CHAPTER
SEVEN

“I was putting the football away!” Noah bleated.

Eric shook his head. “Shit, man, you are such a bad liar.”

“No. Not a liar. Truth teller,” Noah said, eyes wide in panic.

Eric snorted and ambled into the office, glancing around at everything like a detective walking into a murder scene. “You’re behind her desk when you don’t need to be, and you’ve got a piece of paper in your hand. What is that?”

“Paper?” said Noah, looking at the paper he was holding. “Oh, this? This paper? Oh, no, I was just … moving this paper so I could put the football there. It was in the way, is all.” Noah put the paper back on the desk. “There we go. It’s back now. I’ve no idea what it was about anyway.”

Eric smiled. “She’s got secrets.”

“Oh?” Noah said.

“I think you’ve just found one, haven’t you?”

Noah shrugged. “No, because I didn’t look at the paper.”

“How do you know I was meaning the paper?”

“I … didn’t. It was a guess.”

Eric scratched his mop of greasy black hair as if he had some sort of infestation. Noah wrinkled his nose. The boy had a permanently red and sweaty face – probably because he was constantly thinking about sex and depraved things, Noah considered.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you, actually.” Eric perched on the edge of Ms O’Malley’s desk, his tight trousers riding up his legs to reveal his dirty white socks and pale ankles. Shit, he was brave. They totally shouldn’t be in here, casually sitting about, chatting. If they were found – trouble!

Noah swallowed. “Should we not talk later, like, at home?”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“This is about home.”

“OK.” Noah’s heart rate increased. Eric’s half-brother status was still a secret, known only to a small handful of people. Apart from wanting to avoid the gossip, their father had decided it was best not to incur the wrath of the guy who thought he was Eric’s biological dad – Mad Dog Razor Jaws Smith. “Keep it on the down-low, ’cause if Mad Dog finds out the truth, we’re all for the mincer,” Dad had said, giving Noah visions of their lifeless bodies being fed into some huge meat-processing contraption. Considering how terrifying and dangerous Mad Dog Smith was, it was probably the wisest thing Noah’s father had ever said. Eric came around from time to time, but infrequently enough that it didn’t raise any suspicions from Mad Dog, who didn’t keep careful tabs on Eric anyway.

“I’ve been hearing some stuff,” Eric sniffed. “Little things between our dad and your mum. I reckon there’s troubles.”

“Relationship troubles?” said Noah, hopefully.

Eric shook his head. “Money.”

“How … how bad? What sort of thing?”

“A letter came,” Eric said. “Bailiffs.”

“What do they want?”

Eric gave a little chuckle. “Oh, you know, just asking how everyone was, telling us about their trip to Barbados over the summer.” Eric’s face dropped into a frown. “Money, dickhead. And if they don’t get it, they’ll take stuff instead.”

Noah’s mouth dropped open. “Like my computer?!”

“Sure.” Eric shrugged.

“My complete Agatha Christie collection?”

Eric looked more doubtful.

Noah ran his hands through his hair. “How much do they want?”

“From what I reckon,” Eric said, giving his balls a scratch, “in the region of fifteen grand.”

Noah stopped breathing.

Dear God, how the hell had his parents managed to rack up that sort of debt?

No. This could not be allowed to happen.

He fixed Eric with a steely stare. “You’re telling me this, so what’s the plan? You must have a plan.”

“Empty the shed.”

“What?”

“That was three words, Noah. Which one didn’t you understand?”

“You want me to empty our shed? What, to sell the contents?

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Valuables in there, is there?”

“I’m not sure… I mean, there’s my old bike from when I was ten…”

“Not even,” Eric said, shaking his head. “The only bike in there is a pink one with silver streamers and a Hello Kitty basket… Oh.”

“My loyal steed,” Noah said. “It served me well.”

“Look, I ain’t got time for this. Just shift your shit out of the shed. I don’t care where and I don’t care what you do with it.”

“That’s it? That will solve our financial crisis?”

“It’ll help,” Eric said.

“But how?”

Eric slid off the desk and came round to where Noah was standing, so they were almost nose to nose. “You don’t want to know –” Noah could smell Eric’s Monster Munch breath – vile “– because the less you know, the more you can stay out of trouble.”

He did have a point: whatever Eric was up to, Noah wanted no part of it. He stared into Eric’s dark brown eyes, then down at the light fuzz that was blooming on his top lip. Huh. How come Eric had some facial hair coming, and not Noah?

“Fine,” Noah said. “I’ll do it at the weekend.”

“No. Tonight.”

“Fine! Tonight! God! I love how you think I can just clear my schedule to accommodate your whims! Some of us are actually trying to complete coursework whilst entertaining French exchange students, you know?”

“Speaking of which, you should probably get over to the changing room,” Eric said.

“Why?”

“Because Pierre Victoire will probably be just getting out of the showers by now. Don’t want Harry’s eye to wander, do we?”

“What?! It wouldn’t!” Noah cried, outraged – outraged! – at the preposterous notion.

He casually stepped back towards the door. “Nevertheless, I probably should head over there anyway. Change out of these clothes and all.”

“See you later, Noah. Can’t wait to see my nice empty shed later tonight.”

“You’re not going to do something … criminal there, are you?”

“Just go.”