‘You really believe that, don’t you?’ Brian said.
‘You’ve either got it or you don’t, and I’ve got it,’ Sam said.
Amelia’s jaw dropped open, not in response to Sam’s unnatural confidence, rather because she’d just seen Hannah emerge from her house.
‘Anyone says a word, I break their face,’ Hannah said when she joined them at the gate.
The others struggled not to smile.
Hannah was wearing a luminous green bicycle helmet and a luminous yellow safety vest over her shirt, as well as a pair of reflective sunglasses. There were elasticated pads on her elbows, knees and ankles. A whistle, to call for help in case of emergency, hung round her neck. And the bicycle itself had two bells and a mirror. All it was missing from a safety point of view were stabilizers on the back wheels.
‘Have you got your phone with you, Hannah?’ Mr Fitzgerald shouted from the front door.
‘Yes, Daddy,’ Hannah called back. ‘And it’s fully charged.’
‘Be careful and don’t forget to check in with me. I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ Hannah said sweetly. She lowered her voice and muttered to the others. ‘I mean it – one word and faces will be broken.’
They cycled through the front gate, Sam leading the way.
‘You look good, Hannah,’ Brian said, barely getting the words out before he started laughing.
‘You’re first on my list, McDonnell,’ Hannah said. ‘When you least expect it, that’s when I’ll strike.’
The cycle into town was uneventful. They found Rodney’s little house on a narrow side street. It was as small as Hannah had said. The curtains were drawn and there wasn’t any sign of life. Hannah rang the doorbell and when that received no response Sam battered the door with his fist for a full minute. There was still no reply.
‘Oi.’
The shout came from the house next door. A dishevelled head peered out from an upstairs window.
‘Hello there,’ Chris said.
‘Don’t hello there me. What’s all that racket about? Don’t you know what time it is?’
‘Yes, it’s four o’clock.’
‘In the afternoon?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Oh. That’s not so bad. Must have lost track of the time. What do you want?’
The man told them that Rodney had moved out some time back. He’d been transferred to Merlehan’s Nursing Home. A quick Google search on Chris’s phone revealed the location and that the visiting hours were between two and five o’clock. It was less than two kilometres away. They’d have time to make it.
Wild Friends’ Federation
15 Elsinore Avenue
Lambeth
London SE1 7UQ
Chris Adamu
104 College Wood
Newpark
Dear Chris,
Many thanks for sending WFF the money you raised from your school bake sale. Well done on raising €175.23. It’s an impressive achievement! Please pass on our thanks to all those who bought the cakes to help our cause.
I know it is difficult to raise money, but every penny you send us goes towards helping the welfare of wild animals. Without this care, many of them would not survive.
We would also like to thank you for pledging to donate fifty per cent of your pocket money to our federation. You are extremely generous. Your efforts on behalf of the animals and the environment are appreciated and very welcome.
With kind regards,
Jack Adams
Jack Adams
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The nursing home was tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac none of them had ever been down before. It was far larger than any of them would have guessed and Amelia thought it resembled a small school or hospital. The car park was almost full. They cycled over to the grass verge, climbed off their bikes and laid them on their sides on the grass. Chris decided to stay with the bikes since none of them had brought locks with them and he was worried they might be stolen.
‘No one’s going to take them,’ Brian said, but Chris couldn’t be convinced otherwise.
‘Just because you don’t think they’ll be stolen, doesn’t mean they won’t,’ he said.
‘Hannah, give him your whistle. That way, if a group of bike-stealing mega thugs arrives on the scene, he can attract our attention,’ Sam said.
‘One long peep on the whistle if it’s potential danger, three peeps if it’s the gravest danger,’ Amelia said.
Chris took an A4 refill pad and a pen from his backpack, which was always filled with items he considered useful for adventuring, and handed them to Amelia.
‘You’ll need that for your cover story,’ he said.
A set of double doors led into the nursing home. They didn’t open automatically as they approached, so Sam began pushing and pulling at the handles until Amelia pointed to the sign that read: Press doorbell and wait for admission.
‘Must be some kind of security measure,’ Brian said.
Sam straightened up as Hannah pressed the doorbell.
‘Well, that made me look like a dope,’ he said, good-naturedly.
‘If it’s any consolation, we already knew you were a dope,’ Hannah said.
The receptionist buzzed them in.
There were several old people sitting in armchairs and wheelchairs in the neutral-coloured lobby of the nursing home. Some of them were dressed in jumpers and tracksuit bottoms with elasticated waists, while others were in dressing gowns and pyjamas. There were potted plants everywhere and a small brown-and-white terrier lay asleep in the corner.
‘Good afternoon,’ the receptionist said cheerily. ‘Can I help you?’
‘We’re here to see Rodney O’Reilly,’ Sam said. ‘He’s not expecting us and we haven’t made an appointment or anything. We’re here to do a school summer project on local characters and everyone knows Rodney.’
That’s what Chris had told them to say. It worked like a treat too.
‘Oh, that sounds great. Rodney doesn’t get too many visitors. Some people aren’t able to deal with his . . . erm . . . robust views on the world.’
The receptionist asked a nurse to show the others to the television room where Rodney and some of the residents were glued to daytime TV. Rodney was a well-built man who was barely contained by his chair. Brian thought he looked like a retired wrestler.
‘Rodney, you have some visitors,’ the nurse said.
Rodney took one look at the new arrivals. ‘Don’t like them,’ he grunted. If Rodney recognized Sam, he didn’t show any sign of it. He’d ranted at so many people in his life that every time he met someone he assumed he’d either shouted at them before, or that he’d be shouting at them soon.
The nurse rolled her eyes, as if she’d heard this from him a hundred times before. He was a man who’d gone through life never liking anything or anyone. The only times he’d ever been truly happy were when he’d seen somebody fall over or make a fool of themselves in some way.
‘Sorry about that,’ the nurse said to the Misfits, ‘but if he doesn’t want to talk to you—’
‘When did I say that, you fool of a girl?’ Rodney snapped. ‘I don’t like them, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk to them. Better than talking to the rest of the brain-dead inmates. Or, if not better, at least it’ll be a change. You, Big Nose, bring over some of the empty armchairs. Yes, I’m talking to you.’
Nobody had ever told Brian he had a big nose before. He didn’t think so.
‘Well, aren’t you a delight,’ Sam muttered.
‘What was that?’
‘I was just saying that the chairs are light. I thought they’d be heavier.’
They dragged four armchairs – which actually were heavy – across the carpet and arranged them in a semicircle around Rodney. The nurse made her excuses and left, glad to escape from the old man and his cantankerous ways.
‘You’re an odd-looking bunch,’ Rodney said.
‘It’s a pleasure t
o meet you too,’ Hannah said.
‘Don’t try sarcasm on me, kid. I invented sarcasm and I’m immune to it. Now, what do you want?’
‘We’re doing a school project—’ Amelia began.
‘School’s for losers. Nothing worth learning can be learned in school. Teachers are just people who are too scared to go out and get a real job,’ Rodney said, shifting around in the armchair, trying to get comfortable.
His voice was loud and carried around the room, drowning out whatever withering comment the chat-show host was delivering onscreen. A couple of the residents looked around, annoyed at the interruption to their television-watching.
‘What are you lot looking at?’ Rodney asked them.
Nobody replied. It wasn’t worth getting on the wrong side of him. He’d just make their lives miserable.
‘Bunch of tulips,’ Rodney said, turning back to the Misfits. ‘What do you want to know about me for?’
‘We have a school summer project where we’re supposed to do a short biography of an interesting character in our town and our parents said that Rodney O’Reilly is one of Newpark’s most important characters of the last fifty years.’
‘Did they now? First of all, it’s Mr Rodney O’Reilly,’ Rodney said, correcting her. ‘And, secondly, don’t think flattery’s going to work on me.’
It did work, though, because he let them ask him some questions about life in the town over the years, what it had been like in the 1950s and what his favourite memories were from that time. It turned out that Rodney didn’t like anything about that time or anybody he’d encountered in his day-to-day life. In fact, it soon transpired that he didn’t like anything at all, although he did like complaining about what he disliked. He liked that a lot.
Amelia pretended to take notes as he ranted and raved about many different aspects of life in a very random order, including: Elvis Presley, ‘a talentless fraud with enough grease in his hair to fry chips’; football, ‘a game for simpletons with the IQ of a slow amoeba’; politics, ‘only an imbecile would vote for any eejit stupid enough to want to be in government’; and plenty more. Any guilt the four visitors felt at tricking Rodney disappeared somewhere around the middle of this twenty-minute rage against the world. Amelia didn’t think she’d ever met a more unpleasant person in her whole life. In the end, when Brian felt as if his ears were about to bleed, Hannah managed to steer the conversation away from Rodney’s hatred of everything, and towards the topic they’d come here to ask him about.
‘So, Mr O’Reilly, you’ve lived in the same house all your life?’
‘I’m a proud Newparker, born and bred. Why would I ever want to move?’ Rodney said with a belch and a wiggle of his wild thatch of eyebrows.
‘To travel a bit and see the world?’ Amelia suggested.
‘Travel? What’s travelling except going from one place to another place and then going back to where you started from? Waste of time,’ Rodney said. ‘Turn on the telly and you can see the rest of the world if you’re into that kind of nonsense.’
‘You’ve never wanted to live anywhere else? Never thought of buying a holiday home, or, y’know, a place in the country?’ Hannah said.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Never thought of it. I’m a townie through and through.’
‘Funny you should mention a place in the country. A friend of my dad’s is looking to rent a small cottage, but he can’t find any,’ Sam said.
‘What’s that got to do with me?’ Rodney barked. ‘Do I look like an estate agent?’
The gang didn’t know Rodney well enough to interpret the change in his expression. There was a glint of suspicion in his eyes. Sam, however, did know Hannah well enough to interpret the angry look on her face. He shouldn’t have mentioned the cottage. Not yet.
Rodney looked at them for a moment before he slowly stood up, wobbling briefly before steadying himself on the arm of his chair. Brian moved to help him, but Rodney’s glare was enough to tell him to back off.
‘I have to pee,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back soon. When you get to my age, you have to pee every five minutes.’
‘Thanks for the information,’ Sam muttered.
Rodney towered over them, looking from one face to the other, before he lumbered off in the direction of the toilets. He pushed through the swing doors that led to the hallway, then glanced back to make sure none of the Misfits were following him. When he was certain they weren’t, he took a mobile phone with a large screen and a huge keypad from his dressing-gown pocket and dialled a number.
‘Which one are you? Lionel or Burt? Don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. I think you’ve got trouble. Bunch of kids have arrived and they’re asking some weird questions,’ Rodney said.
‘Keep them there. We’re on our way,’ Lionel or Burt replied.
As soon as Rodney arrived back in the television room and settled into his armchair, Hannah knew something was wrong.
‘It’s been really nice having some visitors. I love chatting,’ Rodney said. He tried to smile, but it came out all wrong, as if he hadn’t smiled in forty years. His face was twisted and bordering on gruesome.
‘It’s been great to talk to you too. You’ve really helped us a lot. I’m sure we’ll get an A for our school project,’ Hannah said warily.
‘Definitely. There’s some top-notch stuff there,’ Brian said.
‘What did you say your names were again?’ Rodney asked.
‘Didn’t we tell you?’ Hannah said.
‘No, you told me very little about yourselves.’
‘Well, that was rude. I’m so sorry we forgot to introduce ourselves, Mr O’Reilly,’ Hannah said.
Silence hung in the air.
‘You still haven’t told me your names,’ Rodney said, leaning forward a little menacingly, A cold shudder ran down Amelia’s spine.
‘He’s Julian, that’s Dick, that’s Anne and I’m George – it’s short for Georgina,’ Hannah said. ‘Timmy’s waiting outside.’
‘They’re lovely names,’ Rodney said, continuing his grim attempt at a smile. ‘Do you live nearby?’
‘Yes. Do you know the flats near Shortcastle?’
Rodney nodded that he did.
‘Well, we’re all from there. That’s how we got to know each other,’ Hannah lied.
Amelia had picked up on Hannah’s suspicions and grew even more uncomfortable. She didn’t like this man and didn’t want to remain in his company any longer.
‘We’d better be going,’ Amelia said, rising from her armchair.
‘No, don’t go yet,’ Rodney said. ‘Stay for a cup of tea. I don’t get many visitors and you’re hardly going to up and leave now after I’ve spent all this time helping you with your project, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ Hannah said. ‘You know, why don’t Julian, Anne, Dick and me go and get some tea and biscuits and then we’ll come back for a nice long chat.’
Three of the Misfits’ four mobile phones beeped and buzzed in quick succession with incoming texts. Hannah had put hers on silent when she’d arrived at the home. Brian took his phone from his pocket just as Sam and Amelia did. The message was from Chris. It read:
Get out of there. Now!
He knew by the expressions on the others’ faces that they’d received the same message.
‘No, you don’t have to go to all that trouble. One of the nurses will make the tea for us,’ Rodney said. ‘What else would they be doing with their time?’
Brian was on his feet before the others. ‘Nope, it’ll only take us a minute. We really love making tea. Come on, guys, you can give me a hand.’
As they edged towards the door, Rodney reached out, moving quicker than any of them suspected he was capable of moving. He tried to grab Amelia’s arm, but her reflexes were good and she instinctively spun away, evading his grasp. Brian gave up on the pretence that they were making tea.
‘Move, move,’ he hissed urgently.
‘Get back here, you little freaks,’ Rodney roared.
He clambered to his feet as Brian ushered the girls and Sam through the door ahead of him. They walked down the hallway because they didn’t want to run and raise suspicion. When they heard Rodney shout again, they increased their speed, getting faster and faster until they were swaying from side to side like some middle-aged people on a power walk.
‘Everything OK?’ the receptionist asked when they reached the lobby.
‘Never better,’ Brian said.
‘We’re great,’ Amelia said.
‘Just need a break,’ Hannah said.
‘Rodney’ll do that to you,’ the receptionist replied with a smile. ‘Are you leaving?’
‘Yes,’ Sam said.
‘No,’ Brian practically shouted.
Now he knew why Chris had sent them warning texts. The two gorillas that had chased him in their car – the two who’d moved the stolen goods from the cottage – were racing towards the nursing home’s front door.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Plunkett Healy had worked for Cornelius Figg, Ireland’s richest man, for more than seven years and he’d hated almost every second of it. He’d thought of leaving his job on many occasions, usually after Mr Figg had shouted at him or humiliated him in some way, yet he’d never actually quit. The trouble was that, even though Mr Figg was a horrible boss, he paid very well and Healy liked being paid well. It meant he could buy lots of nice things, like clothes and gadgets and cars. But it also meant that if he wanted to continue to buy the nice things he had to do lots of unenjoyable tasks, like talking to criminals.
He picked up the phone and prepared to make the call. Someone called Lambert had started acquiring certain items for Mr Figg a number of years earlier, items that were not strictly legal. If Cornelius Figg wanted something that wasn’t legally up for sale – a memento from the Titanic, a piece of Viking jewellery uncovered by archaeologists – he’d tell Healy, and Healy would contact Lambert who was always able to find and deliver whatever it was they were looking for. Healy never actually knew how Lambert managed to get the items. The fewer questions he asked, the better.
The Misfits Club Page 12
