like radar; useless. Fiona could hardly believe they saw only blackness and was convinced he’d developed a sixth sense.
‘Tell me about them. I want details.’
Fiona hesitated. She was torn. She wanted to help Brody with whatever craziness was going on in his mind, but it just didn’t feel right spying on school kids for no reason. She sighed, trying not to admit that it was her feelings for Brody that made her comply. ‘Three of them. All boys. Two dark-haired, kind of shaggy cuts, medium brown, a bit greasy. One of them has awful acne. He looks hard. You know, sort of tough-eyed, as if he’s seen too much in his life already.’ Fiona took a sip of tea.
‘Don’t stop.’ Brody was breathing in short quick bursts. His fingers knotted together on the table. He stared directly at Fiona. No one would know he was blind; no one would know he wasn’t just an ordinary guy chatting with his girlfriend.
‘The other dark-haired boy is a bit boring looking. Pursed mouth, an earring in his left ear. They’re all laughing about something. Looking at a mobile phone. The third boy is dark blond I think, but his head is quite closely shaved. He’s wearing jeans below his school blazer and shirt. No tie. The others are wearing school ties.’ Fiona sighed. ‘That do?’
‘More.’
‘There’s a bag on the floor by the shaved head boy. Black and red backpack. They’re pulling open bags of crisps. One each. Drinking Coke. Oh, but Shaved Head has a Tango.’
‘They still got that phone?’
‘Yes. Spotty’s texting, I think.’
Brody took his mobile phone from his jeans pocket and dialled a number. He held the phone beneath the table. Seconds later he said, ‘Hear that?’
Fiona scowled. ‘Not really.’
‘Look at them. Are they answering the phone?’
‘Yes. Spotty has it to his ear looking puzzled. Did you just call them?’
‘Uhuh.’
‘Why?’
‘To make sure I’ve got the right kids.’
Fiona leant back, puzzled, as Edie dumped sauce, napkins and cutlery on the table. ‘It would seem you have.’ Fiona spoke quietly, watching both Brody and the boys alternately.
‘Good,’ Brody said flatly. He turned his head in the boys’ direction. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to mess up.’
FRIDAY, 24 APRIL 2009
Carrie had given up trying to contact her son. It wasn’t unusual for him not to pick up his phone, if he’d even bothered to charge it. As ever, he’d called her at an awkward time – she’d got up early, being a show day, and had been in the shower – and he hadn’t bothered leaving a message. She felt as if she hadn’t seen him for days. She tried calling one more time, but his phone went straight to voicemail. ‘It’s me. Telephone tag and you’re on. I’m home early this evening. Join me for dinner if you like.’ She hung up.
Martha had bought croissants for breakfast. Carrie ate staring out across a drizzly rear garden from the end of a long kitchen table capable of seating a large family, if only she had one.
‘You home?’ she yelled out, wondering if he’d slunk into his room last night and she’d not noticed. Her voice echoed around the empty house. She couldn’t hear any music or smell the cheap rubbish he doused himself in. ‘All the lads wear it,’ he’d told her. ‘Chick magnet.’ He’d grinned, knowing he was disgusting his mother to the core.
What, she thought, eating a tiny bit of pastry, had the thirty-grand-a-year boarding school actually done for him? She made a mental note to call the headmaster. Yet again. They must be able to work things out. As it stood, the situation was intolerable.
Carrie tipped half the croissant into the bin and went into her office. She booted up her computer. It was still early and, before going to the studio for this morning’s show, she would spend half an hour catching up with what the researchers had sent her. She skipped through the reports of the disaster zones that these people called lives, remotely gawping at their
‘Tell me about them. I want details.’
Fiona hesitated. She was torn. She wanted to help Brody with whatever craziness was going on in his mind, but it just didn’t feel right spying on school kids for no reason. She sighed, trying not to admit that it was her feelings for Brody that made her comply. ‘Three of them. All boys. Two dark-haired, kind of shaggy cuts, medium brown, a bit greasy. One of them has awful acne. He looks hard. You know, sort of tough-eyed, as if he’s seen too much in his life already.’ Fiona took a sip of tea.
‘Don’t stop.’ Brody was breathing in short quick bursts. His fingers knotted together on the table. He stared directly at Fiona. No one would know he was blind; no one would know he wasn’t just an ordinary guy chatting with his girlfriend.
‘The other dark-haired boy is a bit boring looking. Pursed mouth, an earring in his left ear. They’re all laughing about something. Looking at a mobile phone. The third boy is dark blond I think, but his head is quite closely shaved. He’s wearing jeans below his school blazer and shirt. No tie. The others are wearing school ties.’ Fiona sighed. ‘That do?’
‘More.’
‘There’s a bag on the floor by the shaved head boy. Black and red backpack. They’re pulling open bags of crisps. One each. Drinking Coke. Oh, but Shaved Head has a Tango.’
‘They still got that phone?’
‘Yes. Spotty’s texting, I think.’
Brody took his mobile phone from his jeans pocket and dialled a number. He held the phone beneath the table. Seconds later he said, ‘Hear that?’
Fiona scowled. ‘Not really.’
‘Look at them. Are they answering the phone?’
‘Yes. Spotty has it to his ear looking puzzled. Did you just call them?’
‘Uhuh.’
‘Why?’
‘To make sure I’ve got the right kids.’
Fiona leant back, puzzled, as Edie dumped sauce, napkins and cutlery on the table. ‘It would seem you have.’ Fiona spoke quietly, watching both Brody and the boys alternately.
‘Good,’ Brody said flatly. He turned his head in the boys’ direction. ‘Because I wouldn’t want to mess up.’
FRIDAY, 24 APRIL 2009
Carrie had given up trying to contact her son. It wasn’t unusual for him not to pick up his phone, if he’d even bothered to charge it. As ever, he’d called her at an awkward time – she’d got up early, being a show day, and had been in the shower – and he hadn’t bothered leaving a message. She felt as if she hadn’t seen him for days. She tried calling one more time, but his phone went straight to voicemail. ‘It’s me. Telephone tag and you’re on. I’m home early this evening. Join me for dinner if you like.’ She hung up.
Martha had bought croissants for breakfast. Carrie ate staring out across a drizzly rear garden from the end of a long kitchen table capable of seating a large family, if only she had one.
‘You home?’ she yelled out, wondering if he’d slunk into his room last night and she’d not noticed. Her voice echoed around the empty house. She couldn’t hear any music or smell the cheap rubbish he doused himself in. ‘All the lads wear it,’ he’d told her. ‘Chick magnet.’ He’d grinned, knowing he was disgusting his mother to the core.
What, she thought, eating a tiny bit of pastry, had the thirty-grand-a-year boarding school actually done for him? She made a mental note to call the headmaster. Yet again. They must be able to work things out. As it stood, the situation was intolerable.
Carrie tipped half the croissant into the bin and went into her office. She booted up her computer. It was still early and, before going to the studio for this morning’s show, she would spend half an hour catching up with what the researchers had sent her. She skipped through the reports of the disaster zones that these people called lives, remotely gawping at their
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