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.

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.