Mr Bigsby didn’t speak as he motioned Holly and Archie into the back of the car. When the radio came on automatically, he switched it off, filling the car with an uncomfortable absence of sound.
They arrived at Sidney Clavel Estate and Mr Bigsby stopped the car and switched off the engine. Holly had only been there once before. She was struck by how much gloomier, dirtier and rougher it was than the street where she lived.
‘You’d better know I intend to have a serious word with your father,’ said Mr Bigsby.
‘You might have to wait a while,’ said Archie defiantly. ‘Dad’s in prison.’
For a moment Mr Bigsby looked thrown by this, then he said, ‘Your mother, then.’
‘Mum’s …’ Archie’s voice faded away as though unsure how to finish the sentence.
They all stepped out of the car and Mr Bigsby marched them over a patch of grass, which was littered with bits of rubbish, discarded clothes and plastic bags. The area was lit by dim yellow lights. In the middle were a couple of upside-down supermarket trolleys and a mangled bicycle.
‘I’m sorry, Hol,’ whispered Archie.
‘No talking,’ barked Mr Bigsby.
Archie led them to the block where he lived, past a lift with an ‘Out of Order’ sign on it and up the grimy concrete stairs, which had threatening graffiti scrawled across the walls.
On the third floor they followed Archie along an outside walkway. On the floor above someone was playing music extremely loudly, and below a couple could be heard arguing. Archie stopped in front of a green door.
‘This is where I live. Thanks for the lift. I’ll see you later,’ he said, as casually as if he was being dropped off after a trip to the cinema.
‘We’ll see you in,’ said Mr Bigsby, waiting for him to open the door. ‘You have a key, do you?’
Archie pulled out a key from his pocket but still didn’t try to open the door. ‘I’ll be fine from here,’ he said.
‘Open the door,’ ordered Mr Bigsby firmly.
Archie looked pleadingly at Holly. She could tell that he didn’t want to open it.
‘Come on, Dad, we don’t want to disturb anyone,’ she said.
‘Open the door,’ Mr Bigsby repeated sternly.
Seeing no way to avoid it, Archie unlocked the door. ‘Bye, then,’ he said.
Mr Bigsby pushed the door open and switched the light on. The hallway was a mess. Pictures lay smashed on the ground, a telephone table was on its side and the telephone ripped from the wall.
‘What on earth?’ Mr Bigsby stepped inside.
Holly looked at Archie but he refused to meet her gaze.
They followed Mr Bigsby along the hallway into the front room, which was in as bad a state as the hallway. The sofa was on its side, scraps of paper and old magazines lay strewn across the floor and Holly noticed that the frosted glass in the door was cracked.
‘She’s not usually so bad,’ Archie said. ‘Sometimes she’s a great mum, you know, laughing and joking and messing about. Other times she gets all miserable and it’s like nothing you can say or do will cheer her up. But recently she started getting really angry and shouting horrible stuff. I hid because I knew that it wouldn’t be long before she’d get over it and start crying again but she carried on screaming and it was late and I suppose one of the neighbours called the police and they couldn’t calm her down, so they took her away. Sectioned is what they call it. It’s when they have to lock you up because you’ve gone wrong in the head. They would have taken me too but I ran …’
Tears fell down his face and Holly became aware of her own eyes welling up. She swallowed hard to avoid crying and turned to her dad, who had gone quiet.
‘Come on,’ he said gently.
‘Where are we going?’ said Holly.
‘We’re going home,’ he replied. ‘All of us.’
They returned in silence.
As Mr Bigsby turned the car into Elliot Drive, Holly noticed that another car had taken the space in front of their house. Grumbling to himself, her dad parked a few doors down.
‘You’ll stay with us tonight, Archie,’ he said, switching off the engine. ‘It’s late. I’ll decide what to do with you tomorrow.’
‘Thanks,’ said Archie, getting out and accidentally slamming the door behind him.
‘Be quiet,’ Mr Bigsby said, scowling. ‘And utter silence on the way in. Believe me, you do not want Bridget to wake up.’
‘I think it might be too late,’ said Holly. ‘We didn’t leave the hall light on, did we?’
As she said it, the living-room light came on too. Through the net curtains they saw the silhouette of a man.
‘It’s a burglar,’ gasped Holly.
‘No it’s not,’ replied her dad, stopping in front of the car that was parked in his space. Holly recognised it too. It was Brant Buchanan’s customised Bentley.
Holly’s dad marched them all to the front door. As he opened it, Brant Buchanan’s driver, Weaver, stepped into the hallway. His appearance was no less smart than usual considering the lateness of the hour. His black hair looked as if it had been painted on and his grey suit, shirt and tie matched his slip-on shoes exactly.
Big Hair’s voice came from the kitchen. ‘How do you take your coffee, Mr Weaver?’
Weaver nodded a cursory greeting at Mr Bigsby then looked at Holly and Archie unsmilingly. ‘Black, no sugar,’ he responded. ‘And it’s just Weaver.’
Big Hair appeared holding two mugs of coffee. She was wearing a white dressing gown. Her hair looked messy from sleep. ‘I can’t think where Malcolm could have got to …’ Seeing her husband she stopped. Her gaze fell on Holly. ‘I should have known you would have something to do with it,’ she said.
‘It wasn’t Holly’s fault,’ said her dad. ‘Now, Holly, take Archie upstairs. He can sleep in the spare room tonight.’
‘Sleep in the spare room?’ said Big Hair.
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ replied her husband. ‘Sorry, Weaver, what can I do for you?’
‘You’re required in America immediately,’ said the grey man.
‘You’re going to America?’ said Holly.
‘Actually, Mr Buchanan has organised to fly all of you to Los Angeles as a reward for Mr Bigsby’s loyal service,’ said Weaver.
‘What about Archie?’ asked Holly.
‘He should go home to his mother,’ said Big Hair.
‘He can’t,’ said Mr Bigsby. ‘His mother’s been taken ill. We’ll have to contact the local authorities.’
‘That will take too much time,’ said Weaver. ‘Mr Buchanan is insistent that you come back with me immediately and that your family join you.’
‘It’s most kind of him,’ said Big Hair.
‘As you already know, Global Sands is a very generous employer,’ said Weaver. ‘If there is nowhere else for the boy to go, you can bring him with you.’
‘But what about passports? What about parental permission? We’re not the child’s legal guardians,’ squawked Big Hair.
‘Passports are no problem,’ said Weaver dismissively. ‘And I shall see to it personally that there are no problems with taking the boy. Global Sands has a great deal of influence.’ He looked Big Hair directly in the eyes. ‘Alternatively you can stay to sort out the boy’s welfare while your husband and daughter go ahead without you.’
‘Of course Archie should come with us,’ said Big Hair quick as a flash. ‘He’s almost one of the family now.’
Holly felt something rub against her leg. She picked up Willow. ‘What about her?’ she asked.
‘I’ll arrange for your neighbours to look after her while you’re away,’ replied Weaver.
‘Right, that’s it settled, then,’ said Mr Bigsby, clapping his hands together. ‘We’re going to America.’
With those words Holly and Archie felt all the awful reality of the evening disappear, lost beneath a wave of excitement.
‘And you have ten minutes to pack your bags,’ said Weaver.