You Are So Not a Fallen Angel

Chapter 22

I didn’t go straight home. Instead, I headed to the park, taking the longest, most tortuous route to get there, just in case. When I got there, I started towards my favourite spot behind the rhododendrons, then changed my mind and went over to the children’s play area instead. I choose a bench in full sight of everyone, just to be sure I wouldn’t accidently interrupt any more secret meetings and give myself more things to worry about.

I dumped my bag down next to me and retrieved the piece of paper, now a little creased and crumpled. I unfolded it, breathe held in preparation of an amazing discovery.

It wasn’t a to-do list or a billet doux from a former girlfriend. But it wasn’t the answer to all my questions either. The paper was thick, like drawing paper, and almost blank. I swivelled around, titling it towards the sun to see better. At the top of the page were a few marks in what looked like grey ink. The symbols were meaningless to me. They looked like they might have been made by someone practicing their brushstrokes. Towards the middle, there were indentations in the paper, like someone had scraped at the paper with an inkless pen.

“Well, that was a blast,” I said, earning me a strange look from a nearby mother. She clutched her daughter’s hand and hurried off. I rolled my eyes and folded the paper again. I’d hang on to it and show it to Feather Boy when he showed his face again.

I sighed and took a drink from the bottle of water. What was it they said about war? Ninety-nine percent wait and one percent chaos? I felt like that at the moment. I kept on haring off on these mad schemes that led nowhere, and then had to wait for the next brilliant idea to strike. Right now I was back to my plan of getting Ivan completely drunk and seeing if alcohol loosened his lips a little. It wouldn’t be that hard to do. I could invite him over to tea, spike the teapot with vodka and wait. Or, even better, I could invite to my parents’ next Saturday gathering, and again, spike his drink with vodka. Eli could get me the vodka, in exchange for ten pounds and the promise I wouldn’t reveal certain key pieces of information.

However, there was no reason Ivan should be a talkative drunk. He might be a maudlin one, or a violent one, or a randy one. Or he might cop onto what I was doing, and there’d be no easy way to explain. Again, best file that one away as a last resort.

Or I could just give up on this idea that there was something dodgy about Ivan. So he met up with people hidden behind bushes. What did that prove? Nothing. On the other hand, he did hang around strange clubs and have suspicious acquaintances.So, on balance, maybe he was dodgy. Who knew? In any case, I had nothing more to go on for the meantime.

“What time is your train?” Mum asked the next morning as I came in after my run.

“Two, I think,” I said. Flora, who was standing by the counter, eating cornflakes straight from the box, looked up.

“Are you going to London?” she asked.

“I’m meeting a friend from school.” And you’re not invited, I tried to send via thought-transference.

Flora seemed to get the message. She shot me a withering look and announced she was staying here, as if hanging out with me was a fate worse than death. I just managed not to roll my eyes.

A couple of hours later, I left the house, my overnight bag on one shoulder and struck off in the general direction of the station. Lorris hadn’t actually said when he was coming to pick me up, but I figured hanging about the house all day, glancing at the clock every five minutes might arouse suspicion. There was a train to London at five past two, and Lorris seemed to be able to find me wherever I went. I had a book with me in case he was late.

I needn’t have worried though. I had just crossed the square when there was a flash of light and the man himself stumbled into the road in front of me.