The man smiled and took another bite of burger. Charlie and I began shuffling our bums towards the aisle.
“I don’t know exactly how much you know,” the man continued, washing the burger down with another sip of hot chocolate. “You know a little. That much is quite clear.”
He was clearly not your average weirdo.
“The Watchers brought you to my attention a few days ago. We have had you under surveillance since then. They are of the opinion that you are not dangerous. I’m not so sure.”
The Watchers? Surveillance? Dangerous? I felt the building tilt slightly to one side. Or was it me? I held the sides of my seat for support.
“The Watchers get nervous.” He brushed the bun-crumbs off his silk tie. “The Watchers do not enjoy people poking into their affairs. And if you carry on as you have been doing, then they may decide that action has to be taken.”
He let the word ‘action’ hang in the air.
“Who are you?” asked Charlie.
I kicked him under the table. I wanted this conversation to end. And I wanted it to end now.
But Charlie took no notice. “What right have you got to come in here and tell us what we can and can’t do?”
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.
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?”