by Gary Russell
But Carla and Sarah Jane knew one another, and they’d become quite friendly over the last few months, mainly because they both were into books, which Clyde could never quite get his head around.
Carla was always inviting Sarah Jane round for tea and coffee and although Sarah Jane wormed her way out of it each time, it wasn’t through any dislike of Carla, but due to Sarah Jane’s general discomfort around other adults.
So when Clyde explained what was going on, Carla was immediately sympathetic. ‘Listen darling, I love the fact that you’re giving up your Sunday to be here with me, but you and Luke… well, I understand how important he is to you. You go and see if you can help. Just try and be back for food tonight, okay?’
‘You’re the best, mum,’ Clyde said, kissing her cheek. ‘Laters!’
And he was off, almost running across town, then the park, to get towards Maria’s house.
Chapter Four
A change of identity
Chief Inspector Robert Lines sighed at the woman in front of him, as he sat down at the table. He turned off his mobile phone and placed in front of them both a fax he’d been called out to get.
The fax was from a Government department, C19, and was a Level Four Clearance form from the Unified Intelligence Task force. Sarah Jane didn’t even smile as Lines tapped at the UNIT logo with his pen.
‘You have powerful friends, it seems, Miss Smith.’
‘My friends have nothing to do with it. I’ve done nothing wrong.’ Sarah Jane eased a mug of untouched cold tea away from her.
Lines pulled a photocopied sheet from a buff file on the table as he took a swig from his own mug. It was a copy of the Adoption Agency form that, unknown to Lines, Mr Smith had created and secreted amongst other such forms, to give the impression that Sarah Jane had adopted Luke legally, some months earlier.
Lines then looked at more papers. ‘You were brought up by your Aunt, I see.’
Sarah Jane nodded. ‘My parents died when I was a baby.’
‘I can see why adopting kids is important to you. Your Aunt also had a ward she looked after.’
Sarah Jane sighed. ‘Yes, after I had left home.’ Lines nodded. ‘Brendan Richards, now working for a software development company in Silicon Valley, I see.’ He smiled at Sarah Jane. ‘Brainy kids you Smith’s take under your wing. Ashley, or Luke, also very bright, according to his school reports from Park Vale. A pattern, you might say.’
‘And from the school the Stafford’s sent him to?’
The policeman shrugged. ‘Not requested those, Miss Smith. The Stafford’s aren’t being investigated.’ He tapped the UNIT file again. ‘I don’t know whether you are lucky or I’m getting brushed off with a cover-up. Either way, you’re free to go.’
‘Thank you.’ Sarah Jane stood up and picked up her coat. ‘And thank you for the tea. It was very nice. Probably.’
‘Stay away from Ashley Stafford, Miss Smith,’ Lines offered. ‘Because your contacts won’t be able to help you every time.’
With a terse smile, Sarah Jane walked out of the room.
26 Chalsey Grove, Luke realised, was going to be his new home. It was a simple end-of-terrace house in Hammersmith, with a nice brick wall, a nice wrought iron gate, leading to a nice terracotta pathway that led to a nice wooden front door. Inside, there was a nice hall, leading to a nice living room, a nice kitchen and a nice downstairs lavatory.
Luke felt sick as he looked around. The place was clean and neat and tidy. The walls were painted with neutral colours or adorned with plain wallpaper. A couple of paintings were hung on the walls, but they were bland watercolours of woods and grasslands.
There were no photographs by the phone, no knick-knacks on the mantelpiece, no soul.
‘What do you think, son?’ asked Mr Stafford.
‘Home sweet home,’ Mrs Stafford laughed, throwing a triumphant look at her husband.
Mr Stafford led Luke through to the kitchen. On the side were six identical mugs. And six plates. And six bowls, all identically patterned.
It was a nice kitchen with nice things in it.
‘It’s… nice,’ was all Luke could say, frowning at the mugs, looking so perfectly clean and unchipped.
Luke longed for the chaos of Sarah Jane’s house. He’d never thought about it before, about how there, nothing really matched, but everything had a story behind it. Mugs that were gifts, marks on the walls that were accidents, cracks in the stained glass window that were the result of age.
26 Chalsey Grove had none of that. No life, no history. No sense that a loving family had lived here.
And again, his “parents” were exchanging looks he couldn’t understand, as if they were expecting him to react in a certain way rather than just do what he felt was natural, which was not to trust them one little bit.
‘We’ve got footie club on Thursday night,’ Mr Stafford said encouragingly.
Luke would’ve laughed if it wasn’t so scary.
Him? Football? If all this was true, if the Bane creating him was a lie, if his whole life with Sarah Jane Smith was a result of him losing his memory, surely he couldn’t be totally the opposite to Ashley Stafford? But football? Luke could work out the exact speed and point to kick a football, to get it onto the trajectory needed to get past players and goalkeeper, sure. But actually kick the ball and not fall flat on his face? Never…
‘Football?’
‘Yeah. You and me, and the lads from the youth club. Pizza and coke afterwards.’ Mr Stafford seemed genuinely confused. ‘You remember that don’t you?’
Luke shook his head. ‘I don’t like football.’
‘What did that woman do to you?’ Mrs Stafford breathed. ‘What did she do to my baby boy?’
She opened a cupboard in the kitchen. Why don’t I sort out some food before bed? It’s been a long day for you.’
Luke shrugged. ‘Can I go and lie down. Please?’
‘So formal,’ Mr Stafford laughed. ‘Course you can, son. You remember the way?’
But Luke shook his head. ‘I don’t remember this house at all.’
Mr Stafford led him up the stairs. Three bedrooms and a bathroom. One of which had a sign on it.
ASHLEY’S ROOM - PARENTS KEEP OUT UNLESS INVITED
Am I allowed in, son?’ Mr Stafford said in a tone that suggested this was an old routine for them both. And Luke felt a pang off sorrow for both of these strange new people because if he really was Ashley Stafford, his lack of memory had to be as awful for them as it was confusing for him.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Come in,’ hoping that was the right tone of voice. Friendly. Like Clyde would do it.
Clyde. His best friend. Clyde, who was miles away.
They went in and Luke got the biggest shock so far. If the rest of the house was more ordered than a show house in a new housing estate, his room was chaos on a colossal scale.
The wall was almost invisible behind posters of footballers, and pop groups — UNIT 4, and a girl duo, In-Demand.
On the bedside table was a photo of him. Of Ashley anyway, in an Everton football strip, balancing the ball expertly on his knee, a huge grin on his face.
On shelves were model aeroplanes, a blue kite and even a model of a big demon-thing from a movie Luke knew he’d not seen, because he recalled Clyde pointing out how uncool he was for never having done so.
He turned to speak to Mr Stafford, but he just pointed to the bed. ‘Have a rest, I’ll call you when your mums sorted food.’
Mum.
How would he get used to calling that woman downstairs “mum” without Sarah Jane’s face coming into his mind’s eye?
By the time he’d thought that thought, the door was closed.
And audibly locked.
Okay, that was, as Maria would say, dead weird.
He looked at the unfamiliar room, full of unfamiliar things and sat on the unfamiliar bed and wondered if he’d ever like this new life. Old life. Whatever it was.
And for the first tim
e ever that he could remember, he felt utterly and completely alone.
Downstairs, Mr Stafford plonked himself down on the sofa next to his wife with a grin.
‘Ready?’ she asked.
He nodded.
She turned on the TV with the remote but instead of a picture, a series of swirling, gyrating patterns of light appeared.
‘Xylok,’ she said, ‘are you there? We’ve got the boy!’
And from the TV came a strange electronic burble that could have been laughter. Indeed, it probably was, because Mr and Mrs Stafford joined in, laughing at some huge joke that only they understood.
They and the Xylok.
Chapter Five
Conspiracy
It was about nine o’clock that night by the time Sarah Jane Smith had got back to Bannerman Road. The media circus had vanished from outside her home.
Home.
It didn’t feel like home any more. It was just a house. A big, empty house. Just as it had been before Luke came to live there.
She’d coped quite well without a son before, she’d adjust again. Throw herself back into work. It’d be fine.
She looked up the stairs, past the framed newspaper cuttings and magazine covers that signified her career in journalism. There, up at the top, was a photograph that Luke had asked to put up there. Luke, Maria, Clyde and Sarah Jane at a skateboard park. Alan Jackson had taken it not long ago.
Her family. That’s how she’d come to think of them.
‘Sarah Jane?’
Sarah Jane didn’t turn to look at Maria. She couldn’t. She had to focus. Move on. No more kids in her life. And that included Maria Jackson.
‘Luke has gone,’ she said, facing the wall, staring at a spot below the photo. ‘Back to his real parents. Back where he belongs. Mr Smith confirmed it. The Bane kidnapped Ashley Stafford, did things to him. I got it wrong. Not for the first time.’
‘I’m really sorry’ Maria said quietly.
‘No,’ Sarah Jane said, taking a deep breath. She still wouldn’t face Maria. ‘No, it’s for the best. I’m not cut out to be a parent. Children have no place in my life. I told you, when we first met, my life is dangerous.’
‘You don’t mean that.’
And Sarah Jane finally turned to face her, but kept any warmth or emotion out of her voice. She had to. It was important that Maria understood.
‘I can’t afford to be worrying about other people, they’re a distraction. These last few months, I’ve been lucky. I can’t expect that to hold up for ever. So you go home, go tell your father he’s right. You should put the house on the market and he and you and Clyde too, you should forget all about me and everything you’ve seen.’
Maria just looked at her. ‘Oh yeah? And how are we going to do that?’ she asked, not unreasonably. ‘What happened to never turning your back on the universe?’
Sarah Jane closed her eyes for a second before looking Maria straight in the eye. ‘Sometimes you have to. Sometimes it’s the only way to survive.’
Maria just stared at her, then turned on her heel and left.
And Sarah Jane let out a deep, pained sigh. She glanced up the stairs again, her eyes settling on the photo at the skateboard park.
Then she headed upstairs, past the photo and further up, into her attic.
If Sarah Jane was surprised to see that Mr Smith was already out, she didn’t comment on it, choosing to flop down instead on the red chaise longue that occupied one end of the room.
‘If I may, Sarah Jane…’ Mr Smith began.
‘I didn’t call you,’ she snapped.
Unfazed by her abrupt response, Mr Smith merely continued in his smooth as silk tones. ‘Perhaps you didn’t realise that you need me.’
‘Yeah, well, not tonight I don’t.’
‘You need a purpose,’ he continued, relentlessly. ‘All things in the universe need a purpose. Without purpose, we cease to be.’
Sarah Jane frowned. That was getting a bit philosophical for a Sunday night. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘I’ve been monitoring experiments at the Pharos Institute. They are exploring the possibilities of para-science. Carrying out tests in telekinetic energy.’ Sarah Jane considered this. Way back, when working for Metropolitan Magazine, she’d been sent on an assignment to cover it’s launch. It was ostensibly set up to study paranormal phenomena, but with very little success.
‘They have recently seemingly perfected a way to harness telekinetic energy. The ability to move objects with just the power of one’s mind.’
‘I know what it means, Mr Smith,’ Sarah Jane said a bit waspishly. Why are you telling me this?’
‘I believe they are cheating. They are using alien technology.’
Sarah Jane’s interest was now piqued. ‘Well, perhaps I should pay them a visit tomorrow. And this time,’ she added, almost to herself, ‘I won’t have any children to slow me down.’
‘Indeed,’ Mr Smith agreed. ‘No children.’
And if Sarah Jane had been listening more closely to Mr Smith’s tone, she might have detected a level of satisfaction in those last two words more than a computer ought to have expressed.
It was Monday morning and Luke wanted to go to school. But he hadn’t any of his own clothes with him and clearly his new/old parents didn’t have a white shirt or Park Vale School tie in his wardrobe. He ran his hands over an orange hooded sweatshirt that he couldn’t imagine ever wearing. It reminded him of the orange jumpsuits he’d seen American prisoners wear on TV And that’s how he felt this morning — a prisoner. He tried the door handle again but it was still locked from last night, after dinner. He’d asked Mr Stafford why the door had been locked, but all he got was a comment about him not running away again. When Luke reacted to this by asking if he’d run away before, his “parents” had given each other an odd look and said it was a precaution, for his own safety. ‘We’re just being over-cautious, love,’ Mrs Stafford had said.
He could hear voices downstairs now, presumably Mr Stafford getting ready for work doing… whatever it was he did.
He pressed his head closer to the door, but couldn’t hear anything else. They’d stopped talking. Perhaps Mr Stafford had left, so why wasn’t he being let out?
Then he jumped, as suddenly the sound of the lock outside being turned echoed through his head and he barely got across to the window, trying to look innocent, before Mrs Stafford came in.
‘Where’s my school uniform?’ Luke asked her.
Mrs Stafford shrugged. ‘You don’t go to school. Not today at least.’
‘But I want to see my friends…’
Mrs Stafford just laughed. ‘Oh right. Clyde Langer. Maria Jackson. Jacob West. Dave Finn — that lot?’
And Luke thought that was… odd. ‘How do you know all their names?’
Mrs Stafford just shrugged. ‘Who cares. You won’t see them again.’ And she slammed and locked the door again.
Luke put on the orange hoodie. If he was to remain a prisoner, he might as well look the part.
A few hours later, it was lunchtime at Park Vale School, but Maria and Clyde hadn’t got much of an appetite.
‘So that’s it? No more monsters? No more saving the world?’ Clyde was incredulous when Maria told him about her conversation with Sarah Jane from the night before.
‘She’s devastated about Luke,’ explained Maria.
‘Yeah, she’s not the only one,’ Clyde said, glancing at the empty seat next to him where he best mate usually sat. ‘So where have they taken him?’
‘Hammersmith, apparently. I suppose Ashley will go back to his old school.’
‘Luke,’ Clyde corrected her automatically. ‘There’s no such person as Ashley Stafford, I’m sure of it.’
‘How?’
Clyde just shrugged. ‘I just know it.’ He slapped the table top angrily. ‘Damn, and I’ve just got him into Kasabian. It was onto the Arctic Monkeys next — and then after another few weeks, I could’ve had him passing as cool.
’
Maria laughed. ‘Then that wouldn’t be Luke either.’
Clyde grinned. ‘Yeah, but it’s worth a try.’
Maria sighed. ‘But if, just saying, he is really Ashley, then the Bane must’ve really messed him about.’
Clyde nodded. ‘I bet finding out he’d got a real dad and mum messed him up more.’
‘I hope he’s all right,’ said Maria.
And Clyde stood up, stuffing the last of his sandwich in is mouth. ‘Why don’t we find out, yeah? If they live in Hammersmith, it’s not a long journey from here. Have you got the address?’ Maria shrugged. ‘It was in the paper I think.’
‘Then come on,’ Clyde said, gathering his stuff together.
Maria looked around at the other kids in the hall, and the teachers. ‘Bell’s going any minute. Lessons. We’ll never get out.’
‘Look,’ said Clyde. ‘If our days of fighting aliens are really over, sneaking off lessons once in a while is gonna be all the excitement we’re going to get.’ Maria smiled grabbed her bag and the two of them headed out.
They’d got as far as crossing the playground when the bell went. And as far as the teachers’ car park, hiding behind Mrs Pittman’s car, when Maria made the first dash for the gates.
A voice rang out, causing Clyde to stay put, out of sight.
It was their class teacher, Mr Cunningham. ‘Maria Jackson,’ he yelled. ‘Where exactly do you think you’re going?’
‘To the library, sir,’ Maria said, lamely.
‘I think you’re due in Mr Cairn’s double French, actually,’ he said.
Clyde watched as Maria’s shoulders sagged as she made her way back towards the main building.
When she, and Mr Cunningham, were well out of sight, Clyde was up and out.
Park Vale station was just around the corner and from there it was a short ride to Ealing Broadway. A couple of tube rides later, and he was in Hammersmith, standing at the end of Chalsey Grove, looking for number 26.
