Lori and Max

by Catherine O’Flynn

  Contents

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright

  Catherine O’Flynn grew up in a sweetshop. She’s the author of three novels for grown-ups including the Costa First Novel Award-winning What Was Lost. Lori and Max is her first book for children. She is a former child detective who failed to ever solve a crime.

  Lori & Max

  Catherine O’Flynn

  For Edie and Dory

  I’m not saying I have superpowers. I can’t even run very fast (third slowest in class in fact), let alone see into the future, but somehow before I even get to school I can tell something bad is going to happen today. Maybe it’s a kind of undercover detective instinct. Or maybe it’s just that it feels like all this week has been building up to something big.

  When I get to the classroom, I see I was right. A man and woman I don’t recognise are standing behind Miss Casey. They look super-serious. Miss Casey looks even more pale and worried than normal; she clears her throat to speak. Something is very definitely wrong, I just don’t know quite how wrong yet.

  ‘Good morning, Class 6B. Please settle down and listen carefully. We have two police officers with us today: this is Detective Superintendent Alison Burrows and Detective Sergeant Steve Locke. I’d like you to pay very special attention to what they have to say.’

  A buzz goes round the classroom – real life detectives in school! Normally I’d be so excited I’d find it hard to stay in my seat, but the bad feeling I’ve had all morning tells me this isn’t a fun visit.

  ‘Good morning, children,’ says serious-looking Alison Burrows. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that one of your classmates, Maxine Ellington, has gone missing.’ Everyone takes a sharp breath in at the same time but the detective carries on before anyone can speak. ‘Maxine was last seen by her mum yesterday morning, when she went out on an errand. I want to make it clear that we have no reason to believe that Maxine has been taken by anybody. It’s our belief that she has run away from home. We know she was in some trouble at school this week. We think she has a significant sum of cash and all evidence points to her heading off on her own. I’m sure you understand that we are concerned for her safety and well-being and I’m sure you will help us do everything we can to find her. We’re going to be coming around and talking to each one of you this morning. If you have any specific information about Maxine’s whereabouts of course we want to know but, failing that, anything at all that you might know about her could help us.’

  I sit very still, staring straight ahead. There are things that only I know about Max. Things I’ve sworn never to tell.

  ‘Lori? Lori Mason?’

  I look up and see Detective Superintendent Alison Burrows standing at my desk.

  ‘Miss Casey says that you’re Max’s closest friend.’

  I nod.

  ‘Then we have some questions we’d like you to answer. Can you come with me, please?’

  Chapter One

  Three months earlier

  It’s a typical Monday morning in Class 6B. Miss Casey is nowhere to be seen. Behaviour that she would definitely describe as ‘unacceptable’ is breaking out in every direction. Yasmin Oldershaw and Nina Masters are practising dance moves in the corner. Josh Ryman has tied Jessica Pemberton’s plaits to the back of her chair. Harry Besley has already started on his packed lunch and Elijah Stephens is fast asleep.

  I sneak my notebook from my pocket and write in tiny letters:

  February 16

  9.12 a.m.

  Miss Casey – another of her Frequent Brief Disappearances. Where does she go during these unexplained absences?

  Current FBD theories:

  The toilet? (Can anyone wee so much?)

  Sneaky snacking in the staffroom? (Does Casey have a family-sized tub of Celebrations or similar on the go?)

  Mr Wilson’s office? (Are they in love??)

  I’m careful to keep the notebook out of sight of my classmates. The important thing when you’re a secret detective is to detect secretly. This is because:

  a) No one commits a crime in plain view; criminals get more careless when they think no one’s watching. Detectives have to keep a low profile. Secret is best.

  b) The children of New Heath Primary (my school) have been known to tease, poke fun, name-call and generally make life challenging for anyone who stands out from the crowd e.g. Estelle Hannah who played the violin, collected exotic spiders and left after just one term. It’s generally best to avoid doing anything that might be considered ‘freaky’ or ‘weird’ e.g. observing other children covertly and recording details in a notebook. Secret is definitely best.

  Out of the window I see Mr Cheetham making his way across the playground over to the bike sheds. Mr Cheetham is the school caretaker and is super- hard-working, especially, I’ve noticed, in the area of the bike sheds. I see him going in and out of them six or seven times a day, which is weird really as they never actually look that clean, but that just shows how devoted he is to fighting grime. Ha ha, he fights grime and I fight crime. It’s a shame my top-secret status prevents me sharing this excellent joke with anyone else. I’m distracted from my playground surveillance by the sudden scraping of chairs and clatter of desks as everyone rushes back to their seats when they hear Miss Casey approach.

  ‘Now, children,’ she calls out. ‘Settle down. Silence please. That’s enough of… Oh!’ It’s only now Miss Casey realises that no one’s making a sound. Class 6B is silent. We are all staring at the girl at her side – an extremely tall and skinny girl. Her clothes are noticeably too small, as if she’s grown since getting dressed. On top of her head is the craziest, frizziest, wildest explosion of what I guess is hair, but I’m pretty sure I can see some kind of twig in there and there’s definitely a feather sticking out above one ear. The best way to picture this girl is to imagine a spindly tree, with a wonky bird’s nest on top.

  ‘Right. Yes. That’s more like it. Very good. Now, class, I’d like to introduce you to a new girl who’ll be joining Class 6B from today. This is Maxine…’

  ‘Max.’ Tree-girl says in a bored-sounding voice.

  ‘Sorry. Yes. You did say that already. This is Max … that’s short for Maxine, as I said … Ellington.’

  ‘Max-that’s-short-for-Maxine-as-I-said-Ellington,’ sniggers Simon Yarker. ‘What a mouthful!’ Miss Casey looks confused and Max-that’s-short-for-Maxine stares straight ahead.

  ‘Now, class, I want you to make … Max, feel very welcome and I’d like a volunteer, please, to show Max how we do things here at New Heath Primary and be her special buddy.’

  Miss Casey makes invisible speech marks in the air when she says ‘buddy’. No one moves or makes a sound. It’s t
he first time I’ve ever noticed just how loudly the tap in the corner of the room drips and how heavily Kelly Keogh breathes. Even Cuddles, our psychopathic class hamster, is silent for once as if he, too, is desperate not to be noticed and picked for the job.

  ‘Anybody? Anybody?’ says Miss Casey. ‘Come on now, 6B. This isn’t very nice for Maxine, is it? Not really making her feel welcome. Leaving her standing here, on her own, while I literally beg one of you to just give her a helping hand.’ She turns briefly to Tree-girl. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing personal. Well, you know, not really…’

  Tree-girl sighs like a grown-up; she rolls her eyes like a teenager; and then she walks past Miss Casey, makes her way straight across the room, and plonks her bag and herself down in the only available free seat, which happens to be right next to me.

  Chapter Two

  It’s just another new school for Max; another new classroom; another new neighbourhood; another new teacher. She’s done it so many times, nothing about it feels new at all. The teacher is the standard type: stressed, well-meaning. She’s left the shop tag on her jumper – Max notices the plastic poking out of the back. Max prefers scatty teachers, the ones who leave price tags on clothes, the ones who forget. It’s the ones who remember that she has to watch.

  This one’s a blue jumper school. The last one was red. The one before that was blue but a different blue. It doesn’t make much difference. Max can usually get away without wearing the jumper or the tie. A grey skirt and a white polo shirt get her by. Mainly white anyway. There’s a ketchup stain the shape of a tiny whale on the sleeve. She’s tried scrubbing it with some shampoo but it won’t come out.

  The last school had loads of portacabins. The classrooms were baking hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. Sometimes on icy days Max would keep her pyjama top on, hidden under her shirt. She thought it was better to do that than wear a jumper that was the wrong colour. A teacher would have noticed that. Max knows that if you keep turning up in non-uniform teachers start to wonder if there’s a problem at home. They try to be kind and offer you stuff from lost property. If you take it, then they know there’s a problem. Max tries to remember all the traps.

  ‘It’s a fresh start. We’re leaving the past behind.’ That’s what her dad said when he walked her to school that morning.

  ‘It’s going to be different this time. I promise. I’ve got a good feeling about this place. We’ll get settled, you just work hard and be a good girl and you’ll make some nice friends.’

  They reached the school gates. Max had a hollow, wobbly feeling inside. She noticed her dad had stopped walking. ‘I won’t come in, love. I’ve got some errands to run for your mum. You’ll be alright by yourself, they know you’re coming. Just remember: our luck’s changing, Maxie.’ He gave her a gentle push. As he walked away he tripped on a paving stone. He turned back to see if Max had seen.

  In truth Max prefers animals to people. She thinks they’re better in all kinds of ways. For one thing they’re smarter. Animals are born with instinct, but people only learn by making mistakes. Max has changed school so often she has developed her own kind of instinct. If you’ve only ever been to one school, it might take you an entire term to get a sense of what everyone in your class is like. But if you change schools all the time, you get faster and better. Max absorbs information like a sponge now. She isn’t even really aware she’s doing it. She picks up on clues: familiar facial expressions, body language, clothes. Within ten minutes of walking into a classroom, she knows who are the bullies and who are the victims, who are the leaders and who are the followers. Her first impressions are almost always right. She can’t afford to get them wrong. She’s learnt that from animals: you’ve got to know who your predators are and never lose sight of them.

  She can smell the irresistible waft of school-canteen pizza. Some days school dinner is the only meal she has. Her stomach rumbles but it’s another three hours till lunch. She tries not to think about food. She wraps her fingers around the small silver snake charm in her pocket. She blocks out the classroom around her and imagines she’s in the African savannah, sitting with a pride of lions basking in the sun.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Do you need a pencil?’

  No response.

  Maybe she hasn’t heard me. I try again, whispering a little more loudly.

  ‘Excuse me, erm … Max? … I’ve got a spare pencil if you want to borrow it.’ In fact, I have sixteen pencils, twenty-two gel pens, a pineapple-scented rubber and a pencil sharpener that looks like an old-fashioned telephone box, but I don’t want to overload her with information. ‘Keep it relevant’ is one of my mottos.

  Tree-girl turns her head sharply. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘You don’t seem to have a pencil and you need one to do the worksheet. You can borrow one of mine if you like.’

  Tree-girl looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language. I speak more slowly. ‘It’s just, you haven’t written anything yet. We have to hand them in before playtime,’ I look at my watch (digital, thirty-six functions; again, I don’t overload her with the details), ‘which is in five minutes’ time. You might get into trouble.’

  I’m not a fan of trouble. Even for other people. Even people I don’t know. Even people with really extraordinarily crazy hair. Maybe that’s why I’m a detective. I want to nip trouble in the bud, stop trouble in its tracks, prevent trouble from getting out of bed…you get the idea. But now Tariq, who sits opposite, looks up. ‘She’s probably got a pencil in her hair. Looks like she keeps everything in there – twigs, pencils, sandwiches, birds probably.’

  I try to stop worrying that Max isn’t doing what she’s supposed to be doing and turn my attention instead to the ‘Christine Aisley Dream Come True’ collection box on the wall. I try and count all the money inside. It’s actually completely impossible to do, but it’s an excellent way to distract yourself when the person next to you is behaving in a way that is making you feel a little bit anxious. Christine Aisley is the older sister of Kieron in my class. Christine has leukaemia and so we’re raising money to send her to the Great Wall of China. Unbelievably, her lifelong dream is to see and possibly walk on what is essentially an excessively long, grey wall. Kieron says that if he was seriously ill, he’d think of way better things to do with people’s charity donations. But it takes all sorts, that’s what my nan says, anyway.

  The collection box is made of thick see-through plastic, which lets us keep track of the progress we’re making. I count £280 in there, but there are loads more notes hidden behind the ones I can see and I haven’t even bothered with the big pile of coins at the bottom. I narrow my eyes and examine the padlock, making sure it hasn’t been tampered with. ‘Where money lives, crime lurks.’ That’s another one of my mottos. It sounds good when I’m talking to clients. Or at least I’m pretty sure it would do if I had any clients. It’s important to sound professional when talking to potential customers. You need to use the right lingo. I’ve written a guide in my secret notebook on how to become fluent in cop-talk in four easy steps:

  1) Find one of those TV channels that show back-to-back cop programmes all day long.

  2) Sit down, equip yourself with remote control, pad, pen, family-sized bag of Maltesers and your own choice of soft drink.

  3) Watch at least three to four hours of thrilling detective action.

  4) Repeat every day for the entire school holidays.

  And that’s all there is to it. If the grown-ups you live with are the kind that don’t like you watching four hours of television every day, then you might have to try reading some detective books instead. Reading a book takes longer and is slightly trickier to combine with Maltesers and soft-drink consumption but, on the bright side, you don’t have to sit through commercials for opticians and slimming milkshakes every seven minutes.

  I can’t help noticing that the new girl still hasn’t written anything on her worksheet. I decide to put one of my sixteen pencils on her desk so she has at leas
t a chance of finishing on time, or even starting. Even just writing her name at the top.

  Now Josh Ryman leans over.

  ‘So … Max, what were you expelled for?’

  Again, Max doesn’t seem to hear, she just carries on looking out of the window.

  ‘Hey you … Max … I’m talking to you…’

  Suddenly she speaks and very loudly. ‘Who says I was expelled?’

  Miss Casey gives out a general. ‘Silence, everybody, please!’

  Tariq continues in a low voice, ‘Yeah, but … were you?’

  ‘’Course she was,’ says Josh.

  I don’t like Josh Ryman, but he’s probably right. In the last two years, five new children have joined the class, and all of them had been excluded from one school or another. My nan says it’s a vicious circle. The first time she said it, I thought ‘Vicious Circle’ was the name of a gang or something, made up of the kind of kids that stole other kids’ sweets and pulled cats’ tails, but I was wrong. Nan says ‘vicious circle’ is an expression meaning a bad situation that gets worse and worse. She says it is like a scab that you keep picking, making it bleed again and again, so it never heals. Nobody really wants to come to New Heath Primary any more because nobody thinks it’s a very good school. So we have loads of spare room, which means there’s always space for the kids other schools don’t want. And the idea that our school is basically an enormous bin for unwanted children makes people even less keen on coming here, which makes more space for more unwanted children and so it goes on, round and round, like a circle. Not vicious really as far as I can see. If I had to use an adjective (or ‘wow word’ as Miss Casey insists on calling them), I’d say the circle was really more boring or annoying than vicious.