The New Neighbours (61 page)

Jay bristled. “Scott knows what 'e's doing. 'E don't need a little toe-rag like you to tell 'im how to run 'is business.”

“Or one like you, trying to rip him off when you're just the errand boy,” snapped Oliver. “He won't be too pleased when I tell him you tried to sell us both short, will he?”

“You won't be doing no business with 'im again,” sneered Jay.

“No, I won't,” Oliver had agreed. “From now on I'm going to handle my own stuff. Cut out the middle man and make myself some real dosh. I've seen your brother, mate. I've sussed most of his contacts. Now he's going to be out of the way, I'll deal for myself.” He glowered at Jay, “And don't you come fucking-well sniffing round either, 'cos you're a loser, and I don't deal with losers. You just keep collecting your protection money, mate, but you make sure I get my cut, otherwise the filth might find out about that little earner an' all!”

Since then he and Jay had moved round each other like a pair of stalking wild cats, but Oliver was perceived to be the more dangerous, for he still received his cut of the protection money.

Two days after the stand-off about the cards, Scott had been arrested for attacking Annabel Haven and remanded in custody. Oliver was on his own whether he liked it or not, so he had kept his thieving to a minimum, taking only small, easily hidden and easily negotiable stuff, like the pension books and cards that were so often lying on the tops of shopping bags just begging to be lifted. However, despite his boasts to Jay, he hadn't yet found anyone else to dispose of them, and they were sellotaped to the back of the large picture of the England cricket team that hung on his bedroom wall.

Now this guy Woodman was asking to search his room. Oliver thought fast. Surely Dad wouldn't stand for that!

“Have you got a search warrant?” Steve was demanding. Oliver spied a ray of hope. If they hadn't, and there'd been no sign of one yet, they'd have to go and get one and he'd have time to shift everything somewhere else.

“No sir, not yet. We just wanted to speak to Oliver and see what he has to say about this. It could just be a bit of spite on someone's behalf.” That sounded more hopeful. Oliver did his wide-eyed innocent act.

“I don't know anything about any stolen stuff, Dad,” he said, with a tremble in his voice. “Honest! I don't know why anyone should tell the police I do. It's awful lies!”

“You see, officer, Oliver doesn't know anything about any of this,” Steve said. “My son doesn't need to steal. He has plenty of pocket money, and everything he wants from us. Whatever you've heard can't be true.”

PC Woodman smiled. “I'm sure you're right, sir, but in that case you won't mind if we take a look in Oliver's bedroom.”

Steve looked uncertain, and Oliver cried, “Dad! Why should he?”

Steve shrugged. “It wouldn't hurt, Ollie. Get them off your back once and for all, mate.” Not seeing the flash of panic on his son's face, Steve turned back to the policeman. “That's all right, I'll take you down and show you his room, and then you can leave him alone. Right?”

Woodman, however, had seen Oliver's expression and their search was an extremely thorough one. In the suitcase on top of the wardrobe, he found the secateurs, three sets of screwdrivers, some drill bits and a claw hammer, all in their original packaging.

Steve stared at the tools in horror.

“Well, Oliver?” said Woodman, tipping the things out on to the bed “What are all these?”

Oliver was ready for him. “I bought them for my dad for Christmas,” he said. “Now you've spoiled it,” he added bitterly, “they won't be a surprise anymore.”

“And have you got the receipts for them?”

“Probably, somewhere.” Oliver shrugged carelessly, “I don't know. Might be in my drawer.” He pulled open the drawer of his desk and said, “You can look if you like?”

PC Carver did look, but if Oliver thought that by offering them the drawer easily they were not going to look in the less obvious places, he had mistaken his man. PC Woodman was far too experienced to miss quite ingenious hiding places, and Oliver's stash behind the England cricketers wasn't that ingenious and was soon discovered.

“And what about these, Oliver?” Woodman asked quietly. “How did these come to be stuck behind here?”

Oliver didn't bother to reply. There was nothing he could say, he just stared at the policeman with a blank expression, and kept his mouth firmly shut.

“Ollie!” Steve was horrified at what they'd found. “Oliver? What are all these things.” Oliver turned a faintly pitying glance on his father, but he still said nothing. They stood in silence, side by side, while the police finished the search of the room, but they found nothing else.

Woodman proceeded to caution him and then said he'd like them all to come down to the police station.

“I strongly suggest that you find a solicitor to represent Oliver, Mr Hooper,” Woodman said. “I'm afraid we won't be able to let him off with a caution this time.”

He had been right, and Oliver had been charged with stealing the cards and pension books. He was given police bail and told when to appear in court. He'd seen a solicitor, and then come home to the inevitable recriminations. It was bad enough from his father, but when Annie joined in it was past everything and Olive blew his stack.

“For Christ's sake,” he bellowed, “it was only a couple of fucking credit cards and a pension book. Anyone would've thought I'd nicked the fucking crown jewels the way you two go on. Shit! I hope they do put me inside, anything'd be better than this bleeding house!” He flung himself out of the room.

Annie rounded on Steve. “That's it! I'm not having him here in this house if he goes on like this, you hear me, Steve. If you don't do something about him, it'll be him or me!”

“Annie,” Steve tried to sound conciliatory, “he's only a kid.”

“No he's not,” Annie shrieked, “he's a manipulative monster, and I don't want him living here. Send him back to his mother. Let her sort him out! He's her son.”

“He's my son too,” Steve said quietly.

“Then the time is rapidly approaching,” Annie said through her teeth, “when you'll have to choose between your son and your wife.”

Faced with such an ultimatum, Steve had phoned Lynne. She too, had been giving him a hard time over the past few weeks, about having the children for Christmas.

“I want them for the whole Christmas period,” she said. “They can come up on Christmas Eve and stay until New Year's Day.”

“Oh come on, Lynne, that's not fair,” Steve had said. “Be reasonable. We want them with us for some of that time, it's a time for families to be together.”

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Lynne flared up at once.

“Just what I'm saying,” she snapped. “We are their family too, you know, and we hardly ever see them. They were promised that they could come and stay in the school holidays, and this will be in the school holidays.”

“I know,” Steve tried to retrieve the situation, “but Christmas is special for everyone, so they should spend some of the time with me and some with you. That sounds fair.”

“I haven't seen Emma since half term,” Lynne shouted, “and Oliver, not since the summer. It's my turn to have them with me, and if you don't agree, Oslo says we'll take you to court. So think about it Steve. That is not an idle threat!” She had slammed the phone down and left Steve fuming at the other end of a dead line.

This time when he called her, however, the situation had changed and he decided to call her bluff. He was charm itself. “I've been thinking about what you said, Lynne,” he said, “and I've decided not to fight with you on the question of Christmas and New Year. The children will be on the train that gets in at two-thirty on Christmas Eve, and I'll pick them up in Belcaster on the second of January off whichever train you tell me is suitable.”

Lynne was almost silenced. She had been preparing a generous climb-down about New Year, never really having wanted the children with her for that long. Oslo certainly thought that the three days over Christmas were enough, and had told her so in no uncertain manner, but she had been at her usual game of using her children as a stick to beat Steve, and now she was caught out.

“I've been thinking too, Steve,” she began sweetly, “perhaps I was being unreasonable to expect…”

“Not at all,” Steve interrupted. “You were right, you should see more of them, and they should have a chance to get to know Oslo properly. He is their stepfather after all. Don't worry, it's all arranged.” And indeed it was, for he had already booked himself and Annie into a country hotel for the Christmas week, as a sort of second honeymoon. There was no way he was putting his second marriage at risk, and though he knew very well that Lynne didn't want the children for the whole holiday period, he had played her at her own game… and won.

The only people who were not consulted were Oliver and Emma, they were presented with a fait accompli and were simply sent to their mother for Christmas.

It had been a disaster. Oslo made no secret that he thought they were both very much in the way. He was horrified when heard about Oliver's coming court appearance and ostentatiously locked his study door. Besides which, on several occasions, he was heard to tell people that they had a juvenile delinquent living in the house. Both Emma and Oliver hated him, and even Dartmouth Circle seemed a better option to Oliver after almost a week in London. His mother made little effort to entertain them and they were left to their own devices almost every evening whilst she and Oslo went out to drinks or dinner parties, and when she finally put them on the train back to Belcaster, Oliver sank back into his seat and said, “I am never going near either of them again!”

“Nor am I!” Emma agreed, but then she'd always preferred living in Dartmouth Circle.

Annie and Steve had made good use of their week of luxury on their own, to discuss their problems and come to some agreement. Steve had promised to try and spend more time with the children and to keep a much stricter eye on Oliver, and Annie had promised to leave the management of the children to him. “I won't interfere,” she agreed. “I'll do the usual running of the household, but it'll be up to you to keep them in line in the house.”

Since then there had been a sort of armed truce between them all. The new school term had started and Oliver had made his first appearance in court, but there would be others. From what his solicitor said, it didn't sound as if he would be sent away, but he would be under strict supervision.

At least they hadn't found my cash, Oliver thought. That was safely stashed in a secret building society account, and he kept the pass book, along with his information notebook, locked in his locker at school. No way was he letting anyone get wind of his escape fund. Everything that had happened recently had made him increasingly determined to leave both home and school on his sixteenth birthday and disappear.

Once this supervision thing is over, he decided, I'll get myself back into business again. The notebook might be of less use than he thought,as most of the information he had recorded in it was now common knowledge, but you never knew. He was still certain that knowledge about other people led to power over them, and power was still his driving force.

As he swung round the Circle, he came face to face with Chantal Haven. She was wearing the Chapmans' school uniform. Oliver knew a familiar stab of jealous rage as he saw it, and he glared at her. He had forgotten she'd been moved there. Why the hell should stuck-up Chantal go there when he was stuck at shitty Crosshills? But the moment of fury passed. Oliver had changed since he'd left Chapmans. Crosshills was a tough place, and Oliver, learning fast, was tough too. Always manipulative, he had developed this skill to a fine art. He could make people feel how he wanted them to feel, and he wanted Chantal to be afraid of him.

He flicked his eyes at the estate agent's board outside the house,

“See you're moving then,” he said, casually.

Chantal looked him disdainfully. “Yeah. Couldn't stand to live in the same road as you anymore.” Then pushed by some inner devil, she said with a smirk, “Saw you being arrested from Patel's the other day. Nicking stuff, were you?”

Oliver glowered at her. “Yeah? Like I saw you being marched away from that student party by a butch policewoman,” he sniped. “Heard afterwards you'd been shagging that rugby player. Dan is he called? Hear the poor sod's being charged with rape. Rape? I bet you were begging for it!”

“He's not! I wasn't!” Chantal said confusedly, not knowing if he was right about Dan or not.

“Christ, he must've been desperate,” Oliver remarked contemptuously, looking her up and down.

Chantal felt suddenly afraid. “At least he was a man,” she said shakily. “Just 'cos I wouldn't let you touch me at Mike's party.”

Oliver gave a shout of laughter. “Me! Touch you! Don't flatter yourself, kid. You were pissed out of your mind.” His eyes slid down to her stomach. “You up the spout like your sister, then? Look what happened to her,” and he reached out as if to touch her.

Suddenly Chantal lost her nerve, and gave a piercing scream. “Don't touch me!” she shrieked. She pushed him violently away, and ran up the path to her own front door, with his jeering laughter echoing behind her. As she reached the door, it was opened by Angela who had heard Chantal's scream. Angela looked out and saw Oliver standing in the road. She had no idea what was going on, but she did know that Chantal was afraid of Oliver for some reason.

“Time you went home, Oliver Hooper,” she said in a measured tone. Oliver grinned at her. “Just chatting to Chantal, Mrs Haven,” he said cheerfully. “Cheers, Chantal, see you another day.”