“Fred, I’m off, I’m late for my shift,” said Lizzie, as she slid Freddie’s bedroom window open. The white net curtains billowed like a ship’s sails into the room.
“What time is it?” he yawned.
“Time you were up.” She plonked a mug of tea down beside his bed.
“Actually, I’d like to bunk off school today,” he said, blearily. It only seemed like five minutes ago since he’d finally managed to get to sleep. “Can I throw a sickie?”
Lizzie gave him an evil look.
“Not even if I get down on my knees and beg in a very degrading way?”
“No dice.”
“What about if I promise to do the shopping for a week?”
“Yeah, right.”
“Seriously, there’s a hurricane situation. If I could stay at home …”
“Hurricanes can wait. School can’t.”
“But it’s at a critical stage. Anything could happen,” he pleaded.
Ignoring him, she sat down on the end of the bed, opened her cavernous shoulder-bag and began rummaging around inside.
“Aren’t there people who take care of these things? The Met Office or someone?’ she said, absentmindedly. “What can you do, Fred?”
“But …”
“No buts. School.”
Freddie put on his ‘son unreasonably treated by mother’ face. “You are hard-core, Mum, you know that?”
“Yeah. Here. Tea. Drink.”
Lizzie handed him the mug, took one of his CDs and, using its reverse side as a mirror, began applying her lipstick.
“Bit of lippie. Improves the day in every way,” she said squinting into the little silver circle. Freddie winced.
She was smearing make-up all over the Arctic Monkeys new album! “Anyway, never mind hurricanes in Florida. What’s the Freddie Weather Bulletin for Essex ?” She smeared some bright pink on her lips and frowned unhappily. “Is this shade me?”
“It’s alright. Bit young for you to be honest.”
“Freddie!”
“And the Bulletin says would you please not use my CD’s like that? Why don’t you use one of your own. Rod Stewart or some other rubbish.”
“Cheek. I do not listen to Rod Stewart. I’m not that ancient. So …?”
“It’ll turn cloudy about 2 o’clock.”
“Sure?” asked Lizzie, frowning. She was now checking her face for lines.
Freddie peered into his tea suspiciously. “Followed by intermittent showers. It’ll be chucking it down by teatime. Bet you a fiver. No. Make that a tenner. I could use the cash.”
“Duh! No chance, do I look stupid?”
“No comment,” replied Freddie. He sipped his tea – and instantly spat it out.
“Milk’s off!’
Lizzie shrugged indifferently and continued her minute facial inspection. “By the way, “ she said at last, “they want me to work an extra shift tonight, Fred. Friday’s always mad with the pubs. Get yourself some fish and chips or a kebab from round the corner or something. Call me on my mobile later, okay? Are you going round to Cap’s tonight?”
“Yeah. Skateboarding practice. The Jam’s on Monday.”
She nodded, not really listening to him. Got up from the bed and walked over to Freddie’s full-length mirror. Twirled. Looked at her hips.
Oh, no, here we go, thought Freddie.
“You think these jeans are too tight? Tell the truth.”
With a wary eye, Freddie surveyed Lizzie’s fleshy muffin-tops peeking over the waistband of her jeans.
“No, they’re fine. Honest.”
“You aren’t just saying that?”
“Mum!”
But she wasn’t happy. She examined her tummy, pulling her flabby bits this way and that. “I think I might start Weight Watchers next week.”
Freddie sat up in the bed and stared at her. This was Lizzie’s morning ritual. It could go on for some time.
He sighed. Loudly.
“Um, I hate to bring it up, but didn’t you say that last week?”
“I’ve been very busy, smartie-pants. As you know.”
She dropped the lipstick into her shoulder bag. Slipped on the old scuffed leather jacket she always wore. The ritual was over early this morning – to Freddie’s relief.
“Okay, I’m out of here,” she said. “Have a good time. Break a leg. Or, rather, don’t. Say hi to Cap for me.’”
Then, taking advantage of his bleary state, she jumped on him, started messing up his hair and tickling him. It was a sneaky move.
Too late, Freddie tried to pull the duvet over his head.
“Will you please gerrroffff?” he protested.
But Lizzie enjoyed ambushing him like this. She did it whenever she could. For no other reason, it seemed to Freddie, than to wind him up.
“Ooh, diddums!” she said, putting on the stupid baby voice that always really annoyed him, “You’re still my liddel-boy!”
“I don’t think I’m the immature one in this relationship, to be honest,” he said, shrinking down into the bed. “Now will you go, woman? You’re late.”
Lizzie stood up, brushed a stray wisp of her long red hair off her face. “Okay! Later!” She blew him a last kiss, hurried out of the room and trotted down the stairs.
Freddie heard the front door rattle shut behind her.
Mothers! Cap’s was just the same. Always giving him grief.
The Jam! Only three days left to the big day. Freddie wasn’t looking forward to it. He simply wasn’t good enough to compete yet. He didn’t particularly want to end up looking like a complete wally. All the best skateboarders in Essex were coming and King Crimson, the Extreme skateboarding champion, was flying in from Los Angeles for a special guest appearance. Cap had put Freddie’s name down for one of the competitions – but had only broken the news to him three days ago.
Good idea, Cap!
He’d have to practise his trucks off tonight and try and get his Ollies perfect for the big day.
As if a homicidal hurricane wasn’t enough to worry about. Talking of which …
Freddie prised himself out of bed and checked the satellite picture.
He had to look twice.
The NOAA satellite image showed no storm or hurricane tracks at all.
The killer was gone!
The Gulf was entirely clear and calm. Puzzled, Freddie checked through the last couple of hours’ activity. About 7.30 a.m. the killer had abruptly turned back from the coast and headed south again, losing intensity near the Bahamas before finally disappearing – into thin air. For once, it seemed, the smiling Schenker had been right – unlikely as that was. Freddie scratched his head. He’d never seen a hurricane disappear so quickly. And the way it moved with such purpose. As if it knew exactly where it was going …
What normal hurricane could do that?
Something strange was going on, he just knew it …
But there was no time to investigate right now.
He made a note of the developments in his log and got dressed. Then grabbed his laptop, mobile phone, rucksack and skateboard.
“See you later, Spike,” he said as he opened the door, “keep an eye on things for me.”
Spike didn’t say anything.
Downstairs in the kitchen, there was no breakfast waiting for him.
This was normal.
Lizzie had never really got ‘into’ cooking, as she put it. In fact, she wasn’t, as she happily admitted, ‘very clever’ with stuff around the house. Freddie didn’t blame her. Just because she was female, was there any reason that she should be able to cook, or clean? Similarly, was there any reason he should do it?
No way.
So they both mucked in together and did just enough to avoid chaos descending on the place. But if housework wasn’t a priority for Lizzie, paying the mortgage definitely was. She was a single mum, only 36. Freddie had never known his father. He was a bit of a mystery and had apparently done a runner while Lizzie was still pregnant. She didn’t talk about him much – but then, thought Freddie, in the circumstances, who could blame her? He suspected that she was still nursing a broken heart – either that or a desire to kick him hard in the … well, wherever it would hurt the most, if he ever showed up again.
Lizzie had no qualifications and had done all sorts of jobs to make ends meet. For the past few months she’d been driving a minicab for a local firm who offered a special lady-driver service. “Better than shop work and the money’s not bad,” she’d said to Freddie when she’d taken the job, trying to justify it to him – or perhaps to herself.
Freddie worried about her. Driving around town on her own, often late at night.
He didn’t like it. The streets weren’t safe. There were all sorts of maniacs about.
But, while he admired her determination, sometimes he couldn’t help thinking that it would be nice if she was there a bit more when he got in.
Still, he wouldn’t change her for the world.
Plus, she had another big thing going for her.
She was the spitting image of Kylie Minogue. It was the first thing anyone ever said when they met her. Blow me down! You look just like … wossername ...
Yeah, yeah, I know ... Lizzie would say. I’ve heard it before, mate, cheers...
Why don’t these people get a life, Fred? she’d complain.
But she couldn’t deny it.
She had different colour hair. And was taller. With muffin-tops around her waist – especially when she forced herself into jeans that had once fitted fine, but were now way too tight for her. While Kyle, Freddie noted, kept her trim figure. But there was definitely a resemblance.
How good was that?
Cap had once suggested that she enter Stars in their Eyes, the TV celebrity look-alike competition. She’d easily win, he said, and then they could all go off to Torremolinos on holiday with the prize money.
Lizzie had just given him an Instant Death look.
Freddie smiled to himself, flicked the switch of the kettle. He spotted a Snickers lying on the kitchen table. His eyes lit up. Lizzie must have forgotten to take it with her. Excellent. He’d have it. Do his bit to stop her waistline getting any bigger.
He’d just taken a bite when the doorbell rang.