I try not to show any reaction, but now that the thought has smashed its way into my head, I can’t get it out again. Suddenly I can’t sit still. Mum notices my restless movements and glances sideways at me. I see nervous curiosity in her eyes. Somehow I manage a reassuring smile although my heart is hammering fit to burst.
If I believe that Ace and the others are targeting the Prime Minister, then I have to accept that they are terrorists.
Vague memories of things I’ve seen on TV over the years come back to me. People camping outside St Paul’s Cathedral in London and refusing to move, protests outside high street stores because the owners don’t pay their proper taxes, students demonstrating against huge university fees. Rioting in the streets, not just in the UK but all over the world. Cyber-attacks on banks and other institutions that people consider to be corrupt. Websites leaking secret Government information, given to them by whistle-blowers.
9/11.
7/7.
But as far as I can remember, no assassination attempts on public figures – in the UK, at least.
Is that about to change?
Are Ace and the others building some kind of killing machine in our attic?
I swallow several times, trying to control my suddenly shallow breathing.
‘We’ll take it in turns to work, keep guard and maybe grab a bit of sleep,’ Ace is telling the others. ‘Right, we simply can’t afford to waste any more time. Jack and Queenie, you take the first shift in here. King and I will start work in the attic.’
‘Oh, but I don’t want to be stuck in here with nothing to do,’ Queenie whines in her grating voice as Ace and King stuff some of the food into their pockets. She’s easily the most irritating person I’ve ever met, first prize, no question.
‘Tough,’ says quiet Jack, surprising me.
‘Remember what we discussed earlier,’ Ace warns them. Jack slants a quick glance at me and I guess that they’ve been told to watch out for me. It’s a compliment, in a way. But it only makes me all the more determined.
Annoyed, Queenie clicks her tongue under her breath, but for once she doesn’t make a scene.
‘Can we move from here and sit on Mum’s bed?’ I ask. I have the beginnings of a plan in my head of pretending to be asleep and then, while they’re off their guard, managing to escape somehow. I haven’t thought it through properly yet, though.
Ace gives me a single, abrupt nod, but Mum clutches my arm and shakes her head. ‘We can’t go to sleep, Anni,’ she says in a shaky voice. ‘I couldn’t.’
‘No, we won’t.’ I rush to reassure her. ‘But you know you’ll be more comfortable with your legs up.’ For the first time it occurs to me that I need to be alone with Mum, however briefly, so that we can discuss, in secret, what our next move will be.
I help Mum up from the sofa and before we’re even halfway across the room, Queenie has settled herself in my vacant seat, reached for the remote control and turned on the TV. I grit my teeth, furious at her for making herself so at home, wishing I could yell at her and make my feelings plain. But it won’t do any good. I counsel myself to remain calm. I have to keep a lid on my feelings otherwise I can’t think logically and clearly. But I feel like a human hand grenade that’s trembling on the edge of explosion.
Mum sits down on the edge of the bed and I take her shoes off and lift her legs up onto the mattress. I settle pillows behind her so she can sit upright, and cover her with a blanket because she always gets cold. I do all this automatically because it’s what I always do, but I’m uneasily aware of all four of them observing me in silence instead of looking at the BBC News on the TV. No one says anything.
As Ace and King head over to the door and Jack joins Queenie on the sofa, the national news finishes and the local news begins.
‘The Prime Minister is visiting the town of Coldwater tomorrow to open the new wing of the Fortescue Trust Hospital,’ the newsreader begins.
The atmosphere in the room is suddenly alive as if currents of electricity are pulsing and crackling through it. Ace and King stop abruptly in their tracks, Jack and Queenie sit up straighter. Now no one is looking at me – their eyes have all been drawn to the TV like metals to a magnet. Even Ace, the cool and controlled one, can’t help herself. They listen silently, and it’s then I know, with chilling certainty, that I’m right, and whatever these terrorists are planning, the Prime Minister is the one in their sights.
At ten o’clock tomorrow morning.
I dare not glance at Mum, and all I can hope is she hasn’t realized this yet. It might tip her over the edge of fear.
The newsreader moves on to a story about a fire at a local school, and Ace tosses Mum’s keys to Jack. ‘You’ll need these,’ she says. ‘We’ll swap over in two hours,’ and then she and King slip out of the room. I hear their footsteps going up to the attic. To do what? The sheer frustration of not knowing makes my head pound with fury.
And then I remember that my blue suitcase, the one that contains all my secrets, is up in that attic. What if they look inside? Oh, come on, Anni, get real, I scold myself silently. That’s the least of your problems right now. They won’t look. And anyway, they wouldn’t be interested even if they did.
‘This house is freezing,’ Queenie complains, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘I’d kill for a cup of coffee.’
I see an opportunity for – I’m not quite sure what, yet.
‘We don’t have any coffee,’ I say, ‘but I could make some tea.’
Jack’s obviously surprised, while Queenie looks highly suspicious, as I knew she would.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Jack says, standing up.
‘I’d better come too,’ Queenie butts in and jumps to her feet.
‘Ace said not to leave either of them alone,’ Jack reminds her in a steely tone. ‘I’ll be fine.’
Queenie ‘lowers’ her voice, but as usual I can still hear what she’s saying. ‘The mother isn’t going anywhere,’ she mutters. ‘She can’t walk without those sticks and she never leaves the house anyway.’
I can’t catch Jack’s reply, but I realize that Queenie is already becoming less careful about guarding Mum. That fits in very well with my plans for us to escape.
However, Jack insists that Queenie stays behind and eventually, grumpily, she does. Jack and I leave together and go across the hall and down the corridor on the other side of the main stairs. I decide to use this time alone with Jack to try to get him off guard and find out a little more. I think I will be able to hold my nerve with him because he’s the least scary of all of them.
Jack unlocks the kitchen door and we step inside. I’m used to the state of it, but I’ve forgotten how bad the kitchen must look to someone who’s never seen it before. I hear Jack’s sharp intake of breath and I see the room through new eyes. Old-fashioned cupboards, cracked tiles, grubby and greasy work surfaces that never seem to look clean however hard I scrub them, broken stone tiles on the floor.
Jack fills up the battered kettle. I can feel his eyes on me as I open the ancient fridge that wheezes heavily like someone with a bad cold. Even though I went shopping earlier, the fridge is hardly full. Everything is reduced to half-price or the cheapest brand possible. I feel embarrassed, although I know it’s stupid. All right, I’m poor, but at least I’m not a terrorist.
‘Is this what you do every day?’ asks Jack after a few moments, startling me. This is a question I wasn’t expecting.
‘How do you mean?’ I put the milk on the worktop.
‘Well, you look after your mum, don’t you? Do you do everything on your own?’
‘There’s no one else,’ I say simply, raising my voice over the loud, bubbling sound of boiling water. ‘I don’t have any relatives. My mum was an only child and my grandparents are all dead. That kettle doesn’t work properly. It won’t turn itself off, you have to do it.’
Jack flips the switch on the kettle. ‘What about your dad?’
‘He was a lot older than my mum, and Mum told me he didn’t have many relatives either. Dad died when I was really small. I don’t remember him that much.’
‘What, not at all?’
‘Just bits and pieces, here and there. He used to take me to the shops every Saturday morning and buy me an ice cream, I remember that.’ My voice trembles a little. If only my dad was here.
‘Don’t you talk about him with your mum?’
‘Mum doesn’t like talking about the past. It upsets her. So we don’t.’
There is silence for a moment.
‘Your parents must have been well-off once to afford this house.’ Jack doesn’t add what I know he’s thinking: So what happened to all the money, and why is your house such a dump now? Of course it isn’t anything to do with him, but I decide to tell him anyway. Maybe he’ll feel sorry for us.
‘My dad was an antiques dealer. But then he got ill and couldn’t work and he lost his business.’
‘Why didn’t he just sell the house?’ Jack’s questions are irritating me, but I try not to show it.
‘Mum said he loved this house and didn’t want to lose it,’ I explain. ‘He cleared out the attics so he could get some lodgers in to make money. But then he died.’
‘So that’s why there’s not much up there except a few old suitcases and boxes,’ Jack comments, taking mugs from the drainer.
I am uneasy. I’m nervous about my blue suitcase, sitting there in the big attic, holding my secrets like some unexploded bomb.
‘So when did your mum become agoraphobic?’
I stare at him in confusion. ‘What?’
‘Agoraphobic,’ Jack repeats. ‘Agoraphobia is a fear of outside spaces. People stay inside their homes and don’t go out. I don’t know that much about it, though.’
I didn’t realize Mum’s condition had a name. ‘She took me to school on my very first day. That was just over seven years ago. She collected me for a while after that. Then she just stopped.’
‘That must have been hard on you,’ Jack says softly.
An emotional hurricane of memories rushes upon me. Recollections of Nativity plays and school concerts and parents’ evenings, all missed. I fight the emotion down, work hard to keep my face neutral. I have to remember that this man is my enemy. I don’t need his sympathy.
‘She couldn’t help it,’ I reply abruptly. ‘Anyway, the school was only two minutes’ walk from here with no roads to cross, so it was easy for me to get myself there and back, even when I was quite little.’
I push aside vivid pictures of children running out of school towards the gates shouting, Mummy! Mummy! and waving their paintings proudly in the air. Meanwhile I was all alone with no one to meet me, trying and failing to fasten the stiff buttons on my coat.
‘Didn’t your teachers notice?’ Jack asks, opening the bag of sugar.
‘No.’ I don’t tell him that I learned very early on to keep myself a little distant, to merge into the background in order to protect Mum from the prying eyes of others.
‘What about when you went to secondary school? What are you, Year Eight?’
Why couldn’t he stop asking questions? But this was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To talk?
‘Seven.’ I pop tea bags into four mugs. ‘I started in September.’
‘Well, I thought parents usually went to the school to meet the teachers and have a look around.’
I shrug. ‘Maybe they do in posh schools, but mine isn’t like that. It’s pretty rough. There are loads of kids in my year whose parents don’t go to any meetings.’
‘Still, it sounds like a tough life,’ Jack remarks, and something in his voice makes tears rise thickly in my throat. I’m glad he picks up the tray of mugs and nods at me to go ahead of him. That way I get a few minutes to steady myself without him looking at my face. I think, very uneasily, that Jack has learned a hell of a lot more about me than I’ve learned about him. He’s like a snake in the grass, slithering around a subject, asking questions to throw me off my guard.
‘At last!’ Queenie says theatrically, rolling her eyes as Jack hands her a mug of tea. She’s lounging on the sofa with her feet on the coffee table, watching TV while Mum sits silently on the bed. I feel an urge to smack Queenie’s legs off the table and yell at her. Instead, I carry the tray over to Mum and hand her a cup of tea.
‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ Mum wraps her hands around the comforting warmth of the cup. So do I. I have my back to Jack and Queenie, and I take a risk.
‘I’m going to ask if we can go to the bathroom,’ I whisper under cover of the TV noise. ‘Then we can talk.’
Mum nods, her eyes enormous and fearful in her pale face. But she’s calmer. Now she’s started to accept the situation, it will be easier for me to plan our escape.
‘My mum needs the bathroom,’ I say when we’ve finished our tea.
‘Where is it?’ asks Jack.
‘Left out of here and just a few doors along the corridor,’ I reply.
‘Fine,’ Jack says with a shrug. I help Mum off the bed and prop her up on her sticks and then we begin to make our way slowly across the room.
‘Hold it!’ Queenie jumps into the doorway to block our path. ‘You’re not going together.’
‘My mum needs help,’ I retort, itching to shove her aside, ‘otherwise it’s really difficult for her.’ It’s true that I usually help Mum to wash and go to the toilet if I’m at home, but when I’m not here, she has to manage on her own. I hope that doesn’t occur to any of them.
‘What about when you’re at school?’ asks Jack. The snake in the grass strikes again.
‘I’m able to go to the bathroom on my own, but it takes me ten times as long,’ Mum replies quietly. I’m surprised to hear her speak up for herself. But I’m glad and relieved. Having Mum onside will make all the difference when we attempt to escape.
‘I’m going to check the bathroom and make sure there’s no way they can get out,’ Queenie tells Jack. ‘There might be a window or something.’
‘The window’s tiny, and anyway, I’ve told you already, my mum never leaves the house,’ I snap.
Queenie ignores me, grabs the bunch of keys from Jack and strides off along the corridor to the downstairs bathroom. I help Mum out of the room and we follow her. When we reach the bathroom, Queenie is pulling back the shower curtain and inspecting the bathtub. It annoys me.
‘We won’t be trying to escape down the plughole.’
Queenie doesn’t crack a smile. ‘I’ll be waiting for you outside,’ she mutters, then she stalks past me and slams the door.
I turn to Mum and put my finger to my lips. We don’t speak until we’ve both used the toilet and flushed it.
‘Anni, why do you think they’re here?’ she asks as I turn the taps on. I imagine Queenie outside with her ear glued to the door, and I hope the sound of running water is masking what we’re saying. ‘Do you think this might have something to do with the Prime Minister’s visit?’
Mum is always surprising me. ‘That already crossed my mind,’ I confide, washing my hands, making as much noise as I can. ‘I think it might.’
‘It looks like they’re part of some organized protest group,’ Mum replies, and I nod. ‘The leader, Ace, she knows what she’s doing. They’re well-prepared – except they didn’t realize we were here.’
‘But what’s their “mission”?’ I ask anxiously. ‘Are they just trying to disrupt the Prime Minister’s visit – or is it something else?’
‘I don’t know,’ Mum says, frowning. ‘Something’s going to happen at ten o’clock tomorrow morning, we know that, and it depends on what they’re planning to demonstrate about. It could be a peaceful protest or it could be – violent.’ Her voice breaks a little, and she sounds frightened.
‘Well, it can’t be peaceful, can it?’ I burst out before remembering I need to speak quietly. ‘They’ve already broken the law by coming into our house and holding us prisoner!’
‘But we mustn’t say anything about it, Anni. We mustn’t ask any questions,’ Mum warns me. ‘They might get angry if they realize we’re on to them. Promise me you won’t say anything?’
‘I promise,’ I agree reluctantly.
Mum is trembling and my anxiety levels soar. I have to keep her safe. Her peace of mind is fragile as a butterfly’s wing, even in normal everyday life, and this isn’t normal.
‘That Queenie just gets on my nerves, though!’ I burst out, under cover of the noisy cistern and rattling pipes. ‘I hate her the most!’
‘Anni, I think she’s nervous and frightened about whatever it is they’re doing,’ Mum says quietly, surprising me yet again with her insight. ‘That might be why she comes across as so aggressive.’
‘Well, I’m not going to let her bully me,’ I mutter, drying my hands. ‘We’ll find a way to escape from them, Mum. Trust me.’
Mum stares at me in shock. ‘Anni, I don’t think that’s a good idea—’
‘Mum, we can’t just sit here and do nothing! You just said yourself, we don’t know what they’re planning. We might be in serious, serious danger—’
Mum is pale, but she nods, just once, and I know she’s accepted the truth of what I said.
Outside, Queenie bangs on the door. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’ she bellows.
‘Coming.’ I draw back the bolt and Mum and I shuffle out into the corridor. Queenie goes in and looks around again, checking for – what? Maybe she thinks we wrote a message on the shower curtain and chucked it out of the window.
Thank you, Queenie. You’ve just given me an idea.