Boy Soldier Read Free Page A

either; her dad had gone back to Nigeria years before, telling Elena and her mum he was going to make his fortune. He'd always been full of big ideas. Big ideas, but no result.
    Danny and Elena had hit it off straight away; they just clicked, even though Elena was a year younger. And at first Danny thought they might be more than mates but Elena soon put him right on that score. 'I want a friend, Danny.' she told him when he made a clumsy attempt at kissing her. 'I'm not interested in going out with anyone. Not yet, anyway.'
    So Danny settled for friendship, even though he still really fancied Elena. And sometimes he thought she fancied him too. But maybe that was just what he wanted to think.
    Elena was confident, clever and sharp. No one intimidated her, and she knew how to handle people. And that included Danny, who was looking guilty as she joined him at the top of the stairs.
    'I didn't even ask about your GCSE results.'
    'You're right, you didn't.'
    'Look, I'm sorry. So tell me then.'
    Elena smiled. 'You want me to be modest or just go for it?'
    Danny laughed. Elena always did have a way of making him laugh. 'When were you ever modest?'
    'In that case, I did brilliant. Six A stars and four As brilliant. Boff or what? Now, let's go down.'
    Elena was a genius, her school's star pupil, but definitely
    no boff. She didn't spend hours and hours with her face buried in textbooks
    or bore you with endless streams of useless information. But she didn't mind
    letting her friends know how brilliant she was. In the nicest possible way,
    of course.
     
    Foxcroft was an old building. Victorian, with three main floors and an attic where the below stairs maids would once have had their poky little bedrooms. At some time between the First and Second World Wars it had been the home of a government minister.
    You wouldn't have thought so now. It was faded. Sad. The paintwork was flaking, the boiler down in the cellar wheezed and spluttered like an old man after a lifetime of too many unripped fags, the sash windows jammed in their runners, and when the wind blew the whole place seemed to groan and shiver. But there was something about Foxcroft that almost everyone who lived there liked. It was reassuring. Something to do with old glory that refused to lie down and die.
    Danny and Elena made their way down the stairs to the first floor. The staircase was broad and grand, with a dark oak banister and a threadbare carpet that might once have been red. Boys' bedrooms were on the second floor, girls' were on the first. Telly room and living rooms were on the ground floor.
    Dave the Rave appeared on the first-floor landing just as Danny and Elena arrived. There was no chance of slipping quietly by. Dave was a huge bloke. He'd been a rugby player with Saracens in his younger days and might have made it into the England team had it not been for a back injury.
    But he was all right; you knew where you stood with Dave the Rave, and right now they knew they were in trouble. Dave was scowling. 'Elena, you know you're not meant to be on the boys' landing.'
    'Sorry, Dave, I was giving Danny the good news about my GCSEs.'
    'You can do that downstairs. You two are supposed to set an example here.'
    Danny and Elena didn't usually step out of line at Foxcroft. They respected Dave Brooker and his wife Jane. They were fair, they didn't try to be like parents, or teachers, or even mates. They were just Dave and Jane: they owned the place and they made the rules.
    Dave's brilliant blue eyes softened – he never stayed angry for long. And he was almost as delighted at Elena's exam success as she was. 'I think she's the first genius we've ever had at Foxcroft,' he said to Danny, who didn't reply.
    'Look, Danny,' said Dave gently, 'I'm really sorry about the army. I know how much it meant to you.'
    Danny shrugged as though it didn't matter. 'I'm fine, Dave. I'll find something else.'
    'Yes, but . . .'
    It was as far as he got. Danny had already started down