orange with roast potatoes and honey-glazed carrots. For dessert we had the raspberry pavlova l’d suggested. The food was fantastically good. And because Dad was in such an exceptionally good mood he let me have a glass of wine. For an hour or so I managed to persuade myself that the encounter in Captain Chicken was a figment of my imagination. I didn’t think about Mrs Pearce or Mr Kidd. I didn’t think about attics or burned plastic. I was with my family. And I loved my family. Except Becky. I hated Becky. But hating your sister was normal.

  I felt ordinary and safe. And thanks to all these things I went to bed at ten and slept like a log.

  ∨ Boom! ∧

  8

  Goodbye, Charlie

  Charlie wasn’t at school. I’d taken an early bus and waited at the gates. Eight hundred pupils walked past me. But no Charlie. I stayed put till the bell went, then loped up to the main doors.

  Perhaps he was ill. Perhaps he was pretending to be ill because he had some cunning plan to work on at home. There was obviously a rational explanation. I just didn’t know what it was yet.

  Then the headmistress made an announcement during assembly and I knew that things were taking a serious turn for the worse.

  After she’d told us about arrangements for the forthcoming sports day, Mrs Gupta tapped her on the shoulder and whispered something into her ear.

  “Oh yes,” said the headmistress, “I nearly forgot to mention. Mrs Pearce and Mr Kidd are both off sick. Their classes will be taken by two very nice supply teachers, Mr Garrett and Miss Keynes.” She nodded towards the two new faces squeezed in at the end of the line of staff.

  Something was badly wrong. It was too much of a coincidence. I tried to persuade myself that Charlie and his dad had solved the puzzle, that they’d gone to the police and that Mr Kidd and Mrs Pearce were already behind bars or heading for the nearest airport. But it didn’t seem very likely.

  I couldn’t concentrate. I got a detention from Mr Kosinsky and another one from Mr Garrett and I simply didn’t care.

  After lunch I faked a migraine and went to the sick bay. I was given two paracetamol and a mug of tea and groaned dramatically until they rang Dad and told him to come and pick me up.

  I carried on groaning dramatically all the way home on the bus. When we reached the doors to the flats, however, I apologized to Dad, told him I’d explain everything later, ran to the bike sheds, undid my lock and broke some kind of land-speed record getting to Charlie’s house.

  I went through their gate, hit the brakes, turned sideways and sprayed gravel all over Dr Brooks’s car. I dropped the bike, ran to the door and pressed the bell.

  After a few seconds Mrs Brooks loomed up behind the frosted glass and the door swung open. She lunged towards me, shouting, “Where the hell have you been, you stupid, selfish, thoughtless little – ” Then she stopped. “Oh, it’s you.”

  Two hands appeared around Mrs Brooks’s shoulders and moved her gently to one side as if she were an unexploded bomb. The hands belonged to Dr Brooks.

  “Jim,” he said, his face blank, “come inside and close the door.”

  I stepped onto the mat and squeezed myself round Mrs Brooks, who was starting to cry. Dr Brooks chivvied me down the hall and into the living room.

  “Where’s Charlie?” I asked.

  “Charlie’s disappeared,” he said.

  “What?” I tried to sound surprised.

  “He went to bed last night. Usual time. He seemed, well, like he always does. But this morning…he simply wasn’t there.” He shook his head slowly. “We’ve got no idea where he’s gone.”

  Out in the hall, I could hear Charlie’s mum wailing horribly.

  “Look. You know Charlie. He gets into scrapes. He plays silly games. Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

  I took a deep breath. I was going to sound crazy. I was going to be in trouble. But now wasn’t the time to be worrying about that. “Charlie rang m
e last night,” I said. “He told me to come over. He had something important to tell me. I couldn’t come because Dad was cooking a big meal. It was about that code. Do you remember? Charlie said you’d solved the puzzle.”

  “Yes,” said Dr Brooks. “Yes, we did. Sort of. But I thought that was just a game. Are you saying it has something to do with-?”

  “What was the answer to the puzzle?” I asked. “He said you knew what Coruisk meant.”

  He rubbed his face with his hands. “Coruisk. It’s a loch in Scotland. On the Isle of Skye. The numbers after it – the ones in brackets – they’re a grid reference. You know, so you can find the place on an Ordnance Survey map.” He paused. “You’re not seriously trying to tell me that he’s gone to Scotland?”

  “Wait,” I said, holding my head. It was all falling into place. Mrs Pearce went on holiday to Scotland. She owned a book on Scottish castles. The map in the box of wristbands under the water tank – it was a map of Skye.

  “Jim?” asked Dr Brooks.

  “This is going to sound insane.”

  “Go on,” he urged me.

  “The code…”

  “Yes?”

  “It was someone’s secret. They didn’t want anyone to know about it.”

  “Who, Jim? Who?”

  “Mrs Pearce. Mr Kidd. The history teacher. The art teacher. They were up to something.”

  “Jim, what the hell are you talking about?”

  “I’m being serious. And they weren’t in school today.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll be back,” said Dr Brooks. “That will be the police.” He disappeared into the hallway.

  They’d taken Charlie, I knew it. He’d used the wristband. The voice on the other end…They knew. He hadn’t behaved. He was facing the consequences.

  I had to find him. And to find him I needed clues. I needed the notebook. And I couldn’t trust anyone. I skidded into the hallway and ran up the stairs. I reached Charlie’s room. I pulled out drawers. I yanked up the loose floorboard. I looked in the wardrobe.