“I came as soon as I could. The bus went so slowly.” It’s Trumpet Steven and he’s whispering in my ear.
He spots Mohammed lying in a heap on the ground and in a louder voice he says, “Oh God, he’s dead.”
I slap a hand over his mouth and pull him down. “No, he’s not,” I hiss.
When I let him go he whispers back, “What are we going to do now?”
I’ve never heard him sound so uncertain. His voice has lost that cool, grown-up tone and he looks a real mess, twigs in his hair, mud smeared all down his jacket.
Then he catches sight of Lindy crouching under a bush. “What are you doing here?” he hisses at her.
Lindy snorts and says, “She’d never manage by herself, would she?” She nods toward me and, of course, she’s right. “Anyhow, I’m sick of Terrence, he bullies me all the time.”
Well, that makes sense. Terrence bullies everyone, it’s hardly surprising he started at home.
Then I hear Bad Cop roar out in his gunshot voice, “Nothing here, better search the area.”
They’re coming!
Has it all been for nothing, the lies and the hiding?
Maybe Mum and Dad are right and this is what it means to run wild, even though I’m not pregnant or on drugs.
But if I can’t keep Mohammed safe now, then Samir will never forgive me. Those pleading eyes will turn to defeat and he’ll never trust anyone again. Samir will stay an ice man for the rest of his life.
“Alix, quick, what shall we do?” hisses Steven, his face tense with fear.
I’m beginning to realize that brains plus trumpet playing don’t necessarily equal common sense.
I glance at my watch and make an instant decision.
“Get Mohammed up to the road. The bus is due in two minutes. Just get him on the bus and out of here. Ring your friends from that refugee group and tell them to hide him away until the search dies down.”
Steven is staring at me, his face pale. He’s probably wondering what his mum will say. I give him a push and hiss, “Go on! I’ll stall the police while you get away.”
I stand up and start pushing through the bushes. Lindy’s so close behind me I can feel her breath on my neck. Mohammed grunts as Steven heaves him to his feet and I turn to look but they’ve already gone, taking the sleeping bag with them.
We’re out in the open now and I’m covered in prickles and leaves, my sneakers black with mud.
Good Cop spots us first. “Hey, you kids, what are you doing here?” he calls out.
This is it, I think. I have to stall them, think up excuses, give Steven time to get to the bus and away. But my throat has closed up and my brain scrambles terrifying images of Mohammed. He could be on a plane back to Iraq before dark and beheaded tomorrow morning!
I can’t bear to think of Samir’s horrified face, while Naazim rattles on like a road drill about what we’ve been doing. If they go to prison, will I be allowed to visit them?
Then Bad Cop says, “Aren’t you Terrence Bellows’s sister?” and points his truncheon, which is fully open, straight toward Lindy.
I couldn’t be caught with anyone worse. What if she tells them everything now? Then of course she’ll go laughing to her stinking brother about how dumb I look in handcuffs. This is probably what she’s been planning all along. Why did I ever think I could trust her? Oh God.
Bad Cop is still speaking, “Right, you,” and he’s pointing at me now. “You live down here. Someone’s been camping out in this hut. What have you seen? I want the truth, now,” and he’s waving the truncheon at both of us.
Tell them the truth? What is the truth? That we’ve saved someone from drowning and now they need to ask the queen for asylum? I can’t see them being very happy about that.
“We got a phone call from your brother, the one who’s not in jail yet,” sneers Good Cop rounding on Lindy. “Something about an illegal hiding out here. And now you two show up. Where is he? In the bushes?” and he starts to push past us.
Lindy opens her mouth to speak and I wait for all hell to break loose. “You’re nuts,” she says in a bored voice. “My brother’s a psycho.”
The cops stop and stare at her.
She’s just trying to save her skin and Terrence’s, I’m raging to myself.
“What do you mean, young lady?” says Good Cop.
“Don’t you play games with us, we haven’t got time,” cuts in Bad Cop in his best rottweiler voice. I can almost feel his jaws closing around my throat.
“It was probably a hoax call, you dumbos,” she says.
She’s almost laughing in their faces. My head spins around again. Aren’t they going to arrest her for being cheeky?
But Lindy hasn’t finished. “He’s always doing it.” She’s really enjoying herself as the cops glare at her.
“We don’t know nothing about illegal people do we, Ali?” And she looks at me, her head tipped, eyebrows raised.
We? Is she kidding? Me and Lindy Bellows, mates? I rub my aching head and for a second I think I’m in a coma and I’m dreaming all this.
Then Lindy raises her eyebrows slowly and her eyes are boring into mine as if to say, Just play along, can’t you?
I stare back and then I slowly shake my head.
The cops exchange exasperated looks and Good Cop snaps, “So what are you doing here?”
“Hanging out,” says Lindy as if that’s nothing unusual. “We always hang out and go for walks on the beach, don’t we, Ali?”
All I can do is nod.
Bad Cop opens his mouth, a nasty look on his face, and then a voice crackles over his walkie-talkie. He moves away from us and booms out, “Yes, what? Yes, yes, okay, we’ll take it now.” Then he turns to Good Cop and snarls, “You won’t believe this. Terrence Bellows has stabbed a boy in town. He’s been spotted heading down the Island. We have to get after him.”
Good Cop nods and says to us, “We’ll be around to speak to you girls later with your parents,” and they make off through the bushes back to the road.
I’m left alone with my new best friend, Lindy Bellows.