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by Jacqueline Harvey

  The children followed her past a staircase to the back of the house, the carpet crunching underfoot with dirt and grit. Clearly, Mrs Brightside wasn’t fond of vacuuming – unlike Song, who did it every day.

  Tucked into the rear of the ground floor was a pocket-sized space with an old electric range, a dull steel sink and a few cupboards with chipped worktops and bright yellow doors. There was a laminex table in the centre of the room with two chairs upholstered in orange vinyl. A naked globe worked hard to illuminate the space.

  Mrs Brightside reached up and pulled a rusted biscuit tin from one of the cupboards. Max wondered if it was full of money. He’d heard stories about old people who didn’t trust banks and kept their fortunes in tins or under their mattresses.

  The woman prised open the lid, disturbing a plume of dust. She retrieved two small packets of biscuits, like the ones you’d get at a motel with the tea and coffee. Max didn’t mind the shortbread variety but, given the dust, they had to have been there for a while.

  ‘One for you and one for you,’ she said, handing a packet to each twin. ‘I don’t know what you really ’ad to do with any of this, but you’re a nice-lookin’ young lad.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t expect anything, Mrs Brightside,’ the boy replied.

  ‘What, my biscuits not good enough for you?’ She looked at him accusingly. ‘And ’ere I was thinkin’ you ’ad such good manners for a boy.’

  ‘No, they’re my favourite, thank you,’ Max backtracked, lest the old lady find her handbag within reach and belt him over the head with it.

  The woman shooed them with her hand. ‘Well, off you go then. I’ve got packin’ to do.’

  ‘Are you going on holidays?’ Kensy asked.

  ‘Somefin’ like that,’ the woman said.

  Kensy turned around to leave just as the front door opened and Derek’s voice echoed down the hall.

  ‘Es, I’m back,’ he called.

  Esme sprinted past the twins to intercept him. ‘Mind your language! I’ve got visitors,’ she shouted.

  ‘Hiya kids,’ Derek said, giving them a wave from the hallway. ‘We’re old friends. I drove ’em to school this mornin’.’

  ‘You wait in the kitchen until I say goodbye to the children,’ Esme said, nodding her head in that direction.

  ‘Bye, Derek,’ Max said. ‘And thanks again for the lift.’ But Derek didn’t move. He stood in the hallway watching the children.

  ‘Why would ’e ’ave to drive you to Central London Free? Is there somefin’ wrong wiv your legs?’ Esme asked.

  Kensy was dying to ask her the same thing, as whatever ailed her seemed to come and go in the blink of an eye. She couldn’t help herself. ‘Mrs Brightside, are you a gymnast, by any chance?’

  Esme turned and looked at the girl as if she’d just been slapped with a wet fish. ‘I’m seventy-nine years old, lovey. I ’ave a bent back and a bad ’ip. Do I look like a gymnast?’

  Kensy shook her head. ‘It’s just that the other night I thought I saw someone in your upstairs room leaping about and doing handstands and cartwheels and the splits.’

  ‘You must have been lookin’ at the house next door because, I can assure you, it weren’t me,’ the old woman tutted.

  ‘But you were a champion when you was a girl,’ Derek piped up. ‘Me mam told me you was in the Olympics.’

  ‘Didn’t I tell you to wait in the kitchen?’ Esme said, glaring at the lad. She turned back to the twins. ‘If only I ’ad such agility nowadays, but look at me. Old age is a terrible fing. Anyway, you’d better be off or Song’ll be worryin’.’

  The children were practically pushed out onto the street. Esme reminded them to get Song to deliver the roast, then promptly shut the door. Glad to get away, Kensy and Max made their way across the street and came face to face with Claudia pushing her pram.

  ‘Hi there,’ the woman said, looking pleased to see them. ‘Are your knees better, Kensington?’

  The girl nodded. ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Claudia pointed at number fourteen. ‘Did I see you come out of Mrs Brightside’s place?’

  Kensy explained they were returning something the woman had lost.

  ‘Is your baby awake today?’ Max asked. He really did have a huge soft spot for little ones and would have loved to see her.

  Claudia shook her head. ‘She’s just gone to sleep, so please don’t wake her or I’ll be up all night.’ The woman looked as if she was about to set off again when she hesitated. ‘What’s it like in there?’ she said, gesturing to Mrs Brightside’s place. ‘I’m thinking about doing some renovations myself and I wondered what she’s been up to. That young lad with the fancy car has been bringing so much rubble out I thought she must be tearing the place apart.’

  ‘Oh no, it’s really old and dingy,’ Max said, wrinkling his nose. ‘I don’t think she’s doing renovations unless it’s in the cellar. If you want to see a lovely makeover, you should come and have a look at Dame Spencer’s house. It’s beautiful.’

  It was getting to that time of the evening when commuters were walking home and several well-dressed men and women trotted along the footpath.

  ‘We’d better go,’ Kensy said, before saying goodbye, but Claudia didn’t reply. She looked to be deep in thought.

  Kensy and Max walked up to number thirteen and rang the buzzer. Song released the door latch from the kitchen, then charged upstairs to meet the children in the hall.

  ‘How was Mrs Brightside?’ he asked, glad to see they were back safe and sound.

  ‘She gave us this as a reward,’ Kensy replied, and thrust the packet of two biscuits towards the butler.

  He considered the cloudy packaging with a look of distaste. ‘I think perhaps they will go into the bin, seeing that the expiry date is four years ago. I suppose she meant well.’

  ‘She’s weird,’ Max said, closing the front door behind him. ‘I feel sorry for her husband.’

  ‘Oh, Mrs Brightside does not have a husband. He left her some time ago,’ Song said.

  ‘Well, that’s strange because she was talking to him on the telephone when we were there,’ Kensy said. ‘And she wasn’t very nice to him at all.’

  ‘I think she might be a bit of a Jekyll and Hyde character,’ Max said. ‘And don’t ask us to take over her dinner – you can do that all on your own.’

  Song smiled. ‘She will be grateful, but I hope she doesn’t give me any biscuits as a reward. Please come downstairs, children. I have some news.’

  Kensy grabbed her brother’s hand. ‘Is it Mum and Dad?’ she said, her heart in her throat.

  ‘Come,’ the man said, and led the way down to the kitchen, where the aroma of roasting lamb filled the air. Wellie and Mac hopped out of their beds and leapt onto Kensy and Max’s laps as soon as they sat at the kitchen table, where Song had already placed two small slices of hummingbird cake and two hot chocolates.

  ‘Song, stop stalling. What is it?’ Kensy demanded.

  ‘Kens, calm down. He’s going to tell us,’ Max remonstrated. He looked at the butler. ‘What is it, Song?’

  Song sat down at the end of the table with a heavy air. ‘I have news from Mr Fitz, but I am afraid it is not what you have been hoping for.’

  Although Kensy and Max wanted more than anything for Fitz to have found their parents, that wasn’t the case, but they weren’t giving up – there was no reason to. They just couldn’t tell Song why they hadn’t fallen apart. The twins knew their mother and father were safe somewhere and that everything would be all right as soon as Fitz got back and they could tell him what they knew. There would also be some serious questions about whether Fitz even went to Africa in the first place.

  That night, over dinner, Song had regaled them with tales of his childhood growing up with Sidney in Shanghai. As boys, they had often played tricks on their parents and teachers, given they were almost impossible to tell apart. Coupled with their unusual height, the pair had always attracted a lot of attention, though they didn’t
particularly enjoy it. Their father and grandfather had both been butlers for wealthy English merchants in the city, and so it was the family business that Song and his brother had fallen into when they moved to London in their early twenties.

  ‘I did not tell Sidney that I had applied for a job with Sir Dominic and he did not tell me that he had done so as well,’ Song confided. ‘We both got the job and wondered if Sir Dominic was confused and thought we were the same person!’

  Kensy’s brows furrowed. ‘Who’s Sir Dominic?’

  ‘Is that Dame Spencer’s husband?’ Max asked. ‘There was a picture of him in the corridor near her office. He looked like … Never mind, I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.’

  ‘Confucius says coincidences are like meeting places in the universe,’ Song said.

  Kensy looked at her brother. ‘Do you think that’s true?’

  Max shrugged. ‘Hard to tell. But I’ll check it out later.’

  ‘Oh no, do not trouble yourself,’ Song said, waving a hand in the air. Wellie and Mac raised their heads and barked.

  ‘He definitely made it up,’ Kensy said to Max.

  The boy laughed. ‘Even the dogs know when you’re telling porkies, Song.’

  Kensy grinned at the butler. ‘You know, you’re a bit weird, but you’re pretty funny.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Kensington,’ Song replied, his eyes twinkling. ‘Perhaps we should play a game after dinner, as long as you don’t have any homework. Scrabble or Cluedo?’

  Kensy and Max glanced at each other. ‘Cluedo!’ they answered in unison.

  Song chuckled and clapped his hands. ‘Splendid choice. I, too, love a good mystery.’

  Max woke on Friday morning missing his parents so much it made his chest ache. He checked his watch and, finding nothing, picked up the book he’d been reading. Anything to distract his thoughts. It was from the shelf in his room – a crime thriller that, despite recent events, he found himself enjoying. As he flipped open the pages, Max noticed a newspaper clipping tucked into the middle of it. He unfolded the cutting to reveal an old photograph.

  Max sat up, his heart pounding once he realised exactly what it was. He slowly replayed the events of the past few days in his mind like a show reel. So many things hadn’t been adding up, but now seeing this, a lot more of them did. He resisted the urge to show Kensy, unsure if she was quite ready for this much truth. After all, it seemed that they’d been lied to for the past eleven years. He’d tell her later when the time was right.

  With the weight of the world on his shoulders, the boy hopped out of bed, showered and dressed for school, tucking the clipping safely into his blazer pocket. He went down to breakfast and munched on his toast in silence, trying to work out when to tell Kensy about the photograph. He had always been terrible at keeping things from his twin sister. Kensy appeared to be distracted too and had dark circles under her eyes. She’d hardly slept again and didn’t even object when Song put on a country ballad and hummed along, though he did so without his usual enthusiasm.

  Song insisted that they were driving to school again, but just before the group was due to leave the house, he received a call that altered their plans.

  ‘I am sorry, children,’ the butler said, as he slipped his phone into his pocket and ushered the pair through the front door. ‘I am afraid Dame Spencer requires me for an urgent errand. My brother is attending to something of equal importance – can you believe that there are times one butler is simply not enough?’

  Max grinned and buttoned his coat. ‘I’d have thought one butler would be plenty. Don’t worry, Song. We’ll be fine. School is just two minutes away and at least your driver is here on time today.’

  A taxi had just puttered to a stop in front of number thirteen as Kensy followed her brother outside. This morning the sky looked as though a grey blanket had fallen to Earth and tucked itself into every nook and cranny.

  Song leaned in through the open passenger window and spoke briefly to the driver, who grunted a reply as the children clambered into the back. The butler tapped on the window and gave the children a wave. He watched the cab drive away, turning right at the corner.

  Kensy fastened her seatbelt and plonked her bag on the floor. ‘I’m going to see Mrs Vanden Boom about my watch first thing,’ she said, yawning. ‘I want it back, whether she’s managed to find a way into it or not.’

  The taxi drove past Mrs Grigsby standing outside her shop.

  ‘She looks different today,’ the boy observed aloud. The woman was wearing a floral dress with stockings and heeled shoes. Her frizzy hair had been tamed into soft curls and she almost looked as if she were smiling.

  ‘Perhaps she’s leaving for the Caribbean,’ Kensy said. ‘Wouldn’t that be good? Hopefully, whoever has bought the shop doesn’t eat small children for breakfast.’

  Max frowned. ‘That’s weird. Did you see that Mrs Brightside also had travel brochures? Perhaps they’re going away together.’

  ‘Song did say they were good friends,’ the girl reasoned. ‘Although I can’t imagine anyone being friends with Mrs Grigsby and, if you ask me, there’s something not right with Mrs Brightside either. She’s got secrets.’

  Max thought about his own secret that was burning a hole in his trouser pocket and debated with himself about whether to say anything. The taxi made a left turn and then a right, but instead of stopping at the school gates, the driver sped up. Max knocked politely on the perspex screen that divided driver and passenger. ‘Excuse me, sir, that was our school back there. Can you please stop and let us out?’

  Without a word or any sign of acknowledgement, the driver pressed his foot on the accelerator. The children gasped as they were thrown backwards against the seat.

  Kensy’s stomach tightened. ‘Max,’ she whispered, grabbing her brother’s arm, ‘what’s happening?’

  The boy swallowed hard. ‘I don’t know.’

  Kensy spotted Harper walking along the street. She banged on the taxi window in an attempt to get the girl’s attention, but Harper looked straight through her. Kensy fiddled with the button to put the window down, but it wouldn’t budge. Max tried the doorhandle on his side of the vehicle to find it was also locked.

  ‘Not so clever now, are you?’ the driver said menacingly through the speaker.

  Kensy and Max looked at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Max demanded.

  ‘Let’s just say that not everyone’s so pleased to see you two,’ the man said.

  Kensy flinched. There was something about that gravelly voice. She’d heard it before at Alexandria! She peered at the man through the clear barrier, but he didn’t look remotely familiar.

  ‘What have we done?’ Max asked him. ‘We’re just kids.’

  Up ahead a police car swerved into the road, its sirens wailing. The taxi driver made a quick right turn into the street that ran towards the rear of the Tate Gallery but was confronted by more police vehicles. He performed a U-turn and headed in the direction they’d come from only to find another police cordon. The taxi driver grunted and turned back towards the gallery; this time the fellow had no choice but to stop at the police checkpoint. He pushed a button in the centre console just as an officer tapped on the driver’s window. He put it down but not very far.

  ‘We’re stopping all vehicles as a precautionary measure,’ the policeman said. ‘There’s been a robbery.’

  The children yelled out and waved at him in desperation, but it was as if the car had tinting so dark that no one could see inside. Kensy was utterly confounded. Surely the policeman only had to turn his head and he would notice them through the perspex screen. The girl reached into her bag and pulled out her plastic ruler.

  Max looked at her. ‘What are you doing with that?’

  ‘You’ll see,’ the girl said, and attempted to shove it through the money tray. Except the ruler jammed against thin air, as if there were some sort of invisible seal preventing it from reaching the driver’s side of
the partition. Kensy felt as though she’d swallowed a handful of sand; her worst fears had been confirmed.

  Max, meanwhile, was trying to break his window. He even slammed his bag against it, but to no effect.

  Kensy swivelled around and began feeling along the back seats for a release button. There had to be one. Bingo! The girl lifted it up and the seat dropped forwards. Kensy clambered into the tiny boot cramped with a spare wheel and some tools.

  ‘Max, get me a paperclip,’ she hissed, but her brother was two steps ahead and had already located one in his pencil case. Kensy fiddled with the lock and managed to pop open the boot lid within seconds. ‘Quick! We’ve got to go now!’

  As the engine roared to life, the twins rolled out of the back of the taxi onto the roadway behind.

  Kensy gasped, pointing at the two heads in the rear window. ‘It looks like there are people in there!’

  ‘It’s a hologram. That’s why the policeman couldn’t see us!’ Max said.

  They watched the taxi disappear around the corner, the driver apparently oblivious to the loss of his cargo. The policeman who had stopped them had walked across to the other side of the street and was having an animated conversation with an elderly gentleman. The children got to their feet and ran towards the museum. Surely someone there could help them.

  Kensy and Max barrelled towards a uniformed officer who was stationed outside the police tape surrounding the side entrance of the Tate Gallery.

  ‘Please can you help us?’ the boy puffed.

  The officer eyed them warily. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘We were just kidnapped by a man driving a black cab. The whole back was a capsule and we could see out but no one could see in,’ the boy said, struggling to catch his breath. ‘We were stopped at a checkpoint around the corner and we managed to escape through the boot.’

  The young constable chuckled. ‘Okay, James Bond, I think you and your girlfriend had better be getting to school. We don’t have time for pranks. Someone disabled the security system and the Graff Peacock’s been stolen. It’s worth a fortune and no one saw them go in or out. Sounds like a tunnel job, if you ask me. But then you two could probably solve the crime, couldn’t you – given what you’ve imagined just happened?’