it. I had to get a bus. On the way back, the next bus wasnât for over an hour, so I decided to start walking. About half a mile up the road I came across this narrow track. Thinking it might be a shortcut I climbed the gate and followed the track down, but after a few minutes I realised it didnât go anywhere, just ended at this old gravel pit half-filled with stagnant black water.
âSee,â I explained to Alex, âeven if they do find him, theyâll assume he was in the pub, got drunk, then got lost walking home and fell into the gravel pit ... bashed his head on something when he fell.â
We were in my room, sharing a plate of cheese sandwiches. Stormy light filtered in through the window, highlighting clouds of dust particles that danced in the air as I walked to and fro.
âWeâll need a car,â I said. âOr a van or something.â
Alex was quiet. Thoughtful.
âWhat about your mumâs car?â I suggested. Alex wasnât old enough to drive but she sometimes âborrowedâ her mumâs car. It was one of those old Morris Traveller things, a muddy-brown van held together with rust and dirt.
âI donât know,â she said. âMaybe.â She was sitting on the bed putting some kind of cream on her lips. She put the tube back in her bag and reached for a sandwich. âThe carâs at the garage until tomorrow,â she explained, taking a bite.
âTomorrow night, then.â
âIt might not be ready. If it needs a lot of work ... I donât know if Mum can afford it.â
âYouâre forgetting something,â I said.
âWhat?â
âIâve got thirty thousand pounds. Iâm rich. Iâll buy you a new car.â
Alex sighed. âBut the moneyâs in the bank, in your dadâs account.â
I shrugged. âIâve got his chequebook and cashcard ... Iâm sure we can work something out.â
She shook her head. âI hope you know what youâre doing.â
âDonât worry about it.â I reached for a sandwich. âSo, what about the car?â
âI donât know. Iâll have to find out what Mumâs doing. Friday, maybe Saturday. Iâll have to let you know.â
We ate in silence. I liked to watch her eat. She took tiny little bites and chewed each mouthful about a hundred times before she swallowed it.
âWhat?â she said, noticing me staring.
âNothing.â
I went to the bathroom. When I came back Alex was still working on the same sandwich. I stood at the window. Heavy black clouds were looming in the distance, heaving themselves slowly through the sky like walruses crawling up a beach. Across the road, the woman from number seven was coming back from the shops, struggling up the pavement with a carrier bag dangling from each hand. She was about sixty. She always wore bright pink lipstick that smudged all over her teeth, and her dim eyes were decorated with thick daubs of purple eye-shadow. Dad brought her back to the house once, after theyâd met down the pub. She was drunk, laughing like a hyena at everything Dad said. Sheâd started dancing at one point, doing the can-can, pulling up her skirt and flashing her long grey knickers ...
âDamn,â I said.
âWhat?â
âAunty Jean.â
âWhat?â
âAunty Jeanâs coming round tomorrow. I just remembered.â
âWhen?â
âFour oâclock.â
âCanât you put her off? Say youâre ill or something?â
âSheâs not on the phone â well, she is, but she never answers it. She only uses it for making calls. The ringerâs always switched off.â
âWhy?â
âI donât know ... itâs just one of her mad little ways. I think sheâs probably scared of talking to strangers.â
âYouâre not a stranger.â
âBut she wouldnât know it was me, would she?
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