An Explosive Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures)

by Julia Hughes

  Carrie blushed again, not necessarily an indication of guilt, her fair skin blushed too easily.

  ‘An elephant? Why would Wren know - is this something to do with that circus over the Scrubs?’ She turned on Wren, ‘You told me it wasn’t an animal circus.’

  ‘Thanks Crombie. Make me out to be a liar.’ Wren sounded petulant.

  Crombie smirked. ‘An elephant’s gone missing. You just happen to be in London town. Weird stuff happens around you. And if Carrie doesn’t yet know the only time you’re not lying is when your mouth’s shut, it’s time she found out.’ Humming happily, he pulled Carrie’s plate towards him.

  ‘If you don’t want this?’

  Carrie tugged it back. ‘No. Lizzie said you’re getting far too fat, and you’re on a diet.’ Wren smiled when she added. ‘And Wren doesn’t lie, he just makes up stories.’ With a decisive bob of her head, collecting the plates, she scraped them clean and cluttered them into the sink. Crombie noticed she’d put the scraps into a bowl. Following his gaze Wren said.

  ‘For the local strays.’

  ‘Huh huh.’ Crombie leaned back on his chair and stretched his legs under the table, swallowing a couple of times against a satisfyingly salty mouth, hoping he’d be offered another cup of tea.

  Wren couldn’t resist taunting him.

  ‘So - what does it look like this elephant of yours?’

  Crombie played along, happy as always to pay out the rope.

  ‘About yea high.’ He stretched an arm upright above his head. ‘Dove grey, goes by the name of Lulu, wrinkly skin.’

  Looking over her shoulder, Carrie said ‘We honestly haven’t seen an elephant called Lulu.’

  With his suspicions confirmed, Crombie forced a smile, keeping it there until the muscles ached. He allowed the silence to drag on painfully too. When Carrie finally snapped:

  ‘Take a look around for yourself - go on - check the bedrooms out!’ he was on his feet and bounding up the stairs before either of the lying pair could say another word.

  ******

  Carrie stared at the empty kitchen chair still rocking with propulsion from Crombie’s almost vertical take off. All her acting, pretend anger at Wren for nothing! Overhead floorboards creaked ominously, doors opened and slammed shut again. Any second now they’d be found out, any second Crombie would discover what lurked upstairs.

  ‘Wren, do something - stop him...’ She wailed.

  Yanking her along with him, Wren hurried along the corridor, fumbling for his mobile phone taking stairs two at a time.

  ‘Carrie shut up! Promise you now, Crombie won’t never tell another living soul!’

  Carrie gibbered, trying to wrest free of Wren’s vice like grip, wishing she could turn back the clock somehow, dreading what was to come.

  They collided with Crombie on the second landing, he’d obviously started at the third floor, Wren’s rooms, now with only the briefest of pauses he threw open the door to Rhyllann’s bedroom. Originally two rooms, an inner wall had been demolished creating an area covering the entire second storey, apart from a corner sectioned off to form an ensuite bathroom.

  ‘Hot tub. Annie wanted a hot-tub. Don’t go in there Crombie - someone’s taking a bath.’ Wren warned, as Crombie stomped over.

  ‘Sorry son what did you say?’ Crombie shoved the door forward to bounce on its hinge, looking back at Wren with a triumphant smirk on his face as he stepped over the threshold.

  Carrie opened her mouth, but all that came out was a croak. She tugged desperately on Wren’s arm, begging him mutely to do something - but it was too late.

  Yelping with surprise, Crombie staggered back, slamming the door shut. His eyes which had been closed in terror, flew open, and stared unseeing into the room. The only sound now was that of water sloshing noisily in the unseen oversized bath, and the ragged breathing of the otherwise motionless detective.

  Carrie’s hands flew to her mouth, Uncle Derek would never forgive her for this, it didn’t help that Wren was almost on his knees beside her, struggling to keep his mobile phone steady as he convulsed with laughter.

  Torn between sympathy and her own giggles, Carrie took a couple of steps towards her best friend’s dad, thinking of all the times he’d allowed her and Lizzie to stay up a little bit later, given them lifts to the local pool, waited patiently for the school disco to end and generally treated her as a fifth daughter.

  ‘Uncle Derek.’

  She broke the spell and brushing her aside, Crombie stormed over to Wren, and wrestled the mobile from him to pound it under a muddy boot.

  ‘Crombie! My phone!’ Wren could barely get the words out through his giggles. For the briefest of moments Crombie’s hand hovered dangerously around Wren’s face. Clenching his fist, still not looking at Carrie, he clumped down the stairs. Suddenly furious with Wren, Carrie slapped him.

  ‘Stop it. Stop it! We’ve really embarrassed him. Poor Uncle Derek.’ She scuttled down the stairs after Crombie, aware Wren followed still hiccupping with laughter.

  Never Smile at a Crocodile.

  Crombie waited for them in the kitchen, colour returning slowly to his face. Ducking his head to peer up and out of the rear window, straining as if he could magically see over the flat roof extension, he shuddered.

  ‘Crocodile. You’ve got a crocodile in your bath.’ He told them; as though somehow the giant reptile had crawled in through the front door and lumbered up the stairs before running a shallow bath and taking up residence without anyone noticing.

  ‘Cariad, make Uncle Derek some more tea.’ Wren steered Crombie over to the table, easing him into a chair. ‘Actually, its an alligator, it’s fairly easy to tell the difference...’ Realising he was being treated like a geriatric Crombie shrugged Wren’s supporting arm away, shoving violently. Wren retreated to the doorway, well out of reach.

  ‘Shut up. You’ve got a thumping great beast up there with a jaw full of large pointy teeth. I don’t give a shit what you want to call it. It’s lethal.’ Crombie raised his eyes upwards, as though the beast would come through the ceiling at any moment.

  ‘It isn’t lethal, not unless you provoke it.’

  ‘Lethal.’ Crombie repeated firmly. ‘It nearly gave me a heart attack.’

  Wren giggled, thinking Crombie had made a joke.

  ‘Son, I mean it. My poor old ticker.’ Crombie’s hand crept over his chest. ‘Thanks sweetheart.’ He said to Carrie, accepting the mug of tea from her, dipping his head to sip without bothering about sugar this time. Maybe he was afraid his hands would tremble too much to operate the tiny tongs.

  After a stern look from Carrie, Wren began apologising profusely.

  ‘Crombie, I’m so sorry, I tried to tell you ...’

  ‘Shut up. I’ll do the talking. Shut the hell up now, else I’m on the phone to the ...’ He stopped to think of who would be responsible for sweeping up stray alligators. ‘RSPCA.’

  Wren dissolved into fits of giggles again, at the thought of some old dear coaxing a six-foot alligator into a cat box.

  After a second or two Crombie allowed himself a brief smile. ‘I’ll have you both sectioned.’ He warned.

  Colour began to return to his face though; taking a seat opposite him Carrie tried a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Sorry Uncle Derek, I really didn’t think you’d look in there.’

  Crombie grimaced. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing mixed up with this - or that.’ He pointed to Wren, still propping up the doorframe ‘but I want an explanation and it’d better be good.’

  ‘Uncle Derek thinks I’m leading you astray.’ Wren said, a tone of hurt innocence in his voice.

  The air prickled as the two men exchanged glances over her head and for a fleeting moment Carrie felt annoyed with Crombie for bursting in and adding even more complications to her life, and Wren for insisting on treating everything as a joke. She let out a sigh of frustration, gazing over Uncle Derek’s shoulder into the tiny rear garden. From this angle, she could see
over the wall and Wren’s mural, to the cherry red metal staircase landing of a warehouse behind. A Victorian warehouse, built to impress. The fire escape staircase climbed six flights high, each storey had eight windows, all arching to a more expansive height than their front door.

  Dimly reflected in their own kitchen window glass, she watched a wraith like Wren slumped against the kitchen door frame, arms disappearing behind his back, fidgeting nervously. His reflection winked at her, and her gaze moved on hurriedly, flickering upwards to the fanlight, a window above the door meant to provide secondary light to the gloomy passageway that served as an entrance hall to the house. That needs a good clean she thought absently. Sighing again she tried to explain.

  ‘Uncle Derek; give us two, maybe three days and that poor creature will be in a sanctuary, with other alligators, and I promise you won’t have to worry about it anymore.’

  Carrie jumped as he rammed a fist against the table.

  ‘Sod that thing! I’m more interested in the elephant. Do you know how much they’re worth? Someone’s stolen a very valuable asset from the circus up there.’ He pointed in the direction of the Scrubs. ‘How d’you think that’s gonna look when it gets in the press? An eight ton elephant nicked in the middle of London and the Met can’t find a trace of the bastard!’ Looking down at her fingernails, Carrie bit her lips, on the verge of confessing all to Uncle Derek when Wren spoke.

  ‘An eight ton elephant has no business being in London. It belongs on the African Savannah. You of all people know that Crombie.’ He’d been waiting for this moment, to pay Crombie back.

  ‘Jesus Christ son.’ Crombie rubbed at his eyes, then pushed his hands through his hair with vehemence. ‘Don’t you lecture me! I’m not here to discuss animal welfare, and what happened in Africa stays in Africa. The fact is that elephant is valuable property. I’m guessing that thing.’ Crombie jabbed a finger skywards ‘is worth a bob or two an’ all. There must be at least a dozen handbags in that skin.’

  Carrie gulped miserably, turning to Wren for support. Pacing into the room he pulled out the chair next to her, taking her hand as he sat down and murmured. ’It’ll be ok, Cariad, don’t look so worried.’

  ‘Son, you’ve got more front than the wall of China. Carrie happens to have a conscience.’ Crombie patted her other hand, Carrie pulled away from both of them, fearing a tug of war would break out. But she edged a little closer to Wren, hoping this small gesture of support would soften his manner.

  ‘Go back to the circus Crombie. Look for an old guy, about my height. He’s got a tattoo across his forehead. The word “Killer.” Get him on his own, he’ll confirm what I’m going to tell you. He can’t talk. He’s got no tongue. He used to be a sword swallower.’ Wren smiled grimly at that.

  ‘That beast as you call it is usually kept in a metal trunk. They’ve been organising dog fights. Only they don’t put their pit bulls up against it. They’re too precious to risk. You tell me Crombie, any reports of pets going missing recently?’

  Crombie’s face drained, he clutched at his mug. ‘You are shitting me. You cannot be serious.’

  Wren leaned back on his chair, tipping it back. ‘You’d think wouldn’t you? That poor animal up there is someone’s warped idea of entertainment. “Killer” reckons they put three or four moggies in with it, take bets on which one’s going first, how long it’s going to take - sometimes the cats manage to last twenty minutes. Tell your ex-elephant keeper you’ve had sightings of an alligator on the prowl. See how quickly he disappears.’

  Crombie scratched at his forehead, Carrie noticed his china blue eyes were becoming clouded with age. He sounded weary.

  ‘The keeper has disappeared. I thought the whole thing was a set-up, an insurance scam or inside job. But this ...’ He supped at his tea, replaced the mug carefully and spoke with renewed vigour.

  ‘Son, let me call someone - the zoo or somewhere - put the thing out of its misery. And sit forward on that chair. You’ll end up breaking your back.’

  ‘We are putting it out of its misery Uncle Derek. This time next week it’ll be with its own kind.’ Carrie ducked her head, trying to make eye contact, Crombie looked about to erupt.

  ‘Please, it can’t help what it is. If anyone’s to blame it’s those ... monsters.’

  Crombie sounded scornful: ‘You know what’ll happen? They’ll just get hold of another one - it’ll all start again.’

  ‘It won’t Uncle Derek.’ Carrie nudged Wren’s chair upright, frowning at him to behave. ‘Tell him Wren.’

  Wren hesitated, then with a shrug began to explain.

  ‘“Killer” always looked after Lulu. He loved her in his own way, he’d never chain her up, always used to walk with her, just let her wander around the circus site - he had one of those little sticks - you know.’

  ‘Like they do in India?’ Crombie caught on immediately.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it, Jungle Book and so on. She had some kind of a life with him. Next thing this Charlie Bozen rolls up, boasting and talking Killer down, putting the fear of god into Stephenson about health and safety. And poor old Killer finds himself without a job, but he clung on making himself useful.’

  ‘Poor old sod.’ Crombie said with genuine feeling.

  ‘It’s alright Uncle Derek, we’ve got him a job, we’ve just got to sort his passport out.’

  Wren nudged her sharply, but the damage was done.

  ‘So you promised the old man a new life in Africa, with his Lulu.’ Crombie finished for her. He jabbed a finger towards the ceiling ‘and don’t tell me, Rhyllann’s gonna pack that thing in his suitcase and make a stop off in Florida.’

  Wren frowned. ‘Don’t be facetious Crombie. Annie doesn’t know anything about this.’ He laughed out loud. ‘Can you imagine what he’d say if he knew we’d kept an alligator in his bathroom?’

  ‘Please Uncle Derek. Can’t you pretend ... or keep quiet for a couple of days.’ Even as the words were spoken, Carrie knew it was pointless. Wren tried again.

  ‘Without Alfie, Charlie Bozen is up shit creek without a paddle. He’s playing with the big boys, and they’re not going to be happy losing their Saturday night fun. That’s probably why he’s done a runner.’

  ‘Hah! You expect me to turn a blind eye to all this.’ Crombie waved an arm around, encompassing the house and occupants. ‘I’m supposed to look the other way?’ As if Wren’s words had only just sunk in, Crombie mouthed the word “Alfie” Wren smiled, jerking his head towards Carrie.

  ‘You call that thing up there Alfie?!’

  Carrie nodded, feeling twelve years old again. Something about Crombie’s incredulous stare made her add defiantly: ‘The elephant’s called Nefertiti. Like the Egyptian Queen. Her name isn’t Lu-Lu.’ With a snort of derision, Crombie searched through his pockets until he found his police radio. Carrie sucked in her breath with trepidation, releasing it with a happy sigh as Wren revealed his hand too.

  Watching the detective with an inscrutable expression, Wren laid Carrie’s mobile on the table. After a few taps of the keyboard all three watched the miniature screen fascinated as Detective Inspector Crombie squealing like a schoolgirl, rushed from Rhyllann’s bathroom, abject fear on his face. Carrie didn’t dare look up at the real life Crombie. She wriggled closer to Wren.

  ‘I’ve already sent a copy to my email.’ Wren spoke conversationally. ‘It’s in the cloud Crombie.’

  Carrie drooped her head even lower. Uncle Derek would never forgive her, he’d be a national laughing stock, because he wouldn’t give into Wren’s implied threat, Lizzie would never talk to her again - she bit her lip hard, because in addition to all these thoughts and more, her mind chanted childishly:

  Never smile at a crocodile,

  never tip your hat and stop to talk awhile,

  don’t be taken in by his welcome grin,

  he’s imagining how well you’d look within his skin ...

  Wren spoke again. ‘Even if you catch up with Bozen, how are you goi
ng to prosecute? You’ve literally got to catch him in the act, even then he could claim it was a private party that got out of hand.’ He paused. Crombie was breathing heavily, Carrie snuck a look at him, his face was still etched with anger, but a hint of resignation was creeping in.

  ‘All that tax-payer money - and for what?’ For a moment Carrie thought Wren would launch into a lecture, instead very softly he said ‘Please Crombie, give us a couple of days, that’s all I’m asking. By Monday, there’ll be nothing to see.’ He pressed the delete button as he spoke, then snapped the back from Carrie’s phone and dug out his memory card, handing the tiny black tablet to Crombie. It vanished from sight engulfed between Crombie’s thumb and fingertip.

  ‘I lied. There’s no reception here.’ Wren answered Crombie’s unspoken question. ‘That’s the only copy. Was the only copy.’ He jiggled Carrie’s sim card into its slot and snapped the battery and phone back into place deftly.

  Crombie grunted, and flicked Wren’s card onto the table. ‘Sorry about your phone son. You promise me that thing’ll be gone by the weekend?’

  ‘Promise’. The strange grey flecks in Wren’s eyes shrunk, and for a split second they were as clear and candid and as blue as Uncle Derek’s.

  Carrie held her breath and clutched at Wren’s hand. When Crombie stretched out his legs under the table and nodded agreement, she almost choked with relief.

  ‘You might be right. The ringmaster’s more concerned with cashing in on the insurance money, probably pleased to get rid of the beast. Not to mention Bozen. But tell me one thing?’ A pleading tone entered his voice. ‘How did you manage to steal an elephant in the middle of London?’

  ‘Rescued. We didn’t steal, we rescued her.’ Carrie said. Wren squeezed her hand, warning her to keep quiet.

  ‘How do you think? What would you have done?’ Wren challenged.