Dangerous to Know Read Free Page A

Kronenbourg – a real 1664. You know, sixteen and hot as hell from the back, ancient from the front. Never fails to make me feel a bit sick. Nadine talked and talked, not noticing or not caring that 1664 was clearly thinking about something else, tearing a leaflet into long, thin strips. I could people-watch for hours.
    I looked up at the sound of a door opening on tired hinges and saw Mum dashing out of her office at the far end of the corridor. She ran into the canteen, belted over to the water cooler and filled a plastic cup, smiling at me over her shoulder, mouthing,
Sorry
, and holding up one hand, fingers spread.
I’ll be five minutes
.
    I didn’t even have time to answer before Mum sped off back to her office, silver bracelets clinking as she half ran, half walked, splashing the water as she went. Sighing, I reached in my bag for my pad and started sketching the old horror in charge of the canteen till. She looked like a rotting potato in a hairnet so her face was pretty interesting to draw – full of weird lines and shadows – and I was getting really into it.
    That was why it took me a while to realize that 1664 and Nadine were talking about me. Well, not me exactly, but my family. Nadine had her back to me; she didn’t know I was there. They both stared down the corridor after Mum, even though she’d shut the office door again. 1664 had left the leaflet half-shredded on the table, listening now.
    “It just goes to show money can’t buy you everything,” Nadine said. “The ex-husband’s got it coming out of his ears, apparently, but what could he do?”
    1664 turned slightly, eyes skimming over me as she stared after my mother, lips slightly pursed. Mum’s got all this curly hair and a massive friendly smile (when she’s not in one of her moods) and wears a lot of glittery Indian scarves. Even in her work clothes she doesn’t look smart.
I’m naturally scruffy
, she’ll always say.
That’s my problem
. She’d ironed her blue shirt that morning, but it was wrinkled now. Her bright green leather shoes, always scuffed, were made by Guatemalan women in a co-operative. Everything about 1664 was expensive, neat.
    “And all the time the mother was working here as a counsellor?” 1664 said. “Never mind the father, you’d have thought she would have put a stop to it. I just don’t understand how you could let something like that happen. Mind you, I’m so lucky with Bethany. She’s very sensible, for a teenager.”
    Nadine smiled. “Yes, it was a bit ironic about Caroline’s job. One of the twins was sectioned in the end. And all because of, you know – the drugs. And it was his brother who got him into it. I wouldn’t let my Tom go near either of them. They were ringleaders, a really terrible influence.”
    “What was he taking, then?” 1664 asked. “I mean, how on earth could you just not notice? Your own child.”
    “Marijuana, LSD, crack cocaine – everything,” Nadine went on. “The mad one attacked someone in the family, too. Of course, he was a danger to himself as well.”
    I fought the urge to dump my lukewarm coffee over Nadine’s stupid head.
    Ninety per cent of what she’d said was wrong. Herod had never been as much of a chemist as Owen, for example. All Herod did was smoke too much weed: he very rarely even took pills, or that’s what Owen told me, anyway. And Herod never attacked anyone. I had no idea where that story came from, but I’d heard it before. People talk a load of shit.
    Herod did get sick, though. Really sick.
    1664 looked down at the table, her mouth pursed with disapproval. She began tearing the leaflet into strips again. “Oh. Well, that’s dreadful but some families bring these things on themselves really, don’t they? Sitting back and letting your child live that kind of lifestyle. The mother and father must both be as bad as each other. I’m just glad Bethany’s always been so responsible.” She sighed. “Especially now.”
    “Of course,”