Stormdragons

Chapter 2

Mrs Farrell rolled her suitcase to a stop behind the front door. She pushed the handle down and clicked it in place.

'Packed and ready to go,' she said, looking at her watch.

Mr Farrell joined her, patting a document case.

'Passports, plane tickets, insurance cover note and foreign currency. All there,' he said.

Mrs Farrell moved to the foot of the stairs and called up to her daughter.

'Clare, we're almost ready. How are you two getting on?'

A girl in her late teens appeared on the landing. She was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans and a red roll-neck cotton top. She was a pretty girl with an athletic, slender figure and light brown hair which fell onto her shoulders in loose curls. Her eyes were brown too. They were nice eyes, set off by fine lashes and dark, curving eyebrows.

She pulled a face and jerked a thumb in the direction of her brother's room.

'I've called Joe but no answer,' she said.

'But he was up hours ago. I heard him in the bathroom,' said Mrs Farrell.

Her face fell.

'I hope he hasn't gone back to bed,' she said.

With a sigh, she went upstairs. The plan was for both cars to leave at the same time even though they were going to different places. Mr and Mrs Farrell were driving to Gatwick Airport and then flying to Portugal. They were taking advantage of a special holiday deal for two they'd seen in a magazine. Clare and Joe were going down to Cornwall to spend the first week of the spring holidays with their uncle.

Mrs Farrell glanced at her watch again. She reached the landing.

'Joe! Joe, are you up?', she called.

There was an ominous silence. Clare and her mother exchanged glances.

'It can't be too bad,' said Mrs Farrell. 'I packed most of his stuff yesterday.'

She called again. Again there was no reply.

With a sigh she climbed the remaining stairs and headed for Joe's room which lay at the far end of the landing. She knocked at the door.

'Joe?' she asked.

There was a mumbled reply.

'Can I come in?'

Another mumble. Mrs Farrell opened the door.

Joe was standing in the middle of the room, wearing only a pair of baggy blue trousers. His hair was darker than his sister's but he was already as tall as she was, even though he was only fourteen. He was narrow-hipped and thin, his skin stretched tight over his ribs and shoulder blades. When his mother entered the room he was stirring a pile of clothes listlessly with a bare foot. He seemed half asleep.

'Oh, hi mum,' he said.

'Joe, what are you doing?'

'Looking for a t-shirt.'

There were at least four or five t-shirts in the pile on the floor. Mrs Farrell picked one up.

'Not that one,' said Joe.

'Well, which one?' asked his mother.

'My skateboarder t-shirt.'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' said Mrs Farrell.

'I know it's around here somewhere,' said Joe, sounding vague.

Mrs Farrell began looking. She was annoyed but didn't say anything. There was no point. Criticism was water off a ducks' back where Joe was concerned. He'd shrug, apologise and carry on just the same. Clare arrived in the doorway.