Operation Eiffel Tower (2 page)

Jack felt his heart sink.

Chapter 2

As soon as they were home, Jack ran up to his room and closed the door. Whatever they were doing downstairs, he didn’t care. In the room next door, Lauren had turned her music up loud; she was keeping out of the way too. Jack switched on his computer. An email from Paul. Jack let himself smile.

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: News for my Lil’ Crew

Hey Jack,

Are you all missing me? Or is Lauren stepping up OK? I miss you all, little man. No one here will listen to my jokes like you do. Here’s a new one for you:

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Soldier.

Soldier who?

Soldier granny on eBay!

LOL! I’d better be careful not to split your sides with these instant classics.

But I guess you really want to know about how awful everything is and how hard they make us work. Well, let me tell you. This morning I ran
thirty miles
carrying
forty kilos
in my rucksack. Don’t you believe me? You’re right not to. It was
fifty miles
with
sixty kilos
on my back. Still think I’m lying? You’re right. It was
a
hundred miles
with a
small elephant
on my back.

You don’t believe me, do you? Well, you were always good at reading my poker face. Let’s just say that the lectures in week one of training were much easier than the exercises in week two.

My feet are ragged. Seriously gross. They’re all lumpy and flakey like Cornflake cakes. Yum. I’d send you a picture, but I don’t want to give you nightmares.

God bless, little bro. Say hello to your mum and dad, Ruby and Billy. And tell Lauren from me to turn her music down.

Paul (Private Grant these days!)

Jack smiled. Even though Paul was a long way away, it felt as though he was close by. He’d print out the email to show to Auntie Joyce.

Jack banged on the wall that separated his room from Lauren and Ruby’s. ‘Paul says turn your music down.’ Not that Lauren would be able to hear. The music stayed loud.

‘She’s in a world of her own. Well, a world of Black Eyed Peas’s own, anyway.’ Dad’s voice came from the doorway.

Jack turned. Dad stood leaning up against the doorpost. He was still in his work clothes and Jack could see little flakes of plaster in his hair. He must have been doing someone’s ceiling. He looked tired, but he was smiling.

‘Is that an email from Paul?’ he asked.

‘Yes. He sent a joke. He sounds OK.’

Dad nodded. ‘Don’t worry about him. He’s safe as houses in Yorkshire. It’ll be a long time before he sees any action. I came to see if you want some food. I’m making a sandwich.’

Jack looked down at his hands. If he went downstairs with Dad, he’d have to sit at the kitchen table, watching Mum and Dad not looking at each other. He’d have to tell Paul’s new joke into the silence, or pretend to laugh about Ruby not grabbing a bear again, or pretend to moan about how Lauren wouldn’t play any more. He sighed. ‘It’s all right, thanks. I’m not hungry.’

‘I’m making your favourite,’ Dad said. ‘Cheese and tiny-weeny-chunk pickle, cut so small it looks more like gravy.’

‘No, I’m OK.’

Dad frowned. ‘Oh well, if you’re sure.’ Then he was gone.

Half an hour later Jack heard shouts from downstairs, then something smashed – a plate or a cup probably. Then the front door slammed and there was silence.

It was nearly dark when the front door opened again. Dad had come back. Jack was still in his room, chewing the end of a sausage roll. He turned the volume up on his computer game.

Bang, bang, bang! He shot at the shaking zombie figures that lurched towards him. Their heads lolled above their dead shoulders, but they still kept coming. He slotted in another round of ammunition and fired again.

Mum was downstairs in the hallway. Jack heard her say something. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could hear that she was still angry. Dad snapped back. They both moved into the kitchen, below Jack’s room.

Bang!

A palm slammed on the kitchen table.

Jack’s bedroom door was ajar. When twilight faded to darkness outside he didn’t turn on his lamp but let light spill in from the landing. From outside it made the room look empty. But tonight he preferred darkness. He paused the game and got up to close the door.

There was someone outside his bedroom: Ruby. She was sitting at the top of the stairs with her chin resting on her knees, her nightie pulled down low over her shins. Jack could see the bumps of her spine pushing against the cloth. She sat still, listening to the noises from downstairs.

‘Hey,’ Jack whispered.

Ruby looked round. She didn’t answer.

‘What are you doing?’ Jack asked.

‘Shh,’ Ruby whispered. ‘I can’t hear.’

‘You don’t want to,’ Jack said. ‘Come in here.’

Ruby sighed and stood up. She came into his room and sat down on his bed. She switched on his bedside light.

On the computer screen, the zombies growled and bobbed up and down in the weird way that they did when they were on pause. Like they were happy to wait for ever for a chance to get to their prey.

Jack pushed his door closed and sat back down on his chair.

‘You should be in bed,’ he said.

‘So should you,’ Ruby said. ‘And Lauren.’

Jack nodded. He noticed that Ruby didn’t have any slippers on and her feet had a cold, blueish tinge.

‘You can get under the duvet if you want,’ he said.

‘OK.’ Ruby climbed into Jack’s bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She slipped her thumb into her mouth – something she would never, ever do in the daytime. She watched him, saying nothing. Her eyes were wide and glassy. Tomorrow, Jack knew, they would have dark circles under them.

‘What do you call a soldier crossed with a fish?’ Jack asked.

Ruby shrugged.

‘Sturgeon Major.’

She smiled weakly.

Jack turned back to the game. The shots on the screen drowned out the shouts from downstairs. More or less.

‘Jack?’ she whispered.

‘Hmm?’

‘Why are they fighting?’

‘Well, they’re zombies. They’re not just going to let me shoot them without a fight.’

‘Not them. I mean Mum and Dad.’

Jack’s thumb pushed down on the shoot button again and again. He had known what she meant really. ‘I don’t know,’ he said finally. ‘Usual stuff: work, money, which one of them was supposed to buy milk.’

‘Are they fighting because of us?’ Ruby asked.

‘No. Not us. Don’t worry.’

Ruby jammed her thumb back into her mouth and stroked her nose with her index finger. ‘Is it because there are lots of us?’ she mumbled.

‘We didn’t ask to be born, did we?’ Jack said. It was something he’d heard Lauren say quite often and it made sense to him.

The kitchen door slammed and there were quick footsteps coming up the stairs.

Jack heard Mum outside his door. ‘Jack, turn that game off. You’ll keep everyone awake.’ Then she went into her room.

Jack scowled at his closed door, but he turned down the volume. ‘You should go back to your own bed now,’ he told Ruby.

Ruby sighed and pushed back the duvet. ‘I don’t like sharing with Lauren. I want to share with you.’

‘Well, you can’t. Billy will be coming in here soon. Mum said. He’s too big for their room now. What’s wrong with Lauren, anyway?’

Ruby pulled a face. Jack had to laugh; Ruby had caught Lauren’s bored, disgusted look exactly.

‘She loves you really,’ Jack said. He ruffled Ruby’s curls. She glared at him and pulled away.

‘Don’t!’

‘Go on,’ Jack smiled. ‘Get out of here, go get some beauty sleep. You need it.’

Ruby stuck out her tongue and gave Jack a quick hug. Then she was gone.

Chapter 3

Jack could smell the soapy, sudsy air as he walked down the street; the door to the launderette was propped open. It was stronger than the smell of car exhausts or hot tarmac; it was even stronger than the smell of his own T-shirt, which was splashed with gunk from the Niagara Falls pump motor.
Stinky
.

But at least he and William had got the Falls working again.

‘Hello, everyone!’ Jack grinned as he walked in the door.

Lauren was sitting on top of one of the big industrial dryers like a cat curled at a hearth,
Teen Thing
open beside her. Ruby and Billy were messing about with toy bricks on the floor. Mum stood behind the counter, sorting out piles of change from the machines.

‘Oh, Jack! What happened to your clothes?’ Mum asked.

‘It was a global catastrophe. Niagara Falls dried up. It would have changed the whole climate of North America and left millions of people homeless and starving if I hadn’t fixed it,’ Jack said.

‘I see,’ Mum said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried not to smile. ‘Well, I hope it doesn’t stain, that’s all I can say.’

Jack joined Mum behind the counter and helped her sort out the ten and twenty pences into little towers of pounds.

‘Hello, angels!’ Auntie Joyce stood in the doorway. ‘It’s hotter than Kingston out there. Jack, be a good boy and get me drink of water.’ She dabbed her forehead with a hanky. In her other hand she held a piece of paper. She came in out of the sun and dropped on to the wooden chair by the counter. Jack nipped into the tiny kitchen out the back and filled a glass.

‘You complain about the heat every summer.’ Mum smiled at Auntie Joyce. ‘You should move to Iceland.’

Auntie Joyce laughed. ‘Just think what I’d be like if my mum had stayed in Jamaica. I’d be a grumpy old woman trying to stay in the shade all day!’ She finished the water and handed the glass back to Jack.

Auntie Joyce wasn’t their real aunt, but she had known them for so long that she nearly was.

‘Joyce, you’re early,’ Mum said, looking at the clock.

‘That’s because I’ve got something to show you. Look.’ She waved the paper. Jack leaned forward. It was a letter, in Paul’s handwriting.

‘You should get email,’ Jack said.

Auntie Joyce sucked her teeth dismissively. ‘Ain’t nothing like a letter, is it? I couldn’t carry a computer in to show you all!’

‘How is he? Is he OK? What does he say?’ Mum asked.

Auntie Joyce grinned. ‘Listen. I’ll read it to you.

‘ “
Dear Mum and Everyone
–”

I think he means you lot.

“
Private Grant reporting for duty! First off, everything’s good, it’s all good. Catterick is a lot of fun – it’s full of people learning how to be soldiers. The guys in my platoon are all sound. They come from all over: Blackpool, Liverpool, Cumbria. But even some from other countries: Jamaica, South Africa. I asked some of the Jamaican guys if they knew Grandpa, but they didn’t. I am sharing sleeping quarters with 11 men – the snoring sounds like we are already at war!