‘Well, I know this won’t change anything at school,’ I say, ‘but it’s good to know that there’s a like mind at St Regis.’
She shrugs the compliment off. I’m prepared to like her, but there’s still one question that I need an answer to.
‘Brianna – what were you doing outside the hospital last night?’
She looks guilty.
‘Honestly? You really want to know? I, uh … I was following you.’
‘Following me?’ And there I was thinking she might have had something more to do with it than I’d thought.
Brianna holds up her hands defensively. ‘Yeah, but not, like, in a bad way! It’s just … well, I heard you talking to Liam in class about what happened in the park, to that old lady …’
I nodded. ‘I guessed you must have heard that.’
‘And I dunno, I just felt like you were on to something – it seemed suspicious.’
I sigh. ‘So why didn’t you just say something?’
‘Because …’ She starts, then shrugs and suddenly I understand – it wouldn’t be easy for one of the CCs to ask to join Agatha Oddlow’s geeky detective agency.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she says. ‘Can you forgive me?’ She holds her hand out awkwardly. After a second I take it.
‘Forgiven. Just stay away from my house with those night-vision goggles, OK?’
‘You have my promise.’ She laughs, crossing her heart. In spite of everything, I have to say that I trust her.
‘Well.’ I head towards the door. ‘I’d better get home then, before my dad realises I’m gone.’
‘I’ll get you a cab.’
A cab?
Brianna not only calls a cab, she pays the driver in advance, refusing to listen to my objections.
‘Drive safely,’ she tells him.
‘Will you be OK?’ I ask her, remembering what had been going on between her and Sarah Rathbone.
‘Me?’ She tosses her blonde hair back with customary confidence. ‘I’ll be fine. Stay safe.’
‘Stay safe, yourself.’
Grinning, she waves from the pavement as the taxi driver speeds off.
I sit in the back of the cab, mulling over the night’s events. My visit has raised far more questions than it answered, but I’m also grinning as I cross the lawns. I might just be one step closer to having another friend.
As I get close to the house, I see a small yellow ribbon sticking out of a brick in the wall – Liam and my sign to each other.
‘Yes!’ I mutter under my breath. I crouch down and pull – the mortar there has come loose, and the brick comes away in my hand. In the darkness, you can’t see anything in the hole, but when I pull the ribbon, there’s a folded piece of paper attached. We came up with this hiding place for Liam to leave messages for me if I’m not at home and I have my phone switched off, as I usually do. I’m certain that the message must be something to do with Professor D’Oliveira’s tattoo. I could read the message here, but I don’t want to be seen and give away the location of our hiding place. So, I tuck the message into my pocket and replace the brick.
Back in my room, I take Liam’s folded message out of my pocket and read –
I shake my head, not understanding why the symbol might be so hard for Liam to find. I feel sure I’ve seen it before – I felt it the moment I spotted it on the professor’s wrist. I search my memory, usually so reliable, but it’s like grasping in the dark – one minute I’m groping around and think I have something, and the next it’s gone in a whisper.
I change into my pyjamas, lie down on the bed on top of my duvet, and try to cool myself using a paper fan. I should be exhausted. Instead, I’m buzzing with thoughts – the little grey cells are hard at work, but making little progress.
I stare up at the deep-pink night clouds through my skylight and go over everything that has happened in the past couple of days. I’ve gone from Agatha the Invisible to somebody worth threatening. That means I’ve become a menace to someone in my own right. But who? Part of me relishes the idea that there is someone – perhaps more than one person – who believes I have the power to make a difference, to foil their plot or blow their cover, and part of me is just a little scared.
Quickly, I write out the facts across two pages of my notebook, drawing arrows where I suspect events are linked. There’s the red slime, my assailant outside the RGS. Then there’s Professor D’Oliveira – an old woman with a strange tattoo – and her hit-and-run …
Suddenly I jump, as a knock sounds on the front door downstairs. I glance at the clock; it’s almost eleven at night. Who would come this late? I hear Dad open the door and greet the visitor. So he must have been expecting them. I peer out from between my curtains, but catch only a glimpse of the person’s head as they walk in. I feel nervous. After my attack outside the RGS, I’m wary about anyone visiting Dad – how do I know they are who they say they are?
I wait until I hear the door close and two pairs of feet make their way along the hall to the kitchen. Then I pull on my slippers to muffle my footsteps and creep downstairs. Oliver runs to me with a loud mewl halfway down. I freeze, convinced he has blown my cover. But there’s no break in the conversation drifting up from downstairs. The staircase is enclosed, with a wall either side, and a door at the bottom that leads out to the hall. I open this door slightly, so I can eavesdrop, then scoop Oliver up.
We sit together, near the foot of the stairs, me trying to hear the conversation above Oliver’s loud purring as he slumps in feline bliss on my lap.
I can only make out one side of the conversation. Dad’s voice is soft and doesn’t carry as well as the stranger’s, which is loud and booming. It’s a voice that is used to being listened to. There’s no doubt that they’re discussing the algae – the man’s speech is punctuated with words like ‘regeneration’, ‘abnormal growth rate’ and ‘unstable gas build-up’.
Despite his apparent knowledge, he sounds like a man who works in the City, buying and selling shares, rather than a research scientist. Research scientists tend to be quiet types, with a distracted air, but this man has a confidence that makes me sure, without seeing him, that he is dressed in a sharp suit.
I hear Dad say, ‘So what’s the verdict? How do we beat it, Mr, er … Davenport?’
‘Well, I think you have the right idea with your lab, Rufe!’
‘Nobody calls Dad “Rufe”,’ I whisper to Oliver. He stands on my lap and blows his salmony breath into my face, kneading my thighs with his sharp claws.
The man, Davenport, goes on – ‘I’m sure you’ll get somewhere if you keep selectively starving the samples.’
‘It would help if I knew what to starve them of,’ Dad points out.
Davenport laughs. ‘Good point, old boy, good point!’
I want to go and get a better look at this man. But, as I start to move, I hear Dad and the visitor come back out into the hall. I freeze on the bottom step, holding my breath and hope they won’t spot me through the crack in the door.
I breathe out as Dad’s voice sounds out at the front door, saying goodbye. Before he shuts the door, I hear him call out a greeting to JP and JP says hello in return. What is he doing outside our house so