Operation Eiffel Tower (4 page)

There was still just enough time before tea for Jack to go and visit William. There were hardly any players left on the course – most of them would be back at their hotels eating scampi and chips. Jack could hear the whine of a kettle on a gas stove coming from William’s hut; he was taking a tea break. Jack knocked on the door.

‘We’re closed,’ William growled from inside the hut.

‘I know. It’s me. I’ve had a genius idea,’ Jack said.

‘Humph!’

Jack heard William pour the water, then stir in the milk and sugar before he finally came over to the door. William’s white hair had that ‘just out of bed’ look that Lauren spent hours doing sometimes. Jack was pretty certain that William hadn’t spend hours on his version of it.

‘Evening!’ Jack said. ‘Wouldn’t it be amazing if we had an Open Championship here? We could charge everyone to enter, and give everyone scorecards, and they’d play the holes and keep score, and at the end the winner could win the entry money.’

‘Evening,’ William said. He took a sip of his tea. ‘Say that again, much slower.’

Jack grinned. ‘An Open Championship. We could have one.’

William rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Jack could hear the rasping of his fingers against stubble. ‘Hmm. We could, I suppose.’

‘Woo-hoo!’ Jack punched the air. ‘Can we do it on Saturday? In the afternoon? If we put posters up tonight, that should be enough time for people to know about it. Can first prize be two hundred pounds?’

William spluttered into his tea. ‘Two hundred pounds! Do you think I’m made of money? No, it can’t be two hundred pounds. Top prize fifty pounds, second prize twenty-five. And two pounds to enter. That should work. If forty people enter, I’ll make five pounds.’ William shook his head. ‘I’d best not think about that, otherwise I’ll talk myself out of it. Do you want to make a sign? I’ve still got some of that paint we used on the Golden Gate Bridge somewhere. And I suppose Mrs Khalid might photocopy some flyers for us.’

Jack nodded. Fifty pounds wouldn’t get Mum and Dad to Paris, but it would be a great start.

Chapter 6

That night, Jack woke suddenly. He stared up at the ceiling. His glow-stars had faded and moonlight the colour of sour milk spilled across it.

Noises seeped up through the floorboards. Dad yelled something, Mum shouted back. Then sobs, Mum crying. Another yell. Jack closed his eyes, trying to lose himself in sleep again. But the shouts were sharp as paper-cuts, slicing through the air.

He pulled his pillow round so that it covered his face. He was hot and sweaty under its weight, but it muffled the noises. There was a small pocket of air to breathe, though he could feel it getting warmer with each breath. Soon it was mostly carbon dioxide. Jack turned his head, found more air. He rested his arm on top of the pillow, pushing it against his ears. The feathers inside crackled like burning embers. Jack hummed tunelessly.

Eventually, a long while later, he fell asleep.

Chapter 7

The next morning, when Jack got up, Ruby was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. She was rocking a pink toy pram back and forth. Occasionally she shoved so hard that the pram teetered on its side.

It was a good job the doll was reined in so tight, Jack thought.

‘Jack!’ she said.

‘Ruby,’ he said.

‘I’ve got something to show you. Look!’ Ruby held out a piece of paper.

Jack looked.

The paper was about the same size as a banknote. Ruby had coloured it pink and purple, with a lady’s head on one side. With a blue felt-tip she had drawn the number ‘20’. Jack flipped the paper over. On the other side was a drawing of a man with folds of curly hair. Ruby had copied the £20 note from Mum’s purse.

‘Why have you drawn a twenty-pound note?’ he asked.

‘It
is
a twenty-pound note! We can put it in the Paris fund. To make Mum and Dad happy.’

‘Is it meant to be a forgery?’

‘What’s a forgery?’ Ruby asked.

‘A copy.’ Jack grinned. Ruby really was trying very hard. ‘But this won’t fool anyone,’ he said.

‘Yes, yes it will,’ Ruby said. ‘I spent ages colouring it in!’ She stamped her foot and the pram shuddered at her side.

‘No, Ruby, it won’t. It’s a lovely picture, but it just won’t work.’

‘How do you know? You don’t know, do you?’ Ruby’s eyes were glistening with tears of anger.

Jack hated it when anyone cried. ‘OK, listen. How about we go to the corner shop and try to buy something with it? If it works, then you can make more. If it doesn’t, then we’ll know.’

‘Yes, OK,’ Ruby said. ‘Come on.’

Ruby led the way. The shop was just a few doors down. Jack had been in there about a million times – but never with a forged note. As he walked, his skin began to feel a bit prickly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. What if Mrs Khalid called the police? What if they went to prison? Mum and Dad would be properly furious then. They’d probably blame each other and row all night long.

By the time they reached the shop, Jack felt as though his heart was pounding in his throat.

Ruby hoisted the pram up the step and through the door. Jack followed slowly. It was cool inside. Rows of shelves stretched off towards the back, each one piled high with tins and packets and boxes. There was a freezer near the front with ice creams in it, and next to that a shelf full of magazines and newspapers. The shop always smelled of bread and floor cleaner, even though it wasn’t a bakery.

Mrs Khalid was crouching in the centre aisle. She was taking tins out of a cardboard box, stamping them with the price gun and then lining them up on the shelf. She smiled as Jack and Ruby came in. Her smile made Jack feel instantly worse.

‘Hello!’ Ruby beamed at Mrs Khalid.

‘Morning, Ruby,’ Mrs Khalid said. ‘Taking baby for a walk?’

Ruby nodded seriously. ‘She needs the fresh air. It’s not good for a baby to be cooped up all day.’

Mrs Khalid chuckled. ‘Is that so?’

‘Can I have a go on the price thingy?’ Ruby asked, leaving the pram near the front of the shop.

‘Certainly. Here, put the price on these.’ Mrs Khalid held out a tin. ‘It’s Polish. For our new Polish section. It’s cabbage, I think. I will be cooking it for my old parents, perhaps with a bit of cumin for flavour. It will make a nice change for them, don’t you think? It’s one pound twenty-nine. See? It’s all set up – just squeeze the trigger and there’s the label.’

Jack felt his face flush. He
liked
Mrs Khalid and now they were trying to pass dodgy money off on her. He swallowed and his throat felt dry.

Ruby squeezed the gun and laughed as the label shot out. She slapped it on the tin. It looked crooked from where Jack stood, but Ruby seemed happy as she put it on the shelf.

Mrs Khalid stood up and grinned. ‘Now, what can I get for you two today?’

Ruby paused.

Jack frowned. They didn’t actually need anything; they just wanted to see if their note would fool Mrs Khalid. He looked down at his shoes; he couldn’t look Mrs Khalid in the eye.

‘Er,’ Ruby stammered, ‘a Mars Bar ice cream and some tinfoil, please.’

Tinfoil?
Jack flashed a look at Ruby and she shrugged helplessly.

Mrs Khalid picked out the things and rang them through the till at the front of the shop. ‘Do you need a bag, Ruby?’

Ruby shook her head. ‘It can go in the bottom of the pram,’ she said seriously.

‘Of course. That will be two pounds eighty, please,’ Mrs Khalid said.

This was it. This was the moment of truth. Would Mrs Khalid be fooled or would she be furious? Jack couldn’t bear to look as Ruby handed over her note.

For a moment there was silence.

Then Mrs Khalid started to chuckle.

Then she laughed. Then she howled. ‘Oh, Ruby Dempsey, you are a wonder!’ she said. ‘Did you make this? You almost fooled me. You could be a master counterfeiter!’ Mrs Khalid wiped tears from her eyes. ‘Oh, keep the ice cream. And the tinfoil. But you can take this money back. Hah! You’ve made my morning, you really have.’

‘Thanks, Mrs Khalid,’ Jack muttered.

Mrs Khalid sobered up a little; her expression wasn’t quite so kind when she looked at Jack. ‘You’re old enough to know better,’ she said.

‘Yes, Mrs Khalid. Sorry, Mrs Khalid,’ Jack said.

As they left the shop, Jack heard Mrs Khalid pick up the phone and dial. ‘Oh, Maisha, you’ll never believe what just happened!’ she said.

Jack shook his head. This would be around the whole town in minutes. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Ruby dragged the pram behind her; she didn’t speak. She handed the ice cream to Jack and held the tinfoil tightly to her chest.

‘Why did you get tinfoil?’ Jack asked.

‘I dunno. It was the first thing I thought of.’

‘Never mind,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sure we can think of another way to raise money.’

Chapter 8

To:
[email protected]

From:
[email protected]

Subject: Blisters on my blisters!

Dear Jack,

What do you call a squaddie in a hedge?

Privet.

LOL! On the outside I may have the body of a weak and knackered new recruit, but inside I’m still God’s own gift to comedy! Actually, it’s a good job I have a career as a comedian to fall back on, cos my dreams of being Britain’s Next Top Foot Model have gone up in smoke. How can you get trench foot if you’ve never even been in a trench? That’s what I want to know. I asked the Corporal and he just gave me some athlete’s foot powder. I’ll let you know whether it works, or whether I’m turning into the Creature from the Black Lagoon, with webbed toes and gammy skin. Yum.

So, in your last email you asked how much it costs to buy a fancy meal for two. Why? Is there some young lady in your life that I should know about? Someone you want to impress?

Well, if she’s not all that, you could get away with spending £10 in McDonald’s. But if you really want something a bit more fancy, then £40 should do it. Any more than that and she’d better be Beyoncé Knowles at the very least!

I hope that helps. Write again soon. I miss you all. I want to know what you’re all up to. The thing about the army is it makes you feel like you’re in a bubble – like a different world. It’s easy to forget how things used to be. It seems like years since we played Snap in a den built of duvets. Do you remember that? It was only last summer. Feels like a lifetime ago.