London Belongs to the Alchemist (Class Heroes Book 4) Page 23

  “Cool uncle Zak,” said Nicky. “They’ll love them. Come on. I’ll get Shereen to make us a meal.”

  But as Nicky turned to face the house, he immediately knew something was wrong. The solid oak front door was ajar. The door was never left open. He had drummed that into Shereen and the girls time and time again. A man in Nicky’s position could never take security too seriously.

  Nicky started running across the gravel driveway, Zak close behind him.

  The rational, tactical part of Nicky’s brain told him he should be cautious, enter slowly, check for traps, but he just couldn’t help himself.

  He shoved the door open so that it clunked noisily against the wall.

  “Sher!” he shouted, standing in the hallway, looking left, right and straight ahead. “Trina, sweetheart. Michelle, baby! Girls?” He hurried into the kitchen, hoping to see them sitting at the table, watching cartoons and eating dinner. There was nobody there, but there were signs that Shereen had been cooking. A warm pan of pasta on the hob. Two beakers of orange squash on the table. A bottle of wine open, but unpoured. The girls’ school bags on breakfast-bar stools.

  “Shereen!” bellowed Nicky. No response.

  Zak entered from the lounge. He shook his head.

  “I’ll check upstairs,” he said, and ran heavily along the corridor and up the staircase.

  Nicky clutched his head, his mind fuzzy. He had to order his thoughts. There must be an explanation. One of the girls had got sick suddenly? Shereen had had to dash to the hospital? But no, her car was in the driveway.

  The phone in his pocket rang. It was the same number as earlier. Mr Smith.

  Nicky’s hands were shaking and he almost couldn’t control his fingers to answer the call.

  “What do you want?” he asked, managing to stop his voice from faltering.

  There was a pause before Mr Smith spoke.

  “Are you focussed now, Mr Cairo?”

  “What?”

  “You’re at home, and you’re wondering why you have no dinner. Why not pour yourself a glass of that Châteauneuf-du-Pape?”

  Nicky sat down on the nearest chair.

  “You? You took my kids and my wife?” he asked, disbelievingly.

  “Of course. We wanted to make sure you fulfilled your part of the bargain. You’ve had six days and we’ve seen no sign that you’re intending to get our money or our drugs. Now you have a reason to work harder.”

  “I am getting it sorted, you—”.

  “Nicky, Nicky. No name calling. Let’s keep this civilized. We’re businessmen, not monsters. You have my word that I won’t harm your family, but I must have your word that you’re not going to let them down. Do we have a deal?”

  Nicky stood there, looking at the pen marks on the kitchen wall and the stickers on the side of Trina’s school bag. He couldn’t speak. He wasn’t even angry, not yet. He was just numb.

  “Do we have a deal?” asked Mr Smith again.

  “Let me speak to them,” demanded Nicky.

  There was a pause, and then some mumbled words and the crackle of static.

  “Nicky?” It was Shereen’s voice. Breathless, scared, but stoic. She was tough. Nicky had no doubt that she’d protect the girls with every last drop of her blood.

  “Shereen, sweetheart, it’s ok. I’m coming to find you.”

  “I know,” was all Shereen managed to reply before there was more static, and then Mr Smith’s voice again.

  “Do we have a deal, Nicky?”

  Nicky swallowed hard. He would kill these guys, but first he would drag their broken bodies through every street in London. He would send the pieces back to Russia wrapped in a dog blanket.

  “We have a deal,” croaked Nicky.

  The phone went dead. After that, his mind went blank. He didn’t know what he was thinking and only barely had a grasp on what he was doing. He threw something and heard glass breaking. He kicked, he punched and he smashed.

  By the time he had finished venting his rage, he was left panting in the middle of a ruined kitchen. Things came gradually into focus. One wall had red wine dripping down the paintwork, the table was toppled over, a stool splintered and broken, cupboard doors ripped off and plates smashed. Zak stood watching him, eyes wide open, not saying anything.

  Nicky heard a voice in his head. His father, who had always been a hard worker, always played by the rules — he’d been a good and dutiful servant. He often used to say, ‘There’s always somebody who is your master, Nicky.’ Nicky hated that line. He’d never wanted anybody to be his better. He hated that his father had tried to make Nicky like him. Nicky had always preferred his uncle, who’d run his own nightclub and been a rogue. Always done his own thing.

  Eventually, Nicky managed to speak.

  “Those guys are dead! They think they can touch my family? I don’t care who they are. We’re going for them, right now. We’re turning the screw.”

  “How?”

  “Back to the office. Tell Darius that he’d better not let me down with the Stannard woman. I’ll call the Rosewood kid and tell her we want our Super D and the cocaine right now. And if she doesn’t deliver, so help me I’ll slice the skin from her bones.”

  Chapter 38

  Lolly Rosewood was experiencing a totally new sensation and she didn’t quite understand how to process the feelings.

  She had spent the day at home with the twins’ parents. Roger had locked himself in his office all day, probably mulling over whether he should hand Lolly over to MI5.

  For Lolly’s part, she had nothing to do. She couldn’t leave the house without risking being picked up by the authorities. She was reliant on Nicky Cairo tracking down Mrs Stannard. Until then, she could only wait.

  She almost envied Sam and James going to their school, being with their friends, having a semblance of a normal life. Lolly had never had any close friends. Well, no friends at all really. Only boys that fancied her. She had always got on better with boys than with girls.

  Lolly had spent the morning lying on her bed, thinking about James and her father. Then Yvonne had knocked on her bedroom door and asked her if she wanted to do some baking.

  Lolly was so caught off guard by the request that she said yes. As soon as she had said it, she wanted to change her mind and ask why she, Lolly Rosewood, would want to do something as totally lame as baking cakes like some housewife. But Yvonne was so brisk and businesslike that, before Lolly really had a chance to think of a different answer, she was in the kitchen and Yvonne had given her an apron and was marshalling her to assemble a series of dishes, bowls and ingredients.

  It was surreal. Unfamiliar. For the first time in her life, Lolly felt useless. She had to be told how to measure out flour, how to beat an egg, how to use the oven. Yvonne skilfully instructed her, lightly chided her when she got frustrated and wanted to give up, and praised her when she got it right.

  The turning point in the experience was when it finally occurred to Lolly to ask what they were making. Yvonne laughed.

  “I was wondering when you would ask. Well, you’ve already done cupcakes, that’s what’s in the oven. The recipe book is on the table, why don’t you look to see what you are making now?”

  The recipe book was large, colourful and had a comfortable smell all of its own, not unlike cake mixture.

  “Shortbread,” she read out.

  “It’s James’s favourite,” explained Yvonne. “He’ll be very pleased with you when he comes home from school.”

  And that was what gave Lolly the unexpected sensation. A feeling of warmth, pride and pleasure in doing something that would make James happy.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked Yvonne. It didn’t make any sense to Lolly. Yes, the Blakes were sheltering her and there was an element of self interest in that decision. Roger had made no pretence about that. But there was no obligation for the family to be anything more than civil to her, not after the things she had put them through.

  Yvonne pulle
d out a rolling pin from the drawer, and it crossed Lolly’s mind that the woman had just snapped and was going to attack her. Instead she just started rolling out pastry.

  “The only way I can justify it to myself,” said Yvonne, her voice wavering, “is that it was your father who made you do the things you did.”

  Lolly watched, almost mesmerized, as the large ball of pastry was flattened, shaped, turned and rolled some more.

  “Your father took my husband’s sister away from us,” continued Yvonne, rolling and pressing with more vigour, “and convinced me to give up my own children. And even now I cannot understand how he made me do it.”

  The woman stopped rolling the pastry. She was breathing heavily, like there wasn’t enough air in the room.

  “So even though I can’t explain what happened to me, I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your father’s power. I choose to see you as a victim, too. Sam and James forgave me for the way I treated them. I have to give you that chance.”

  She turned to face Lolly.

  “I’ve seen a different side of you these last few days,” she completed.

  Lolly was about to speak when, quite unexpectedly, she burst into tears. She didn’t know where it had come from and she couldn’t explain it, but she just sat on the nearest chair and sobbed. Yvonne gave her a consoling hug and looked faintly embarrassed. Lolly was vaguely aware of Roger entering the kitchen, then turning around and leaving.

  ***

  “Come on,” said Yvonne, eventually. “That shortbread isn’t going to bake itself, is it? And I wouldn’t want to be the one to explain to James why he hasn’t got any.”

  Lolly laughed, but it came out as a snort. She still had dough on her hands, so Yvonne dried her eyes for her with a tissue.

  “I’m sorry,” said Lolly. “That was weird.”

  After that, Lolly got on with her baking and was delighted when, 40 minutes later, the shortbread came out of the oven, looking golden and smelling exquisite.

  “I made that,” she said, almost unable to believe it.

  “Yes, you did, darling,” said Yvonne proudly, putting her arm around Lolly. “And I think you’ll make a hungry boy very happy.”

  Lolly could feel the tears welling up again. It was stupid. Why? She’d never had a relationship with her own mother, so why was she getting so emotional about spending time with Yvonne?

  At that point the front door opened, and James, Sam and Roger entered the house. Lolly hadn’t even heard Roger leave.

  James trooped into the kitchen, helped himself to a piece of shortbread, and thumped upstairs.

  Lolly was speechless. She had expected praise, gratitude and adoration. Not a word.

  Yvonne laughed and put her arm around Lolly again.

  “Looks like you don’t know as much about boys as you thought you did,” she teased.

  Lolly realized her mouth was hanging open. She quickly closed it, not wanting to look stupid in front of Samantha.

  She needn’t have worried. Sam was engrossed in her phone.

  “What’s up?” Lolly asked her.

  “Haven’t you seen it?”

  Lolly noted the pinch of disdain and mockery that Sam added to the question. It meant, ‘Well, aren’t you stupid that you don’t even know the cool things that are happening?’

  “I’ve been busy,” retorted Lolly.

  “Pretending to be a good daughter?”

  Lolly couldn’t think of a reply.

  Then, as if Sam realized she’d been mean, she added in a more kindly manner. “I’ll show you, look.”

  Lolly watched a video of Al dissolving Nicky Cairo’s stupid banana car.

  Yvonne peered over Lolly’s shoulder.

  “Is that Al?” she asked.

  “Yes,” replied Sam.

  “He’s gone public with his power.” Yvonne sounded very worried. “What is he playing at?”

  Roger stood in the doorway, pressing his fingers against his eyes. He looked terrible. His skin was drawn. His usually straight black hair looked wild from where he kept running his hands through it.

  “How many people have seen that video?” he asked.

  “Most of the school,” said Sam. “James sent it to me.”

  “It just started playing on my phone,” added James, plodding back into the kitchen and helping himself to more shortbread. Still he didn’t comment on it!

  “How?” asked Roger, sharply.

  James shrugged.

  “Can I have your phones?” he asked Sam and James. They both handed him their phones and Roger hurried upstairs.

  James slumped into a chair and had a third piece of shortbread and a cupcake.

  “That nice?” asked Lolly, pointedly.

  “Yeah. I’m so hungry I could eat my socks,” he said, offhand, shovelling in shortbread slice four.

  “Right,” said Lolly, looking at Yvonne, who was laughing.

  Roger returned a few minutes later, looking disgruntled.

  “Both phones had the virus again. I’ve cleaned them.” He handed the phones back to his children. “Tell me, am I invisible in this house?” His voice was raised. He didn’t sound happy. Daddy never speaks to me like that, Lolly reflected.

  “When I talk, does anyone actually hear me?” continued Roger. “What did I tell you two about opening emails from people you don’t know?”

  “I didn’t,” protested James.

  “Me neither,” insisted Sam.

  “You must have done,” insisted Roger, dismissing the twins’ protests.

  “Hang on, hang on,” said James, excitedly. “I know how it’s done. Of course.” He leaped to his feet.

  He looked so cute when he was animated, thought Lolly.

  “Party Jacker itself is the virus and it’s passed on every time somebody sends the app to another phone, or if you click on a link to one of Al’s videos. Must be.”

  “How do you work that out?” asked Sam.

  “When we first went to the London Bridge party, the map on Steve’s phone just sprang into life to show him where he had to go. And Steve was the first person to have the videos automatically play on his phone. It’s Party Jacker doing that. It takes over the phone.”

  “I’m confused,” said Sam.

  “That’s ’cos you know nothing about technology,” replied James. “Look. Steve had Party Jacker, and that’s the virus. He sent me a link to one of Al’s videos, didn’t he? I bet when I clicked that link, I got the virus, because the next time Al released a video, my phone started playing it automatically. And Sam, when Foster sent you those texts—”.

  “You mean when Lolly stole my phone and opened the texts, like some dumb airhead would?” asked Sam, looking pointedly at Lolly.

  Lolly just laughed. Sam was definitely improving.

  “Errrr, anyway,” continued James. “So those texts from Foster carried the virus. That meant he could control your phone, Sam. When you went to the park to rescue Nina, he switched on your GPS so he could track you and stop you making calls to me.”

  “So in other words, the virus enables somebody else to control your phone,” concluded Lolly.

  “You’re right for once,” said Sam. “That makes sense. So Al is using the videos as a way of spreading the virus between phones. He knows people will send the link to their friends because the videos are so awesome.”

  “If that’s true, the kid is a genius,” said Roger. “Viral marketing. Quite literally! Unethical, but clever. Do we know why he’s doing it?”

  “I’ll ask him,” said Sam. “But I’m sure that he doesn’t realize that Foster is also using the app to bully people.”

  “And why did Al have to pull this stunt with Nicky Cairo?” asked Roger, wearily. “This is bad. We’ll just have to hope that Al stops now. Hopefully Nicky will never find out it’s Al, and everyone else will write off the car thing as a hoax.”

  “What if Al doesn’t stop?” asked Yvonne. “He’s talking about a big event.”


  “Then we’re in trouble,” admitted Roger.

  “But it’s like I said before,” chipped in Lolly. “Why should Al, Sam, James or me have to hide our powers? It’s not a crime.”

  She looked at each of them in turn, hopefully. Why couldn’t they see that this was just one step towards the freedom to be themselves?

  “What does your boyfriend have to say about it?” Lolly asked Sam.

  “Mind your own business,” said Sam.

  “It’s all our business, isn’t it?” pointed out Lolly. “I’m only asking if you’ve spoken to him.”

  “I tried calling. No answer.”

  Lolly’s phone started ringing. She picked it up off the kitchen table. She hadn’t stored the number in her phone, but she recognized it. Nicky Cairo.

  A bubble burst. A little fairytale that she had immersed herself in over the course of the day suddenly went pop.

  “I have to take this,” she said, wiping her hand across her face and smearing pastry across her cheek. She hurried up the stairs, into her bedroom, and closed the door.

  ***

  “Hello,” said Lolly, trying to regain her customary cool.

  “Miss Rosewood? Is that Lolly Rosewood?”

  “Do you have my information?” asked Lolly, cutting to the chase.

  “I’ve got it,” he replied, evenly. Lolly’s heart skipped. She was so close to getting Daddy back.

  “Do you have what I need?” asked Nicky.

  “Yes. Are…” she stumbled on the words. “You’re sure you have the right information?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Where’s my father?”

  “Not so fast, little girl,” drawled Nicky. “We’ll do this properly. We meet and we exchange. You bring me the Super D and the rest of the coke. I give you the information about your father.”

  Lolly had to bite back her frustration. Her emotional state had changed since the last time she negotiated with Nicky. She needed to regain her detachment.

  “Where? When?”

  She could almost feel the confidence oozing back into Nicky Cairo’s voice. He sensed her weakness. She cursed herself.

  “Tomorrow. Midday. There’s an old police car impound in Dartford. I’ll send you the location.”