Watchers

by Philip Caveney

  The mobile in his pocket buzzed and he nearly knocked over the glasses in his haste to look at the message. It wasn’t from Sophie.

  Be nice to Jake.

  It will please your Mum.

  Amy

  Will stared at it. Bloody Watchers sending him text messages now! How did they do that? It occurred to him that they almost certainly had had a hand in Sophie texting him and he felt his spirits sink a little. It would have been nice if she’d done that because she actually liked him, he thought. Ah well. He’d just have to use the opportunity to make her realise what a cool guy he really was . . .

  He slipped the phone back into his pocket, picked up the glasses of wine and went back to the dining room.

  FOURTEEN

  It wasn’t as bad as Will had feared. For one thing, Mum’s Watcher-adjusted food was absolutely delicious. From starter to sweet, it was a triumph and Will ate everything that was put in front of him.

  For another thing, Jake Kirby turned out to be a really interesting guest. He’d led a pretty amazing life but he wasn’t up himself like a lot of people who had done cool things, he had to be pushed into telling stories of where he had been and what he had done; but when he did tell them, he had the knack of drawing you into the story and keeping you entertained.

  He’d gone to South America to seek his fortune – a ridiculously old-fashioned notion, he admitted, something he’d wanted to do since he was in his teens. He’d spent many years in Brazil, working in a variety of weird jobs. He’d been a deck-hand on a supply boat going up and down the Amazon, he’d been on expeditions into the jungle, he’d worked on a coffee plantation and a ranch and all sorts, but all the things he’d tried had come to nothing.

  And then somebody had told him about the garimpos . . . the diamond mines of Brazil, where hardmen came to dig the earth in the hope of finding a fortune. He knew that 99 out of every 100 men who went there came away with nothing; and he had been warned that the life expectancy for a garimpeiro was extremely short. If you didn’t go down with dysentery or jungle fever, you might get robbed or even murdered by the other men who worked there. The place was inhabited by the toughest, most ruthless men in South America, many of them hardened criminals.

  ‘But I was determined to give it my best shot,’ Jake told them, staring into his glass of wine. ‘I told myself that I was going to stick at it until I found something really special. Something that would change my life.’

  For a long time he had found nothing. He had spent every day digging through his allotted patch of mud with nothing to show for it but burned skin and blistered hands. He had slept in a filthy wooden hut, alive with bugs and rats and had eaten nothing but the local rice and black beans that the Indians cooked in a pot over an open fire. He had lived like that for the best part of a year.

  Eventually he had found a few small diamonds – ones that he had been able to sell to the local dealers for twenty, thirty, maybe even fifty pounds, nothing that would change his life. He had begun to doubt he ever would find something big. And then . . .

  ‘And then one morning, I was looking through this bucket of mud,’ said Jake. ‘It was a bad day, the heat was intolerable, I had flies crawling over every inch of my body and I was close to breaking point. I remember thinking that I was just going to walk away from there and look for something else, some other way of making sense of my life. And then, I put my hand into the mud and I felt what I thought was a rock . . .’

  Will listened entranced. He could see Jake’s eyes growing bigger, that he was remembering the event.

  ‘I pulled out the rock and I dipped it into a bucket of water to wash off the mud. And it was . . . it was . . .’

  Will leaned forward impatiently. ‘Yes?’ he prompted.

  ‘It was the biggest diamond I’d ever seen,’ said Jake quietly, and he took a sip of his wine.

  ‘How big?’ asked Mum. She too was clearly enthralled.

  ‘Almost as big as my fist,’ said Jake. ‘And worth a fortune. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on it.’

  The silence seemed to deepen.

  ‘What happened next?’ asked Will.

  ‘I had to pretend I’d found nothing. You must remember, there were other men watching me the whole time; men who would have thought nothing of sticking a knife in my back to take the diamond off me. So, even though I wanted to yell and dance around, I had to hide the damned thing in my shirt and go on working as usual, the whole day long. And at night, I bought my rice and beans and a bottle of cahaca . . .’

  ‘Ca-what?’ asked Will.

  ‘The local rum. Terrible stuff, but everybody drank it.’ Jake smiled, remembering. ‘Then I turned in for the night, but I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking somebody might have noticed that I’d found something, that they would come to rob me in the night.’ Jake shook his head. ‘It was the longest night of my life,’ he said. ‘At dawn, I crept out of there and I headed straight for the airport. I had the diamond in my pocket and I prayed that nobody would search me too closely going through customs.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Mum. ‘What would be the problem? It was your diamond, you found it.’

  ‘Yes, but if the immigration people had found that on me there’s no way they’d let me out of the country. I had to smuggle it out.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Will. Mum’s ex-boyfriend was starting to sound a bit like Indiana Jones. ‘And . . . you got away with it?’

  Jake spread his arms.

  ‘I’m here aren’t I? I took the first available flight to London. I got through the other end without being searched. I took a taxi straight to Hatton Garden, the diamond district and I got a valuation.’

  He took another sip of his wine.

  ‘AND?’ Will and Mum said it together.

  ‘Forty quid,’ said Jake.

  There was a stunned silence.

  ‘Forty quid?’ echoed Will. ‘You’re kidding!’

  Jake laughed. ‘I am actually,’ he said. ‘They came back with a price of three point two million pounds.’ He let this statement settle in before he continued. ‘So I checked into a hotel, instructed the diamond merchant to act as my agent and I stayed until the deal was done and the cheque was in my bank account. And I thought to myself, this is it, I can do anything I want, I can go anywhere I like . . .’ He looked at Mum meaningfully. ‘And the only thing I could think to do was come home. Because there was some unfinished business I needed to attend to.’

  Will frowned. This was in danger of becoming horribly sloppy.

  ‘But,’ said Mum. ‘I don’t understand. I thought you said you were living at your mum’s.’

  ‘I am,’ admitted Jake. ‘Until my new place is ready. The builders are going to be a few more weeks yet.’

  ‘You’re . . . building a house?’ asked Mum.

  ‘More like renovating it. It’s Neston Hall.’

  Mum had been on the point of taking a sip from her own glass and the resulting splutter gave Jake a liberal spraying of white wine. Luckily, he just laughed. Mum sat there with her mouth hanging open.

  ‘Neston Hall!’ she croaked. ‘I did notice there were workmen up there the last time I went past. Bulldozers and so forth . . . but . . . but . . . that place is . . . huge. You must be . . .’ She searched for a suitable word.

  ‘Loaded,’ suggested Will and Mum gave him a look.

  ‘Will!’ she said.

  But Jake just laughed delightedly. ‘Yes, I suppose I am,’ he admitted. ‘But I got the place for a song because it was virtually derelict. They even gave me a grant to help cover the cost. Thing is, I’m not sure if I’ve bought it as an investment . . . or as a place to make a new start.’ He looked meaningfully at Mum again. ‘I suppose that would all depend on meeting the right person.’

  Alarm bells started going off in Will’s head. Major sloppiness was obviously imminent. He made a show of looking at his watch.

  ‘Oh, is that the time?’ he asked, a tad too loudly. I really must finish my homework.’r />
  Mum gave him a look.

  ‘I wasn’t aware you’d even started it,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, yeah . . . I did a bit at school in the lunch break.’

  ‘You did?’ Mum looked even more shocked than she had a moment ago.’

  ‘A scholar as well as a sportsman,’ observed Jake.

  ‘Er . . . yeah.’ Will got up from the table and gave Jake what he hoped was his best smile. ‘It er . . . was really . . . interesting to meet you,’ he said. ‘Cool story about the diamond and everything.’

  Jake stood up and shook Will’s hand.

  ‘Nice to meet you, too,’ he said. ‘I’m sure your dad would have been very proud of the way you played today.’

  Will nodded but he wasn’t sure what to say, so he left without a word. Just before he pulled the door closed behind him, he saw Mum and Jake gazing at each other across the table. He felt a sudden rush of emotion within him and almost jumped back into the room, shouting that this was all wrong and that Jake should clear off, Mum belonged to Dad and always would . . . but he fought the impulse down. Mum had to be happy, whatever it took, and then Dad could be happy too. Will couldn’t live with the idea that he’d consigned his dad to spend eternity in hell.

  He went to the study and gathered up his homework project, which looked unfeasibly neat and clean. He slipped it into his school bag and then sat down at the computer, which booted up silently, a moment before he reached out to punch the ‘start’ button. He opened the instant messaging function and typed in Amy.

  He reached out to key in a question but his words appeared on screen as he thought them.

  IT SEEMS TO BE WORKING. THEY’RE MAKING GOO-GOO EYES AT EACH OTHER.

  There was a moment’s pause and a reply appeared in the box.

  GOOD. JUST LEAVE THEM TO IT.

  He thought of another question and there it was, in the box.

  ARE YOU SURE THIS IS FOR THE BEST?

  TRUST ME. I KNOW ABOUT THESE THINGS.

  DID YOU PUT AN ENCHANTMENT-THING ON JAKE?

  A BIT. BUT HE DIDN’T NEED MUCH

  ENCOURAGEMENT. HE REALLY LOVES YOUR MUM. ALWAYS HAS.

  Will thought for a moment.

  DID YOU ALSO PUT ONE ON SOPHIE?

  A slightly longer pause than before. Then.

  WHO’S SOPHIE?

  Will felt a sudden rush of elation. That meant that Sophie might have sent him the text simply because she wanted to and entirely without the aid of Watcher-interference.

  YOU REALLY DON’T KNOW HER?

  UH HUH. SHOULD I?

  NO, SHE’S NOT IMPORTANT.

  Will cast around for something else to talk about.

  DID ARI TELL YOU THAT I SAW LOU AND

  HIS CRONIES?

  YES.

  Will frowned.

  IS THAT ALL YOU’VE GOT TO SAY?

  FOR THE MOMENT. WE’RE JUST KEEPING

  OUR HEADS DOWN AND GETTING ON WITH

  THE JOB IN HAND. LEAVE THE WORRYING

  TO US.

  OK. Will signed off. TALK TO YOU LATER.

  He reached over to switch off the computer and the screen went blank. He sighed. This was going to take some getting used to. He went back into the hall and listened at the dining room door for a moment. He heard the soft sound of his mum laughing and couldn’t for the life of him remember when he had last heard it.

  He went up the stairs to his room. He threw himself down on his bed, opened up his phone and had a look, but no other messages had arrived for him. He hoped he hadn’t put Sophie off with that stupid reply. Oh well, not much use in sweating it now. It was way too early for sleep so he switched on his TV and activated the PS2, intending to enjoy a few levels of Doom.

  The familiar intro came up but the image flickered off momentarily and was replaced by a close-up image of a smiling, bearded face, staring out of the screen, the dark eyes looking straight at him. He got such a jolt that he almost fell off the bed.

  The screen flickered and the intro to Doom came on again. But in the brief seconds he had seen the face, he had recognised it only too well. The last time he had seen it, it had been staring up at him from over the handles of a motorbike as Will rode the bus to school.

  Unnerved, he leaned forward and switched off the TV. Suddenly he’d gone right off the idea of playing a game. He reached for a comic and tried to read that instead but as he browsed through it, he realised he was listening intently and the sound he was listening for was the powerful roar of a Harley Davidson.

  FIFTEEN

  Will stumbled downstairs the next morning to find Mum standing at the cooker. She was singing along to some dreadful country and western song on Radio 2 and seemed to be in a disgustingly good mood.

  ‘Good morning, number one son!’ she said and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

  ‘Do you have to?’ he complained, struggling free of her. ‘It’s a bit early for that kind of thing.’

  ‘Nonsense. It’s never too early to be nice to my wonderful and talented son! Now, sit, eat! You can’t go to school on an empty stomach.’ She presented him with a large plate stacked high with thick slices of french toast.

  ‘I can’t eat all this,’ he protested.

  ‘Of course you can. It’s my own recipe.’ She leaned close, as if to confide a secret. ‘I’ve added a spoonful of parmesan to the egg mixture. You won’t believe the flavour!’

  Will scowled and took an exploratory bite. He had to admit it did taste rather amazing and he hoped that Mum’s new-found skills wouldn’t wear off too quickly. He started eating with more enthusiasm than usual.

  ‘What time did Jake leave?’ he asked, through a mouth full of eggy bread.

  ‘Oh . . . late on,’ admitted Mum, unable to stop herself from smiling. ‘We had a lot to talk about. You know, he’s had some real adventures. I think that’s the only word to do them justice.’ She looked warily at Will. ‘I think he went down rather well with you, didn’t he?’

  Will shrugged. ‘He’s ok, I suppose. That was a good story about the diamond.’ Will finished one slice of French toast and reached for another. ‘D’you think it was true?’

  Mum looked outraged. ‘Of course it was! You surely don’t think Jake’s a liar, do you?’

  ‘I suppose not. But . . . Neston Hall . . . I mean, that place is like a stately home. Could he really own it?’

  ‘Well, we’ll know soon enough,’ said Mum. ‘He’s taking me over to look at it after work.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. Wants to get my advice about curtains and carpets and so forth.’

  Will looked at her doubtfully. ‘And you’d know about stuff like that, would you?’

  ‘I think so.’ Mum seemed defensive. ‘As much as any of those idiots you see on the telly, anyway. What do they know? And Jake said he liked the décor in our house.’

  Will looked doubtfully around the scruffy kitchen. He wasn’t an expert but he thought the word décor was probably a bit strong to describe what was going on here. It occurred to him that the term ‘scruff-hole’ might be more appropriate but he didn’t say anything.

  Mum glanced at her watch. ‘Better get a move on,’ she said. She went to the back door, which was ajar and called for Spot, but he didn’t appear. ‘What’s that dog playing at?’ she asked the world in general. ‘Why doesn’t he ever come when he’s called? Will, be an angel, will you?’

  Will looked at her in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’ he gasped.

  ‘Fetch the dog in while I put a bit of slap on.’

  ‘I’ll miss my bus,’ he complained.

  ‘Oh, go on, you’ve a few minutes yet.’

  He took a last mouthful of french toast and went to the back door. Looking out, he saw that the garden gate had been left ajar. He frowned. It was unlike Spot to wander off − that dog was way too fond of his bed and his dog bowl. But a quick glance around the garden revealed that he wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  Will cursed under his breath and walked to the
gate. He stepped out and looked left and right, along the rows of weathered timber fences, but there was no sign of Spot. He turned left and walked through the narrow passage that led to the garages belonging to the council estate. The rows of numbered metal doors were all closed except for one, about halfway along, but from this angle it was hard to see inside it.

  Will was about to turn back when a sound reached his ears. A whimper. It seemed to be coming from the open garage. He turned back and walked towards it.

  ‘Spot?’ he called. He was beginning to feel edgy. Something didn’t seem right. Again, he heard the sound, the muffled whimper of an animal that was either frightened or in pain.

  He reached the garage and peered into its gloomy interior. It appeared to be empty.

  ‘Spot?’ he said again and his voice was little more than a whisper.

  He noticed, with a stab of fear, that as he spoke, his breath clouded. It was as though the temperature in the garage was many degrees lower than it was outside. And there was a strange smell issuing from in there, a rich sulphurous stink, like somebody had just struck a dozen matches at once. Will was on the verge of walking away when something moved in the shadows up at the far end and a figure came strolling out into the light.

  It was Lou, and he was holding Spot in his arms. Lou grinned; or rather, he bared his teeth, because there was no humour in his eyes, which, now they were no longer covered by shades, turned out to be as black and shiny as two drops of wet tar.

  ‘This your dog?’ he asked. He had a quiet, sly voice that was little more than a murmur. He was staring intently at Will and Will found himself reluctant to gaze into those malignant eyes; they seemed to have the power to look deep inside him. Instead, he concentrated on Lou’s gloved hands, one of which was curled around Spot’s throat. Will could see the little dog was trembling beneath Lou’s touch. He too was looking at Will, his eyes pleading.