by Kim Slater
A tear slid down his cheek and he looked away. I pretended I hadn’t noticed.
I wanted to ask him what his father’s brains looked like and if they went all over the wall but I didn’t.
When I told Miss Crane, she said I had done very well to think before I spoke and it showed I was getting much better at understanding other people. But it didn’t stop me wondering about it all the time.
Karwana wasn’t scared of anyone at school, not even Gareth and his gang. He walked around, powerful and brave, like he was the King of Uganda.
‘When you have faced soldiers with guns and machetes,’ he said, ‘silly boys like this hold no threat. They pretend they are big and brave, but underneath they are just afraid, like everyone else.’
After school I went down to the embankment to see Jean. She said I could go to the hostel with her to show Old Billy the drawing of the mystery man.
Sometimes, during an investigation, there are places that you have to go to which are unavoidable.
Mum had told me I wasn’t to go to the hostel, but it was an unavoidable place. The clue to Colin’s killer might well be found there. If I caught the killer, Mum would understand why I went there, and let me off.
It was busy at the hostel because it was going to be a cold night. Jean said it would be better if I sneaked in when the woman on the desk wasn’t looking.
When there were a few people waiting to be registered, I slipped past and walked into the main room. Old Billy saw me straight away and put his hand up. I went to sit next to him.
‘Noo then, have ye found any more clues aboot ya friend, laddie?’
‘Yes,’ I said, opening my satchel. ‘I’d like you to take a look at this photofit and see if you recognize the man.’
Old Billy sat laughing under his breath. He didn’t even say anything, he just kept laughing at whatever it was that he was thinking in his head.
I felt annoyed, like he didn’t believe I could find the killer.
When I showed him my sketch, he stopped laughing.
‘Did you draw that?’ he said.
‘Have you seen this man before?’
Old Billy looked a bit closer, then he turned the pad a bit and looked at it far away.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen him before.’
Jean brought me over a bowl of soup. I looked up and the security guard was watching me. He didn’t smile properly but the ends of his mouth went up a tiny bit.
I really wanted to ask him what he’d been doing down at the embankment and what he’d been talking to my mum about, but I pulled my eyes away and ate my soup. Timing was everything and I didn’t want to let on I’d spotted him the day before.
Jean got up and went over to see a lady in a white coat who had just walked into the room.
It was lovely having some tea when you were hungry. I liked coming here with Jean. Even sitting with Old Billy was better than being on my own on the bench at the embankment.
The hostel smelt a bit like dirty old socks, but once you got used to it, you didn’t notice as much.
‘Did you know that Colin was a hero fireman?’ I said to Old Billy.
‘Aye, that I did, lad. Very proud of his Medal of Bravery he was too.’
‘Where is it?’
‘What?’
‘His Medal of Bravery?’
‘Och, he carried it around in that stripy bag of his. Kept it wrapped in its tissue box and everything.’ Old Billy stared in front of him but he wasn’t really looking at anything. ‘They’d engraved it with his name and the date. It meant the world to him, but what good is it now?’
This was very interesting. I had seen the contents of Colin’s bag spread out on the riverbank by the police and there hadn’t been a medal there.
I took out my notebook and wrote it down.
Old Billy did his funny, secret laugh again but I just ignored him.
The room was filling up with people for the night. The beds were through a door at the back. They were in what’s called a ‘dormitory’. Homeless people don’t get a private room each. They have to share.
Jean showed it to me once. The beds were all lined up in rows, like how army soldiers sleep or sick people in the hospital. The women have one room and the men sleep in another.
I was going to tell Old Billy about my letter and photograph from Martin Brunt, but he wouldn’t know who he was and that would take the excitement away.
‘Would you go and get this poor old man a wee cup o’ tea, please, laddie?’
Sometimes old people think you should do all their errands just because you are younger than them. Jean wasn’t like that and my grandma wasn’t either. I think old men might be lazier, but nobody has proved it yet.
I walked over to the drinks hatch.
The security guard stood next to it. He nodded at me.
He was about Tony’s age but he had a kind face.
‘I’m just getting a drink for Old Billy,’ I said, in case he thought I was taking the homeless people’s tea for myself.
‘That old goat will have you running around,’ he laughed. He put his hand out to shake mine. ‘Stephen. What’s your name?’
‘Kieran,’ I said, and shook his hand.
He seemed OK but he looked at me a bit funny. Like he was making his mind up about something.
I thought about some of the police talks we’d had at school about perverts. Perverts could be anyone. Men, women, or even security guards.
They pretend to be your friend and then they try and put their hand down your trousers. Or up your skirt, if you are a girl. That’s why you have to guard your personal space.
I snatched my hand away.
‘Did you know a homeless man called Colin?’ I said.
Stephen shook his head.
He swept his arm around the room. ‘A lot of people use this place.’
‘Do you live around here?’ I said it like I wasn’t really interested. You should always aim to sound casual and slightly disinterested when trying to trip up a perp.
‘Not far away,’ he said. ‘You?’
If he knew my mum, he probably knew I was her son. He was playing silly games.
‘I live in the Meadows,’ I said. ‘My mum works at the Spar shop there.’
I watched him carefully. I waited for him to reveal signs of nervousness or lying.
He watched me back.
I decided to take control of the situation.
‘What were you talking to my mum about last night?’
I saw shock flash over his face for just a second, and then he looked away.
‘You’ll have to ask your mum about that,’ he said. ‘It’s not my place to say.’
I got Old Billy’s tea and took it over without looking at Stephen again.
There was something very suspicious about his behaviour, but him talking to my mum probably wasn’t connected to Colin’s murder. I knew this because my mum wouldn’t ever hurt a homeless old man.
‘You’re a wee gem,’ said Old Billy.
‘I don’t want to get you anything else,’ I said, and fastened up my satchel.
I saw him do a face at me by pulling his chin down long.
Jean came back over and sat down next to me. She put her hand on my arm.
I didn’t mind because I know Jean well.
‘Kieran,’ she said. ‘I know where your grandma is.’
Jean knew the lady in the white coat. She was a volunteer doctor that came to the homeless shelter regularly, to help the people there.
‘Dr Craig knew me when I was a midwife,’ she said. ‘She was quite happy to do me a favour and check your grandma’s details out.’
The polite part of my brain thought I should kiss Jean, but I don’t kiss people. Only Mum, on her cheek sometimes. And, of course, I used to kiss Grandma.
‘Thank you very much for helping me, Jean,’ I said instead. Polite words coming out of my mouth always sounded like they belonged to someone else.
‘You’re
very welcome, lad. She’s in the Ashfield Community Hospital, Ward Six B.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’ I said.
‘Dr Craig didn’t say - they’re not allowed to.’
I felt the crack in my heart get a bit bigger.
‘I want to go and see her,’ I said.
‘I’ll come with you if you like,’ said Jean. ‘We can go tomorrow after you finish school.’
Loads of people bunk off school just because they don’t want to do lessons. I wished I could bunk off tomorrow and go and see Grandma. It was important. More important than fractions and stupid PE.
If I didn’t go, Miss Crane would ring my mum and ask where I was. Having your own teaching assistant sucked. You never got a minute’s peace.
‘I could come wi’ ye both,’ said Old Billy.
I didn’t answer him and neither did Jean.
I wrote the hospital details about Grandma down in my notebook and put my coat on. Then I remembered about Colin’s medal. I asked Jean if she’d seen it.
‘Oh yes, he was always polishing it and showing it off,’ she said. ‘It was all he had left of his old life.’
‘It wasn’t in his bag,’ I said. ‘I would have seen it.’
‘Maybe the police gave it to his family?’ said Jean.
‘But what if they didn’t?’ I asked.
‘I’ll get someone here to ring the police so I can report it missing, just in case.’
She smiled at me.
I said goodbye and walked towards the door. I didn’t look at Stephen when I walked past him, in case he was some kind of a pervert.
I passed the lady at the desk on the way out.
‘I didn’t see you come in,’ she said, frowning.
‘I was looking for my grandma,’ I said. Which is true.
It was cold and dark outside. I stuck to the main roads while I walked home. This is the best way you can keep safe. If you show you are nervous, you are more likely to get attacked. So I swung my arms as I walked, to show I wasn’t scared, in case any criminals were watching.
I walked past KFC. It smelt lovely. I had the three pounds Mum gave me in my pocket, but that was for the bus fare to the hospital, so I couldn’t spend it. A lady and a man came out and put a bag in the litter bin. It looked like it still had food in it.
I’d seen homeless people look in bins before and get food out. I’d never seen Jean do it, though.
I got near the bin. I looked at the brown paper bag poking out of the top. If people had just put it in there, it wouldn’t be as bad as eating old, cold food.
Then one of the men from the shop came outside so I walked past the bin without stopping. When I was a reporter for the Post I would be able to eat as much KFC as I wanted.
Or McDonald’s. It would be my choice.
We are always doing about the environment at school. Here’s a gross fact about the environment: McDonald’s cows are causing a load of damage to the ozone layer because of all their FARTS.
It’s true. McDonald’s have so many cows that their farting is making tonnes of carbon dioxide, which is called a greenhouse gas. This is very bad for the environment and burns a hole in the atmosphere.
We didn’t learn about the McDonald’s cows in class; I found it on the computer one dinner time. I told Miss Crane about it, but I said ‘trump’, not ‘fart’.
A few years ago, scientists said we would all frazzle and would have to wear sun cream and dark glasses, even in the house. This was because they said the greenhouse gases would destroy the protective layer of ozone around the Earth, and the sun would burn us into little bits.
This hasn’t happened. All we have is more rainy summers. The girls hardly sunbathe by the embankment any more because of the rubbish weather.
It doesn’t matter because I still have the card of the rude girl that I found in the phone box. She is showing more than her knickers. In fact she hadn’t got any on. You aren’t supposed to look at stuff like that but you can’t help it when you get it out of your pocket by mistake.
When I trusted Karwana a bit more, I might show him the card.
If he promises not to tell.
I didn’t want to go home.
I turned right instead of left and walked across to the embankment. It was dark and quiet and I was quite scared, but I still did it to dare myself. It felt different and exciting.
I walked near the river but stayed close to the trees. I had dark clothes on, like I was undercover, watching for suspects.
The wind carried one or two voices up from under the bridge. I made sure not to walk too close so the druggies couldn’t get me.
The summer river is very different to the winter river.
In summer, there are more people around and everyone seems happier. Sometimes, students from the university take barbecues in little foil trays down to the embankment. They cook sausages and drink beer.
Sometimes a lad would see me looking and say, ‘Want one, mate?’
Then a girl would say, ‘Ahh, look at his trousers,’ which has nothing at all to do with sausages.
My favourite thing about the embankment in the summer is that the river has loads of boats on it.
The Trent Princess is a big party boat that goes up and down at night with people on it and loud music. Mostly, they do not even look at the river; they just drink and make a racket.
Sometimes, during the day, a big boat comes down the river with old people on it. They sit with cups of tea, watching everything that’s happening on the riverbank. They like waving at you and are never sick in the water like the people on the party trips.
When I am old, I will go up and down on the river boats. I will pass the spot where Colin was murdered and remember how I solved it all on my own, when I was a lad.
The other boats that are often on the summer river are the rowers. Usually there are five or six men, or sometimes girls, in long rowing boats. A man sits at the front, shouting instructions at them.
‘The cox,’ said Miss Crane, when I told her about it in class.
The cox is in charge. He tells the rowers what to do and they’re not allowed to say anything back. The cox shouts orders so all the rowers can hear. It sounds like he is getting mad, but he isn’t – he just wants them to go faster, so they win.
You’d think that the rowers would make a lot of splashing when they come past you but they don’t. They all row in time with each other and put the oars in the water at the correct angle.
The best out of all the boats are the ‘Dragon boats’. There is actually a dragon’s head at the front, and they beat drums as they race each other along the river. There are about twenty paddlers on each of them, and the cox sits at the front to time them and shout, ‘Faster! Come on, team!’
Tonight, the river was quiet. I could hear some birds making noises, but I couldn’t see them.
Somehow, it felt like stuff was going to start happening. My tummy felt like the inside of a cement mixer.
I tried to get the thoughts flattened out in my head:
Jean had found out where Grandma was. We were going on the bus to see her tomorrow after school.
Colin was scared of a man who looked a bit like Johnny Depp but was a lot uglier.
Colin’s Medal of Bravery was missing. It may have been taken by the killer.
Tony thought it was my fault the RSPCA had come and rescued Tyson.
It was OK because my mum said I didn’t have to go and live in a children’s home.
Stephen, at the hostel, might be a pervert, so I shouldn’t go near him or even look at him. But I still needed to find out how he knew my mum.
Miss Crane said it was always a good idea to write down what was worrying you because then you could sometimes stop the thoughts going round in your head. But it was too dark to get my notebook out and I didn’t want to sit under a street light because you never knew who might be watching. I liked being in the shadows; it felt safer.
I looked up behind the trees and saw the lights
on in the flats and houses. They all had people in them. Some would be happy and some would be sad.
You don’t have to have a lot of money to be happy.
The people in Lowry’s paintings are almost always poor but they look happy enough. Even the dogs look pleased to be there.
Tony gets money from his visitors but he’s never happy. I’ve seen him counting it with his back to the kitchen door so he thinks nobody can see. It’s not even coins. The people at the door give him lots of notes in thick wads.
He only counts his stash when Mum is at work.
He thinks he’s keeping it all a secret.
I wanted to meet Mum after work so we could walk home together, but it was too cold. My watch said 7.02 p.m. Fifty-eight minutes is a long time to wait. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about my mum.
I felt like my fingers were filled with freezing cold blood. They wouldn’t warm up, even in my pockets.
It wouldn’t bother a lizard because they are coldblooded creatures. The brilliant thing about being coldblooded is that you match the temperature of where you are at the time.
‘Your environment,’ said Miss Crane, when we learned about it in class.
If a lizard lies in the sun, it warms up quickly. If it is cold in the night, the lizard’s body goes cold but it doesn’t shiver.
Cold-blooded animals don’t need as much food to stay warm and alive. Fish are cold-blooded. They’d have to be, living in the freezing Trent.
I looked at the black water. The street lights shone down on it and lit up the surface but it still looked like treacle. You couldn’t see down to the bottom.
Fish were down there, swimming around. They never stopped and they never closed their eyes to sleep. Fish were crazy.
I didn’t walk by the Spar – I went straight home. I walked up the alleyway by the side of the house.
I heard voices, but before I could turn round I heard someone dash across the yard.
The gate smashed open and a man grabbed me by the throat. I screamed and my head banged on the brick wall.
