The whole thing. The whole Barnes package . . .’
Five
C laire was waiting for a train when she first met the Barnes brothers.
Her parents had dropped her at the station before tootling off in their brown Rover to their jobs at the Atomic Weapons Establishment in Aldermaston. Claire was never really clear what it was they did there. A lot of it was secret, but anything they discussed in front of her was certainly safe, as it meant nothing to her. She hadn’t followed in their scientific footsteps. She was doing English, art and economics at the college in Reading, and although they had never said so, she felt they weren’t terribly impressed.
She was taking the train to college. They appeared on the other side of the track by the level crossing, just as the barriers went down and the lights began to flash. She saw the three of them look at each other conspiratorially and run for it. Idiots! They tore across the track, jostling and laughing, before jumping on to the platform. Claire saw a tangle of tousled hair, jeans and perfect teeth as the fast train to London tore past the station.
Her heart was thumping in her chest. She held her portfolio in front of her like a shield as she strode up to them.
‘Have you any idea how dangerous that is?’ she demanded.
They all turned to look at her, their expressions polite but puzzled.
‘I know you think it’s hilarious, but what if you got hit? How do you think the driver would feel?’ She could feel her voice rise with indignation.
‘Hey, look – we’ve been running across that track since we were . . .’ The tallest held his hand out to indicate the height of a small child.
‘I don’t care. Have you ever seen someone hit by a train?’
The three of them looked at each other, and shook their heads.
‘Well I have, and it’s not pretty.’ She hadn’t, but she wanted to get her point across.
‘Everyone does it,’ said one of them.
For some reason Claire felt tears stinging her eyes.
‘You’re total idiots,’ she told them. ‘You obviously don’t have a thought for anyone else, do you? All you care about is how much of a laugh you’re having. You deserve to get squashed.’
She spun on her heel and walked off. She could hear the three of them conferring behind her, whispering, laughing. She felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled round, furious.
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘I wasn’t going to. You’re totally right. And our mother would be livid if she knew what we’d done. It’s one of her rules. One of her only rules.’
By her estimation, this must be the middle brother. Maybe a couple of years older than her? Certainly old enough to know better. He was wearing faded jeans and a striped shirt under a baggy jumper, and Converse sneakers. His hair was dirty blond, the fringe falling into his eyes, which were twinkling at her. Brown eyes, with long lashes. Thoughtful eyes, she decided, and realised she had been totally disarmed.
The little local train pulled in, insignificant by comparison to the 125 that had sped past earlier. He took her by the elbow.
‘Come and sit with us,’ he pleaded. ‘We want to prove that we’re not prats. Not really.’
It was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to sit as far away from them as possible, plug herself into her music, think about her project. But they were completely and utterly impossible to resist. They herded her into the carriage; sat her by the window. Her assailant was Nick, the middle brother and nineteen, just as she had guessed. Felix was the oldest at twenty-one; seventeen-year-old Shrimp, still at school, was so-called because he was nearly six foot four. They hit her with a barrage of questions. When had she moved to Mimsbury? And why? What was she doing there? Who did she know?
She laughed.
‘What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?’
‘The Mimsbury Inquisition. We need to know.’
‘Okay. I moved here with my mum and dad three weeks ago. They work at Aldermaston.
Five
C laire was waiting for a train when she first met the Barnes brothers.
Her parents had dropped her at the station before tootling off in their brown Rover to their jobs at the Atomic Weapons Establishment in Aldermaston. Claire was never really clear what it was they did there. A lot of it was secret, but anything they discussed in front of her was certainly safe, as it meant nothing to her. She hadn’t followed in their scientific footsteps. She was doing English, art and economics at the college in Reading, and although they had never said so, she felt they weren’t terribly impressed.
She was taking the train to college. They appeared on the other side of the track by the level crossing, just as the barriers went down and the lights began to flash. She saw the three of them look at each other conspiratorially and run for it. Idiots! They tore across the track, jostling and laughing, before jumping on to the platform. Claire saw a tangle of tousled hair, jeans and perfect teeth as the fast train to London tore past the station.
Her heart was thumping in her chest. She held her portfolio in front of her like a shield as she strode up to them.
‘Have you any idea how dangerous that is?’ she demanded.
They all turned to look at her, their expressions polite but puzzled.
‘I know you think it’s hilarious, but what if you got hit? How do you think the driver would feel?’ She could feel her voice rise with indignation.
‘Hey, look – we’ve been running across that track since we were . . .’ The tallest held his hand out to indicate the height of a small child.
‘I don’t care. Have you ever seen someone hit by a train?’
The three of them looked at each other, and shook their heads.
‘Well I have, and it’s not pretty.’ She hadn’t, but she wanted to get her point across.
‘Everyone does it,’ said one of them.
For some reason Claire felt tears stinging her eyes.
‘You’re total idiots,’ she told them. ‘You obviously don’t have a thought for anyone else, do you? All you care about is how much of a laugh you’re having. You deserve to get squashed.’
She spun on her heel and walked off. She could hear the three of them conferring behind her, whispering, laughing. She felt a hand on her shoulder and whirled round, furious.
‘Don’t take the piss.’
‘I wasn’t going to. You’re totally right. And our mother would be livid if she knew what we’d done. It’s one of her rules. One of her only rules.’
By her estimation, this must be the middle brother. Maybe a couple of years older than her? Certainly old enough to know better. He was wearing faded jeans and a striped shirt under a baggy jumper, and Converse sneakers. His hair was dirty blond, the fringe falling into his eyes, which were twinkling at her. Brown eyes, with long lashes. Thoughtful eyes, she decided, and realised she had been totally disarmed.
The little local train pulled in, insignificant by comparison to the 125 that had sped past earlier. He took her by the elbow.
‘Come and sit with us,’ he pleaded. ‘We want to prove that we’re not prats. Not really.’
It was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to sit as far away from them as possible, plug herself into her music, think about her project. But they were completely and utterly impossible to resist. They herded her into the carriage; sat her by the window. Her assailant was Nick, the middle brother and nineteen, just as she had guessed. Felix was the oldest at twenty-one; seventeen-year-old Shrimp, still at school, was so-called because he was nearly six foot four. They hit her with a barrage of questions. When had she moved to Mimsbury? And why? What was she doing there? Who did she know?
She laughed.
‘What is this? The Spanish Inquisition?’
‘The Mimsbury Inquisition. We need to know.’
‘Okay. I moved here with my mum and dad three weeks ago. They work at Aldermaston.
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