‘What do we do?’
‘For now, we wait. Those guys aren’t that smart and it’s even darker now than when we were looking. As long as they don’t think to look overhead, we should be okay.’
We found a place screened from the track by a stack of partially rotten logs and sank down onto the ground. It was damp, but with my trousers still wet from the river and my jacket from lying on the ground, I didn’t think it would matter. When I shivered, Finn put his arm around me and we sat there in silence. At any other time I would have been terrified to be up here in the dark, amongst the brooding trees, with angry, dangerous people around, but with Finn it was different. I couldn’t feel scared or unhappy when I was with him.
I rested my head on his shoulder and prepared to wait.
After about half an hour we heard the men returning. Their voices were heated which I hoped meant they hadn’t found anything. I relaxed ever so slightly.
‘I told you it was a fucking risk,’ said one voice as they passed along the track. ‘Now what are you going to do?’
‘We’ll tell Marcus we haven’t found it,’ said the man Davy, sounding puzzled. ‘What else would we do?’
The other man began to say something but he was cut off by fat Chester. It looked as though those two were involved in something Davy didn’t know about. I wondered what would have happened if they had found the painting. Davy was a bit slow but he seemed nice enough, he wouldn’t have wanted to let Marcus down. Would they have done something to silence him and then taken the picture for themselves? They were still blaming each other as they passed out of our hearing.
I still hadn’t sorted it all out in my mind when, five minutes later, Finn got to his feet and pulled me up beside him. ‘Time to go.’
He didn’t speak again. We moved quickly, and in my case fairly quietly, back up the slope. It took a while to orientate ourselves in the dark, even Finn’s night vision seemed to be struggling and he used the light of his phone a few times to help us. Then we were there, back at the tree, and the guitar was safe where we’d left it.
‘Thank goodness for larch trees,’ said Finn. He stretched up but I’d done a good job of shoving it as high as I could manage. ‘I can’t reach. I’ll lift you again, okay?’
‘Fine.’ It was a struggle, but we got it down eventually. I nearly dropped it, there wasn’t much to hold onto on the smooth leather casing, and Finn swore under his breath. I presumed it was the guitar he was worried about but it might have been the painting.
He made sure I’d got my balance and then took the case from me and opened it. The light from his phone was dimming but there was enough to show the glowing chestnut wood of the guitar and, when Finn gently lifted it out, a cardboard rectangle fitted snugly into the back of the case. He slid this out and carefully eased open the two sheets of card. There, lying between them, was a tiny, brightly coloured painting. It was an abstract, mostly yellows and oranges. More than that I couldn’t see.
‘Shit,’ I said. ‘It really is here.’ I couldn’t believe something so small, that we were holding in our hands, could be worth so much. I didn’t particularly like Picasso, especially the later ones, but still.
‘Looks like it.’
Carefully Finn closed the boards and inserted the whole thing back into the case. Then he put the guitar in and zipped up the case. He hoisted it up under one arm, took my hand with his other and headed once again back down the hill. We had done it! The painting was safe. Now all we had to do was get it back to Marcus.
I was struggling to keep up, even though Finn was the one carrying something. In the pitch black, the ground was treacherous.
He said over his shoulder, ‘Are you okay? We really need to hurry.’
‘Fine.’ That’s about all I had breath for.
When we reached the track he paused. ‘Listen. Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to stay with the guitar just inside the trees there, where we were hiding before. I’m going to run down and find Marcus and somehow let him know it’s here without involving those traitors. Marcus and I’ll be back as quickly as we can. You okay with that?’
‘Course,’ I said immediately, although actually I wasn’t, much. Waiting alone in the forest with three million pounds worth of art being sought by at least two lots of villains …
‘Brilliant.’ He bent and kissed me, brief and hard on my lips, and then he was gone.
The kiss helped a bit. It made me feel braver. I made my way as well as I could back to the place we had waited not so very long before. I settled down behind the logs. It was cold without Finn, but it wouldn’t be for long. I heard an owl moaning in the woods, and in the distance music that could have been Murdo Mensah. How strange. I didn’t even have the energy to care about missing him. I concentrated on not shivering too much and not counting the passing minutes.
How late was it now? I wished I’d asked Finn before he left. Were we going to be in time? And where was the meeting place Marcus was supposed to take the painting to?
Hurry, hurry, hurry, I chanted silently. I hoped that any moment I’d hear footsteps approaching. And then I realised it wouldn’t necessarily be Finn and Marcus who came by first, and I shivered with fear more than cold. Please hurry up. Please don’t be the thugs or the fat guy. Or the police.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
GEORGE
It seemed like forever before I heard any sound other than the wind and the rustling branches. I hadn’t actually fallen asleep but I was so cold and scared and tired I had gone into a kind of daze.
I was roused from it by footsteps, moving quickly along the track. No voices.
I stayed where I was, tensed to run, although God knows I wouldn’t have got far with the guitar in my arms.
‘George? You there?’ It was Finn, speaking softly. Even he was probably not quite sure where he was.
‘Yes.’ I rose unsteadily to my feet and pushed aside the undergrowth so I could make my way onto the track. The clouds had thinned slightly and I could see the two figures by the faint light. Finn and a taller, darker one. Marcus. Thank goodness.
I thrust the guitar towards them. I didn’t want anything more to do with it.
‘You kids,’ said Marcus, not sounding nearly as grateful as he should. ‘Don’t you ever do what you’re told?’
‘Lucky for you we don’t,’ said Finn. ‘I told you not to trust Chester. Right, we haven’t got much time. Where do we meet your friends?’
Marcus unfastened the guitar case and, like Finn, checked for himself the Picasso was still inside. He gave a deep sigh when he saw it. Then he was silent for a moment, thinking.
‘It’s after eleven,’ said Finn. ‘How far have we got to go?’
‘I’ll take it,’ said Marcus. ‘You get back to the site.’
‘No way. You’re too trusting. You can’t believe those people will do as they said. You need back up.’ Finn spoke quickly, absolutely determined. I was thinking and we are the back up? What on earth can we do?
‘I don’t believe them,’ said Marcus, and swore under his breath. ‘But they’ve got Cami! What else can I do but turn up on my own?’
‘We’ll work something out on the way,’ said Finn. ‘Now, tell us where the meeting place is.’
Marcus sighed heavily and gave in. ‘Half way along this track, towards the village. Well hidden, but easy enough for them to get to from the road.’
‘We’ll be okay, it’s not that far,’ said Finn. ‘Come on.’
We set off at a kind of jog. The moon occasionally gave a little light, especially here on the track. Marcus carried the guitar and at first we were silent. I was glad not to be on my own anymore, and to be moving.
After ten minutes or so we paused and Marcus gestured to us to move into the shadow of the trees.
‘Okay, this is the plan. Finn is right, it’s better if I’m not totally on my own.’
He sounded decisive, suddenly, bossy in the way I was used to him being. ‘I’m going to leave
you two here with the painting. I’ll go ahead and make contact with them. I’ll make damn sure they know they don’t get the goods unless I have Cami back. You got your phone, Finn? Right, here’s what we’ll do …’
I sank down on the grass and pine needles, and let them sort it out.
When Marcus left us Finn sat down on the damp ground beside me. We were already too wet and dirty to bother about getting any worse. I was still wearing his beanie and pulled it off to shake out my hair. I ran my fingers absently through the tangles, massaging my skull.
‘Poor George,’ said Finn softly. ‘You don’t deserve to be mixed up in this.’
‘Rubbish,’ I said, but only half-heartedly. I was so exhausted I just wanted it to be over. ‘Who does deserve it?’
‘Marcus,’ said Finn immediately. ‘He took the risk of hiding the painting. It was for someone who’d helped him when he was inside. That’s what he said, anyway. One favour deserves another, apparently.’
We paused for a moment, listening carefully, but there was no sound of voices ahead.
I said, ‘And do you owe Marcus a favour? Is that why you’re helping him? Or is it just because it’s family?’
‘Both,’ said Finn, after a moment. ‘I suppose I do owe Marcus. He didn’t disown me.’
At that moment we heard sounds from the direction Marcus had headed. We fell silent, listening intently.
I was suddenly fully awake. It was nerve-wracking waiting there, straining to hear words but only managing to make out the sound of an engine, then low murmuring. We had the three-million-pound painting, but they had Cami. I tried to make out his voice but couldn’t identify it. I chewed my lip. What if they hadn’t brought him along at all, what if they were holding him somewhere else? What if they planned to keep him indefinitely to ensure Marcus’s continued silence? I started to panic as these possibilities flooded in.
‘You don’t think …?’ I began but Finn just put a hand to my lips to silence me.
His phone, which he held ready in his hand, gave a low vibration. As agreed, Marcus had sent a message. Thank goodness up here they both had reception.
Wait, said the text, they say Cami is near but wait til I’ve seen him.
‘Is that good news?’ I said doubtfully.
Finn just grunted.
We strained once again to hear what was going on. After a while Finn actually took a few steps down the track towards them. I could tell he was tense, raring to leap into action, but what he thought he could do I didn’t know. He had the painting, protected by its cardboard covers, in his hands. The guitar had been left somewhere in the undergrowth, not important right now.
His phone buzzed again and we both craned over to read the message. He’s here. Bring painting in five minutes. This was part of the plan, because Marcus didn’t want the men to realise quite how close at hand their precious stolen picture was.
We watched the time pass on the phone’s digital clock. After four and a half minutes, Finn pushed the phone into my hands.
‘Take this and hide. If things sound like they’re going wrong phone the police. Immediately. Okay?’
‘No, you keep it, I’ve got my own phone.’
‘Your battery’s dead, remember?’
‘Oh. Yes.’
He took a deep breath, hitched the painting more safely under his arm – such a small thing – and set off along the track at a run. I could hear him pretending to breathe heavily, as though he had come a long way.
So now I was the one with a decision to make. I had the chance to change things.
I wanted to start giggling, it was so absurd. I was Miss Goody Goody, the class swot, the girl who rarely broke rules never mind the law. Look what happened when I told a couple of white lies so I could stay on my own at my dad’s. But now I could put things right again. I could phone the police right now and tell them to get over here. I keyed in 999 and put my finger over the ‘dial’ button. I could probably hide away in the forest until they turned up. If I timed it right, Cami would be safe with Marcus. I’d be fine, the painting would be returned to its rightful owners, surely that was for the best?
But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let Finn down. He’d suffered so much. Marcus meant something to him, was family. As for me, I didn’t want to betray Cami. Or, even, possibly, Marcus. But most of all I couldn’t betray Finn.
So I just sat there and waited to see what would happen. It was nearly over now.
I wished I was a bit nearer. I could hear voices, but not what they were saying. They didn’t seem to be shouting but how would I know what Finn considered to be ‘things going wrong’? How long should I wait before calling the police as Finn had instructed? I was so intent on that, on listening to the sounds ahead, that I didn’t hear anyone closer at hand until the very last minute. And then a hand was slammed over my mouth and I hit the ground so hard that for a moment I was too stunned to take anything in.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
GEORGE
The men were muttering to each other when I came to my senses. ‘…so it’s just the girl here, the others must be somewhere else.’
Someone had lifted me off the ground and held an arm tightly around me, pinning my own arms to my side. I tried to bite the hand that covered my mouth and received a hard kick for my troubles.
‘Shut it, you.’ It was Chester. I recognised the voice. I could smell him too, stale and sweaty. I tried to writhe around, desperate to get away from him, but it made no impression at all.
‘Where’s this fucking guitar?’ said another voice. ‘Keep the girl quiet while I look.’
‘A sharp blow to her head would keep her quiet,’ said my captor, but the other man had already moved away.
Then, while fat, smelly Chester cursed under his breath, I realised I was still holding Finn’s mobile. I felt tentatively over the keys, hoping I could identify the right one, hoping I hadn’t touched something that would take it away from 999. I pressed the dial button and waited.
It gave three beeps, making the man swing around in alarm, and then the ringing tone could be heard clearly, and then almost immediately a wonderful, calm voice saying, ‘You have dialled the emergency services …’
‘Bitch!’ he screamed, throwing me away from him in his desperation to find the phone which flew out of my hand. ‘She’s phoned the police!’
That was all I needed. I opened my mouth and screamed. I dodged sideways, keeping my face away from him, and carried on yelling.
I heard shouts and the sound of people running. I didn’t know whether to head towards the footsteps, hide, or run the opposite way. Chester had given up on the phone and was off lumbering down the hill to save himself. He didn’t bother about his accomplice.
Then I heard Finn’s voice. ‘George! George! Where are you?’ and I scrambled crab-like towards the sound.
I threw myself into his arms and he held on to me. ‘Jesus, Jesus, what happened? Who are these people?’
‘Chester appeared and grabbed me …’
‘Bastard.’
‘He’s gone now.’
‘Bastard. I shouldn’t have left you. I knew he was up to no good.’
We just held on to each other for a while, shaking and telling each other it was all right.
Then I realised maybe it wasn’t. I had to tell him what I’d done.
‘I, er, I think I phoned the police. I’m not sure. I dropped the phone when Chester hit me.’
‘It doesn’t matter. As long as you’re safe.’
‘What happened to Cami?’ I said. ‘And the painting? Where are they?’
At that moment two figures came limping along the path, faintly visible as a thin moon appeared from behind the clouds. One was tall, one short. Marcus and Cami.
‘You’re okay!’ I said to Cami, reaching out a hand to touch his arm, make sure he was really there.
‘Aye, fine. And you?’
‘I’m fine too …’
‘Why were you screaming?’ said Marcus sou
nding irritable. ‘It certainly made those bastards scarper. Good job I had hold of Cami by that time. Did someone mention police? What have you done now?’
‘I suppose they got away with the painting?’ said Finn.
‘Thank God, yes. I don’t want to see the bloody thing again. Or hear about it. But why did the kid scream?’
‘Probably a mouse or something,’ said Cami, snide as ever.
‘It was Chester and another guy,’ said Finn.
‘Chester?’ said Marcus, peering around. ‘Where’d they go? And why did they run off?’
‘I, er,’ I said. We’d found Finn’s phone and I showed it to them. ‘I phoned the police, it was the only thing I could think of doing. And Chester heard the call go through. I didn’t actually get to speak before it was cut off but it was enough to make them run.’
‘I think your scream was enough to make them run,’ said Finn.
‘They were after the picture, too,’ I said. ‘Why?’
‘Money, of course,’ said Marcus, shaking his head. ‘Chester knew I’d hidden it and probably guessed where. You were right, the bastard was double-crossing me. It must have been him who told Dex. Where they thought they were going to off-load it I’ve no idea. Idiots. Anyway, let’s get back to the festival site. Be just my luck if the police somehow work out where the call was coming from.’
‘I think they already have,’ said Finn. And sure enough, if you listened carefully, the silence of the forest was once more disturbed by the wail of sirens.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ said Marcus.
Finn began to laugh. ‘Maybe it’s for the best,’ he said. ‘You can say they were threatening Cami, at least that will explain why our finger prints are all over the bloody painting. Whatever happens, there’s nothing we can do about it now. Let’s head down the track to the village. It’s the quickest way back to the festival from here. And if we happen to bump into the police so be it …’
‘It’s okay for you, being as you’re so friendly with the pigs,’ said Marcus bitterly.
Music and Lies (George and Finn Book 1) Page 21
