TOMMY WENT INTO the first gift shop he saw and found a plastic wallet just the right size. He could keep his badge safe in there, and when he opened it, people would be able to see it. That would be important if he had to make an arrest or take someone in for questioning. He counted out the coins and paid the shopkeeper, then put the wallet in his back pocket and walked outside. The shop next door had racks of used paperback books outside. Uncle Arthur didn’t approve of used books – “Never know where they’ve been” – but Tommy didn’t care about that. He had become good at hiding things. He bought The Saint in New York, which he hadn’t read yet and had been looking for for ages.
The sun was still shining, so Tommy crossed over to the broad promenade that ran beside the sands and the sea. There was a lot of traffic on the front, and he had to be careful. His mother would have gone spare if she had known he hadn’t looked for a zebra crossing but had dodged between the cars. Someone honked a horn at him. He thought of flashing his badge but decided against it. He would use it only when he really had to.
He walked along the prom, letting his hand trail on the warm metal railing. He liked to watch the waves roll in and to listen to them as they broke on the shore. There were still hundreds of people on the beach, some of them braving the sea, most just sitting in deck chairs-the men in shirtsleeves and braces reading newspapers, knotted hankies covering their heads; the women sleeping, wearing floppy hats with the brims shading their faces. Children screamed and jumped, made elaborate sand castles. A humpbacked man led the donkeys slowly along their marked track, excited riders whooping as they rode, pretending to be cowboys.
Then Tommy saw Uncle Arthur and froze.
HE WAS WEARING his dark-blue trousers and matching blazer with the gold buttons, a small straw hat perched on his head. He needs a haircut, Tommy thought, looking at where the strands of dark hair curled out from under the straw. It wasn’t as if he were young enough to wear his hair long like the Beatles. He was probably at least as old as Tommy’s mother. As Uncle Arthur walked along with the crowds, he looked around furtively, licking his lips from time to time, and Tommy hardly even needed the magic of his badge to know that he was up to something. Tommy leaned over the railing and looked out to sea, where a distant tanker trailed smoke, and waited until Uncle Arthur had passed by. As he did so, Tommy slipped his hand into his pocket and fingered the wallet that held his badge, feeling its power.
He could see Uncle Arthur’s straw hat easily enough as he followed him through the crowds along the prom toward the Central Pier. Luckily, there were plenty of people walking in both directions, and there was no way Uncle Arthur could spot Tommy, even if he turned around suddenly. It was as if the badge had even given him extra power to be invisible.
Shortly before Chapel Street, Uncle Arthur checked the traffic and dashed across the road. Tommy was near some lights, and luckily they turned red, so he was able to keep up. There were just as many people on the other side because of all the shops and bingo halls and amusement arcades, so it was easy to slip unseen into the crowds again.
The problems started when Uncle Arthur got into the backstreets, where there weren’t as many people. He didn’t look behind him, so Tommy thought he would probably be okay, but he kept his distance and stopped every now and then to look in a shop window. Soon, though, there were no shops except for the occasional newsagent’s and bookie’s, with maybe a café or a run-down pub on a street corner. Tommy started to get increasingly worried that he would be seen. What would Uncle Arthur do then? It didn’t bear thinking about. He put his hand in his pocket and fingered the badge. It gave him courage. Occasionally, he crossed the street and followed from the other side. There were still a few people, including families with children carrying buckets and spades, heading for the beach, so he didn’t stick out like a sore thumb.
Finally, just when Tommy thought he would have to give up because the streets were getting too narrow and empty, Uncle Arthur disappeared into a pub called the Golden Trumpet. That was an unforeseen development. Tommy was too young to enter a pub, and even if he did, he would certainly be noticed. He looked at the James Bond wristwatch he had got for his thirteenth birthday. It was quarter to three. The pubs closed for the afternoon at three. That wasn’t too long to wait. He walked up to the front and tried to glance in the windows, but they were covered with smoked glass, so he couldn’t see a thing.
There was a small café about twenty yards down the street, from which he could easily keep an eye on the pub door. Tommy went in and ordered a glass of milk and a sticky bun, which he took over to the table near the window, and watched the pub as he drank and ate. A few seedy-looking people came and went, but there was no sign of Uncle Arthur. Finally, at about ten past three, out he came with two other men. They stood in the street, talking, faces close together, standing back and laughing when anyone else walked past, as if they were telling a joke. Then, as if at a prearranged signal, they all walked off in different directions. Tommy didn’t think he needed to follow Uncle Arthur anymore, as he was clearly heading back in the direction of the boardinghouse. And he was carrying a small holdall that he hadn’t had with him before he went into the pub.
“WHERE DO YOU think you’ve been?”
Tommy’s mother was sitting in the lounge when he got back to the boardinghouse. Uncle Arthur was with her, reading the afternoon paper. He didn’t look up.
“Just walking,” said Tommy.
“Where?”
“Along the front.” Tommy was terrified that Uncle Arthur might have seen him and told his mother, and that she was trying to catch him out in a lie.
“I’ve told you not to go near the sea when I’m not with you,” she said.
“I didn’t go near the sea,” Tommy said, relieved. “All the time I was on the prom, I was behind the railing.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Mummy. Honest. Cross my heart.” At least he could swear to that without fear of hellfire and damnation. When he had been on the prom, he had been behind the railing at the top of the high seawall, far away from the sea.
“All right, then,” she said. “Mrs. Newbiggin will be serving dinner soon, so go up and wash your hands like a good boy. Your uncle Arthur had a nice win on the horses this afternoon, so we’ll be going out to the Tower Ballroom to celebrate after. You’ll be all right here on your own, reading or watching television, won’t you?”
Tommy said he would be all right alone. But it wasn’t watching television that he had in mind, or reading The Saint in New York.
THE BOARDINGHOUSE WAS quiet after dinner. When they had cleared the table, Mrs. Newbiggin and her husband disappeared into their own living quarters, most of the younger guests went out, and only the two old women who were always there sat in the lounge, knitting and watching television. Tommy went up to his room and lay on his bed, reading, until he was certain his mother and Uncle Arthur hadn’t forgotten something they would have to come back for, then he snapped into action.
Ever since he had been little, he’d had a knack for opening locks, and the one on Uncle Arthur’s door gave little resistance. In fact, the same key that opened his own door opened Uncle Arthur’s. He wondered if the other guests knew it was that easy. Once he stood on the threshold, he’d a moment of fear, but he touched the badge in his trouser pocket for luck and went inside, closing the door softly behind him.