The Cadwaladr Quests Page 2

  ‘Morning, love. Your hair’s fabulous123,’ cooed124 Dee.

  Dee worked as a hairdresser, and she’d recently chemically125 straightened Rebecca’s wayward126 curls, which now obeyed all her teenage whims127 and commands. All three siblings128 had inherited129 their dad’s curly hair, so Dee had eradicated130 any signs of a bend and transformed131 Rebecca’s locks132 from Shirley Temple to Pocahontas.

  Unnoticed133 and exasperated134, Claire grabbed her bag and coat, and left for school, hoping she might get something to eat at Ben’s.

  Ben Lee Brady lived a short stretch from Claire, but in the big houses. Chorltonville was an oasis135 of leafy green tranquillity136 with affluent137 homes camouflaged138 by Victorian and modern139 dwellings140. ‘The Ville’ had become a peaceful but pricey141 respite142 from urban traffic. Dee referred143 to it sarcastically144 as ‘Pleasantville’, but Claire knew her mum would secretly love to live there.

  Ben was an only child, loved unconditionally145 yet not spoiled146. A studious147, well-mannered boy, with his mop of shaggy hair, smooth caramel skin and lithe148, athletic build, he’d be equally at home riding the surf on Bondi Beach. He and Claire had been inseparable149 since playschool and were still best buddies; their friendship had stood the test of time. He exuded150 the epitome151 of cool; if she was asked to rewrite the dictionary152 definition153, it would say ‘Ben Lee Brady’.

  By the time she’d reached Ben’s, her stomach was growling. She patted it. ‘Quiet, boy!’ she laughed. Am I fat? she asked herself, sucking in her tummy, turning bright pink.

  Rebecca was always saying she had ‘chicken drumstick legs’. At least her mum softened it to the euphemism154 of ‘twiggy calves155 and meaty thighs’. Claire couldn’t decide which sounded worse.

  ‘I’m not that bad, am I?’ she asked, looking down and tilting156 her head to inspect herself from a variety157 of angles. ‘Not really?’ she debated158, wishing she preferred exercise to food.

  The door opened; Mrs Brady’s kind, vaguely159 amused160 face smiled down at her.

  ‘Morning, Claire. Come in,’ she beckoned161.

  Caught in the act, Claire let out a squeaky yelp162, stepped back and straightened up.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Brady,’ she blurted163, blushing.

  Mrs Brady welcomed her in. Red-faced, Claire followed, squirming164, but grateful165 that Mrs Brady seemed too courteous166 and discreet167 to mention what she’d seen.

  ‘Ben’s still fiddling around upstairs. Come on through, Claire.’

  Entering their kitchen transported168 Claire into another world, one so different from home. Hotchpotched169 and unregimented170, the room had shelves that bowed171 and strained, crammed172 full of colourful cookery books. Copper pans and cooking utensils173 hung from hooks. An array174 of Chinese herbs and spices filled the air with exotic175 and pungent176 smells, intoxicating177 aromas178 all alien179 to her nose. The only thing hanging up in Claire’s kitchen was her mum’s hair straighteners.

  ‘Fancy a banana, Claire?’ asked Mrs Brady, spooning homemade fried rice into Ben’s lunchbox. ‘You could eat it on the way to school.’

  ‘Oh, yes, please. Thanks, Mrs B,’ replied Claire.

  Ben’s dad had already gone; he often left early. Originally180 from New York, he worked for an American company in town. What he did flummoxed181 her; it sounded too complicated182, but it must be a respectable183 job, as he drove a flashy184 electric car that steered itself if you asked it to. Ben had inherited both his parents’ good features185, but especially his dad’s. Mr Brady had looks a film star would envy186.

  ‘Hey, Claire,’ said Ben in his Mancunian-American twang. ‘You ready?’

  ‘Yeah, coming,’ Claire replied through a mouthful of banana.

  ‘Have a good day, you two,’ said Mrs Brady as they left the kitchen and headed off.

  ‘I wonder what times were like in 1847,’ mused187 Ben, reading from a crooked headstone as they cut through the graveyard towards their school.

  ‘Boo!’ Claire jested188, giving him a playful push in the back.

  ‘Yikes! You scared me!’ he laughed, crossing his hands over his chest in a makeshift189 cross, faking fear. He pushed his skateboard along with the toe of his black school trainer, and as slick190 as a pro, he hopped on and sported an adroit191 little ollie up the kerb. ‘Come on, keep up, slowcoach; we’ll be late,’ he teased.

  They exited the church via a quaint192 archway onto The Green, a hidden quadrant193 of manicured194 grass enclosed195 by red-brick terraces and a Tudor-looking pub. It was hard to believe that two world-famous football grounds and one of England’s most populous196 city centres resided197 a few miles down the road.

  On the idyllic198 green’s edge, adjacent199 to their flat-roofed school, stood a single row of charming Victorian workman’s cottages. Every morning, the two friends called to say hello to the feisty200 terrier201 owned by Gladys Jones, who lived at number twenty-two, The Green. Gladys, a sprightly202 and amiable203 octogenarian204, already stood hanging out the day’s washing in her tiny front garden. An excited Jack yapped205 by her feet; he’d spotted his friends approaching.

  ‘Morning, Gladys,’ they chirped, reaching down to ruffle206 Jack’s bristly207 coat. Claire was panting; she could never keep up with Ben on his board. He’d tried to teach her to ride many times, but after her millionth crash, she’d conceded208 defeat.

  ‘Hello, kids,’ croaked209 Gladys, her black cat, Thomas, slinking210 out to join them. ‘Work hard today at school,’ she added in a broad211 Lancashire accent212.

  ‘We will.’ Ben kicked his deck213 into place. ‘Come on, Claire, the bell’s about to go.’

  ‘You’ll do yourself a mischief214 on that contraption215 one day,’ laughed Gladys. ‘Call in on your way home for a sandwich if you want, kids,’ she smiled, waving them off.

  ‘Why did you call him Jack?’ asked Claire, munching the promised sandwich in Gladys’s cosy kitchen after school. Gladys baked fresh bread to rival216 Ben’s mum’s, none of that spongy white stodge217 in her house, and Gladys used real butter too.

  ‘Because he’s a Jack Russell terrier, the cleverest dogs in the entire218 world, aren’t you, my Jack?’ replied Gladys, patting his head. ‘Although he’s more of a Parson terrier with those long legs and that bristly coat. At least you don’t moult219 much, Jack,’ she laughed, rubbing his coat.

  Jack didn’t blink at the mention of his name. Statue-still, he drooled220, longing221 for a morsel222 of Claire’s bread, not moving in case he missed a falling crumb.

  ‘What did you two do today?’ asked Gladys.

  ‘Heaps of maths and English; we’ve got big tests coming up. We’ll be glad when they’re done,’ replied Ben.

  ‘Yeah, far too much maths,’ Claire groaned, interrupted by a wet nose prodding her palm. ‘Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry. I forgot to save you some. I’ll keep a bit for you next time, I promise, Jackster.’

  She fondled223 his silky224 ear, the one soft part of him; the rest felt as coarse225 as the scouring226 pads she washed up with at home.

  ‘Don’t be feeding him treats; it makes him beg,’ Gladys chided227, tickling his other ear. ‘You kids best be off before it’s dark,’ she warned.

  Eternally228 jovial229 and upbeat, Gladys seldom230 lectured231 them, but they heeded232 her serious tone.

  ‘OK, Gladys. See you tomorrow, then,’ chorused233 the kids. Jack and Thomas trotted out behind them.

  ‘I’m sure that cat thinks he’s a dog,’ chuckled Gladys.

  This was the closest Claire had ever got to a longed-for pet, as Dee had an aversion234 to animals. Claire adored Jack and Thomas like they were her own.

  ‘Why are you wasting your time talking to that old witch?’ Rebecca’s spiteful235 comments cut through the air, spoiling their goodbyes. She was heading home from school, and showing off to impress236 the boy with her.

  ‘Yeah, what do you bother with her for?’ he chimed237 in.

  Josh Drane was a loathsome2
38 boy in Claire’s eyes. His arrogant239 behaviour repelled240 her, yet her gullible241 sister seemed to have recently fallen for it. And although he was an obviously242 good-looking boy, whenever Claire clapped eyes on him, she saw a rat in a baseball cap.

  ‘The only people wasting my time are you,’ hissed Claire at them both. ‘Come on, Ben, I’m not walking anywhere near these two.’ She stepped up the pace243.

  ‘Ignore her,’ he comforted. ‘My kung fu master says you reap244 what you sow245 in this world. Your sister won’t be getting much back unless she changes a whole bunch.’

  Claire smiled at Ben, appreciative of his tact246, sensitivity247 and his funny Americanisms.

  ‘Coming in?’ Ben hopped off his board, flicking it up under his arm. A deft248 kick with his other foot opened his gate.

  ‘Nah, thanks. We’ve got that test tomorrow, and I should tidy my room. It’s such a dump I can’t find my spellings, and my mum will freak even though she’s messier!’

  ‘OK, yeah. Sure. See you in the morning, and don’t forget your PE kit. It’s cross-country tomorrow, your favourite!’

  ‘Nooooo!’ groaned Claire, envisaging249 herself limping over the finishing line. She wasn’t the sportiest of children, unlike Ben.

  ‘Oh, I forgot, are you still coming to my competition this Saturday?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’d love to, so long as it’s OK with your mum.’ She knew it would be, yet she never took the invitations for granted250.

  ‘Of course, it’ll be fine,’ he answered. ‘We’re going snowboarding to the Chill Factore on Sunday too, if you want to come?’

  ‘I can’t on Sunday; my dad’s coming,’ she said, relieved her excuse was genuine251. Ben was an avid252 snowboarder, but his hobbies were dear253, and she didn’t have the money. Besides, the one time she’d tried boarding, she’d bruised her backside so badly she didn’t fancy trying it again.

  ‘Thanks for asking though. See you tomorrow,’ she said, heading off.

  She loved Ben’s tournaments254; they were so exciting. The smell of rubber mats, the artistic255, testing moves and amazing high kicks. The twists, turns and dynamic256 spins. A choreographed257 ballet of self-defence258 accompanied259 by a concerto260 of exertive261 grunts. Captivated262, she’d sit with Ben’s parents, marvelling263 at the competitors264. Children of all sizes, some wiry265, some stocky266, all light-footed and so deceptively267 strong as they practised268 and perfected their martial269 art. She’d love to have a go but, always too self-conscious270, never dared.

  Claire had used her own key for a while. Leaving her bag in the hall, she supposed one redeeming271 feature of living here was the warmth. Dee felt the cold, so she cranked272 up the heating to permanent273 Caribbean274 temperatures. First home, and despite the jam sandwich at Gladys’s, she had a prowling275 hunger as usual. The fossilised doughnut still sat alone in the bread bin; she prodded it, picturing it bouncing off Becca’s head.

  I hope Mum’s gone shopping, she thought, heading upstairs.

  Not long after, she heard the front door slam. Dee had finished early for a Thursday.

  ‘Glad you’re tidying up, young lady; it’s a right tip276 in there.’ Dee’s head popped round the door.

  That’s rich! thought Claire. ‘’Ave we got any glue, Mum?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t drop your h’s, young lady; I’ve told you about that,’ Dee snapped, leaving Claire speechless. Dee often forgot hers.

  ‘Sorry, Mother. Have we got any glue?’ repeated Claire, emphasising277 her h as much as she dared get away with.

  ‘What do you need glue for, anyway?’ asked Dee, her eyes narrowing suspiciously to wily278 slits.

  ‘I knocked over my clock, and Wallace’s head fell off,’ replied Claire, getting up to show her mum.

  ‘Oh, is that all? Ask your dad to fix it when he comes with Princess Jayne at the weekend,’ responded Dee tartly279, and with that she swooped off and went downstairs.

  ‘Claire!’ Dee yelled from downstairs. ‘CLAIRE CADWALLADER, GET DOWN THESE STAIRS NOW!’

  ‘Sorry, Mum. I got carried away,’ replied Claire, poking her head round her door. The smell of microwaved chips wafted280 towards her.

  ‘Well, get yourself carried down these stairs now, young lady, because your tea’s ready,’ Dee shouted, disappearing back into the kitchen.

  Tea was uninspiring281 as usual. Pete complained about the mushy282 pizza, and the chips still being frozen in the middle. He jabbed283 at his food with his fork, squeezed half a bottle of ketchup on it and wolfed284 it all down anyway.

  ‘Mum, I need extra money for dinner on that stupid trip tomorrow,’ said Rebecca, pushing her chair away, scraping it excruciatingly285 across the laminate286 flooring.

  ‘Don’t you mean lunch?’ Dee corrected, wincing287 but ignoring the noise, and speaking in a pretentious288, posh289 voice.

  Claire rolled her eyes.

  ‘It’s your turn to wash up tonight, Fat Face,’ Rebecca said, leaving the kitchen.

  ‘I’m not fat!’ Claire retaliated290 indignantly. ‘Anyway, Mum, why does Pete always dodge doing the pots?’

  ‘Because he’s busy,’ her mother answered with a dismissive291 wave.

  ‘Yeah, busy on his Xbox,’ said Claire, getting up to clear the table as Pete sloped292 off. ‘I am NOT doing them tomorrow!’ she proclaimed293, pointing. ‘He is!’

  Fuming294, she washed up, wishing she could go on Rebecca’s school trip. They were visiting a museum in Manchester for their history exam. She’d sneaked a peek295 at the letter. It had mentioned ‘ancient296 artefacts297’. She’d had to look up the definition of artefact. It said, ‘Something historical made by a human being.’ History and mystery intrigued298 Claire and she envied Rebecca’s trip. She couldn’t wait to be at secondary school, going on excursions299 with Ben – her tummy flipped at the thought.

  ‘Night, Mum.’ Claire dried her hands on a damp towel.

  ‘Why are you going to bed now? It’s not even half past six,’ Dee said, swiping her finger across her phone. ‘You’re not ill, are you?’ she asked.

  ‘No. I’ve got a test, and I want to finish my book; it’s brilliant. It’s about these kids on daredevil300 quests301 who have to navigate really difficult …’ Claire didn’t bother to go on. Her mother was tapping out a message on her phone.

  ‘Don’t forget to do your homework, Brainbox,’ taunted302 Pete from the sofa. ‘With your beauty, you’ll need all the brains you can get,’ he joked.

  Claire threw the wet towel at him and ran upstairs.

  Being youngest meant Claire had the box room, but at least she didn’t have to share with Becca. She loved her cosy den, now tidied and ordered. Brimming303 with excitement, she pressed the blue icon304 on her mum’s tablet, and the familiar chimes305 of Skype rang out. She didn’t have her own phone yet, but her mum had permitted306 her this one luxury307, her own Skype account so she could call her dad, Vince.

  ‘Hi, Claire, darling. How are you? Your dad’s not here; he’s just popped to the corner shop.’ Jayne’s broad smile and twinkling feline308 eyes sparkled at her on the screen. Her long blonde hair tumbled in easy, luscious309 waves onto the shoulders of her emerald310-green blouse. It was easy to see why Dee had dubbed311 her ‘Princess’.

  ‘Hi, Jayne. I’m on my mum’s tablet, so I can’t be long.’

  ‘Are you excited about the musical312 on Sunday?’ asked Jayne.

  ‘I can’t wait! I can’t sleep! I’ve read until late at night, but I still can’t nod off,’ she gushed313.

  ‘Do you need any help with your homework?’ Jayne laughed.

  ‘No, it’s OK, thanks. We’ve got spelling tests tomorrow, so I’m learning those.’

  ‘See you on Sunday, then, and I’ll say hello to your dad from you when he gets back.’

  ‘I can’t wait!’ chirped314 Claire. ‘See you on Sunday.’

  Bloop, the unmistakable Skype jingle315 warbled316, and in a puff of colourful pixels317, Jayne vanishe
d.

  Claire put the tablet back into her mum’s room. She’d clean her teeth later, after her snack. Surrounded by pages of spellings, a pile of books, and a packet of smuggled318 cheese-and-onion crisps to munch and savour319, she snuggled into her squidgy quilt. She loved her bed.

  ‘I’ll get you fixed when I see my dad,’ she reassured320 a headless Wallace.

  She set the alarm for 7.15 a.m., hoping it would still work.

  Finally, feeling conscientious321, she settled down to some meaningful322 study323. But it didn’t happen. Her crisps fluttered324 from her hand, floating onto the carpet. Her book settled open onto her chest. Her lamp glowed softly as her shallow325 breathing became deeper and deeper.

  FRIDAY

  2. The Note

  Claire shot upright. Streaks of sunshine sneaked through the gaps in her curtains, projecting1 sparkling shards2 that shimmered onto the wall.

  Why’s my lamp on? What time is it? she thought, trying to shake the fuzzy haze3 from her head.

  It looked too light outside and sounded too quiet inside. Bleary4-eyed, she cocked her ear towards her door; the silence bothered her. She concentrated harder and listened for the hectic5 pandemonium6 of morning, only none came. Diving out of bed, Claire snatched her clock. She was shocked to see it had stopped, and for the first time in her young life, she’d overslept.

  ‘Weird, I must have been tired last night; I didn’t eat my crisps.’

  She’d trodden on them with a loud crunch. In a horrible tizzy7, hopping and brushing cheesy crumbs from between her toes, she threw on her crinkled uniform, cleaned her teeth and scooted downstairs. She hoped she wasn’t extremely late. Surely someone would have called her before they left? She was normally punctual8 and hated being late. Astonished9, Claire came down to find a deserted10 house, and clean dishes. The kitchen looked just as she’d left it last night.