Circle of Fire (23 page)

On cue, the dog snarled. Defeated, Maya opened her hand.

‘Take it, Kay,' the boy said, laughing cruelly as the girl limped over and took the mobile. ‘What you done to yourself?' he snapped.

The girl, Kay, winced as she put weight on her foot. ‘My ankle is hurt.'

‘Serves you right. What you doin', robbin' schoolgirls?'

‘Is your fault, you ask me for money.'

‘So, what you messin' at ‘ere? Get back to base an' earn some proper cash.'

Kay sniffed. ‘No. I not do that. I am your girl.'

He leaned forward. ‘You're too particular. Think you're special?' He laughed. ‘Come on, give that ‘ere,' he added, indicating the mobile.

‘No, is mine, is good. I sell it, give you money.'

A fist slammed into the girl's arm, sending the
phone flying. Maya saw her chance and didn't hesitate. She caught the mobile, veered round them and ran for her life. In a flash she saw the wall was slightly lower towards the end of the path and threw herself at it, leaping up, fingers clawing at the top of the wall as the dog came roaring towards her. Barking and yelping, it snapped at her heels. She kicked out, her foot connected, thudding into the dog's jaw, sending it reeling.

In the split-second it took the dog to recover, she managed to get one elbow on top of the wall. She was just swinging her legs up out of danger when the dog leapt wildly below her, catching a piece of her skirt in its teeth. It hung suspended by the cloth, a bite away from her flesh. She had to do something or it would mangle her leg. Jerking her body sideways, she smashed a fist down on Gunner's forehead. With a strangled gasp, the dog fell.

Triumphant, she hoisted herself up on top of the wall but her mobile slipped out of her hand. No time to retrieve it; the dog wasn't down and out. It was yelping and snapping again.

Time to jump!

Landing amongst big tufts of spiky grass, she scrambled to her feet and lurched forwards. There
was nothing to use as a weapon – no stick or anything – but, over in the far corner, she spotted an old brick outbuilding. Racing towards it, she slipped on a sheet of glass. It shattered and a shard of glass razored her foot, but the pain only urged her onward. Behind her, she could hear the dog barking itself into a frenzy, scrabbling over the wall. In the nick of time she threw herself against the door of the building; mercifully it gave way, catapulting her into the sanctuary of the shed. She turned and kicked the door shut as the dog's nose appeared round the edge. Then, with trembling hands, she picked up a brick from a pile near the door and hammered home a rusty bolt.

Loud commands boomed over the wall. ‘Gunner. Here, Gunner!'

Leaning against the door, she listened hard. On the other side the dog was panting; hot breath seeping through gaps in the door. Would the boy come after it?

Another command. ‘Gunner, here! Come here, you useless piece of meat.'

The panting stopped. The grass rustled, broken glass crashed; there was a loud yelp. She waited, every nerve trembling, but the boy didn't come.

Standing in the empty building, she cursed the
girl who'd followed her, the scumbag in the hood, the mad dog and her own stupidity. Torn skirt, bleeding foot, scratched legs, nerves in shreds – why had she been so stubborn and taken the short cut? What an idiot! She should have trusted her instincts – she knew that girl was trouble as soon as she'd laid eyes on her.

Another shout came from a distance.

‘What the. . .?' There were more words, the translation lost in the air. What felt like a lifetime passed. Several times she nearly pulled back the bolt on the door, but the thought of the boy and his killer dog lying in wait kept her inside. Pressing her ear to the wooden planks of the door, she heard the shout of children in the playground, and the distant drone of traffic. She turned her head and peered through a crack – nobody was visible, there was no sign of the dog, the guy, or the girl. Finally she screwed up her courage and ventured out, easing the door open bit by bit until she was sure there was no one waiting to ambush her.

Squinting into the evening sunlight, she scouted for an escape route. The waste ground was enclosed by high walls – the way she'd entered seemed the best way out. Carefully avoiding shards of glass and stopping to look and listen every few steps, she picked
her way over to the wall. The ground was lower on this side, the wall high, but a few flying attempts to get a foothold paid off and she was able to swing her legs up and over and drop down onto the path.

A nervous glance up and down the track confirmed that there was no sign of the hooded thug or his dog. So, top priority was to search for her mobile, but she knew right away it had gone. Of course, the boy had spotted it and picked it up. He'd taken her schoolbag containing books and money, her purse containing her bank card, but most upsetting was the loss of the phone that Pam had given her just before she left. It was a secure number which Pam, her mum, might call at any moment. Now, she wouldn't be able to answer. A mixture of sadness and anger welled up as she looked again in the spot where she was certain she'd dropped it. It wasn't there. She kicked at a bottle and swore loudly.

Damn him for stealing her mobile! It was complicated enough to stay in touch with her mum without added problems.

Nothing for it but to head home. She walked warily towards the playground at the end of the path. Children were playing on swings, a couple of men were walking dogs. It was a lovely summer's evening.
Gran would be waiting for her in the flat, but she couldn't even call to tell her she'd be late.

As she crossed in front of a playground on the edge of the estate, a couple of young boys ran up to her – shaved heads, cheeky grins.

‘Give us fifty p!' the smallest one demanded.

‘No, go away.'

‘Go on, tight arse.'

‘Shove off. I haven't got any money. Some thieving yob just nicked my purse.'

The boys started to laugh. ‘That'd be Gerard. We just seen ‘im.'

‘He went that way wiv ‘is dog. He's cool, Gerard.'

‘Oh yeah. Very cool, with his mad dog and thieving girlfriend.'

‘His girlfriend's over there.'

A stone whistled past Maya's ear as she walked towards the place the boys had pointed to. Skirting round some straggly bushes and two upturned shopping trolleys, she emerged into a concrete square and saw the girl, Kay, sitting on a low wall in front of a block of flats. She looked miserable, and made no effort to move as Maya walked up to her.

Agent profile

Name: S.M. HALL

Stated occupation:
Teacher of English and Drama. (Has been spotted in classrooms in Qatar, Singapore, Malaysia and Bakewell.) Sometimes poses as a writer of fiction –
Circle of Fire
is the fifth novel.

Subversive activities:
recently took part in a Bed-In for Peace in Liverpool; eats pistachios while typing.

Location:
between Matlock Bath, Derbyshire and John Lennon's childhood home, ‘Mendips' in Liverpool – a property owned by the National Trust. Is this a front for digging into matters of national security, such as John Lennon's alleged scrumping of apples from Strawberry Fields? Meets high-profile individuals who visit the house, but does not betray confidences.

Distinctive features:
mole on right cheek, whorls on 8 fingertips, scalp double crowned. Eye colour changeable – grey, green or blue depending on mood. Small enough not to be noticed when following a suspect.

Known weapons:
rolled-up newspaper, umbrella.

Potential liabilities:
putting a foot in it; worrying; speaking French badly; shouting loudly at the TV when the England squad are playing football, “Pass, pass!”

Ambitions:
to win the local pub quiz, to tell one funny joke, to grow six inches, hug a mountain gorilla, plant a tree in Nepal.

ALMOST TRUE

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Ruthless killers are hunting Ty. The police move him and his mum to a quiet seaside town. But a horrific attack and a bullet meant for Ty prove that he's not safe yet.

On the road again, Ty's in hiding with complete strangers . . . who seem to know a lot about him. Meanwhile he's desperate to see his girlfriend Claire, and terrified that she may betray him. Ty can't trust his own judgement and he's making dangerous decisions that could deliver him straight to the gangsters.

A thrilling sequel to
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MIXING IT

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ESTY'S GOLD

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Esty's childhood world is shattered when her father is killed defending starving Irish peasants. Suddenly forced to leave home and work as a maid, it is only the dream of gold and a better life in Australia that keeps her going. With stubborn determination, she gets her family to the goldfields of Ballarat. There, harsh conditions, deceit and rebellion threaten to thwart them . . . but nothing is going to destroy Esty's dream.

This gripping adventure story by an award-winning Irish writer tells a timeless tale of hope and courage.

“A story of courage and determination.”
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