“England’s been having a quiet week,” Caitlin observed, for once looking wide awake as she ate her breakfast on the balcony. “You made the front page: look.” She turned the newspaper around.
Brookie dumped his spoon in his cereal with a sigh. Fran glanced up from her toast, threw a critical eye over the less-than-flattering photo of herself and Brookie that graced the front page of the newspaper, and returned to her food.
“‘Who is Brookie’s mystery belle?’ isn’t even news,” he said tiredly. “And the answer to that question is not ‘as hotly anticipated as the identity of the next Doctor’.”
“True,” chipped in Bertie as he slurped down some yoghurt. “The latest writers of that TV programme have been so shocking that people don’t care anymore, so knowing the identity of your new girlfriend is actually more hotly anticipated, not as hotly anticipated.”
Brookie and Caitlin turned to look at him.
“Where did you come from?” Brookie asked him.
“You’re supposed to be eating in the kitchen with the others,” Caitlin snapped. “This is for grownups.”
“Frankie’s not a grown up.”
“She’s Brookie’s guest.”
“They’re making a mess downstairs anyways,” Bertie said as he licked his yoghurt pot clean. “May accidentally fed the hamster some laxatives.”
“Oh, God.” Caitlin grasped her head in her hands. Fran tried to stifle a snort of laughter, but ended up spraying Brookie in crumbs.
Brookie wiped the crumbs away and fixed his little brother with a gimlet eye. “You mean, you’re hiding away because you’re the reason May accidentally gave the hamster laxatives.”
Bertie just grinned at him. Brookie shook his head and dropped it, turning back to the newspaper.
“Frankie’ll need a new dress for the red carpet on Sunday,” he said to Caitlin.
“Y’what, now?” Fran jerked upright in alarm at the mention of a red carpet.
“Do you reckon Cesca’s silver one would fit her?” Brookie continued.
“Brook, that looks like tin foil.”
“Go shopping?” suggested Bertie.
“I’m fine with wearing the one I wore for the concert yesterday,” Fran offered.
“The media won’t be.”
Caitlin reached for the butter. “I’ll fix her up with something, Brook. Don’t worry about it.”
“Do I absolutely have to go to such a public event?” Fran demanded. Caitlin and Brookie exchanged glances.
“Yes,” said Brookie in a tone that brooked no argument.
“Well, it would be an ideal opportunity to clarify that you’re actually Brookie’s new foster sister,” Caitlin pointed out.
Fran looked from one to the other. “But won’t they cotton on that it’s a lie really quickly?”
“Nope!” said Bertie. “We don’t allow the media to get anywhere near here to check!”
From the expressions on both Caitlin’s and Brookie’s faces, Fran decided it was best not to ask.
“To be honest,” said Caitlin, “I’d be quite surprised if anybody other than the adoption authorities was actually aware of exactly how big our family is and what everybody’s ages and names are. Even Wikipedia isn’t completely up-to-date, despite the obsessors. Bertie, the phone’s ringing. Can you go and get it?”
Bertie scooted away, stealing the last slice of toast as he went.
“Anyway,” Caitlin continued once he’d gone, “how are you enjoying yourself away from school?”
Fran considered. She hadn’t really thought about it.
“It’s just different,” she decided with a shrug. “I mean, I miss home, but I know I can’t go back there for the moment, and….” She tailed off. Brookie and Caitlin exchanged glances again.
“Brookie!” Bertie burst back out onto the balcony with the house phone in his hands. “It’s Bruno. He says everything’s sorted and he can be discharged today.”
Brookie held up a hand. “Pass it here.”
Bertie lobbed him the phone and sat down again, this time reaching for the cereal.
“Bruno?” Brookie’s face cracked into a broad grin. “How are you feeling?”
The response must have been a good one, because Brookie’s smile just spread.
“No problem,” he said in reply. “Frankie needs the cut in the back of her leg checked, in any case, so we’ll pick you up after lunch when I take her in. Did you get the phone and the headset? … Awesome. See you in a bit, then. …. All right. Bye!” He hung up.
“They managed to fix whatever stupid thing they did to his back,” he explained to Caitlin. Caitlin grimaced and turned to Bertie.
“You need to get that hamster sorted before Bruno returns,” she warned.
“But Bruno likes hamsters!”
“Bruno also likes it when the cuts he’s had from surgery don’t get infected,” Caitlin said flatly. “Even if he loves hamsters to death, he won’t appreciate one running around the house, on laxatives, that could die at any moment.”
“Wait a second.” Fran swallowed the last of her breakfast. “I get to see Bruno again?”
“Of course,” said Brookie distractedly.
Fran beamed. “Life made!”
“I’ll tell him for you.”
“What? No!”
Brookie snickered. The phone started ringing again. He picked up without a second thought.
“Hello?”
The voice on the other end wiped the smile off his face in a split-second.
“Speaking. What is it?”
The other three looked up at him as he listened, lips drawing into a thin line. Then he turned and bolted indoors.
Fran stared after him. “What was that about?”
It was several minutes before Brookie reappeared, white as a sheet and trembling as if he’d seen a ghost. He still clutched the house phone loosely in one hand.
“Bertie, go,” he said in a low voice. “I need to talk about something serious.”
For once, Bertie didn’t complain. He grabbed all the dirty plates, bowls and cutlery in sight and vanished, shutting the door to the inside behind him. Brookie approached the edge of the table and stood there, chewing on his lip.
Caitlin folded the newspaper and put it away.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Brookie glanced briefly at Fran. “That was Mr Carson.”
Fran sat up, curious. Putting the phone on the table, Brookie turned to her.
“The police are looking for you,” he said flatly. “They’ve been trying to get in contact with you all morning, but the home number you supplied the school with doesn’t exist and they can’t get through to you on your mobile.”
“I left it on my bed,” Fran said, a chill rushing down her spine. “But why…?”
“Another body’s been found.” Brookie’s expression was grim. “Same markings in the cheek as last time, same birthday as you. The police wanted to get hold of you to ask you a few questions, went to the school, found out you weren’t there, so asked for your phone numbers and home address. The home phone didn’t exist, the house they went to belonged to some little old lady who swears she’s never heard of you, and they couldn’t get hold of you on your mobile, so Carson rang me to ask if I knew where you might have gone.”
Fran stared blankly at him, her mind going numb. Sh*t. All that looks so suspicious on my part.
“Wh… wh-what did you tell him?” she stammered.
Brookie surveyed her for a long moment as Caitlin looked from one to the other.
“Nothing,” he said eventually. “I ran to a part of the house that had no signal so the call cut off before I had to reply. But I’m going to have to ring him back and say something. It’s a question of what.”
“You’ll have to correct all of the false information, too,” Caitlin mused.
Fran swallowed back bile and clenched her fists. She had to force herself to breathe normally.
“But I can’t,” she said, voice trembling. “It’ll give away who I am.”
“We have to think of something fast,” Brookie pointed out. “If we take too long about it, they might think it’s fabricated.”
Fran shook her head and shrank back into her chair.
“I can’t,” she whispered, almost hysterically. “Brookie, I can’t.” She burst into tears.
Brookie came to sit beside her.
“Hush.” He rubbed her back gently. Her body went tense and started shuddering violently.
Caitlin reached out and grasped one of Fran’s tightly clenched fists. Fran’s whole hand was white, and when Caitlin managed to prise it out of its ball, there were deep nail marks evident in the girl’s palm. As the colour returned to her hand, three of the marks started bleeding. Caitlin shot Brookie a look of alarm. He blinked back at her, swallowing, and gave a tiny nod, as if to say I know.
Darren, she mouthed at him. She needs to see Darren.
Brookie nodded again.
“We need to sort out this problem first, though,” he murmured.
“Honey,” said Caitlin. “What’s the area code for the false home number you gave?”
It was several moments before Fran could answer.
“S-s-s-same as th-this,” she choked out.
“We could give them our number,” Caitlin said.
Brookie shot her a withering look. “No, we can’t. They know it’s my home number.”
“D*mn.” Caitlin sighed. “And I can’t give mine because it’s not even from this continent.”
“You could,” Brookie said. “School does know that Frankie’s parents are splitting up. You could be his mum and have moved to South Korea.”
Caitlin would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so serious.
“I don’t look old enough. What about Conrad? He’s got the same area code at the beginning of his number.”
“Conrad?” spluttered Brookie. “He never helps with anything!”
“He will help,” Caitlin said firmly. “Honestly, Brookie, all you need to learn to do is be a terrifying little sister and Conrad will do absolutely anything you ask. It’s not hard.”
“It still doesn’t wrap up the problem of the fake address!”
“We’ll leave that problem and the whole mess of the divorce and what have you to Conrad. Knowing him, they won’t ask too many questions.”
“He’s eccentric enough to pull most things off, I suppose,” Brookie agreed grudgingly. “And the wrong phone number can be the last phone number they had before they changed supplier or whatever just after Frankie went away to school….”
Fran flinched violently when he mentioned her.
“Sorted,” Caitlin decided, rubbing circles on the back of Fran’s hand with her thumb. “I’ll ring Conrad; you ring Mr Carson and make up whatever you need to. I’ll drive Frankie over to Conrad’s as soon as this is sorted out.” She plucked a large Samsung out of a pocket.
With some trepidation, Brookie picked up the home phone again and hit the call back function.
Caitlin got through first.
“Conrad!” she exclaimed with slightly exaggerated cheerfulness. “Do you love me?”
Brookie couldn’t help rolling his eyes, although Fran was still shivering like a leaf. He wound his fingers into her hair and absently massaged her scalp. The call took a few more seconds to connect.
“Hi, sir,” he said immediately. “It’s Brookie. The signal must have cut off.”
“Don’t worry,” said Mr Carson. “What’s more important is if you know where Frankie went and how we can get hold of him.”
Brookie glanced across at Caitlin, who seemed to already have Conrad wrapped neatly around her little finger.
“He said he was going to his dad’s for half-term,” Brookie said. “He didn’t sound too enthusiastic about it – his parents have been having the most atrocious arguments, apparently, and his dad recently changed the house phone number so his mum can’t contact them anymore. If you ask me, he’s probably there.”
“And where exactly is there?” Carson asked.
“I’ve no idea about the address, but I think he might have given me the phone number. Let me check.” He squeezed Fran’s shoulders protectively before mouthing what the flying f*ck is Conrad’s number? at Caitlin.
Caitlin hung up on Conrad with a quick “call you later!” and shoved her phone across to Brookie so that he could read the number off the screen for Mr Carson.
“Thank you!” said the housemaster. “I hope you’re enjoying your holiday, Brookie! Bye for now.” He hung up.
“Get on the phone to Conrad right now and explain the situation to him in detail,” Caitlin instructed. “It’ll buy us more time – if the phone’s engaged, they can’t ring him immediately. Frankie, get your chest compressor and let’s go.”