'Hey, that's not fair,' Lloyd objected. 'You can't say that and not tell us!'
'Oh, yes, I can,' the man laughed. His pale blue eyes crinkled up and disappeared when he laughed.
He seemed really friendly. Nice. But was he a wolf in sheep's clothing, or just an old sheep trying his hardest to be cool and trendy? Sam shook his head at himself – he was a lost cause. He was still sitting on the sidelines, still in denial, and almost as bad as Lloyd, who was getting carried away with the guessing game the man had initiated. Sam knew he should take charge of the investigation and get to the bottom of it. Friend or foe? Angel or demon? Which one is it? Which one was he?
Which one are you? he asked the man. But he hadn't said it aloud, because no one looked at him. Lloyd was still going through the top 100 chart list, and the man was having enormous fun saying no, or maybe, in response.
'Okay, I give up. You're gonna have to tell us,' Lloyd said.
'Can't do that, it would ruin it for you.'
'Did my dad tell you not to tell us? Because if so there's no need to worry. We won't let on that you let it slip. Honestly, you won't get into trouble, or anything,' Lloyd persisted in a wheedling tone.
Lloyd was really enjoying himself, Sam thought. He was almost jumping up and down with the anticipated excitement of meeting whoever was supposed to be showing up the next morning. It was perfectly clear that he thought the man was a trendy old sheep. Maybe he had already sussed the bloke out and knew he was okay. Maybe he had asked all the catch-you-out-questions, and hadn't caught him out. The man did seem to know tons about music – but when Sam thought about it, he hadn't actually said that much. He'd laughed a lot. It was Lloyd who was doing all the talking. So how did Lloyd know he was okay?
He didn't. He'd been sidetracked, as Sam's mother would have put it. She was always saying that about Sam. Sam could hear her warm, patient voice now, 'Don't digress so much, darling, you lose track of the point.' Which was true, Sam supposed. Well, his mum would have been proud of him now. He hadn't lost track.
The problem was how to get Lloyd back on track. He'd lost the plot completely, but he didn't have a clue about it. Sam would have to say something that snapped him out of it. The only thing was that Sam wasn't sure how to do that without alerting the man to the fact that they thought he might be a bit suspicious.
And then he had a brainwave. 'So can we come back tomorrow and meet them?' he said.
'Too far,' the man said, breezily. 'You might as well stick around. There's plenty of room, and it's all sorted with your parents.'
'Cool,' Lloyd said. 'Can't wait 'til tomorrow.'
Sam wished Lloyd would shut up or wake up. But he wasn't doing either. Open your eyes, you idiot, he's trying to fool you. Why do you believe him? Why don't I?
Sam wished he could communicate telepathically – but if he could do that maybe the man could do it too, and that would be worse, wouldn't it? You'd end up with strangers inside your head all the time, and someone would have to manufacture a pop-up blocker that blocked everyone else's thoughts from popping up in your head. When Sam thought about it, maybe telepathy wasn't such a great idea. And maybe this was exactly what Sam's mum meant about him digressing and losing track of the point. Focus, Sam. The man was talking again.
'Well, they might show up later tonight. No telling with these young – people. Almost let the cat out of the bag then, didn't I?' The man cackled. 'Tell you what, as you're so keen on meeting them, I'll wake you up when they arrive. How's that?'
'Brilliant!' Lloyd exclaimed.
'But you don't even know who they are!' Sam snapped. He hadn't meant it to come out like that, but it was too late, the words were out. The man looked at him appraisingly, and then raised an eyebrow. Lloyd hadn't even noticed. Not Sam's tone, and not the way the man had looked at him.
'I think I've got an idea about that,' Lloyd said, grinning at the man as though they shared a private secret.
When had it all changed? Sam didn't know. But it had. Maybe that's why Lloyd made friends so easily, because he was so open and trusting by nature. Sam wasn't going to let it go now, though. He had to make Lloyd aware of what was going on before . . . before it didn't matter any more. 'Who is it then?' he demanded.
'Not telling,' Lloyd sang. 'I'm not gonna spoil the surprise for you,' he said, colluding with the man.
'You know I don't go in for surprises, Lloyd. I hate them. I'd rather know. Please.'
'You big liar! You said you love surprises!'
Sam could have hit him. But he didn't. Obtuse and naïve were two pretty good words that Sam's sister would have used then. Tab often sounded like a walking dictionary, unless she had friends over and then she sounded completely different. Lloyd was being those words so incredibly that if there had been a role for a Mr. Gullible in The Incredibles and Lloyd had auditioned for it, he would have got it hands down. In fact, if they'd known about Lloyd, they would have written the part into the film just for him.
'It's okay. Don't tell me. I'm not feeling that great anyway,' Sam said. He turned to the man and concentrated on speaking in a light, bantering non-suspicious way, which was extremely hard when the blood was pounding in your head, and everything looked wonky and kept tilting from side to side, and someone had set your mouth in cement and it felt all dry and stiff, and all you really wanted to do was to scream and scream. 'If you can't take me home tonight, could you call me a taxi or something. My parents will pay for it.'
'Don't be stupid, Sam!' It was Lloyd. Good old stupid, stupid Lloyd, who had replied.
'I'm not,' Sam said. 'I'm not stupid!'
'Yes, you are. You can't miss the best part of the surprise. Dad'll be really upset. Especially as he went to so much effort for us to have the best time ever. For god's sake, Sam, get a grip, will you?'
The man remained silent, regarding Sam through his hooded eyes. A small smile played around his lips. He didn't have to say anything.
'But I just don't feel that great. I want to go home,' Sam said, forcing the words out with great difficulty. Someone had a hand inside his chest and was squeezing the air out of his lungs.
'Well, you can't,' Lloyd said, pouting. 'You're not gonna ruin this.'
'Now, now, boys. No need to come to blows over this. Listen, it's been a long night with too much excitement and you're both tired. Let me show you your rooms and you can have a sleep. Come on.'
Sam couldn't move. The cement must have dripped down his face and stuck his feet to the ground. Lloyd glared at him and yanked his arm hard. Sam didn't feel it. He allowed himself to be dragged out of the bright room and into the dim corridor. All the way down the passageway the man and Lloyd kept up their chat about bands and who was in and who was out and who had been up to what; he even gave Lloyd the exclusive on who was about to break up.
'I don't believe it!' Lloyd gushed. 'Wait 'til I tell them at school on Monday – they won't believe it either. It'll be the biggest break-up in the history of music!'
Monday seemed like a long, long way off. Like it might never come.
Sam shuffled along after Lloyd and Lloyd's new friend. He didn't have any other choice. He could have been completely wrong, of course, and Lloyd could be completely right. He could wake up the next morning and discover that Green Day were downstairs and end up having breakfast with them, listen to them play all day, get their autographs and T-shirts emblazoned with their name and some CDs and other cool stuff, and then get driven home at the end of it. He'd tell Tab all about it first, and wouldn't she be just so jealous? She'd go the greenest green with envy.
And that's what Lloyd believed was going to happen.
He really did.
The man glanced back at Sam to make sure he was still following, and Sam knew – he felt it with a sharp stab of terror – that Lloyd was wrong. Terribly wrong.
He wished his friend would turn around. He wished he would stop blabbing on and on to the man. He wished he could say something that would make Lloyd realise what was happeni
ng, that they had to get away, that they had to escape. But Lloyd didn't turn around, not once. He'd forgotten all about his friend Sam.
Sam thought about making a dash for the front door by himself. If he could get away and raise the alarm, he could save Lloyd, so it wouldn't be like he had abandoned him or anything. He could hardly drag Lloyd, kicking and screaming, out of there; he wasn't strong enough for that. But the house was dark, and huge, and there were too many corridors and several staircases. They had just gone past another staircase. Sam couldn't do it alone. Besides, he remembered that the man had locked the front door after they had come in, and Sam could see the heavy clump of keys hanging off his smart black jeans. Jingle jangle, jingle jangle all the way to the bedrooms.
'Right, this is yours, Lloyd,' the man said. 'One of the best rooms in the house.'
'We can share a room,' Sam suggested quickly.
'No, not a good idea, and not fair on your mate, either,' he said to Sam. 'I mean, if you start feeling really unwell, I might have to call a doctor out for you, and then no one would get a decent night's kip.'
'Lloyd won't mind,' Sam said. 'Will you, Lloyd?'
Lloyd looked at him and shrugged. 'Doesn't make a difference to me.'
It does to me, Sam screamed inside his head, it does to me.
'Um, I'm not that good in big, old, dark houses,' Sam said with a nervous laugh. No one could ever accuse him of not trying his best. If this was a film, he'd have got an Oscar by now.
'Bit of a baby, are you, then? Never mind, diddums, I'll leave a night light on for you, and I'll even tuck you in if you like,' the man said, and he laughed with Lloyd.
'Yeah, grow up, Sam!' Lloyd said.
Sam could tell that Lloyd was annoyed with him for showing him up like that. Lloyd annoyed with him – Sam couldn't believe it. He wanted to take Lloyd by the shoulders and shake him until he saw what was in front of him.
'Please, Lloyd?' Sam's voice had shrunk to a whimper. He could tell it had worked though because Lloyd was looking sorry for him.
'Yeah, all right. If you must,' Lloyd said.
He'd said it reluctantly, but Sam knew that was for the man's benefit. Lloyd had seen sense at last. Well, not entirely, but once they were on their own, Sam would make sure that Lloyd knew what was going on, and then they could devise some kind of plan to get out.
'We can't have that now, Lloyd, can we? Don't worry about your friend. He'll be just fine. It'll do him good to grow up a bit just like you said. Anyway, I'm here to look out for both of you and that's what I'll do. You make yourself at home, Lloyd, and I'll be back to check you've got everything you need,' the man said pleasantly. 'Sam, you're just a bit further up here.' He walked on.
Sam looked back at Lloyd, hoping he could get a quick word with him while the man's back was turned, but Lloyd was gone. Sam couldn't believe it. Hadn't Lloyd been the one who'd said, 'Don't leave me on my own'?
And now he'd left Sam alone.
What had got into him?
At the end of the corridor the man stopped and opened the bedroom door. He reached in and switched the light on.
'In you go then, lad,' he said.
Sam stepped inside. It was a small, plain room with a neatly made bed, a bedside table with a little lamp, two chests of drawers and a big heavy wardrobe. There was no other furniture.
'There's a bathroom just through there.' The man indicated at a door half-hidden on the other side of the wardrobe. 'You'll find everything you need in there. Sleep tight now,' he said, and left the room.
Sam didn't really know what to do next. He surveyed the room again, and wondered whether it had ever been used before. It looked like the kind of room that the butler would have. Lloyd had been given the best room in the house, which probably meant it had a four-poster bed, or even a water bed, and other cool stuff.
Then Sam got annoyed with himself for thinking in that way because that was how Lloyd had been duped, made a complete idiot of, and Sam had almost fallen into the same way of thinking without even realising that was happening. He should think like Tab, his sister.
She always kept her cool; well, most of the time anyway, and didn't have to say, 'Use your brain, Sam, that's why it's in your head,' quite so much any more because Sam had learnt to use his brain a bit more. He'd had to, living with an older smart-arse sister, who knew everything about everything, and who had more common sense than practically everyone he knew, apart from his mum.
His dad didn't stand a chance in the common sense stakes, and as Tab was always saying, most men didn't, which wasn't entirely fair, but Sam had proved her wrong – until earlier that afternoon anyway.
He'd go to the loo and then decide what to do. Sam crossed the room to the bathroom, and then stopped suddenly in mid-stride. Jingle jangle, jingle jangle, and then the click of a key turning in the lock.
Sam swivelled round.
6
He was locked in. Again! Why? Well, it didn't take an A Level in Science to know the answer to that. Science was his worst subject, and it wasn't as though he didn't try – he did, and he wanted to be good at it, and that's what made it even worse. 'Just do your best,' his mum would say. But what if your best wasn't ever good enough?
Sam looked at the locked door, knowing that looking at it wasn't going to get it unlocked. Only a key would do that and he didn't have one. The man had it. Something hot prickled his eyes. It was the warning sign before the floodgates opened and he mutated into a snivelling baby, and he couldn't have that, not now. Not when there was so much to do.
Sam turned back round and went to the bathroom. It was as plain and sparse as the bedroom: a loo, a sink and a bathtub, soap and a towel. He splashed his face with ice-cold water from the tap, and the prickling in his eyes abated for a while, but then it started again and he couldn't control it this time. Within seconds, he was on his knees sobbing, blubbering, crying for his mum like he used to do when he was really little and had had a scary nightmare. He crawled out of the bathroom and curled up on the bed, burying his face in the pillow to the muffle the sound of his distress. Long minutes passed, it could have been hours, but Sam knew it wasn't. His watch said ten thirty when he checked it after the fountain had finally run dry. His pillow was soaked with tears. It was amazing how much water could come out of your eyes, and one day Sam would find out exactly how and why that happened, if he didn't almost fail his Science exam again that is.
He sat up on the bed, pulling the duvet out from under him, and huddled beneath it. The room had got colder. His eyes strayed to the locked door again, and he threw off the cover and jumped off the bed as a sudden thought struck him. If the man could lock him in, he might be able to lock the man out. Might, Sam thought, sizing up the chest of drawers. It was about his height and almost as long – and it was ancient looking, which meant it probably weighed an absolute ton. It was worth a go. 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' his dad, the king of clichés, always said. But what exactly would be gained by locking the man out? Actually, quite a lot, Sam thought.
He should be able to manage it: it couldn't be that heavy and he didn't have to carry it anywhere. All he had to do was slide it across the doorway. 'Easy peasy, lemon squeezey; no problemo; piece of piss,' Sam said loudly, enjoying each and every word with relish as his voice echoed round the empty room. He almost smiled to himself because in normal life he probably wouldn't say any of those things – and never out loud. But nothing was normal at the moment, and saying something out loud, even though it was a load of rubbish, didn't make him feel so wretched and alone. Actually having a project was pretty good. It would pass the time until help arrived. Although Sam didn't really think the cavalry were going to charge in and kill all the baddies because no one knew they were there. But surely the man would let them go in the morning? Sam was counting on it.
He set his feet a little bit apart and planted his hands on the chest of drawers, and then he pushed. It didn't move much. Okay, it was going to be tough, but Sam was well up for the job
. He pushed harder, and the chest of drawers shifted a couple of inches. Hurrah, progress, but yes, it was going to take a while, he thought glumly, and he had no clue how much time he had before he had a visit from the man. 'Come on, Sam, put your back into it,' his mum cajoled. 'It's not that heavy. Oh, all right, I'll get Tab to give you a hand,' she would say in a resigned voice. His mum had a bad back so she couldn't lift heavy things, push furniture around, or even mow the lawn, and with his dad working long hours Sam was always called on to help out. He wished he did have Tab there to give him a hand: she was tough, and she never asked for help. The hot prickling sensation was coming back, but Sam couldn't let it win this time – he really had work to do.
He pushed again, and again, and again, and then he turned around and pressed his back into it, and slowly, slowly, agonisingly, painfully slowly, the chest of drawers inched its way across the wall. Sam kept pushing, his arms and legs going all soft and quivery, and it took all his strength to make them hard again, but he kept on pushing, and yelling, 'Put your back into it!' like his mum might have done if she was a yelling kind of person, which she wasn't, but if she could see him now, she would definitely be yelling it. Sam was sure of that.
Finally, it did reach the door, and a bit more pushing, and yelling, got it in front of the door. The door was well and truly blocked. No way anyone was coming in now. Sam fell to the floor in a heap, laughing breathlessly, and maybe a little hysterically, too.
He rolled over onto his back, where he stayed until he'd managed to stop the silly laughing, and get his breath back. He brought his wrist up to his face and his watch now said eleven. It had taken him half an hour to get the chest of drawers across the door! That was a ridiculously long time. Either he was much weaker than he thought, or the chest of drawers had been really, really heavy. Did that mean that the man wouldn't be able to get in? Of course it did. There was no way he could open the door into the room, so there was no way he could get in. The chest of drawers was a good height – it covered over half of the door. If the man got an axe and chopped his way in, he might have been able to get through the gap above the chest of drawers and the top of the door. But that only happened in films, Sam thought. So he was okay.
The Long Weekend Page 4
