The children hopped out of the taxi, which was parked against the kerb at number thirteen. True to his word, Song had been waiting outside their school to whisk them straight home. Kensy had managed to grab a minute with her brother on their way to the front gate and had told him about Amelie’s peculiar behaviour and what the girl had said about their parents. Max thought it odd too, especially as he confirmed that neither of them had told anyone what was going on.
‘Are you going to Mrs Brightside’s?’ Max asked as he followed Kensy upstairs.
‘I suppose. Do you want to come with me?’ she asked.
Max nodded. ‘Sure. I’ll just get changed.’
The boy walked into his immaculate room and quickly got out of his uniform, hanging it up in the wardrobe. He selected a pair of dark jeans and a red checked shirt with a light blue sweater over the top and boat shoes.
Kensy hurried to get changed as well, although her school tunic only made it as far as being flung over her chair. She chose a light blue pair of jeans and a purple striped sweater, then tied another pink top around her waist and donned a pair of red sneakers. The rest of her clothes had miraculously returned to the wardrobe. She’d have to remember to thank Song later.
‘What do you think it is?’ Max asked from the doorway, startling Kensy, who was holding the envelope. She dropped it onto the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, she realised that it had a small tear in the corner. ‘Oh great, if we give it back to her now, she’ll think we’ve been snooping. So we might as well.’
Before Max could protest, Kensy ripped open the envelope and emptied its contents onto her desk. There was a round disc and another small black rectangular object with unmarked buttons on it.
‘Well, that’s not worth the ire of Mrs Brightside, is it?’ Max said. ‘I’ll get another envelope.’ He opened the top drawer of Kensy’s desk and located one the right size. He wrote ‘E. B.’ to match the original.
‘What do you think they’re for?’ the girl mused.
‘Looks like a fob to get into a building.’
‘She probably has a gymnastics studio somewhere.’ The girl grinned, imagining Mrs Brightside leaping about in her leopard-print leotard. She dropped the items into the new envelope and sealed it. ‘Come on, let’s head over. I’d hate for her to miss her classes.’
‘We’d better let Song know or he’ll have a heart attack when he can’t find us,’ Max said. ‘I’ll tell him.’
The boy ran ahead of his sister, making his way downstairs to the entrance hall then down again to the basement kitchen, where the butler was chop ping carrots and zucchini at a hand-blurring speed while singing along to an upbeat country melody.
Max marvelled at the man’s skills. ‘Whoa, how do you do that?’
Song looked up and waved the knife in the air. ‘A great deal of practice,’ he said, raising his left eyebrow. ‘Would you like afternoon tea, Master Maxim? I have made a hummingbird cake and it is delicious, even if I do say so myself.’
‘Sounds great, but I’ll have some when we come back. Kensy and I are going over to see Mrs Brightside for a minute,’ the boy said. ‘Kensy saw her drop an envelope and we need to give it back to her.’
‘Oh, I will come with you then,’ Song said. He slid the vegetables from the chopping board into a saucepan full of water on the unlit stovetop.
‘You really don’t need to,’ Max protested. ‘How much trouble can we get into walking from one side of the street to the other? Okay, don’t answer that. But, seriously, we’ll be fine.’
Song pondered for a moment and rubbed his chin. ‘I do need to get the leg of lamb into the oven or we will be eating at midnight … How about I just watch you cross the road?’
He removed his apron and hung it on a hook near the door, then followed Max upstairs, where Kensy was waiting.
‘You don’t need to come,’ she said, eyeing Song. ‘You said that Mrs Brightside was lovely, so now we’re going to see whether you were telling the truth.’
Song opened the front door and walked into the middle of the street like a traffic warden, ready to stop any cars that came along. Kensy and her brother grinned and rolled their eyes at one another.
‘You know you’re being ridiculous,’ Max said, glancing left and right. There wasn’t a moving vehicle in sight.
‘One cannot be too careful,’ the butler replied. His eyes darted all over the place as he made sure nothing was out of the ordinary.
‘The only person acting suspiciously around here, Song, is you,’ Kensy said. She walked up the gutter to the footpath opposite while the butler headed back to the townhouse. ‘We’re just going to push the envelope through the slot.’
‘We should at least see if she’s home,’ Max said. ‘Otherwise she won’t know you were the good Samaritan who found it.’
Kensy groaned, but gave in and knocked tentatively on the door.
‘Well, no one’s going to hear that,’ Max said. He grasped the doorknocker in the shape of a lion’s head and gave it a firm belt.
The children waited for a full minute. Kensy was about to drop the envelope through the letterbox in the door when a voice echoed from inside. The girl’s stomach dropped.
‘Hold your horses, I’m comin’!’ Esme Brightside howled, shortly before opening the front door.
‘Hello Mrs B,’ Song called from the doorway of number thirteen. ‘The children found something that belongs to you. Could you please see to it they return home safely as I must attend to my lamb?’
The old woman flashed him a smile. ‘Are you doin’ a roast for dinner?’
Song nodded.
The old woman licked her lips. ‘Oh, that sounds delicious. I can’t remember the last time I ’ad a roast. When it’s just me, it’s ’ardly worth the effort.’ She looked downcast and sighed.
‘I am sure that we will have more than enough for one extra. I will bring you a plate,’ Song promised.
‘Oh, Song darlin’, you are too kind. Thank you, my lovely.’ Mrs Brightside gave the man a wave before he hurried inside, then turned to Kensy and Max. She scrunched up her nose and narrowed her eyes. ‘Now, what ’ave you possibly got that belongs to me?’
Kensy and Max gulped in unison. Mrs Brightside didn’t seem quite as lovely right now.
The telephone rang inside. The woman danced around for a few seconds, as if deciding whether or not to answer it. ‘Come in then,’ she ordered, indicating for the children to follow her. ‘And shut the door behind you.’
Esme appeared to forget she used a cane when she scurried into the sitting room and picked up the telephone that was sitting on the arm of a tatty lounge chair.
‘No,’ she barked. ‘Garnet, you never listen. I’ve already told you. LAX on Saturday. Call me back in ’alf an ’our when I might feel more inclined to speak to you.’ She hung up the phone and exhaled loudly before turning back to the children. ‘Sorry about that. Just my idiot ’usband. So, where is it, this thing of mine?’
Kensy wondered if the woman’s husband was always the subject of such abuse. She took a deep breath and began to explain. ‘We were at the Graff Exhibition this morning with our class when the fire alarm went off. I think you must have dropped this,’ Kensy said, pulling the envelope from her jeans pocket.
Esme Brightside’s eyes lit up and she rushed towards Kensy, grabbing it from her hands and clutching it to her chest. She held it out again and stared at it, as if it were the most precious jewel in the world. ‘I … I didn’t realise. I thought it was in me bag. That’ll teach me for using it as a filin’ cabinet. Oh, you clever girl. I’d have been in a bit of bother if you ’adn’t found that.’ She hugged Kensy tightly.
Max cowered, hoping he wasn’t about to meet a similar fate.
‘Angel child.’ Esme beamed as little flecks of white spittle gathered in the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth.
Max looked around the sitting room. It was not nearly as glamorous as Dame Spencer’s townhouse across the road. The decor was comprised of old net curtains and a garish floral carpet. The mismatched and somewhat thread-bare velvet lounge chairs had seen better days too. Unlike Dame Spencer’s open-plan layout, this house was divided into much smaller rooms and there was a horrible smell – mildew coupled with sardines, perhaps.
The boy noticed a stack of travel brochures on the coffee table with pictures of beautiful crystal-clear waters and sandy beaches. The one on top advertised the splendours of the Dominican Republic.
‘Come through to the kitchen – I’ve got somefin’ for you,’ the woman said. Mrs Brightside picked up her cane that was leaning against the wall and shuffled into the grimy hallway.
The children followed her past a staircase to the back of the house, the carpet crunching underfoot with dirt and grit. Clearly, Mrs Brightside wasn’t fond of vacuuming – unlike Song, who did it every day.
Tucked into the rear of the ground floor was a pocket-sized space with an old electric range, a dull steel sink and a few cupboards with chipped worktops and bright yellow doors. There was a laminex table in the centre of the room with two chairs upholstered in orange vinyl. A naked globe worked hard to illuminate the space.
Mrs Brightside reached up and pulled a rusted biscuit tin from one of the cupboards. Max wondered if it was full of money. He’d heard stories about old people who didn’t trust banks and kept their fortunes in tins or under their mattresses.
The woman prised open the lid, disturbing a plume of dust. She retrieved two small packets of biscuits, like the ones you’d get at a motel with the tea and coffee. Max didn’t mind the shortbread variety but, given the dust, they had to have been there for a while.
‘One for you and one for you,’ she said, handing a packet to each twin. ‘I don’t know what you really ’ad to do with any of this, but you’re a nice-lookin’ young lad.’
‘Oh, I don’t expect anything, Mrs Brightside,’ the boy replied.
‘What, my biscuits not good enough for you?’ She looked at him accusingly. ‘And ’ere I was thinkin’ you ’ad such good manners for a boy.’
‘No, they’re my favourite, thank you,’ Max backtracked, lest the old lady find her handbag within reach and belt him over the head with it.
The woman shooed them with her hand. ‘Well, off you go then. I’ve got packin’ to do.’
‘Are you going on holidays?’ Kensy asked.
‘Somefin’ like that,’ the woman said.
Kensy turned around to leave just as the front door opened and Derek’s voice echoed down the hall.
‘Es, I’m back,’ he called.
Esme sprinted past the twins to intercept him. ‘Mind your language! I’ve got visitors,’ she shouted.
‘Hiya kids,’ Derek said, giving them a wave from the hallway. ‘We’re old friends. I drove ’em to school this mornin’.’
‘You wait in the kitchen until I say goodbye to the children,’ Esme said, nodding her head in that direction.
‘Bye, Derek,’ Max said. ‘And thanks again for the lift.’ But Derek didn’t move. He stood in the hallway watching the children.
‘Why would ’e ’ave to drive you to Central London Free? Is there somefin’ wrong wiv your legs?’ Esme asked.
Kensy was dying to ask her the same thing, as whatever ailed her seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t help herself. ‘Mrs Brightside, are you a gymnast, by any chance?’
Esme turned and looked at the girl as if she’d just been slapped with a wet fish. ‘I’m seventy-nine years old, lovey. I ’ave a bent back and a bad ’ip. Do I look like a gymnast?’
Kensy shook her head. ‘It’s just that the other night I thought I saw someone in your upstairs room leaping about and doing handstands and cartwheels and the splits.’
‘You must have been lookin’ at the house next door because, I can assure you, it weren’t me,’ the old woman tutted.
‘But you were a champion when you was a girl,’ Derek piped up. ‘Me mam told me you was in the Olympics.’
‘Didn’t I tell you to wait in the kitchen?’ Esme said, glaring at the lad. She turned back to the twins. ‘If only I ’ad such agility nowadays, but look at me. Old age is a terrible fing. Anyway, you’d better be off or Song’ll be worryin’.’
The children were practically pushed out onto the street. Esme reminded them to get Song to deliver the roast, then promptly shut the door. Glad to get away, Kensy and Max made their way across the street and came face to face with Claudia pushing her pram.
‘Hi there,’ the woman said, looking pleased to see them. ‘Are your knees better, Kensington?’
The girl nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’
Claudia pointed at number fourteen. ‘Did I see you come out of Mrs Brightside’s place?’
Kensy explained they were returning something the woman had lost.
‘Is your baby awake today?’ Max asked. He really did have a huge soft spot for little ones and would have loved to see her.
Claudia shook her head. ‘She’s just gone to sleep, so please don’t wake her or I’ll be up all night.’ The woman looked as if she was about to set off again when she hesitated. ‘What’s it like in there?’ she said, gesturing to Mrs Brightside’s place. ‘I’m thinking about doing some renovations myself and I wondered what she’s been up to. That young lad with the fancy car has been bringing so much rubble out I thought she must be tearing the place apart.’
‘Oh no, it’s really old and dingy,’ Max said, wrinkling his nose. ‘I don’t think she’s doing renovations unless it’s in the cellar. If you want to see a lovely makeover, you should come and have a look at Dame Spencer’s house. It’s beautiful.’
It was getting to that time of the evening when commuters were walking home and several well-dressed men and women trotted along the footpath.
‘We’d better go,’ Kensy said, before saying goodbye, but Claudia didn’t reply. She looked to be deep in thought.
Kensy and Max walked up to number thirteen and rang the buzzer. Song released the door latch from the kitchen, then charged upstairs to meet the children in the hall.
‘How was Mrs Brightside?’ he asked, glad to see they were back safe and sound.
‘She gave us this as a reward,’ Kensy replied, and thrust the packet of two biscuits towards the butler.
He considered the cloudy packaging with a look of distaste. ‘I think perhaps they will go into the bin, seeing that the expiry date is four years ago. I suppose she meant well.’
‘She’s weird,’ Max said, closing the front door behind him. ‘I feel sorry for her husband.’
‘Oh, Mrs Brightside does not have a husband. He left her some time ago,’ Song said.
‘Well, that’s strange because she was talking to him on the telephone when we were there,’ Kensy said. ‘And she wasn’t very nice to him at all.’
‘I think she might be a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde character,’ Max said. ‘And don’t ask us to take over her dinner – you can do that all on your own.’
Song smiled. ‘She will be grateful, but I hope she doesn’t give me any biscuits as a reward. Please come downstairs, children. I have some news.’
Kensy grabbed her brother’s hand. ‘Is it Mum and Dad?’ she said, her heart in her throat.
‘Come,’ the man said, and led the way down to the kitchen, where the aroma of roasting lamb filled the air. Wellie and Mac hopped out of their beds and leapt onto Kensy and Max’s laps as soon as they sat at the kitchen table, where Song had already placed two small slices of hummingbird cake and two hot chocolates.
‘Song, stop stalling. What is it?’ Kensy demanded.
‘Kens, calm down. He’s going to tell us,’ Max remonstrated. He looked at the butler. ‘What is it, Song?’
Song sat down at the end of the table with a heavy air. ‘I have news from Mr Fitz, but I am afraid it is not what you have been hoping for.’