by Adele Abbott
She was pleased to have caught them all together because she’d been working late into the night to produce her masterpiece.
“Hey, guys. Can I show you this?”
“What is it?” Charlie could barely keep his eyes open.
“If you could all come over to the lounge, it’ll be easier to show you there.”
Charlie had a mug of what looked like lukewarm tea. Neil was eating burnt toast, and Dorothy was grumbling under her breath.
When they were seated, Susan held up a sheet of paper. “This is the rota.”
The three of them stared at it, bleary-eyed.
“What’s that all about?” Dorothy said. “It’s just a load of coloured squares.”
“I can’t understand it,” Charlie said.
“It’s quite simple, really. The four of us are colour-coded. I’m orange. Charlie, you’re blue. Neil, you’re purple, and Dorothy, you’re red.”
“Why am I red?” Dorothy scowled. “I don’t like red. Can’t I be orange?”
“We can probably sort the colour thing out later, but for now, let me talk you through how it works. Each column represents a day of the week: Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I thought we could all have the weekend off.”
“Gee, thanks,” Dorothy said.
Susan ignored the jibe. She was starting to get used to them.
“In each column, there are four squares. Each of those squares is a different task, such as: washing up, vacuuming the floors, cleaning the windows—”
“Cleaning the windows?” Dorothy looked horrified. “Those enormous things?”
“Well, yeah.”
“How are we meant to clean those? Look how high they are.”
“What do you do at the moment?”
The three of them shrugged.
“You’ve never cleaned them?”
“The landlord sent someone in a couple of months ago to do it,” Charlie said. “But we’ve never touched them.”
“I’m sure there must be something we can use,” Susan pondered. “I’ll give it some thought.”
“Maybe we could walk on stilts,” Dorothy snided.
“So, as I was saying, on each day there are four squares. Every weekday, you need to check the rota to see which square has your colour on it—that’s your task for the day. So we each have only one task to do each day. That’s reasonable, don’t you think?”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.” Charlie nodded. “I think I can manage one thing a day.”
“What about when someone has to go out for the day?” Neil scratched his chin. “What happens to their task then?”
“The way we used to do it, when I was in London, is that we’d arrange a swap. So, let’s say I know I’m going to be out tomorrow. I’d ask one of you to swap with me. That way, you’d cover my task tomorrow, and I’d do the same for you on another day. That system seemed to work pretty well. Do you think we could do a similar thing here?”
“I suppose so,” Charlie said.
Susan checked her watch. “I’m running late. I’d better get off. I’ll leave this rota for you to study. If you have any questions, you can talk to me when I come home tonight.”
As soon as Susan was out of the door, Dorothy rounded on the two guys. “This is all your fault. Both of you. We should have nipped this in the bud as soon as she started talking about flatmate meetings. We should have told her where she could shove her FM.”
“It sounds a reasonable system to me,” Charlie said.
“Oh, shut up, Charlie!” Dorothy snapped. “You’re too nice for your own good!”
“Hey, Dorothy.” Neil had a stupid grin on his face. “You’d better hurry up or you’ll be late for work.”
She glanced at the kitchen clock. “What are you talking about? I’ve got plenty of time.”
“Not according to this.” Neil picked up the rota. “It’s your turn to do the dishes, so you’d better get cracking.”
She snatched the rota from him. “I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Neil. You’re down to do the vacuuming.”
***
When Susan arrived at the office, she spotted a small envelope on her desk. There wasn’t an address on it—just her name. It had obviously been hand-delivered.
She turned to the man seated at the next desk. “Hey, Pete, did you see anybody drop this envelope on my desk?”
“Nobody’s been near your desk since I got here. Whoever it was must have delivered it early this morning or during the night.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She tore it open. Inside was a grubby sheet of paper. The writing on it was barely legible. The spelling was atrocious; the grammar was non-existent.
She had to read it through a couple of times just to get the gist of it. It seemed to relate to some kind of extortion racket in Washbridge. According to the note, the perpetrators were targeting smaller shops on the eastern side of the town. It went on to say that although several of the victims had contacted the police, nothing had happened because the chief of police was being paid by the criminals to turn a blind eye.
Although she couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, Susan suspected that the note had come from the creepy little man who had approached her in the basement garage. What had he called himself? Something stupid. Manic, that was it. Why would he have left her this note? Then she remembered that he’d said he was prepared to give her the first story for free, so she’d know his sources were good. An extortion scheme would be a big story in itself, but if the chief of police was implicated, that was a front-page headline if ever she’d seen one.
Dougal was standing at Bob Bragg’s desk. There were a couple of other reporters there too. Susan had no interest in what they were talking about, but they were speaking so loudly that it was impossible not to hear. Dougal Andrews seemed to be bad-mouthing The Chips newspaper. She found that more than a little curious because only the day before, he’d told her that he intended approaching that paper for a job. He’d even suggested she do the same. What had changed? There could be only one explanation. They must have turned him down. He was never going to admit that he’d been kicked back; he wouldn’t want to lose face. Instead, he was now telling everyone how bad The Chips was.
While the three men were still talking, Stella came over to Susan’s desk.
“Are you okay, Stella? You look a bit down.”
“To tell you the truth, Susan, I’m worried. I assume you’ve heard the news about The Chips.”
“Yeah, Flynn told me.”
“I think this might be the end for The Bugle. If this place folds, I’ll be out of a job, and they’re not easy to come by.”
“Don’t worry about it, Stella. The Chips doesn’t even have a presence here yet. It’s going to take them a while to build up a readership. That gives us plenty of time to turn things around.”
“Gives you time,” Stella said. “You and Flynn. No one else is going to do it. Look at those wastes of space.” She pointed to Dougal Andrews and his entourage. “Did you know he tried to get a job at The Chips?”
“Yeah, he told me. I gather from what I just overheard, that they turned him down.”
“Laughed in his face, more likely. Now he’s trying to make out that they wanted him, but he decided to stay here. He’s such a liar.”
Later that afternoon, Susan heard footsteps approaching her desk. She looked up, fully expecting to see Dougal Andrews or Bob Bragg, but instead, she saw her youngest brother.
“Ray?” She could tell by his expression that this was not a ‘welcome-back-to-Washbridge’ visit.
“Mum said you were working here.” He spat the words. “What are you thinking?”
“Come with me.” Susan led him to one of the interview rooms, and closed the door behind them.
“Why are you working here, Susan? You know what this rag is like.”
“The paper I was working for down in London folded. I needed a job. I needed money. This came up, so I applied for it.
The Bugle has new owners now, and they’re determined to change its image.”
“Don’t be so naive!” He laughed. “This paper will never change its spots. Don’t you know how this makes the family look?”
“And my career doesn’t count for anything? I’m sorry, Ray, but we can’t all be Dad’s blue-eyed boy, can we?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean. You followed him into the police force, so of course you’re his favourite. I committed the crime of becoming a journalist.”
“Can you blame Dad? After all the problems he’s had with the press?”
“That was just one rogue journalist. You can’t tar us all with the same brush.”
“Mum said you didn’t even tell her you were coming back.”
“I didn’t tell anyone, and this is precisely why. I knew what kind of reception I’d get. Take it from me, I’d rather be in London, but beggars can’t be choosers. I need this job.”
“There’s no talking to you.” He started towards the door. “Just don’t embarrass the family any more than you have to.”
“Ray! Wait.”
“What now?”
“Can I assume that if I need any help from the police, I can call on you?”
He left without another word, slamming the door behind him.
Susan was still shaking with anger, when the door opened again.
It was Stella.
“Are you okay, Susan?” She sounded concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
“I could see you were arguing. Is that your ex?”
“No. That’s one of my brothers. As you can tell, we’re just one big, happy family.”
Chapter 10
It was Charlie’s day off. His mother had phoned the night before to ask if he’d pop over. His father had died when he was a teenager, leaving his mother to bring up Charlie and his younger brother, Ralph, alone.
“Hey, Mum,” Charlie burst through the door.
“Charlie.” His mother gave him a big hug. He hugged her right back. The bond between the two of them was plain to see. “It’s lovely to see you. How are things?”
“Great, thanks. We’ve got a new flatmate.”
“Has one of the others left?”
“No. Someone has taken the fourth room. She moved in a couple of days ago.”
“She? Is she a werewolf?” His mother was always trying to play matchmaker.
“No.”
“A vampire?”
“No.”
“A witch, then?”
“She’s a human.”
“Why would you let the room to a human? I thought that apartment block was sups only.”
“We didn’t have any say in it. The landlord decided we were dragging our heels over getting another flatmate, so he found one for us.”
“How do you all feel about that?”
“Everyone’s a bit nervous because she’s a reporter. If she realises who we really are, we may end up front page news.”
“You have to be careful, Charlie. You know what’ll happen if it comes out that you’re sups, don’t you?”
“The Rogue Retrievers will come after us.”
“That’s right. How is everyone getting along with her?”
“Neil’s kind of okay with it, like me, but Dorothy isn’t. She really doesn’t like Susan. She wants us to try to drive her out.”
“Why’s Dorothy taken against her?”
“It makes life a lot more difficult for her. She normally keeps her synthetic blood in the fridge, but now Susan’s there, she has to keep it at her friend’s apartment, upstairs.”
“How do you plan on getting the human to move out?”
“Do you remember I told you about the ghost that Neil invited in?”
“The sock man?”
“Yeah, Socky. We’re kind of hoping he might scare her away, but it hasn’t worked yet. Anyway, what about you, Mum? You sounded a bit upset when you called.”
“It’s your brother again.”
“What’s he done this time?”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. You were never like this when you were a teenager. You were always such a good boy.”
It was during his teenage years that Charlie had lost touch with a lot of his friends. They’d all become a lot wilder, and more interested in drinking and partying. That had never appealed to Charlie. And besides, he’d always been busy around the house, helping his mother.
“What’s Ralph been up to?”
“This is the worst one yet. When he came in last night, he had bruises and scratches on his arms, and his shirt was ripped. I’m pretty sure he’d let the werewolf out.”
“I know he shouldn’t, Mum, but at least he’s in Candlefield so he can’t get—”
“That’s just it. He wasn’t in Candlefield. He’s started going to Washbridge with some of those so-called friends of his.”
“I didn’t think he was allowed to go there?”
“He isn’t. I told him the same as I used to tell you at that age. He isn’t allowed to go there until he’s eighteen, but he doesn’t take any notice. He goes where he wants and does whatever he pleases. I’m worried about him, Charlie. If he goes werewolf in Washbridge, sooner or later, he’s going to hurt someone, and then he’s really going to be in trouble.”
“I assume you’ve told him all of this, Mum.”
“Of course I have, but I’m wasting my breath. I was hoping you could talk some sense into him.”
“He won’t listen to me.”
“Will you at least try, Charlie? Please.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a go.”
He went upstairs, his big feet clumping on the steps as he went. The sound of heavy metal music was coming from his brother’s bedroom. Charlie knocked on the door, but there was no answer, so he pushed it open and walked in. Ralph was lying on the bed with his eyes closed. Charlie could tell he wasn’t asleep because he was moving his hands in rhythm to the music. He pressed ‘pause’ on the iPod.
“Hey! What are you doing?” Ralph sat up. “Turn the music back on.”
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Turn the music back on.”
“I said we need to talk.” Charlie sat in the chair next to the door.
“Has Mum sent you up here to have a go at me? Like she hasn’t done that already?”
“Why have you been going to Washbridge?”
“Who says I have?”
“Are you denying it?”
“What if I have? What does it matter?”
“It’s dangerous.”
“You see danger everywhere. You’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a werewolf.”
“What are you talking about? What do you think happens to me every full moon?”
“All you ever do is come back to Candlefield, and go to the Range with all the other pseudo-werewolves.”
“Pseudo? What is that supposed to mean?”
“You should stay in Washbridge—scare a few humans. Maybe even attack a few.”
“Is that what you’ve been doing?”
“I’ve just been having fun. I’m not going to hurt anybody. Not much anyway.”
“You’re a disgrace, Ralph.” Charlie stood up. “If Dad could see you now, he’d be ashamed.”
“Don’t talk to me about my father. I never knew him.”
“Of course you did.”
“No, Charlie, I didn’t. Not really. The only memories I have of him are what I’ve seen in photographs.”
“He wouldn’t put up with this nonsense.”
“Well, he isn’t here, is he? So we’ll never know.”
“I know, and I’m telling you it’s unacceptable.”
Ralph jumped off the bed; the two of them were now face-to-face. Any moment they would turn werewolf on one another.
“Both of you! Stop it now!” Their mother was standing in the doorway.
***
Charlie was still fuming wh
en he left his mother’s house. He had intended to stay all day, but knew if he did that, things could get really nasty. His mother had asked him over to try to make things better, not worse. There was nothing he could say to Ralph that would make any difference. Ralph was rebelling, and he wasn’t about to listen to any adult, particularly not his mother, and certainly not to Charlie.
When he got back to Washbridge, Charlie met up with Doug, another werewolf, at their favourite pub, The Howling. It was one of the most popular pubs among the werewolf community in Washbridge.
He found Doug standing at the bar.
“Hey, Charlie,” Doug said. “You sounded a bit stressed on the phone.”
“It’s that brother of mine.”
“Let me get you a drink, and you can tell me all about it. The usual?”
“Yes, please.”
Doug ordered a pint of bitter for himself, and a half of lager for Charlie. As the two of them sat at the bar, Charlie brought Doug up to speed.
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” Doug took a long drink. “I was just as bad when I was a teenager.”
“I know you were. I never really went through that phase.”
“You’ve always been a good boy.” Doug laughed. “Apart from when you’re on the rugby field, of course. Then you turn into a killing machine.”
“Hey, I’m not that bad!”
“Let’s put it this way. I’m glad I’m on your team, and not the opposition’s. I’ve seen some of the damage you’ve inflicted on our opponents.”
Charlie laughed. He’d never let the werewolf out while he was on the rugby field, but he’d come close a few times. He loved rugby. He enjoyed being able to let out the aggression. On the rugby field, everybody was an animal.
After a few minutes, the two men made their way into the small room, at the back of the bar, where there was a pool table.
“Are you ready for a drubbing?” Doug grinned.
“Care for a small wager?” Charlie took out his wallet.
“A fiver a frame?”
“You’re on.”
Doug took the first frame easily. Charlie took the second. They were halfway through the third when a gang of young men, all in their early twenties, walked in. They were humans, and it didn’t take a genius to see they’d already had way too much to drink.
