]Date: Thu, 12 Jun 2008 06:30:19 EDT
From: Djedoric58@aol.com
Subject: The Cup Bearer 10

THE CUP BEARER
By DJ
CHAPTER TEN


At close of school, Emilio received a summons from MacCaffrey. He entered
the Beak's office and found the man seated behind his desk, deep in thought
while clouds of smoke rose above his head from his beloved pipe.

"Ah, Gomez! Nice to see you, lad, come and sit down. Now then, I've been
thinking a lot about you these last few days. I suppose your friends have
already told you, I like to have a head to head session with new pupils. I
like to get to know them, and most of these sessions have been very
rewarding, some more so than others. Some pupils like the chance to get to
know me better."

According to Sandy, some pupils hadn't liked the `one to one' approach and
Emilio felt he wouldn't like it either. He chose to remain coldly
suspicious of the man, of any man for that matter, which was a pity because
this man had the enthusiasm to help pupils to better themselves. He also
encouraged an active PTA. Having little experience of teachers of any kind
except his tutors, Emilio wished he could open up to him Perhaps I can use
him for my own advancement.

MacCaffrey leaned forward over the desk. "As head of this school, I make it
my duty to oversee extra-curricular school activities on a personal level,
and you might have noticed me watching 5B in the gym on several
occasions. I want this school to be top of the Inter-school Sports League
and I'm giving Mr. Sweetnam all the help and support I can. You have good
physique and agility; I wish I'd been like that at your age. I was all
lanky bones and awkward joints. Mr. Sweetnam informs me that you're
spending most of your free time on weight training and workouts. Any
special reason for that?"

"Yes, sir. I'm a skater as well as a dancer and I need a certain amount of
strength and stamina if I'm to move into pairs dance, I have to be fit or
have my partner fall on her face."

MacCaffrey smiled his admiration. "How far would you like to go? The Winter
Olympics?"

"Maybe. My height is an obstacle at the moment. Most of the girls shorter
than me are in the wrong age group."

"I see. Well, you're still going through your growth stage so I wouldn't
give up on that idea just yet." MacCaffrey looked closely at him through a
cloud of pipe smoke. "Perhaps I could help you, I'm a member of an
exclusive health and gym club where we have all the latest facilities. We
also have special membership status for children like yourself who need
help to further their chosen sports careers whether it's tennis,
gymnastics, or whatever. I could take you in as my guest and sponsor you
for junior membership. How would that suit you?"

Emilio was about to say he didn't like clubs when MacCaffrey's face clouded
over and the room darkened for a few seconds but long enough for Emilio to
recognise a premonition coming on. He didn't like it when they happened and
he willed it away. His head cleared and he found the Beak frowning at him.

"Are you all right, lad? You look a bit peaky."

"It's nothing, sir. I'm still not used to your school routine yet. I'm
finding it a bit tiring."

"Well, there's no need for you to enter into all the school activities. Our
mutual friend, Ms. Achres, did mention you have a lot to do out of school
hours. Just don't take on more than your body can cope with. You'll do more
harm than good if you do"

* * *

Everyone thought it a great joke when they heard Emilio was going to sit in
on the Judo class. He attended the preliminary Judo class where Gaskin and
Co. showed off their skills with smug looks on their faces. Afterwards he
stayed behind to have a private word with Sweetnam.

* * *

Friday 21st January 1995 Gomez still hadn't changed into his Judog when
Sandy and the other guys and girls gathered in the gym after changing from
singlets and shorts into their Judo gear. During the first two thirds of
the session, spent on warm ups and workouts, Gaskin and Co. sneered at
Gomez's fumbled attempts at various exercises. That puzzled Sandy. As Gomez
had already showed outstanding competence in normal PE periods, he wondered
whether Gomez was regretting his decision to join the group and hoped he
would be rejected.

They lined up in their places of seniority in front of the mat, and
Sweetnam didn't look very pleased. School kids or army recruits, it made no
difference to this fifty-two year old ex-army P. E. instructor. Punctuality
and hard graft were his most important rules and woe-betide the idiot who
challenged his authority. He sported a spare, five foot eight frame, and
hardly any padding to speak of, but what he had was all muscle and
sinew. The hair in his handlebar moustache and busy eyebrows won over that
on top, and his roar would grace any army barracks square. The pupils
expected him to behave like a sergeant major and he often obliged by
overplaying the role for their amusement, the only difference between
joviality and genuine command being his eyes. They glinted with mischief or
pierced their victim with a bayonet sharp stare. Sandy was rewarded with
the latter when it was his turn for Sweetnam and him to trade formal bows.

"Right, lad, where's Gomez?"

"He's coming, sir." Sandy watched Sweetnam's moustache begin to twitch with
impatience then glanced down the line at Gaskin and Co. They wore purple
belts, with brown belts soon to be won. Sandy saw Gaskin staring wide-eyed
at the changing room door. Sandy followed his shocked gaze and watched
Gomez walk into the gym. His Judog was midnight blue with a red and white
badge embroidered over the left breast indicating some Judo association. A
black sweatband held his hair back, and of the wimp there was no sign. Jaws
dropped as Gomez fixed his eyes on Gaskin and Co. They in turn stared at
the colour of his belt.

Sweetnam glared at the class. "As you can see, Gomez is a black belt, both
in Judo and Karate -- which means he's one tough cookie. So let's have no
more talk of Nancy boys and wimps around the school. Gomez is a First Dan
and he will be my assistant in these classes. He will also take classes in
my absence. Right class, let's take another look at the Ouchi Gari throw."

*

That night, Gomez came round to Sandy's again and brought his flute as
promised, but Sandy hoped he wouldn't have to sit in the small but
comfortable front sitting room and play duets with him all night. He buzzed
with too many questions.

First of all Sandy played a short recital of his favourite Listz pieces. At
the end, he asked, "Why didn't you tell me about the Judo, then? You made
me feel a proper chump. `Ow did you come to be a black belt, anyhow?"

His flute assembled, Gomez gave it a last polish. "By three years of sheer
hard work and dedication. Tony was a Yodan, he was my teacher."

"A Yodan? Wow! I thought you `ad to be yonks old to `ave a black belt?"

"It happens sometimes."

"And who's Tony?"

"My ex-guardian."

"And the rollers? You can't tell me it was beginners luck!"

"Rollers?" Gomez queried.

Sandy looked down at the piano keys and played a few random notes to hide
his embarrassment. "Come on, Gomez! I know it was you."

"I've never rollered before in my life!"

"Ah! Gotcha!" Sandy wagged an accusing finger at him. "You've just
committed your first mistake, man; the offendin' word being `before'. Come
on, Gomez, I won't say anythin'. It'll be fun watchin' Gaskin work it out
for himself."

Gomez studied Sandy for a moment, obviously wondering how much he could
trust him. At last, he sighed. "Okay, I've done some skating and played for
a junior ice hockey team over in the States. I stopped because I was always
going home black and blue. It's true I've never rollered before, but if you
can skate you can roll. It's easier."

"But 'ow on earth did you get a set of gear and get back to the track so
fast?"

Gomez let his usually stern face relax into a soft smile. "I saw them up to
their tricks the previous Saturday. I guessed they'd be there again so I
came prepared."

"Well, isn't that just too bad for Gaskin and Co.? Where did you `ide your
gear?"

"I'd rather not say just now."

"You can trust me, you know."

"I'd still rather not talk about it. Let's just say I had the means, okay?"

"Would you do it again?"

"I don't like bullying."

"Well, you certainly didn't keep schtum in Judo class!"

"That was to keep Gaskin off my back."

"Okay, then, tell me about the flute."

"Tony Grafton was British and played Adrian Brett and James Galway tracks a
lot. I fell in love with the sound and Tony bought me a flute and paid for
lessons. I grew up with a guitar in my hands, so playing music by ear is
not a problem. Reading music is a totally different issue. I have to work
hard at that, but once I have a piece of music in my head I'm fine."

"'Ow did you have time for everythin'? I mean they all take `ours and `ours
of practice."

Gomez shrugged. "Tony believed in putting every minute of the day to good
use. He encouraged me to do the same as long as I didn't mess around. Home
schooling does have its advantages."

"Didn't you go to school, then?"

"No."

"Well that explains a lot of things."

"What things?"

"Bad attitude towards school in general. The way you get teachers' backs
up, it's a wonder they don't move you to Remedial Class. So, where's Tony
now?"

Gomez looked away, frowning. "He's dead. That's why I don't want to talk
about things, okay?" Ashamed of his prying, Sandy looked down at the keys,
but Gomez said, "I'm not annoyed at you for asking. It's just that, well, I
came over here to start a new life, to put a lot of junk behind me. If I
tell you, will you promise to keep it to yourself?"

"Okay," Sandy promised, and listened with growing alarm as Gomez gave him a
brief resume of his past life, ending with Tony's murder."

"Man! You have gone through the mill! Will you ever find out who did it?"

"Maybe, some day. For now, I'd rather jam with Mozart."

"Just one more question, then I'll shut up. What part of the States did you
live?"

 "Nashville."

"Wow! Do you like Country and Western?"

"I like anything except Punk or Heavy Metal, as long as there's good rhythm
and a good melody."

"But Mozart wins, right?"

"Only just. Jazz Funk and Latin come a close second."

Happy now, Sandy reached for a pile of music on top of the piano and leafed
through it till he found the well-used book of Mozart concertos, Gomez had
picked out the last time he visited Sandy. He put the book on the piano
stand and opened it at Concerto Number 19 for two violins, arranged by
Sandy for piano and solo instrument. "Ready?"

Gomez nodded, his flute already resting against the underside of his lower
lip. While Sandy played the part of the orchestra and second violin, Gomez
played the parts originally written for first violin and oboe, and they
were lost in the beauty of the music they made together.

Sandy's mum, Jean, popped her head round the door, a quiet smile on her
face. Sandy winked at her. Mozart filled their Cardiff home when she was
pregnant with him, so she told him. A fair pianist herself, once her
housework was finished she played her precious Mozart pieces believing that
babies could be influenced by sounds whilst still in the womb. Sandy's love
of the Old Master proved the theory right. Pleased with their efforts,
Sandy chose another of his favourites, Chopin's Berceuse in D flat major,
Op 57, and Gypsy sat down to listen.

* * *

Friday 10th February 1995 Emilio sat beside Sandy in the crowded assembly
hall, waiting for the Beak to give his habitually short `close of assembly'
address, and let his mind wander. With Sandy as his self-appointed guard
dog to keep nerds like Gaskin off his back, his aversion to school life
faded to a minor irritation. He was now a member of the school orchestra
and the gymnastics team, although he didn't think he would have much time
for the latter now Edward had arranged extra skating sessions at Altrincham
Ice Rink. The well-equipped school gym saved having to wait till one of his
attic bedrooms could be kitted out the way he wanted. Academic studies were
a pain in the ass, but an essential part of his new life. But on the home
front, family life proved to be pleasant enough. The Graftons allotted him
a monthly allowance to live on and pay all household bills and he was
expected to work out a budget with his mother and stick to it like any
other householder. Expenses concerning his career or anything linked to the
Sherbourne project were paid directly by Edward, and while the Graftons
certainly weren't stingy where more leisurely activities were concerned,
the attic gym could wait till the money from the sale of the villa came
through. Sandy's parents, Evan and Jean, had made him welcome in their
home, although Evan, a large rugged face Welshman, caused his neck hairs to
rise when they first met; he reminded him so much of Guido. He certainly
knew Sandy was happy, even if it was for the wrong reasons. Finding the
right moment and the right way to explain that the guy was just having a
schoolboy crush, was the problem.

On the stage, MacCaffrey cleared his throat. "Before you dismiss, I'd like
to draw your attention to the school Open Day in April."

"Oh, no," the assembled pupils responded under their breaths. Sandy leaned
towards Emilio and whispered, "A pain in the bum, no one likes it. Makes me
feel like a star attraction at a freak show, you know?"

MacCaffrey raised a hand to quell the murmur of dissent, and in his
following speech, he appealed to everyone to do their best and show the
community it possessed a good school in its midst. He looked straight at
Emilio and dwelt on the possibly of certain gifted new pupils adding their
expertise to several exhibitions. He reminded them all that their aim was
to raise money for local charities and another computer for the
school. "One last thing; last year Mr. Roberts of 5B made a net profit of
just under two hundred pounds from the sale of photographs he took during
the Open Day. I hope we can call upon his photographic talents again. Lists
of all exhibitions and activities will be posted on school notice boards by
lunchtime. This is my tenth year as head of this school and I am proud of
its high standard of achievement. Let's make it the best Open Day we've
ever organized.  Thank you school, you may dismiss."

Emilio eyed Sandy with renewed approval as they made their way out of the
hall. "Tell me more, Mr. Roberts. I thought those black and whites on your
bedroom wall were something you did for fun, or do we have a budding David
Bailey in our midst?"

"Well, we Welsh do `ave a certain claim to fame in the celluloid world, you
know. Lord Snowdon `asn't done too bad, `as he? Come into my darkroom room
sometime, I'll show you a few tricks with a Minolta 3000i."

"Ooh! I can't wait." Emilio rewarded him with a mocking glance. "I could
get into this hobby of yours if you pushed me enough."

"Not so much an `obby as a means to line my pockets, isn't it? It started
when Mam showed some of my pics to a friend. She asked me to take photos of
her kid's birthday party. Before I knew it I'd found a way of payin' for my
chemicals an' stuff. Uncle Tom was the one who gave me the idea. On Prince
Charles's wedding day they had a street party up `ere and `e took a load of
pics then showed them to the neighbours. From the orders `e got, `e made
ten quid net profit." He stabbed himself in the chest and added, "Stick
with me, boyo, if there's money to be made I'll make it."

Later, on the way to Judo class, Emilio stood with other pupils in front of
the bulletin board in the main corridor and studied the lists pinned up by
the Beak's secretary. Sandy whistled. "Plenty to choose from this year,
fancy anythin'?"

"A few."

Gaskin jostled him from behind, "I know what I fancy. How about it Gomez?"

Sandy leaned on him. "Stuff it, Gasket."

Gaskin gave a dirty laugh. "Gladly, but not here. By the way, Mowgli,
Ball's got something of yours."

Ball grinned and held aloft a pair of black, well worn, ballet pumps. He
thrust the shoes into Emilio's hands and a titter of surprise rippled
through the crowd. Emilio was aware of Sandy's darkening face. He felt
angry too. One of his secrets would now be public knowledge - not that
anyone around here had the sense to know that ballet was an integral part
of a skater's training regime if he wanted to be lithe and graceful and not
jump around the ice like a kangaroo in boots. Robin Cousins had proved
that. "Thanks, Ball, I lost these yesterday, where did you find them?"

Gaskin looked deflated and Ball added further to his downfall. "Your ballet
teacher lives next door to me, right? You'd left them in the Dance Academy
and she asked me to pass them on to you."  Trying to save face, Gaskin
sneered. "Well now, it looks like our little jungle boy is a ballerina as
well. No wonder he doesn't hang out at the Youth Club like normal guys."

"Hey, Daaaaarling," Vetch sniggered. "What colour's your tutu, or do you
wear a froufrou?"

Ball wanted his share of the joke. "I bet he looks lovely in pink tights
and his hair tied up in ribbons."

Emilio waited till the laughter died down then looked at his watch. "See
you in the gym, boys. You are coming to Judo, aren't you?" He hoped the
message in his eyes was chilly enough as he tapped the pumps rhythmically
against his hand. Gaskin's smile vanished. Sweetnam was off school with flu
and Emilio would be in charge. He gave Emilio a look of fury then pushed
through the crowd, with Ball and Vetch following. The crowd jeered after
them then dispersed, leaving Emilio and Sandy to study the list on their
own. Emilio couldn't help smiling to himself, confident the Judo class
would be three members short.

Sandy smiled as he heard Gomez mutter, "I wouldn't be seen dead in tights."

* * *

Wednesday 15th February 1995 Emilio stood in front of MacCaffrey's desk,
hands clasped in front, eyes fixed on a point just above and behind the
Beak's head. The English teacher, Mr. Bartholomew stood at the window,
engrossed in what was going on the playing field beyond. Ba-Ba, as the
pupils called him, expected him to receive a severe reprimand. Angus
Bartholomew terrified the whole school, including some of the staff, and it
took some nerve to stand up to him. Emilio decided he had the nerve.

MacCaffrey's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Mr. Bartholomew tells me you've
been answering him back in class."

"I didn't answer him back. I queried his remarks about my work."

Bartholomew spun round. "You see what I mean?"

MacCaffrey held up his hand. "All right, Mr. Bartholomew, you brought the
matter to me so please let me handle it. Now, Gomez, no matter how much you
dislike the way British schools are run, I will not have my teachers
cheeked, especially in front of the class, is that understood?"

Emilio glared, stony eyed, at him. "When I first came to this school, you
said if I didn't understand something I could ask for an explanation. I did
that and he called me a damned foreigner."

"What was the question you asked?"

"Mr. Bartholomew was criticising our homework. He made disparaging remarks
about some of the compositions, including mine, and -."

"Just a minute," MacCaffrey broke in. "What were the compositions about?"

"What we wanted to do when we left school. I wrote about my intentions of
becoming an entertainer. You know I wanted to keep quiet about it. Now,
because of him, it will be all over the school. I asked him why I should
throw ten years of training away just to get a job pushing a pen in an
office. When I refused to sit down, he said he wouldn't have a dammed
foreigner interrupting his class. You wrote all my details down in a file
the day I started school. Why don't you tell Mr. Bartholomew, where I was
born; he obviously doesn't believe it from me."

"Have you quite finished?"

"No, I haven't." Emilio's anger was up and he didn't care if the Beak
expelled him for his `so called cheek'. "Mr. Bartholomew only read out the
first sentence of each essay, which took them completely out of context,
and made an offensive remark about each one. I don't think he has the right
to insult pupils like that."

MacCaffrey raise a hand to his mouth to hide a smile and glanced towards
Ba-Ba to make sure he had turned back to the window. "Now have you
finished?"

"Yes, sir." Emilio threw Bartholomew an angry look. "How's your wrist,
Senor? Not hurting too much is it?"

Bartholomew spun round from the window, ready to explode. Then he looked as
if he remembered something, and his mouth snapped shut, the colour rising
in his cheeks. Emilio wondered if MacCaffrey would guess that the
altercation in class contained more than just a verbal argument. In front
of the class, despite MacCaffrey's warnings against corporal punishment,
the man raised his hand to deliver an old fashioned `clip round the ear' as
Emilio passed him on the way out of the classroom. Emilio had grabbed for
the offending limb, leaving Ba-Ba with a numb hand and the class with
something to gossip about. Ba-Ba didn't seem anxious to admit to the
incident. Served the man right!

MacCaffrey cleared his throat to gain their attention, and raised a
questioning eyebrow at Bartholomew before addressing Emilio. "All right,
let's get one thing straight. Arguing with a teacher in class is not
tolerated in this school. You should have approached Mr. Bartholomew with
your complaint, after class and in private with perhaps one other pupil to
witness what was said. Now, as there seems to be a question of hurt
feelings on both sides, I'm going to ask you both to apologise."

Bartholomew started to object but MacCaffrey raised a hand once more for
silence. "I should support you on this, Mr. Bartholomew, but as the boy
only wanted a reason why you not did not accept the contents of his essay,
I don't see how I can. His story about his theatrical training is true and
I know he is looking for a place in a stage school or a music theatre
college. As far as the insult is concerned, Gomez was indeed born in
Manchester.

"Gomez, as you are still somewhat new to British School discipline, and
this being your first offence, this won't go in your record, and I'm
letting you off with a verbal reprimand. You must learn to be more
co-operative when in class, do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir," Gomez replied. Like Hell I will.

"And are apologies in order?" the Beak glanced from Emilio to Bartholomew
and back.

Emilio waited for Bartholomew to make the first move. The English teacher
came to the desk, looked him up and down. "Perhaps you should concentrate
more on your schoolwork instead of dreaming of stardom. Even the best of
actors need to be proficient in English language and literature. According
to your other teachers, your marks are way below the standards of 5B, and
your French is abysmal to say the least. I wonder if your would be so cocky
if you were sent down to 5C?"

Emilio turned to Bartholomew and addressed him in perfect French.  "What I
have in my head, m'seur Bartolome, and what I choose to put down on paper,
is my own affair."

Both teachers gaped at him. MacCaffrey recovered first and responded in
French, "I'm surprised your excellent command of the French language
doesn't show in your schoolwork. Why hide your abilities?"

"If I didn't, I'd be moved up a form." Emilio reverted to English and said,
"I've no interest in schoolwork so I'll stay where I am till I leave school
and my career takes off. And as for the one in thousand who reach the top,
as you so kindly informed the class, Mr. Bartholomew, I'm the one who's
going to get there."

"You're in dreamland, boy!"

"You've heard of Julian Bream?"

"Of course I have, why?"

"By the time he was sixteen, he was playing concerts all over the UK. I
don't think he was in dreamland."

Bartholomew's eyes narrowed with undisguised resentment. "If you're
determined to waste your academic talents and you're so good at this
singing lark, happen the lead boy in the school choir has broken his
leg. Miss Wayne is looking for a replacement. Now back to class with you."

"Not just yet, " MacCaffrey said. "I'd like a private word with Gomez
first,"

Bartholomew left the office, closing the door a bit harder than
necessary. MacCaffrey rose from his chair and went to look out of the
window. In the playing fields across the road, a group of first formers
toiled round the running track, urged on by Sweetnam. As the Beak watched
them, Emilio in turn watched the Beak and felt uneasy.

MacCaffrey addressed him without turning round. "You'll have to make a
choice between the stage and the ice rink, you know that, don't you?"

"Professionally, the stage is my first choice, sir. Skating just a hobby at
the moment."

"Hmmm! Perhaps I can help. My nephew, Brian, runs a show band called `High
Street'. You heard Bartholomew mention the lad with the broken leg? He's
their lead singer as well as Miss Wayne's rising star. He went mountain
climbing in Snowdonia last weekend and fell a hundred feet. He was lucky to
survive with just his leg broken in two places. He'll be out of action for
some time and Brian's looking for a replacement. I could speak to him if
you like, and arrange an audition."

"What's in it for you?"

MacCaffrey swung round with a bellow of laughter. "Goodness, boy, he's my
nephew! He's got bookings from the end of May onwards and if he doesn't
find someone soon, he'll be in a lot of trouble." For a moment he was
silhouetted against the brightness of the winter sun outside, and all
Emilio could see was an enormous menacing shadow that reached to the
ceiling. Panic gripped him as it triggered a memory from his past.

MacCaffrey moved away from the window, and the menace faded. "Brian's a
good trumpet player, and I'd like to see him and his band get on. Everyone
deserves a break." He placed a large hand on Emilio's shoulder. "I'm here
to help my pupils get on as well. This might be the break you're looking
for. I'll give Brian a ring tonight and see what I can arrange, but don't
be disappointed if he's already found someone."

Emilio shrugged his shoulders, more to ease MacCaffrey's hand away than any
sign of indifference. "All right, I'll give Brian a try, sir."

MacCaffrey gave his shoulder a squeeze then dismissed him. He stood for a
moment outside the door, telling himself he was stupid to think ill of the
man. But the feeling of unease didn't leave him till he was back in the
classroom with the eyes of all 5B on him, expecting him to be downcast and
miserable or at least angry. Bartholomew turned from the board to look at
him for a moment and awarded him a curt nod. He sat down and studied the
essay Ba-Ba had left on his desk with a note scribbled at the bottom in red
ink. He didn't bother to read it.

"What happened, then?" Sandy wanted to know.

"Nothing." Now my secret's out, I'll be hounded till I tell all. Well, let
them hound me, It's time they found out how tight lipped a Scorpio can be.
* *

When the home bell rang, the class made their way out of the building and,
as soon as they reached the open yard, they surrounded him, clamouring for
details. Emilio shrugged off the questions. "I want to entertain, end of
story."

"Oh yeah?" Ball said. "Just who d'you think you are, Roy Castle?"

"Roy who?"

Vetch laughed. "Hey, fellas, he doesn't know who Roy Castle is."

Sandy planted himself between Emilio and Vetch. "What's that got to do with
you?"

Gaskin pushed Vetch aside. "We want to know what he gets up in his spare
time. We don't see him around town, he's never seen at the flicks, and he
certainly doesn't go round to your place all that often, does he?" He
turned to push his way through the crowd and shouted over his shoulder,
"We're watching you, mystery boy."

They finally reached the school gate, and most of the class dispersed in
different directions. From the look on Sandy's face, Emilio knew he was in
for a grilling. "Where do you get to most nights, anyway? I've rung you
several times and Perquita's told me you weren't back yet, but back from
where?"

"That's my business. Now, if you don't mind, I have to rush." He sprinted
for the Visick Street bus and jumped abroad just as the door began to
close. Sandy stood and fumed as the bus moved off. Someone nudged him and
he turned to find the three nerds standing beside him.

Gaskin wore a leering grin. "Boyfriend left you on your own again, Lurch?
I'll tell you something for nothing; the buses aren't good enough for him
at night. If you want to know what he's up to, come with us tonight.

"Yeah," Vetch chipped in. "Looks like your Latin willie-warmer's got a
sugar daddy. The guy drives a big green Volvo and brings him back late at
night."

"Yeah," Gaskin said, "very late. And every Tuesday morning as well, in time
for school from wherever they've been."

Sandy felt his anger rising "How d'you know?"

 "I started a new paper round last week," Vetch explained. "Visick Street's
on my patch. I saw that Volvo last Tuesday morning and again yesterday,
around eight fifteen? My brother Mike works four-to-midnight and takes a
short cut home down Visick Street. According to Mike, this guy brings him
home at least three nights a week around one o'clock in the morning. It
gets you thinking, doesn't it, Lurch? Do they park in a dark lane or do
they go to the guy's place for cuddles in front of log fire?"

Sandy bristled even though he did wonder about the times Gomez was not home
when he phoned. "You watch your mouth."

"My big bro has a Shogun," Gaskin said. "He'll do anything for petrol
money. When Pretty Boy goes out tonight we're going to be right on his
tail, aren't we boys?"

"I still don't believe you."

"Come with us tonight and find out for yourself."

Sandy's suppressed the urge to punch Gaskin in the mouth. "Right, then,
you're on."

*  *  *