Xinder Rises Read online

  Wynn-Garry glared at her. ‘If you must know, it was a man by the name of Mr Fish.’

  With that he smiled and ushered them out, shutting it firmly behind him.

  Fitzpatrick

  Fitzpatrick reached into his pocket, pulling out Danny’s scrap of paper.

  He leaned against the stone wall outside the school hall and held it up. If that Sap had played a prank on Danny and given him the coat to wear, then what were the others capable of? Perhaps this was an elaborate set-up, dreamed up by Olivia in order to get him to fight with Ryan Williams.

  Fitzpatrick could smell Olivia’s cheap perfume all over this.

  He glanced up. The sky was ridiculously dark and ridiculously huge. What if Olivia’s experimental madness had some foundation?

  Fitzpatrick’s eyes returned to the paper. He read the middle, double-underlined, option.

  ‘Alleyway behind kissing houses.’

  Fitzpatrick thought about it. If he was going to meet a knife-wielding ghost in a quiet spot, it was a pretty good choice. It had the advantage that you could get out at both ends, and it was close enough to the playing fields for a quick getaway.

  Clever Danny. Not just a scruffy boy.

  The alleyway was also the perfect place for a fight. He clenched his fist. He remembered the look on Williams’ face, the glimmer of madness in his eyes. Fitzpatrick twisted the fabric on Danny’s coat. It was nice and strong, and light, too. A layer of protection if Williams came at him.

  Fitzpatrick sucked in his breath. It was a set-up for sure. It had to be. After yesterday’s performance, Danny had been duped by his sisters.

  Oh, well.

  Fitzpatrick tapped his pocket, feeling the metal object within.

  If he was right, and Williams was coming after him, Ryan Williams was in for a mighty big surprise.

  Wynn-Garry

  Wynn-Garry leant on the oak door, and listened as their footsteps receded down the corridor. He let out a sigh. Had she believed him? It was hard to read her expression.

  Returning to the soft leather armchair, he picked up his schedule. Olivia’s persistence was admirable, if misplaced. No, no. Nothing was going to stop today going ahead, neither a big storm nor a few drops of rain.

  Goodness me, he thought, this is Yorkshire, the finest county in all of England, God’s Own Country! Thunder and lightning go hand in hand with the rough landscapes of the moors and the dales.

  Kids these days were getting soft.

  He chuckled to himself. Met Bureau? What nonsense. He simply knew that the only way he’d be able to stop her in her tracks was to throw something scientific back at her.

  But why Mr Fish? It was an implausibly good name for a weatherman.

  In any case, he had a busy morning ahead. Press were turning up, and there were place names to sort out for the banquet in the school chamber. It was an evening he’d anticipated for years. How much sweeter still if they won the cup?

  He hoped that sister of Olivia’s, Anika, would play her heart out again. What a player! He’d never seen the like. She was George Best, Pele, Messi, and Ronaldo, all blended into one slender slip of a girl. Brave as a mercenary, tough as leather, quick as a pike and slippery as ice.

  He sighed before returning to the matter of wondering who he should sit next to tonight. Geraldine Forbes, perhaps. The star of Summerdale, the TV soap. Yes, perfect. Famed for her gritty Yorkshire one-liners, in reality she was a delightful, attractive lady, with beautiful green eyes and lips as full as cushions.

  He pictured the scene in his mind; the hall decorated to the nines in the school’s scarlet and green colours, candles accentuating the Gothic arched windows, and trophies and cups sparkling in the atmospheric light. Magnificent!

  It would be a banquet that the governors, his friends, and their exclusive guests, would never forget.

  Afterwards, he’d make his retirement speech and receive warm, generous, and heartfelt thanks from those whose lives he had touched. Yes, he mused. It was to be a glorious swan song.

  Nobody, certainly not Olivia Delaux, was going to stop it.

  His mood turned from happy to jovial. Mr Fish. Ah yes! The forecaster who in 1987 told the whole nation there was no need to worry, shortly before a devastating hurricane ripped across England.

  Wynn-Garry laughed out loud and dabbed his brow. What if Olivia rang up the Met Bureau and asked to speak to Mr Fish?

  Whatever will they think?

  Fitzpatrick

  From the road above the football field, Fitzpatrick scanned the crowd lining the perimeter of the pitch. They stood four deep behind the barrier rope at times, with smaller kids kneeling at the front. Fitzpatrick ached to be part of it, to have them cheer him on. He’d never play alongside Anika Delaux, though. Never.

  It made him feel like puking just thinking about Anika, even if she was Danny’s sister. That was an unfortunate twist of life.

  He kicked a loose stone on the ground, which skipped across the raised pebbles and smacked a small boy in the knee with a dull crack.

  The boy collapsed on the path as Fitzpatrick clenched his fist. Nice one, he thought, wishing it had been Anika Delaux’s knee.

  Fitzpatrick climbed further up the slope, towards the houses above the playing fields. He kept going until he was on his own, high above the pitch. As he walked, he thought about how he could occupy himself over the break with his dreary aunt. Last time, he’d nearly died of boredom, being dragged around endless museums, antiques shops, and flea markets. Sure, his aunt was pleasant and she tried hard, but her never-ending jollity and the way she talked to everyone about the same things over and over again drove him mad.

  She was too nice, too wet and too dull.

  His mind turned to his lost parents. They would have done awesome, cool, outdoor stuff, and they’d all get stuck in together, like sailing, or mountaineering, or holidaying abroad.

  He imagined a trip by the side of the river next to a large campfire. Looking at the stars, his mother by his side playing guitar and singing, and his father smiling at him proudly, sharpening a blade.

  It was a fantasy, of course. It was the idyllic family life he’d never have. Every time he thought of it, it brought an overwhelming sadness into his soul. He couldn’t remember if his mother used to sing to him and he had no idea what his parents even looked like; but to him, the fantasy felt right.

  A long rumble boomed in the sky above. Fitzpatrick spied another round pebble, and took a mighty swipe with his heavy, black boot. The stone connected sweetly, skipped a couple of times and then, on the last bounce, lifted quickly and seemed to whistle past the head of someone lurking by a lamppost near to the alleyway.

  What was an old bloke doing standing over there in the first place? He didn’t even flinch! Bloody weirdo. The stone must have missed him or else he’d have been knocked out cold.

  Fitzpatrick put his head down and sauntered on as if nothing had happened. A few paces on, Fitzpatrick noticed a man just inside the entrance to the alleyway. He was sure no one had been there a moment earlier.

  His heartbeat quickened.

  Fitzpatrick pretended to read Danny’s bit of paper while he studied the man.

  It was a hunched over old man, he thought, shrouded in a long, dark cloak, with a thick scarf wrapped round his chin and nose. He had a kind of wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his head in such a way that Fitzpatrick couldn’t identify a face. The figure leaned on a stick like a blind man.

  Maybe, Fitzpatrick thought, this was Danny’s ghost.

  9

  Sas, Thursday

  ‘Sas, we need direct action,’ Olivia said. ‘Wynn-Garry clearly doesn’t want to know about the storm, so we’re going to have to either disrupt the match, or figure out an exit strategy—’

  Sas couldn’t face direct action. ‘A leaving strategy gets my vote—’

  ‘Good. If I can get Dan and Anika over the bridge, then I think we’ll be fine. When we get to the lane, the canopy of the tunnel should
protect us. It’s you that I’m worried about.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes. You.’ Olivia confirmed. ‘How are you going to get out of here? You’ll need to get home fast, or get to high ground. Have you ever driven a car?’

  ‘No. Stop being ridiculous—’

  ‘I’m not. You could steal one.’

  Sas glared at Olivia, who shrugged back. ‘I’ll think of something, but you’re getting weird.’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ Olivia snapped back. ‘You need a plan. Come home with us.’

  ‘I can’t. Mum wants me back.’

  ‘In that case, start engaging that brain of yours.’

  As the two girls trudged slowly back from the science laboratories in silence, they could feel the buzz of the crowd making its way down towards the football pitch.

  ‘I feel so edgy about this match’ Olivia said, as a couple of boys ran past nearly knocking her over. ‘What if Anika gets a kicking and can’t run? Then they lose, and the storm breaks, and she can’t get home?’

  ‘Olivia, that’s not going to happen—’

  ‘And what about Danny? He’s all over the place, have you seen him? He looks ill, the poor boy. I’m worried he won’t save a thing. He’s even more scatter-brained than usual.’

  ‘Well, it is the final—’

  ‘I know that,’ Olivia said. ‘It’s just that I’ve got a hollow feeling deep inside me.’ Olivia closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘You know, I’m not sure I even like football—’

  ‘What tosh! You love it,’ Sas replied, ‘you’re jealous of Anika, just like everyone else.’

  ‘That still doesn’t mean I like it—’

  ‘You’re her sister and you’re as sporty as a mole yourself, so it’s natural for you to want her to do well.’ Sas looked up at the sky. Her heart seemed to skip a beat. She whistled.

  ‘Blimey. Wynn-Garry’s floodlights are on,’ Olivia said, her tone betraying her nerves.

  ‘Every time I look up, my body starts shaking like a jelly,’ Sas said, inspecting her watch. ‘We’ve got five minutes.’

  Sas slowed down and grasped Olivia’s arm, as if setting herself up to say something important. ‘Listen, Olivia,’ she began, ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you something important—’

  ‘Important?’ Olivia noticed that her friend had gone a little pale. ‘You put the wrong mix in the storm glass—?’

  ‘No. It’s not about that ... it’s about—’

  ‘You added something to it—’

  ‘Olivia, I haven’t touched it. I’m quite sure it did what it did perfectly naturally.’ Sas added. ‘It’s about you. It’s personal.’

  ‘Me?’ Olivia’s mind whirled. ‘What? You’ve got a boyfriend and you haven’t told me—’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, you know full well I haven’t—’

  ‘OK, someone out there fancies me—’

  ‘NO. Of course not. Listen, Olivia – it’s got absolutely nothing to do with boys—’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘YES.’

  ‘Good,’ Olivia said, ‘they’re toss—’

  ‘It’s about you,’ Sas said.

  ‘Me?’ Olivia said. ‘OMG. You ... and ... me?’

  Sas shrieked. ‘For crying out loud, Olivia. NO! Will you please let me speak?’ She took a deep breath. ‘It concerns YOU, in fact it concerns all of you Delauxs. You, Danny and Anika. All those things I told you about? Well, there’s more.’

  ‘More?’

  ‘Yes! I wrote a whole lot of stuff down the moment I woke up. I’m pretty sure it’s about you, and that in some way you’re linked—’

  ‘Linked? With what?’

  ‘SHUT UP! Listen! just for a minute.’ Sas said, trying to compose herself. ‘What I’m trying to say is that—’

  The long shrill of a whistle and the roar of the crowd swept over them. Sas followed Olivia’s eyes towards the floodlit football pitch.

  ‘We’re late!’ Olivia cried. ‘Your damn watch is slow.’

  Sas tapped the face of the dial and compared it to the clock on her mobile. ‘Oh no!’ But when she looked up, her friend had already gone.

  Olivia tore off down the track. What was I thinking? I bet someone’s scored.

  ‘Come on, keep up!’ Olivia yelled over her shoulder, as she took off down the shingle path. ‘You’ll have to tell me later! I mean, it’s not like it’s life or death, is it?’ she yelled.

  ‘There are things you absolutely ... must ... know,’ Sas said, her voice trailing off as she watched Olivia zoom away with extraordinary speed. In fact, she couldn’t remember seeing Olivia run as fast in her whole life.

  Sas felt empty, the moment lost. Everything that had happened in the last hour had started to confirm that what she had seen, heard, and felt was going to come true. If there was even the tiniest chance of this happening, she needed to tell Olivia everything.

  Because, increasingly, it really was about life or death.

  Fitzpatrick

  A roar rang out from below. Fitzpatrick spun back to the game. He picked out the chant of "Ani Delaux, GO, GO, GO" and smacked his fist into his hand. Dammit. She must have scored.

  Fitzpatrick reached into his pocket and his hand touched a waxy piece of paper. It was a sweet wrapper. With a frown on his face, he tried to work out how it had got there. Of course, it was from a pack of Haribo he’d stolen from one of Anika’s girlie friends at break. He’d stuffed the sweet in his mouth and nonchalantly tossed one of the wrappers into the headmaster’s rose garden, where it stuck comically on a thorn and flapped in the breeze.

  So, how come this one was folded, and in his pocket?

  He pulled the wrapper out, opened it up and stared at it. Strangely, the sweet paper not only looked larger than he remembered, but scribbled all over it were random lines like spaghetti plonked on a plate.

  Just as he was about to trash it, a few of the lines started to look familiar. Faces? he thought. Fitzpatrick scanned it, turning it sideways and then round again. Three figures came out at him, like a "magic eye" puzzle revealing itself on the wrapper.

  There were three clear faces staring back at him.

  Then it struck him. It was the Delauxs! Absolutely, definitely, them, all smug and cheerful and ghastly. As he studied it, their faces seemed to melt away into the paper, like slush dripping through a gutter.

  The next time he blinked, he was staring at nothing. Not a damn thing.

  He turned the sweet paper over.

  Blank.

  Fitzpatrick felt a surge of excitement run through him. Was this some kind of joke?

  He slapped his cheeks and rubbed his eyes. He looked at the wrapper again. Its colour was changing gradually from white through grey to almost black, like the vast cloud above them. The words "HELP ME" started to form in tiny molten streaks of lightning on the paper, as if the words were being burned into it.

  Fitzpatrick crumpled the paper up and tossed it in the gutter.

  His heart raced. For a moment, sickness overwhelmed him.

  Instinctively, he started walking faster and faster, as if walking might make what he had just seen go away.

  Fitzpatrick bounded up a series of wide stone steps back to street level, and tentatively made his way towards the street’s beamed dwellings. He peered down the dark alleyway but it was empty, save for the black wheelie bins guarding it like mini soldiers.

  As he took his first step under the buildings, he noted how the houses on either side weren’t leaning over the street as if they were kissing, more leaning towards each other like fighters braced for combat.

  He heard a groan from the crowd below, and moved to the roadside to figure out what was happening.

  Bodies lay all over the pitch. Had Newton won a penalty?

  Was that Danny staring up at him?

  He waved back, before turning and walking into the alleyway.

  Halfway down, he slowed. He sensed something behind him. Who? A teacher? Nah, unlikely. They’d
be watching the game, or making last minute plans for the performances later on. In any case, by now they’d have said something.

  Ryan Williams. He almost spat his name out. Williams was coming after all. It was exactly his style to creep up on people.

  Fitzpatrick curled his fist into a ball. ‘Williams,’ he said, ‘I’m warning you. Stop, and walk away, NOW.’

  There was no reply.

  He could feel the presence edging closer.

  Fitzpatrick bent down, pretending to tie his boots. His pulse raced. He readied himself. He sensed the person behind him was now only a couple of paces away.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for this,’ Fitzpatrick said, and in one movement swung around and threw his biggest punch. His momentum carried him forward, his fist unstoppable.

  But it wasn’t Williams. It was the old man.

  Instead of connecting, his arm careered straight through the man, propelling Fitzpatrick onto the grey stone. His head cracked on the paving as he went down.

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Danny,’ said a gravelly voice from behind the scarf. ‘We’re on the same team now.’

  Olivia

  Olivia dashed down the touchline. ‘Sas, thank God I’ve found you,’ she said. ‘What’s up with you? We’re on drinks duty!’

  ‘Hell,’ she said. ‘You’re right. My watch...’

  They rushed over to the old Volkswagen Combi ice cream van, known as the ‘catering-cart’, which acted as refreshment centre and mobile sweet shop.

  Olivia and Sas pulled out a few tables, and lined out paper cups ready for jugs of orange squash. A steady stream began queuing for drinks, chocolate bars, and crisps.

  Sas took the money while Olivia handed out cups, but Sas could barely keep up.

  Olivia was working at an astonishing speed, darting here and there, handing out confectionery and drinks. She talked to everyone about the current score, or Anika’s brilliant goals, or the curious weather.