Poison: Chapter 12

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield

Book 1: Poison

Chapter Twelve

THE sun rose orange over the trees by the parked camper van. Inside, Amy and the two boys slept soundly, exhausted by the events of the previous 24 hours.

Blue sniffed at the double side door and scratched at his ruff with a hind leg. All was still. It was just past 5am and for the humans there was more sleeping to do. But the wolf was wide awake and hungry. He sniffed again, this time in the direction of the partly opened rear window.

Suddenly and with effortless ease, he jumped up onto the rear cabinet and eased his head and front legs through the window. In another movement he was free, leapt onto the tarmac and sloped into the bushes alongside the van. Nathan blinked at the slight noise, but his tired eyes refused to focus and he drifted off to sleep.

Outside, Blue was sidling along the fence of the neighbouring field, eyeing curiously some sheep grazing on the dew covered grass 200 metres away. The wolf had started to stalk the young ewe at the edge of the flock when a buck rabbit suddenly darted out of the undergrowth next to him. With a pounce, he was upon the hapless creature and his jaws locked around its neck. He dragged the dead rabbit into the bushes and began to enjoy his breakfast.

Some 70 miles away, a red Porsche Boxster was parked at a service station on the southbound M40. Inside its occupants were also sleeping, cramped on the black leather seats of the smart sports car. Exhaustion had taken its toll. Empty crisp packets and a half eaten chicken sandwich were strewn on the floor of the passenger side by Clara’s feet.

It was now just past 6am and the service area was waking up to early risers filling their cars with fuel. The driver of an articulated truck walked sleepily to the washrooms in the main foyer.

Tony blinked his eyes, dazzled by the morning sun shining through the driver’s side window. He glimpsed the figure of a man walking across the car park. He quietly cursed at the fact they had not managed to secure a motel room for the night… or was it the morning? he asked himself. He looked across at Clara who was still sleeping soundly and silently opened the car door. He stepped out into the warm morning air, closed the door and followed the steps of the trucker he had seen a minute earlier.

Five minutes later, refreshed by a quick wash, Tony ambled to the coffee bar next to the main foyer. He ordered two flat whites and carried the steaming cardboard mugs back towards the car.

He stepped out onto the forecourt and gasped loudly as a black BMW flashed by towards the filling station.

“You stupid blighter!” Tony shouted at the driver.

But inside the black car, Klaus was oblivious to the anger of the man he had almost hit and knew he needed fuel and a black coffee to keep himself awake. The two hours’ sleep he had managed to grab back in Shrewsbury had taken the edge off his tiredness, but disposing of Klaus’s body had added its own burden of weariness.

He stopped the BMW next to a fuel pump and glanced around for any sign of police cars. There was none, just a few trucks and a red Porsche parked 200 metres away.

He noticed a solitary man, who appeared to be carrying a couple of cartons, glance his way and wondered why he was looking at him.

Tony again glared at the driver of the black BMW and muttered another expletive in his direction.

As he opened the driver’s door of his Porsche, Clara woke with a huge yawn and smiled as she saw Tony’s face. She breathed in the morning air and said: “Ah, coffee, how lovely of you.”

Tony sat next to her, and still fuming, he answered: “Thought we both needed something strong to keep us going.” He handed Clara one of the coffees and kissed her right cheek.

“See that blinkin’ black BMW over there by the pumps? Well, its driver almost ran me over and I think he didn’t even realise it,” Tony added grumpily.

Clara shot a look in the direction of the filling station. With her left hand, she wiped some sleep from her eyes and looked again.

“Flipping hell,” she said suddenly, “I recognise that man and that car!”

Back at the service area on the M54, Blue had digested his first breakfast and was now sniffing at left overs in the bins by the burger bar. The wolf licked its lips at a half-eaten double cheeseburger and sat on the grass to devour it in one bite.

Around him cars, vans and trucks were busying about and the car park was starting to fill up.

Commuters, lorry drivers and holidaymakers were grabbing a quick breakfast or filling their vehicles with fuel.

A few yards away a young girl suddenly shouted: “Look, mummy, look at that big doggy!”

A fair-haired woman peered in the direction of the ‘big doggy’.

“Wow, that’s the biggest German Shepherd I’ve ever seen,” she said aloud. “Hold my hand, darling, and don’t try to stroke it, it may bite. Now let’s get some breakfast, darling, it is still a long drive to our holiday cottage.”

The girl grabbed hold of her mother’s hand.

“Nasty doggy,” she shouted at Blue.

The wolf sniffed the air and slinked back to the cover of the hedges.

Inside the burger bar, an older man was watching though the window as he finished his cup of tea and egg muffin. His grey eyes looked towards the young girl and then at the large animal disappearing into the bushes.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself, “That’s a blinkin’ wolf if ever I saw one!”

He took a last sip of tea and walked into the passage by the burger bar, towards the blue telephone booth.

Inside the booth he lifted the handset and quickly dialled 999. When prompted he asked to be put through to the police.

Back at Greenfield Mansion, Nicolas was waking from a deep sleep and familiarising himself with the unfamiliar room. Sunlight was peeping through the gap in the dark green velvet curtains.

Nicolas yawned and stretched his arms wide as he glanced at the clock on the bedside table.

“Blimey, It’s past seven-thirty,” he gasped.

At that moment, there was a knock on his bedroom door.

“Yes, come in, I am decent,” Nicolas replied.

The ruddy face of Bob the butler peered round the door.

“Good morning, Sir,” he said brightly.

“Let me draw back the curtains for you. Her ladyship wanted me to ask you whether kippers, porridge and some poached eggs would suit you for breakfast, sir?”

“Wow, that would be lovely, thank you, Bob,” Nicolas answered.

“Oh don’t thank me, Sir, thank Mrs Wills, she is quite the finest cook this side of the border,” Bob breezed, as he drew back the curtains.

“I have also packed the Rolls as I think her ladyship wants to leave before nine,” he added.

Indeed, Felicity was already dressed and in the kitchen, demanding to know why Joy wasn’t already about her chores.

“Oh Mrs Wills, do we have fresh kippers, they are quite scrummy?” she asked the cook.

“Yes, madam, they were fresh in yesterday afternoon and I have kept them chilled in the fridge,” the cook replied.

“Good, and do you mind putting together a hamper of sandwiches and coffee, as I think we may have a bit of driving to do today,” added Felicity.

In the corner of the kitchen, a small TV was switched to the 24 hour news channel.

Felicity took in the round-up of the morning’s news and determined to telephone the local police station again as soon as it was open for business.

“And Clara still hasn’t replied to my text,” she snapped quietly.

Suddenly, she froze as the news reel at the bottom of the TV screen reported: “Motorway service station evacuated after wolf attacks child.”

Back at the M54 service station, the truth was far from that.

But over 40 frightened faces looked out nervously from the sanctuary of the burger bar and the filling station shop.

Six police cars circled the parking area and four uniformed officers armed with high powered rifles combed the bushes near where the old man and a waitress had both claimed they had seen the wolf.

Just over 150 metres away across the car park, Blue was crouched at the side door of the VW Camper van scratching quietly at the brown paintwork. The wolf knew that humans with guns were big trouble and his animal sense told him that they were looking for him.

His green eyes darted between the men with the guns, instantly computing where each one was walking next.

He stared at one marksman approaching the van, and snarled.

Poison: Chapter 11

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield

Book 1: Poison

Chapter Eleven

TONY stared back at the creature as it moved off along the riverbank road behind the three humans. He looked again at the profile of the taller of the two boys and gulped.

“Blimey, that is Master Joe and I’ll be a Dutch man if that isn’t his wolf with him,” he muttered to himself.

Quietly, the 20-year-old opened the leather lined car door and stepped onto the pavement next to the Bed and Breakfast. He felt a burden of guilt towards Lady Felicity that compelled him to investigate further.

Meanwhile, 100 yards away on the riverbank road, Amy climbed back over a wooden fence with a look of relief on her face.

“Well, that’s those horrible guns taken care of,” she said. “Now I want to introduce you to Gertrude,” she added, pointing to a large parking bay opposite.

“Gertrude?” exclaimed Joe.

“Yes, she is TJ’s – and my – pride and joy. She is awesome,” Amy enthused.

Across the road was parked an old brown and cream VW camper van, which even at first glance looked like it had seen better days.

“We have been to six music festivals in her,” said Amy, “and this summer we had planned to take her to France… but I guess things have changed.”

“So does she still go?” asked Joe eagerly.

“Yes, of course she does,” Amy replied with a hint of hurt in her voice. “I have not driven her in a couple of weeks and she needs some petrol, but I reckon she will get us to London.

“And, yes Joe, you can bring your wolf with us, if you promise it won’t eat us all on the way,” she added, smiling at the young boy.

Joe grinned. “Did you bring that cheese,” he asked, “cos Blue is hungry.”

“Cheese!” exclaimed Amy. “A wolf eats cheese?”

“Yep, he loves it,” Joe volunteered, “seen him eat two pounds of cheddar in one sitting.”

“Yeah, and he was sick all over your mum’s floor right afterwards,” Nathan reminded him.

Joe grimaced at the memory of being forced by Joy the scullery maid to clean up the mess before his mum found out.

“Anyway, I think we all need to get away from here before that blonde haired guy breaks free and follows us,” Nathan added with renewed urgency.

Amy unlocked the camper van and the boys bundled their belongings into the back and battled over who would sit in the front. Amy stopped a row developing by insisting that both Joe and Nathan sit in the back and keep Blue company.

Once inside, Amy pulled out the choke and turned the ignition key. It took three turns before the engine spluttered into life and a loud rumbling sound emanated from beneath the bonnet.

“Exactly how old is Gertrude?” asked Nathan.

“Ooh, she was born in about 1978,” replied Amy. “She is a later model, you can tell by the big bay windscreen,” she added.

“Wow that makes her over 30 years old,” exclaimed Nathan, “You sure she will get us to London?”

“No problem,” said Amy as the camper van pulled out along the riverbank road in the direction of the old prison.

Just 50 yards away, behind a large rhododendron bush at the corner of Albert Avenue, Tony was watching everything. He had noted down the registration number of the camper van and was convinced he heard the girl say ‘London’.

He knew he needed to move fast.

Inside 24 Severn Avenue, Klaus had pulled the parcel tape, which had bound him to the bannister newel, from his left wrist and hand and was carefully unwrapping the tape from his other wrist. He squirmed in pain, as the wolf’s bite had gone deep and blood was still oozing from his wrist and leg. He glanced across at the body of Rolf and considered himself lucky.

“Those verdammf kids,” he said aloud. “They, and that wolf, are going to pay for this… this is now personal,” he added with menace in his voice.

Three minutes later, he had freed himself from the amateur bindings of the parcel tape and pulled himself to his feet, crying out in pain as he straightened his right leg.

He looked down at Rolf, bent over and felt for a pulse. But his colleague’s purple face betrayed the fact that he had been dead for a while.

Klaus limped to the front door and walked gingerly across the road to his parked black BMW.

He opened the driver’s door and climbed inside. The car felt cold and stank of cigarette smoke and stale sweet and sour chicken.

He look at his mobile phone in the door pocket. It told him he had received eight unanswered calls from headquarters, two voice mail messages and three text messages. He read the texts first then listened to the voicemails. His face whitened some more and his lips tightened.

Carefully, he lifted the laptop out from under the passenger seat and switched on. The machine beeped four times and the familiar face of the controller peered at him from the 14 inch screen.

“What the hell is happening Klaus?” the voice of the grey haired man demanded.

“And why have you not answered my calls?”

Contrition battled with reason as Klaus spent the next 15 minutes explaining to his boss the night’s events. He used the words “I’m sorry boss” at least eight times as he recounted the story.

“Right, Klaus, you are now on borrowed time,” demanded the boss.

“You need to do three things… first get Rolf’s body out of that house and dispose of it somewhere where it will not be found. Make sure you take any identification from him before you do that. We don’t want the bungling British police crawling all over this, do we?”

“Then you get yourself cleaned up and get back to London as quickly as you can, while I call in some back-up for you.

“Finally, you make it your one mission to get the evidence left by that blasted girl and eliminate the other girl and her accomplices.

“Failure to do any of that and you will end up as fish feed… I will see to that personally.

“Do I make myself clear… we must protect the company.”

“Ya, I mean yes, boss, will see to it right away.”

And with that he closed the screen, dabbed at his leg and began the first task.

Outside the Bed and Breakfast, Tony sat in his Porsche and texted Clara his news.

Meanwhile, upstairs, the teenager had decided the leave a reply to her mother until the morning and try and grab a bit of sleep in the meantime.

Suddenly, her mobile beeped again and she glanced down to see the new message from Tony.

She read it twice and leapt out of bed to look out of the window. She waved down at the red car parked below. Tony looked up and waved back.

Her phone rang and Tony talked through everything he had seen and heard on the riverbank road a few minutes earlier.

“Oh crikey,” Clara exclaimed, “We need to follow them.”

“Bit late to do that now, but they won’t go very fast in the old van they are in,” he added. “And I have the registration number. There surely aren’t that many brown and cream bangers around like that anymore.”

Clara was already getting dressed while balancing her mobile phone between her chin and shoulder.

“I have had to pay for this blinkin’ room in advance, so I have no worries about leaving without saying goodbye. And if the breakfast is anything like the room, the old bat downstairs can keep it,” she said.

With that, Clara quietly opened her bedroom door and crept downstairs. She left her keys on the hall table and gently unlocked the front door.

On the street she and Tony hugged each other closely and kissed quickly.

“Come on darling, we need to move,” he urged. “A bag of things for you is in the back and we can stop at a service station soon, so you can freshen up. Anyway, I am low on petrol and need to fill up as well.”

“I reckon that to get to London, they will go by motorway all the way, unless that van falls apart before it gets to the M6,” he laughed.

Clara laughed with him and held his left hand tightly as they moved towards the Porsche.

They climbed inside and kissed briefly again.

The engine roared and soon the car was pulling onto the riverside road in the direction of the prison.

Back at Greenfield Mansion, Nicolas slept soundly in the Elizabeth Room. On the other side of the house, Felicity was not so lucky. She sat upright in her four poster, stewing over her daughter’s failure to respond to her text message and the fact she had seemingly now switched off her mobile phone. She also began to worry deeply about the safety of her darling Joe… and Nicolas’ rather lovely boy, Nathan. Then she thought about Nicolas himself and felt warmed by his kindness and resourcefulness over the past 16 hours. He was actually rather a handsome guy, she mused.

Sometime later, at an all-night service station off the M54 near Wolverhampton, a red Porsche Boxster pulled up at the pumps.

Tony turned to Clara, who was asleep next to him. “Hey girl, do you want to take this bag into the ladies room over there and change and things? I’ll fill up with fuel and get some snacks and drinks from the service area. Anything you fancy?”

Clara nodded: “A strong coffee please… and thank you Tony.”

She kissed him on the cheek, grabbed the leather holdall from behind the passenger seat and made her way across the forecourt.

Tony got out from the driver’s side and selected high performance green from the fuel pump.

Less than 200 yards away in the overnight parking area of the service station, two green eyes watched every move from the shelter of a brown and cream VW Camper van.

Poison: Chapter Eight

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter Eight

BACK at Greenfield Mansion two frantic parents jumped into the VW Polo parked on the gravel outside. Nicolas flicked the ignition and the car tore off down the drive to the gates of the manor house. He turned a sharp left and drove as fast as he could into the nearby town.
It was almost midnight and Gresburton was surprisingly quiet for a Monday night. The high street had temporary traffic lights for road works to the gas mains, but Nicolas ignored the red light and sped straight on to the Old Granary at the junction with John Talbot Street.
The car came to a stop outside a recently renovated barn type building. Nicolas and Felicity jumped out and looked up towards the penthouse flat above them. Lights were burning in all the windows and they could just make out the shadow of a man walking across one of the rooms.
Nicolas was the first to move. He pressed the button on the intercom at the front door. It made a familiar buzzing sound. After what seemed ages, an even more familiar voice emanated from the intercom and asked: “Yes, who is it?”
Nicolas almost barked: “Tony, is that you? It is Nicolas, Nathan’s dad.”
“And Felicity,” her Ladyship shouted from his side.
The intercom went dead. Nicolas pressed the button again… but no reply. He tried twice more, but again no answer. In the distance, they heard a door bang shut, but nothing more.
“Darn it, the blighter is ignoring us,” Felicity almost screamed. “What do we do next?”
At that moment the two worried parents heard the sound of a powerful car engine start just around the corner from the Old Granary. They moved towards the sound and the roar of the engine was suddenly upon them. Looking right they froze as a red Porsche Boxster turned the corner and raced away in the direction of the Old London Road. Nicolas took a mental note of the registration plate: T04Y WWD.
“Dang and blast!” shouted Lady Felicity. “What are we going to do now?”
“We will never catch him in this old thing,” answered Nicolas, pointing towards his VW, “She was a good car in her time, but I am lucky to get 60mph out of her now.”
“Well I guess we had better get back to the manor and ring the police again,” suggested Felicity.

Sometime later in the night at Severn Avenue things were starting to happen.
Amy sat on the sofa in the dark living room of her house with her right hand over her mouth.
“Crikey, I hope I didn’t wake the boys,” she said quietly to herself. “I can’t believe it had not occurred to me before.”
But the sound of footsteps on the stairs betrayed the fact that both the boys had woken at the sound of Amy’s involuntary shout.
“What is it Amy? Are you okay?” Nathan asked from the doorway to the living room. Joe peered over his shoulder and broached the same question. They both noticed a change in Amy’s demeanour. No longer did she look frightened or nervous, but she actually appeared excited.
“I think I have worked out the significance of the pictures,” she said suddenly, “and the five figure number!” Amy opened her arms towards the boys and said: “Come here and have a look and let me know what you think.”
The boys sat either side of their new friend on the comfort of the sofa. Amy produced four rough A4 print outs of the photos they had seen earlier on her PC.
“I thought I recognised the building,” said Amy. “I remember last summer when TJ and I went to London for the day for a protest march at Hyde Park against something like oil drilling in Sumatra or somewhere like that. Anyway, TJ pointed out this building to me when we were on the coach down there, she said it was the university where Sam works.”
“Yeah, it’s Glenwing,” interrupted Joe, “Sam took me down there a few years ago to show me some amazing snakes. But I don’t remember it looking like that!”
“That’s because the School of Tropical Reptiles is around the back of this building,” explained Amy. “I found the university on Google, it is in North London and have double checked everything on their website… this is it!”
Amy led the boys across the small living room to the PC and slowly showed them the information and pictures she had found while they were asleep.
“So what I think I have worked out is this,” she continued. “We know that wherever TJ went with Sam may have been dangerous. I reckon TJ left this bag here on purpose, as a life-line if things got nasty.”
“But what about the lockers and that number?” asked Nathan, “You haven’t explained that yet.”
“I have thought that one out,” said Amy. “I know your sister and your brother have only been going steady for a few months, but they have known each other a good deal longer. They met when your mum held that party at your manor house after you know what,” she added, looking at Joe.
“Oh, you mean after dad disappeared!” giggled Joe.
“Yes, exactly, and that was a good few years ago, you were still a wee nipper then, Joe,” Amy smiled back. “I remember TJ telling me that she and Sam shared a real passion for wildlife things, even though she hated snakes. So that explains why she pointed out Sam’s university over a year ago, even though it didn’t register with me at the time. And that explains why this pink fuzzball here is dangling from a locker door at Sam’s university,” she added with a spark in her eyes.
“And that number could be the key code for the locker or something,” suggested Nathan. “And the library card could be for the university library,” he added.
“I think you could be right,” returned Amy.
“Now then, what is that address that Sam asked you to go to?” she asked an equally excited boy.
Nathan said he would get Sam’s note from his bag and quickly ran upstairs to the bedroom.
Joe and Amy sat and stared at the print outs of TJ’s photos.
Suddenly there was the sound of a dull thump on the back wall of the house and the three friends were plunged into darkness as the lights went out.
“Blinkin’ hell, what was that?” shouted Nathan from upstairs.
“Don’t worry, it’s just a power cut,” Amy called back, “Stay where you are and I will find a candle.”
But before she could move she heard Nathan padding quickly downstairs. “Shhhhh,” he whispered. “I don’t think it is a power cut. I looked out the window and the streets lamps are on and there are lights in the windows of a few other houses across the road… anyway, there is someone in your back garden!”
Amy and Joe fell silent as Nathan led them back upstairs and pulled a corner of the bedroom curtains aside to peer outside. In the half-light, they could make out two men by the hedge. One was wearing what appeared to be yellow rubber gloves and was carrying a large pair of cutters while the other was carrying what looked like a hand gun… with a very long barrel. The first man knelt down, removed his gloves and began to open a black attaché case, he glanced up at the window.
“Oh my god,” choked Amy. ”It’s that blonde man I told you about and his mate. What are we going to do? They are after that bag.”
“Easily sorted,” suggested Nathan calmly. “Hey Joe, where is your torch?”
“I don’t know,” answered Joe. “It was in my bag when I left home, but it had gone when I opened the bag last night.”
“Dang,” snapped Nathan. “Doesn’t matter, we can do without, but it will be more difficult. Okay, Amy, get TJ’s bag and everything else and Joe and I will get dressed properly.”
Amy stood stunned as the young boy seemed to take control of things.
“Cummon, move quickly,” ordered Nathan.
Everything then became a blur of speed. Within what appeared to be a few seconds, the three friends were assembled back in the bedroom. From the dim glow of the street lights across the landing, Nathan put the flashcard, the fuzzball, the library card, the £10 note, the keys and the slip of paper containing the five figure number into his own bag. He then carefully retrieved something from his bag and placed it in TJ’s blue denim bag.
“Okay,” he said. “Now let’s leave TJ’s bag here and get out the front door while those men are still in the back garden. They mean business… and yes he was carrying a gun!”
Without question, Joe and Amy followed Nathan downstairs as quickly and quietly as they could in the darkness and made towards the dim light of the front of the house. Amy turned the Yale lock on the wooden door and opened it quickly. As she did so they heard a crack and clatter as if someone had broken a window or door behind them.
“Quick, run!” Amy was about to scream.
But as she opened her mouth her words stuck… a black leather gloved hand pushed her face backwards and she felt her body falling on top of the two boys.
The three of them lay frozen in fear on the hall carpet as two grey eyes looked down on them and a long barrelled pistol was pressed against Amy’s forehead.
“Sshhh kids, don’t make a noise,” the man with the blonde hair said slowly. “One move or sound and none of you will see the morning and no-one will hear it happen!”
Their attacker glanced up beyond them and barked an order: “Rolf, you look for the bag… it is a blue denim one. I’ll take care of these kids.”

Time seemed to stand still as the boys and Amy lay huddled on the hallway floor. Nathan wriggled a little as Joe held back tears and choked for breath. The gun was still pressed against Amy’s head.
Suddenly they heard a voice from upstairs call: “I have found the bag, boss!”
“Bring it down here, Rolf,” ordered the blonde haired man.
“And now it is time to say goodbye,” he whispered to Amy.
The silencer barrel pressed hard on her forehead, the hammer clicked back on the revolver, in less than a second she knew she would die.
But a sudden deathly scream emanated from the stairwell above them. Everything froze.
Four faces turned instantly upwards towards the noise in time to see a younger man’s face contort with agony as he fell forwards towards them.
From the opened front door a pair of green eyes surveyed the back of the blonde haired man with the gun.

Poison: Chapter Six

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book One: Poison
Chapter Six

IN the dark of her own bedroom, Amy felt restless and found sleep a distant memory. She shuffled under her duvet and ran the events of the past few weeks through her head and thought about the sudden arrival of Joe and Nathan.
“What is so important about TJ’s bag?” she thought for the umpteenth time.
“Is it even the right bag?” she asked herself.
So yet again, she turned on her bedside light and emptied the contents of the small bag onto her bed.
A key fob with three door keys and a small locker key, a crumpled piece of paper with the numbers 45176 written on it, a pink lip salve, a little pink fuzzball, two photos of Sam, a library card, a £10 note and a 264MB flashcard from a camera, items she had seen TJ fumble through many times after watching a movie together downstairs.
Nothing seemed out of order, she thought, although the number 45176 started Amy’s head spinning again for answers.
It was too short to be a phone number and one digit too many to be a cashpoint number… so what was it?
Then the flashcard dodged into her mind.
TJ had taken her cameras with her, so this flashcard was surely unimportant she thought.
Or was it?
With something approaching divine inspiration, Amy sat bolt upright in bed.
And with a new sense of urgency she decided to see what might be stored on the card.
She went downstairs, creeping slowly to avoid disturbing the boys. Amy sat at the PC and inserted the card into the reader slot at the foot of the computer tower.
After what seemed ages, the screen told her that the card had 102 photographs stored on it, and begged the question whether she would like to copy or view them.
Amy chose the latter and blinked as dozens of boozy party pictures and holiday snaps from the previous Christmas reeled across the screen.
“Huh, nothing unusual,” she whispered, and began to admit defeat.
But then came four pictures she didn’t recognise.
The first was of a large Victorian building – which may have been a library or museum or some other grand establishment.
The second was of a large hall lined with books. Presumably, thought Amy, it must be inside the same building.
The third and fourth pictures showed a line of grey filing cabinet type lockers and one locker in particular with a small pink fuzzball hanging from its metal handle.
A fuzzball, just like the one in TJ’s bag.
Amy’s mind raced… why would TJ take photographs of books or lockers?
Was it significant?
Amy removed the card from the reader and switched off the PC.
She ambled back upstairs and climbed into her cold bed.

Back in the drawing room at Greenfield Mansion, bed was the last thing on the minds of the assembled adults and two police officers sipping tea on the Chesterfield sofa.
Lady Greenfield and Nicolas had supplied the officers with photos of their sons and recounted for the third time their discoveries of that afternoon.
“Well,” said the greying sergeant, “I think as it is now well past 10pm, we can assume that they are late in.”
“Late in!” fumed Lady Greenfield. “I have told you a hundred times, Joe hasn’t been seen by anyone here since this morning. And he is never home later than nine o’clock, ever!
“Now are you going to start finding our sons,” she demanded.
But before either police officer could answer, Nicolas interjected: “And Nathan is just eleven-years-old… do you have any idea what is happening? We have two young boys and one with over £400 in his pocket and they have both disappeared with packed bags. For Cripes sake do something…. or we will!”
“Steady on Mr Sunnybank, please get a grip,” said the Sergeant. “It isn’t going to help your boys if we go about this half cock!”
Nicolas felt like punching the stupid sergeant, but Felicity squeezed his hand tightly and whispered: “Let them do their job”.
“We will start a Missing Person file immediately and distribute the photos of your sons to every station and newspaper in North Wales and the adjoining English counties” said the sergeant, with some more urgency.
“Don’t worry we will find them,” he added as he and the younger PC stood and made their way to front door.
As they made to leave, the younger officer turned and winked at Lady Greenfield. “We’ll find them, Ma’am, don’t you worry yourself.”
The door closed behind them and Felicity and Nicolas glared in anger at each other as they fought to say “Blinkin’ useless policemen!” first!
“Right,” said Nicolas, “I don’t care what those boys in blue may or may not do, I can’t sit here while my little Nathan is Lord knows where!”
“I agree,” stammered a flustered Felicity, as the two parents made their way back into the drawing room.
“Bob!” shouted her ladyship.
With that Tony started from reading a copy of last month’s Uncut music magazine and Bob the butler appeared red-faced at the drawing room door.
“Please pack an overnight bag and ask cook to prepare sandwiches and a flask for Mr Sunnybank and me… oh and we’ll take the Range Rover,” she added with authority.
Bob turned obediently and disappeared into the hallway.
“But where are we going to start?” asked Nicolas. “We have no leads at all!”
“And where is Clara?” asked Tony.
With that Clara’s mobile phone ironically buzzed in Tony’s jacket pocket. Tony reached for the phone and glanced at the new text from an unknown number.

Meanwhile, in the single bedroom of a dingy bed and breakfast near Shrewsbury Prison, a restless Clara was fumbling with the buttons of a cheap Pay As You Go mobile phone she had bought from a shop near the railway station.
“Gosh, this thing is out of the ark,” she muttered, “The keys are like blinkin’ bullets and the screen is tiny… guess that’s what you get for a tenner.”
Clara was still mulling over what she would like to do to her brother Joe when she eventually got her hands on him. But she was also intensely puzzled by the secrecy of Joe and his friend Nathan and why they had travelled to this hideous market town without telling anyone.
“Blinkin kids,” she said.
Eventually Clara worked out the basics of the new mobile phone and sent a test text message to her proper mobile back at Gresburton. It was the only number she could remember.
It was a simple message which read: “If you read this, mum, I am okay and will be home tomorrow. ❤ Clara xxx”.
She rolled over and closed her eyes to try and get some sleep.
“How stupid am I forgetting to take my phone,” she thought.

Two streets away in the black BMW, a blonde haired man, aged about 35, was smoking his ninth cigarette of the night and had wrapped a tartan blanket over his lap. The car reeked of the stale smell of the remains of a cold Chinese take-way and cigarette smoke.
“Ya, the girl thinks she is safe, but she won’t get away,” he murmured to himself.
He looked down at his laptop and touched the remote button to begin a conference call.
On the screen the face of a thin grey haired man with a sallow complexion and wire rimmed spectacles appeared.
“Any news Klaus?” he snapped.
“Nothing yet, Sir, but we have the girl under close surveillance and she now has two young boys for company,” answered the blonde haired man.
“Do we know who the kids are?” snapped the grey haired man.
“No, Sir,” came the reply.
“Well find out… and dispose of them if you must. Oh and Klaus, get hold of that bag ASAP or you will have me to answer to!” the other man ordered.
“And where is Rolf?”
“He is in a guest house nearby. We have booked a room there under assumed names,” answered Klaus. “He will relieve me in two hours.”
“Good… report back at 8am your time,” the grey haired man ordered.
At that the screen went blank as the older man switched off his connection.
Outside the car, in the darkness of shrubbery on Severn Avenue a large grey haired animal was quietly sniffing the rear door and boot of the BMW. The animal’s green eyes watched the blonde haired man with suspicion.
Then as quietly has it had arrived the animal sloped off back across the road and down the avenue to nestle back under the laurel bush next to number 24.

Inside number 24, Amy still could not sleep and had gone back downstairs. She had made herself a large mug of hot chocolate and was sipping the drink while puzzling over the four photos on TJ’s flashcard and the relevance of the number 45176.
“I must be going mad,” she thought. “There is something obvious here and I can’t see it for looking.”
Upstairs Joe and Nathan slept soundly, while outside two green eyes watched their bedroom window intently.

Poison Chapter 5

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter Five

IN the kitchen of 24 Severn Avenue, Amy was making baked beans on toast for her two unexpected visitors.
“Typical kids, thinking they can survive on chocolate fingers and jelly beans,” she mused.
Amy had known TJ since college and they had become best friends. But while Amy happily worked her time in the bar of a local restaurant, TJ enveloped her life in environmental action and saving endangered animals, such as the orang-utans in the picture that Nathan had shown her.
Greenpeace, Friends of the Earth, Rainbow Warriors and Wildlife Action, TJ had joined just about every environmental action group going. She was a real hero in Amy’s eyes.
“But,” thought Amy, “TJ made some nasty enemies.”
She buttered the toast and spooned the beans on top.
“How much should I tell them?” Amy wondered.
In the living room the two boys had the same thoughts about how much they needed to let TJ’s friend know.
“Tea-time!” yelled Amy, and she was soon joined in the small kitchen by two smiling young boys.
“Wash your hands first!” she ordered, “And if you eat all the beans, there is a surprise for pudding!”
After a hearty tea and a surprise of chocolate muffins and custard, the trio sat down in the front room to talk…. but only after Amy had drawn the curtains closed.
“Why have you shut the curtains?” asked Joe, “It’s sunny outside!”
“Just in case we are being watched,” answered Amy nervously.
They all looked nervously at each other.
Amy nodded and sipped at a cup of coffee.
Nathan began to tell what he knew of TJ’s disappearance and her mysterious life-threatening condition.
He pulled out a scribbled hand-written note, and explained he had received it in the post three weeks ago, along with the photo of TJ and the red ape.
He was relieved that on school days he usually got the post first or his dad might have asked some awkward questions.
But Nathan had not recognised the stamps on the envelope it came in. He told Amy it was “foreign” and the postmark bore the name Kuching.
The note told Nathan that his sister was seriously ill in hospital after being attacked while trying to save two baby orang-utans.
She was in a deep coma and only one thing could bring her out of the coma, and maybe then she could tell them all what happened.
The writer needed Joe to milk a small amount of venom from his brother’s Green Tree Viper – “he knows how to do it safely” said the note – and take the vial of venom to an address in London.
But the note went on to say that under no circumstances must either Nathan or Joe tell their parents, nor the police, or TJ could die.
“There are other people trying to find her first,” it added.
The note was signed by Joe’s brother Sam.
He had added a PS saying he would join them as soon as he could.
“Where’s the envelope now?” asked Amy.
“Sorry, I think I threw it in the kitchen bin,” answered Nathan.
Amy moved across to a small desk and switched on an old PC.
Once logged in she Googled the word Kuching.
“My God,” she exclaimed, “It is the capital of Sarawak in Borneo… that’s where orang-utans live…. TJ was always going on about wanting to go there.”
Amy froze and put her right hand to her forehead.
“Now something is beginning to make sense,” she muttered.
“What do you mean?” asked Joe.
Amy explained that she had received two strange mobile text messages from TJ a few weeks earlier, saying she was going on a potentially dangerous mission to help save some endangered animals.
She added that TJ and Sam had been “a bit of an item” for the past six months and were “almost inseparable”.
They said they were going abroad together for a short holiday.
Amy had suggested Tenerife, but TJ had winked and said: “No, someplace else.”
“Urgh gross!” exclaimed Joe, “Your sister and my brother… bet they’ve been snogging!”
“Yuk!” retorted Nathan, poking his tongue out.
“But,” said Amy, “There is something which is now worrying me a lot.”
She told the boys how, about a week ago, she had answered the door to a tall blonde haired man, with steely grey eyes and a deep tan, who said he was a friend of TJ’s and she had asked him to fetch a bag from her room.
“He was quite convincing and nice at first, but I wouldn’t let him in, because I saw another man watching us from a black car across the road, and something did not seem right,” said Amy.
“He became quite angry and told me if I knew what was good for me I would get the bag for him.
“I slammed the door in his face and watched him cross the road and get into the black car with the other man and drive away.
“He had a European accent,” she added suddenly, “Sort of German or maybe Austrian.”
By now Amy was shaking and started to cry.
“I have been really frightened and was going to ring the police, but later that day I got this phone call on my mobile telling me if I told anyone about the visit I would not see TJ again.”
Amy was now in floods of tears and between sobs muttered in frightened tones: “How did he know my mobile number?”
Nathan and Joe sidled up either side of her on the sofa and the three cuddled close.
“I haven’t left the house… but I have seen the car and the blonde haired man in the street every day since then.”
“But where is the bag?” asked Nathan.
Amy reached under the sofa and pulled out a small blue denim handbag.
“I think this is maybe it,” she said.

Back at Greenfield Mansion, Felicity was hurrying across the grass towards her studio with a flustered and red faced Bob beside her, carrying her easel and painting gear.
“It is unlike Nicolas to be so worried,” she said as she allowed Bob to put her painting things away while she tripped through the scullery door.
Ignoring Joy, who was ironing a pile of boy’s jeans and T shirts, Felicity walked towards the drawing room.
“Oh Nicolas, I am so sorry to have kept you waiting… whatever is it?” she asked.
Nicolas got up from the Chesterfield, smiled wanly and explained his afternoon discoveries.
“Oh my Lord!” responded Felicity.
“I have not seen Nathan at all today, and come to think of it, have not seen Joe since breakfast… and Bob says neither he, Helen nor Joy have seen him either.”
Nicolas held Felicity’s hand and quietly but purposefully said: “I think this maybe more serious than I first thought!”
The two parents looked worryingly into each other’s eyes.
Felicity blinked first.
At that moment Bob reappeared at the drawing room door.
“Ma’am, there is the young Mr Anthony Woodward to see you… he’s says it’s urgent,” said the butler.
Felicity and Nicolas turned as the strapping and dashingly handsome Tony Woodward strode into the room.
“Your ladyship,” he exclaimed, ignoring the presence of Nicolas.
“I am so sorry to bother you, but Clara did not turn up for her violin lesson this morning and I can’t get any reply to calls I have made to her mobile phone.”
“But,” said Lady Greenfield, “I thought she was having cello lessons?”
“Oh, sorry,” replied Tony, “I meant cello, just a slip of the tongue,” he lied, blushing.
There was a silence.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” said Lady Greenfield. “Follow me….”
Felicity, Nicolas, Tony and Bob the butler together hurried into the main hallway and up a flight of stairs to the first landing.
The first bedroom they visited was that of a small boy, littered with toys and computer games, with a large drum kit standing in the corner.
Felicity glanced around and exclaimed: “Well, the only things missing are my son’s GI Joe bag… and my son!
“And possibly this torch,” she added, holding the silvered flashlight in her left hand.
The four adults ventured across the landing to a much larger bedroom.
On the unmade bed was a Jack Wills clothing catalogue, an array of designer blouses and jeans and a small pink mobile phone flashing and making a pinging sound.
Tony picked up the phone and clicked it open.
“Blimey!” he started, and blushing red again added: “Didn’t realise I had sent her quite so many text messages and calls today!”
“So,” said Lady Greenfield, “We are now missing two young boys and my daughter Clara!”
“And I believe the wolf Blue,” interrupted Bob, “None of the staff have seen the animal since this morning!”

Some hours later at 24 Severn Avenue, Amy tucked Nathan and Joe into the double bed in TJ’s room.
The boys looked exhausted, but she was glad of their company.
She peered out through the bedroom curtains.
The pair of curious brown eyes had departed the street to a bed and breakfast nearby.
But two sinister grey eyes still watched the house from behind the steam of a Chinese takeaway in the front driver’s seat of the black BMW car.
And from under the laurel bush the piercing green eyes watched everything.

Poison Chapter 4

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter Four

JOE and Nathan disembarked from the train – remembering at the last minute to drag their canvas bags from under their seats – and stood awestruck on the platform.
But the sense of wonder lasted only a few seconds before Nathan said: “Cummon Joe, we gotta go!”
Joe laughed out loud and the two boys walked briskly down to the ticket check and out onto the station concourse.
Once outside they stood as taxis whizzed to and fro and a crowd of people pushed past in pursuit of their shopping trip, or whatever else had brought them to this busy Shropshire town.
Nathan rummaged in his bag and consulted one of his maps. He was about to point the way, when a sudden commotion erupted behind them.
There were screams and various shouts of: “Over there!” and “Look!” and more urgently: “Run!”
A rush of people herded past into the car park and the apparent safety of the streets beyond.
Joe and Nathan listened as one elderly gentleman said to his wife: “It was, I swear to you, I have seen them in zoos.”
His grey-haired wife held his arm and replied: “There, there, it was only a large dog, now calm down Cedric.”
And with that, she pointed and said “Look!”
The two boys followed her stare and watched a middle-aged woman in a tweed skirt and jacket fasten a chain lead to a large Alsatian and reprimand the animal with “Bad dog, Karl!”
“Wow, wonder what all that was about?” said Joe.
“Dunno, but we must get on,” said Nathan, “It’s more exciting than boring old Gresburton.”
But as the boys were about to turn on their way, they were stopped again, this time with a familiar shout of “Hey, Nath!”
Nathan looked across the busy main road and was shocked to see his best friend from school, Ben Hill, waving madly from the opposite pavement. Ben’s mum, Caryn, also waved and, holding her son’s hand, crossed the road as the lights changed to red against the stream of traffic.
“Hiya Nath,” exclaimed Ben, and “Hi Jack,” he added in Joe’s direction.
Joe grunted back and Nathan looked embarrassed.
“Well, what are you two miscreants doing in Shrewsbury?” asked a clearly puzzled Mrs Hill.
“Where’s your dad, Nathan?” she continued.
Nathan flushed as he lied: “We’re, we’re going to see the dinosaur exhibition… sorry we gotta dash cos dad is waiting for us in the newsagents over there.”
Nathan grabbed Joe’s hand and the two boys ran in the general direction of a newsagents across from the traffic lights.
Behind them Ben called: “See you tomorrow Nath.”
Mrs Hill added: “Take care and watch the traffic, boys.”
Once inside the newsagents, the two friends pretended to look at magazines while nervously glancing out the window to watch Mrs Hill and Ben walk away in the direction of the town centre.
The boys glanced at each other and Joe winked.
Once the coast was clear, Nathan led Joe out of the shop and back over the road they had just crossed.

Back at Landfill Cottage, Nicolas Sunnybank’s mood had changed from one of anger and surprise to one of anger and fear.
Anger because, how dare his young son apparently sell his prize telecaster, worth over £2,000 for a mere £325, and how dare he then milk his Paypal account of £400.
And fear, because, why would his son do that, and where was he now?
Nicolas thought of waiting until tea-time to seriously quiz his wayward eleven-year-old, but something tugged at him to deal with the situation that very minute.
“He will be up to no good with that spoilt rich friend of his, Joe Greenfield,” he fumed.
“I bet he’s part of this!”
And with anger fighting measure for measure with the emotion of fear, Nicolas slipped on some green Crocs, picked up his car keys and leaving the back door wide open allowed a breeze to blow lazily across the conservatory.
Out in the glare of the sun, he jumped into his old purple VW Polo.
One turn of the ignition key and the car sped down the dusty lane and onto Gresburton Road.
Half a mile along the main thoroughfare into town, Nicolas turned a sharp right and raced along another lane towards Greenfield Mansion.
The car screeched to a halt on the gravel drive alongside a huge stone statue of an old Victorian Earl sitting astride a trusty stallion.
Across the beautifully manicured front lawn, an old gardener stopped from his weeding and watched as Nicolas sprinted up the stone steps and rang a loud bell at the front door.
Moments passed before the door was opened by the butler.
“Good afternoon to you, Mr Sunnybank, how good to see you,” welcomed Bob.
“Is my son here?” exclaimed Nicolas, “I need to see him now!”
“I am sorry, I haven’t seen young Nathan around the house today,” answered the house servant, “And come to think of it, I haven’t seen Master Joe either.”
“Well, in that case, may I have a word with Felicity?” replied a now increasingly anxious Nicolas.
“Of course, Sir, please come in and step into the drawing room and I will see if her ladyship is free,” said the quite jovial butler.
Bob strode in the direction of the west wing and the kitchen.
Nicolas made his way into the drawing room and stood agitated next to the fireplace.
Above the marble mantle was a dark rectangular shadow against the lighter green wallpaper, where a portrait had once hung.
“Thank God, Felicity has at last got rid of that awful painting of Lord I Like It Better Somewhere Else,” thought Nicolas.
He glanced at the two stags heads mounted on the wall either side of the fireplace, and winced.
“Barbarous!” he fumed.
He wandered over to the leather Chesterfield sofa and picked up a copy of the latest Horse and Hound magazine.
“What world do these people live in?” Nicolas asked himself.
But before he had time to espouse another poke at the direction of the British aristocracy, the door opened and in walked a smiling Bob.
“I am terribly sorry, but her ladyship has gone to do a spot of painting in the meadows… she will be back for tea at 4pm,” he volunteered.
“But, but, but,” stammered Nicolas, “This is really urgent, I really must see Felicity now, or better still my son or hers!”
The butler bowed slightly, and said “I will see what I can do.
“Would you care for a cup of tea or maybe something a bit stronger?”

Some 33 miles away, two excited boys were making their way up a steep hill beside Shrewsbury railway station and passed with some anxiety the huge gates to the town’s Victorian prison.
A gaggle of visitors stood on a ramp of steps next to a dark door, waiting in the sunshine to be allowed in to see their nearest and dearest.
High prison walls dominated the pavement and the surrounding houses as the boys hurried past.
“It’s along here,” encouraged Nathan, and the two friends broke into a run to get as far away from the prison gates as they could and as quickly as they could.
While the prison perimeter walls still towered overhead the road became more tree-lined and leafy and the feeling of anxiety gave way to the more familiar feeling of adventure.
The sun shone through the trees and dappled the pavement.
After what seemed to be 20 minutes of walking, Nathan stopped and grabbed Joe’s hand.
“What’s up?” asked Joe.
“This is it!” said Nathan.
“What?” Joe asked again.
“The road where TJ lives,” his smaller friend replied.
A sign next to them betrayed the words: Severn Avenue.
“It is number 24, somewhere up here on the left,” Nathan urged.
The boys walked past a busy pub, where the sound of some 1970’s pop song mingled with laughter and the smell of beer.
After a few more gardens, they stopped.
Joe was the first to exclaim: “Number 24!”
“Right, let me do the talking cos I have met her housemate before,” said Nathan.
His finger pressed the front door buzzer.
A minute passed before a tired looking dark haired girl in her early 20s opened the door and peered nervously onto the doorstep.
“Sorry, we don’t need our car washed,” she snapped, “Cos we don’t have a car, now naff off, and don’t ring again!”
She was about to slam the door in the boys’ faces, but Nathan acted quickly and thrust his foot into the door jam.
“Amy!” he shouted, “It’s me, Nathan, TJ’s brother!”
The girl’s mouth dropped open in shock.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “Come in, come in quick and now!”
Half dragging the two boys over the thresh-hold she slammed the front door behind them.
She hugged Nathan tightly to her stomach and almost involuntarily kissed his head.
Tears welled in her eyes as she cuddled him even tighter.
“Ouch!” exclaimed Nathan, “I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry,” replied Amy, loosening her arms, “But it is so really good to see you.”
Leading them into the end of terrace building, Amy pointed towards an old green sofa in the front room.
“Sit, down, sit down,” she almost stuttered.
Nathan and Joe sat down together and began the difficult task of explaining to Amy why they were there.
And Amy had an even more difficult time telling the two young boys things she had kept to herself for four long weeks.
Outside, the two intensely curious brown eyes were watching the house from the pavement on the other side of the road.
Two piercing green eyes glinted from behind a large laurel bush in a neighbouring garden.
And further away at the end of the avenue two sinister grey eyes also watched the front door of Number 24, from the sanctity of a polished black BMW car.

Poison Chapter 3

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter Three

BACK at Greenfield Mansion, Lady Felicity was nibbling on some sushi and celery while engaging Joy in meaningless chatter about the weather and garden ornaments.
“Do you think it is too early for another quaff of champers, Joy?” she asked.
Joy looked at her ladyship carefully and smiled.
“I think perhaps it might be better to wait until this evening for another glass, Felicity,” she replied.
Joy was always very careful when to address her ladyship by her proper name, and now seemed a quiet and good moment.
“Yes, I do feel a bit squiffy,” said Felicity and munched another langoustine while gazing wistfully at her newly potted geraniums.
Joy looked at the wine chiller and thought for the umpteenth time that her ladyship had not been the same since the day of his lordship’s accident.
The accident – as they had all learned to call it – was now five years ago, but it had had a profound effect on all of them, and Felicity most of all.
Her ladyship blamed herself constantly for it.
But after all, she had always warned his lordship to check his shotguns were not loaded before he cleaned them.
And it was in such innocence on that autumn day that she wandered into his study and asked him to pull the curtains before he retired to bed.
The word “pull” was so unfortunate.
By the time the ambulance got Lord Greenfield to the hospital, there was little they could do to save his left foot.
He was hospitalised for over a month and endured many more months of painful physiotherapy, before an artificial prosthetic foot was fitted.
He hated it and his tempers became more furious as the weeks and months passed.
He seemed to blame his wife for it all.
“Why the heck did you shout ‘pull’?” he often screamed.
And it was at this time that Lady Felicity started to lose herself in the kitchen and long chats with Joy.
It could not go on, and the final straw came sometime the following spring when a hobbling Lord Greenfield disappeared forever.
He said he needed to search for something, but did not know what, and as far as the family was concerned, he was still searching.

Felicity suddenly seemed to perk up.
“I know,” she said, “I think I will do a little painting, the weather is rather lovely.”
And without even a glance in Joy’s direction, she breezed out of the scullery door and into the garden.
As she passed the stable block, she thought momentarily about giving the horses an extra feed, but decided to venture forth and paint instead.
“I wonder what Joe and Clara are up to,” she mused quietly to herself.
Then she remembered that Clara was going to drive into town for more cello lessons with that rather strapping boy Tony, whom she had met at university.
“Funny,” thought Felicity, “I never knew Clara was even musical, until she met Tony.”
And she guessed that Joe would be playing with his friend Nathan at his small but rather quaint, Landfill Cottage.
So Felicity wandered into her studio at the end of the herb garden, gathered some paints, brushes, a bottle of water, paper and easel and somehow balancing all the items under her arms, set off towards the fields.
She had something of a spring in her step as she tripped through the long grass towards a knoll by the coppice on the western meadows.
At a suitable point Felicity stopped and sat cross-legged on the grass to view the landscape she had longed to paint.
Her decision to turn her artistic skills to landscapes was, she hoped, a pivotal point in her so-far frustrated artistic career.
As she assembled her brushes in a plastic pot and poured a little water into another, she noticed something small, bright and red in among the grass.
“Oh blimey, a jelly bean!” she laughed. “I wonder how that got there?”
She bent forward to put on her painting specs and noticed something far more significant and curious.
Glinting brightly against the sun in the longer grass was something large and metallic.
Again she leaned forward and started in puzzlement as she picked up a long high powered torch.
“Joe’s best torch!” she exclaimed.
“Whatever has my little Joe been doing out here in a field with a torch?”
Felicity thought for a moment and decided to quiz her son about her discovery at tea time.
She sat back and began to sketch the view across to Gresburton Station with a fine brush.

Less than one mile away at Landfill Cottage, Nicolas Sunnybank was putting the finishing touches to chapter 12 of his new romantic novel, which he had lovingly given a working title of Reasons to Be Cheerful.
For Nicolas, writing romantic novels was as close to love as he believed he would ever get, after his former wife Elizabeth left the family home to pursue her weird passion in witchcraft some four years earlier.
“Need another cup of tea,” he thought, as he stretched his legs and blinked at the sun now shining through the south window.
He ambled lazily into the kitchen and switched on the kettle.
“Wonder what Nathan is up to?” he thought.
“He’s been mighty quiet this morning. Bet he is over at Joe’s, playing.”
With that, the kettle made a whistling sound and Nicolas grabbed a mug and tea bag and poured himself a cup of Darjeeling.
Mug in hand he walked out into the conservatory, looked at his bedraggled tomato plants, glanced absently at a crumpled piece of notepaper on the table and carried on, into the garden.
Once outside Nicolas sat on a veranda chair, brushed his mop of greying hair back with his right hand, and mentally began a minor battle over whether to mow the lawn or plan the next chapter of his new book.
The tea tasted good and the sun was warm and burned his faded grey jeans.
Mulling over the choice of lawn or book, the frustrated author – and equally frustrated musician – decided that he needed another option for what ought to have been lunchtime.
“I really could do with looking for new Fender Strat,” he thought. “Really regret giving my old one to Bess.
“Yep,” he mused. “Let’s have a browse on Ebay… not enjoyed that guilty pleasure for a very long time.”
And with that thought fixed firmly in his head, Nicolas stood up and ambled back into the house.
In his study, he switched on his old PC and waited for the laboriously long satellite broadband connection to hook in.
Once online he quickly found his internet auction favourite and logged in, using his name and well-worn password Romance.
“Wow, eight Ebay messages for me,” he exclaimed, almost out loud.
The first two messages were the usual Ebay customer notices, which he rarely, if ever, read.
But the third one intrigued him.
“Congratulations, you have successfully sold item E2378910. The winning bidder will pay you £98 by Paypal transfer”.
“What is this? Must be spam,” thought Nicolas instantly.
But the reality clicked in and he decided that any hacker would need a hell of a lot of information to get into his Ebay account and sell items for him.
The next message told him that item E2378910 was an Xbox game station and the winning bidder from Colchester had already transferred the cash into his Paypal account.
The fifth message was equally stunning: “Congratulations, you have successfully sold item E2379321. The winning bidder will pay you £325 by Paypal transfer”.
The sixth message told him that item E2379321 was a Lake Placid Blue Fender Telecaster guitar and the winning bidder from Bolton had transferred the cash into his Paypal account.
Nicolas froze and swallowed deeply.
He leapt from the desk chair and ran upstairs to the spare bedroom.
In the corner of the room, where his Lake Placid Blue Fender Telecaster had always stood, was a dusty empty space.
A lump developed in his throat as he turned across the landing into Nathan’s bedroom.
Crumpled clothes, some Warhammer figures, a plethora of books and old Playstation games littered the floor.
But under the old TV set, a box sized space with a circle of dust around filled the gap where his son’s new X-Box had been.
Nicolas’s mind went into overdrive.
“Nathan, Nathan!” he yelled in fury and confusion.
The usually languid author ran downstairs, back to his study.
He again sat at the PC, logged out of Ebay and into his Paypal account.
Quickly he chose ‘Recent Transactions’ and stared in shock as he read the credit entries of £98 and £325, totalling £423, less Paypal charges it left a balance of £411.
But there underneath, just three days ago was a debit transfer of exactly £400 to a Halifax Building Society account. The account number was imprinted on Nicolas’s brain… it was Nathan’s account.
“Nathan, Nathan!” yelled Nicolas again, now adding franticness to his increasing anger.
“Just wait till I get my hands on you!”

More than 30 miles away the 326 train from Gresburton was pulling into Shrewsbury station.
Two excited, but quite nervous boys were about to begin stage two of their adventure.
The eyes still watched.

Poison Chapter 2

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter Two

ON the edge of the coppice Nathan and Joe hugged quickly, collapsed together on a grassy bank and laughed out loud at their respective escapes.
“Dad was so engrossed in his new book, he won’t even realise I have gone for at least four hours,” said Nathan.
Joe grinned back from behind his shock of long brown hair before adding: “And with mum and Joy giving it some in the kitchen, they didn’t even notice me sneak out!”
“But what about Clara?” asked Nathan.
Joe broke into fits of laughter.
“She isn’t going anywhere, at least not till tea-time when mum goes to feed the horses and we will be miles away by then… tell you all about it later,” he chuckled.
Nathan sniggered before pointing to Joe’s bag and saying: “Okay, let’s see if we have everything.”
The two friends emptied their bags on the grass and carried out an inventory of everything they had brought.
Maps, money, knife, torch, biscuits, a stop watch, a packet of small plastic bags, some coloured elastic bands, spare underpants, two apples, the photo of TJ, one toothbrush between them and the jar of snake venom… all seemed to be in order.
“Aah mint, you’ve got chocolate fingers,” laughed Joe, while stuffing four of them into his mouth.
“And jelly beans!” sniggered Nathan, taking a handful of the multi-coloured flavoured sweets.
“Right,” he added, “We had better get going… the train leaves in 35 minutes.”
The two boys gazed across the fields towards the branch line railway station of Gresburton.
“Reckon we can get there in less than 15 minutes,” laughed Joe, repacking his bag. “Cummon!”
The two boys ran across the grass, down the hill towards the old red brick railway station.
Behind them, in the trees, the pair of angry brown eyes watched them.
And hidden in a dense rhododendron bush some 50 yards further back two piercing green eyes also watched.

“Whoo hoo!” Nathan shouted as the boys jumped a half rotten stile into the next field.
“Beat you there,” screamed Joe as he bustled past Nathan and took an early lead towards the railway station.
The sun beat down on the two friends as they raced their way into their dangerous adventure.
It would be the last time for a long while they would feel such innocent sunshine on their backs.

Suddenly Joe skidded to a stop by a large oak tree.
Nathan crashed into him and the two friends rolled onto the grass.
“What is this?” questioned Joe, pointing at a group of strange brown and grey fungi, growing around the base of the tree.
He reached out his hand to pick one.
As quick as lightning, Nathan punched Joe in the belly and yelled loudly at him: “No, don’t!”
Joe looked bruised and shocked by Nathan’s attack.
“Hey Nath, what you doing? I only want a closer look!”
“But you mustn’t even touch them,” Nathan retorted.
“They are Grey Skull Death Fungi. Their poison can even seep through the skin on your hands and you’d be really sick or even dead within minutes!”
Joe looked shocked.
Nathan continued: “They are really rare in this country and it’s only the second time I have ever seen them. I am amazed they are here.
“Look, can you see the skull-like imprint on the cap of the fungi?”
Joe’s face went its own deathly shade of grey as he listened to what Nathan said, and studied the strange image.
“Thank God your mum is a witch,” said Joe, nervously. “She has taught you so much.”
Nathan smiled.
“Well maybe not always, but she does know her fungi and poisons,” he replied.
“But they could be useful, let’s take a few.”
Joe sat on the grass in awe as Nathan took a small plastic bag from his canvas holdall, and, using it like a glove picked three fungi – before dropping them into another plastic bag and depositing it into a side pocket of the holdall.
“Right, let’s go, if we wanna catch that train,” Nathan snapped.

The boys continued their race across the fields and were soon on Pant Lane, just 100 metres from the railway station.
Then, almost like twins, they paused together and deliberated on their next move.
“Right,” said Joe.
“We need to decide how we are going to buy our tickets.
“You are only eleven and there is no way the guy at the ticket office will sell you a long distance train ticket without an adult with you,” he added.
“Yeah,” said Nathan.
“But even though you are thirteen and a few inches taller than me, you still don’t look old enough.
“And anyway we need to get this first train without anyone being able to trace us… that’s why I brought so much cash!”
They both looked blank for a moment.
Then Joe broke the silence.
“Got an idea,” he whispered.
“Never used one before, but seen Joy buy her train tickets on her days off at a machine near the station door.
“Reckon we can work out how to do it?”
The boys chuckled and nodded a ‘yes’ to each other.
Carefully they walked to the station entrance, paused, looked round to check they were alone and approached the ticket machine.
Nathan read the instructions on a white notice at the front of the blue computerised box.
“Reckon I know how,” he said.
He chose their destination of London Euston, via Shrewsbury, and touched the screen, then he selected a single ticket and a junior half fare option.
He gasped when the machine told him to insert £65.
“Wow, that’s expensive,” he said hesitating. Then he carefully unrolled a bundle of notes from his back pocket.
He inserted the bank notes and waited while the machine coughed up £5 change and a small green ticket.
Nathan read the ticket carefully and turned to his friend.
“Okay Joe… your turn!”
Joe followed the same sequence and within a minute had his own ticket stuffed into his jeans’ pocket.
He looked at his watch.
“We got just 10 minutes,” he said.
“Fancy a can of coke?”
The boys walked briskly onto the station platform, checked the departure notice and strolled across to the drinks vending machine.
With somewhat greater ease they bought two cans of coke.
The sweet pop invigorated them after their busy morning in the sun.
Their adventure really had begun.
After what seemed only a few minutes a three carriage train rolled into the station.
Joe checked the train number against the departure board and nodded to Nathan.
“This is it!” he whispered.
The boys climbed into the first carriage, stowed their bags under their seats and sat smiling, looking out onto the platform opposite.
On a bench just 20 metres away, they recognised Mr Taylor, their football coach, sitting reading a newspaper.
The boys looked down, and grinned.
They heard a guard blow a whistle and the surge of the electric engine as the train prepared to move off.
One carriage back, two angry – and now intensely curious – brown eyes watched them from behind a high-backed seat.
And in the last carriage two green eyes also peered out from under a luggage rack.

Poison Chapter 1

The Adventures of Nathan Sunnybank and Joe Greenfield
Book 1: Poison
Chapter One

NATHAN stirred under the duvet and blinked his sleepy eyes. The late July sun was burning into the blinds of his bedroom window, whispering that it was almost midday.
The boy stirred again and he peered out into the golden glow of the room. He knew he should be up by now… but last night had been very late – past midnight even – he was so tired, and, after all, Dad said there was no rush today.
“No rush,” he asked himself. “Why?”
The reason slowly dawned… it was the first day of the summer holidays.
“Yep,” he thought. “Six whole weeks and no school!”
Life couldn’t get any better.
Or could it?
Nathan stirred for a third time and as he crawled out of bed, he remembered something far more important… the quest that he and his best friend Joe had vowed to undertake.
A quest that could take the whole six weeks of the holidays… and that was a little frightening.

A mile away at Greenfield Mansion, Joe was humming to himself in quiet contentment.
He had just locked his sister Clara in the horse stable store and was now stroking his brother’s venomous Green Tree Viper Sid, while contemplating other plans for Clara.
In the distance, he could hear her cries of “Let me out, let me out, let me out, you little ……”
But Joe could not hear her last word, he was too proud of how he had lured his horrible sister into the storehouse and then persuaded her to find the lost set of car keys he had secreted on the back shelf, while he triumphantly turned and locked the door.
“Well, that’s her out of the way till tea-time,” he thought.
Joe’s pet wolf Blue licked his hand, while paying an unhealthy interest in the viper.
The boy toe-poked Blue away and began to milk the venom from the snake into the finger of a rubber glove.
He sat and watched the yellow fluid drip dangerously into the small jar he had rested on the patio table.
“That should be enough,” he thought.
He trusted that his older brother Sam – Glenwing University’s leading expert on poisonous reptiles – would not notice that his prized snake was now completely dry.
But Sam being Sam, Joe was sure he would understand, even if he had taken more venom than should.
Joe now carefully carried the viper into his brother’s reptile sanctum beyond the stables and returned it to its aquarium.
Momentarily, he looked at the large King Brown snake in the corner cabinet and thought of Clara again, but his conscience knew better and he went back outside.
Joe smiled and relaxed his shoulders. His musings turned to Nathan and their dangerous quest.
He laughed out loud in contemplation and stopped to listen to whether his sister was still calling out.
But all was silent.

In the kitchen, Lady Greenfield was yelling at the scullery maid.
“More bleach! More bleach… these Belfast sinks need more bleach, they are a disgrace!”
The maid stopped sweeping the dog hairs from the quarry-tiled floor and muttered: “Yes Felicity… I mean ma’am, I will do it right away!”
Then she muttered more quietly: “Blinking bleach and dogs, I really don’t need this job… thank God that blinking wolf isn’t allowed indoors!”
Lady Greenfield sipped ice chilled champagne from a cut glass flute, her freckled face smiled with contentment as she carried on potting up her geraniums.
“I love clean sinks,” she thought to herself, “almost as much as morning champers!”
The maid hurried to the scullery cupboard to open another case of Domestic Quick Action bleach, as Joe slipped past the two adults and into the west wing hallway.
Once there, he tiptoed up the back staircase to his bedroom.
In the corner of the room, next to his drum kit, was the khaki canvas shoulder bag he had packed the night before.
He carefully slipped the jar of snake venom into a side pocket of the bag, stashed a bag of jelly beans into another pocket along with his favourite high powered torch.
“Now I must get over and see Nathan,” he thought.
The next bit was going to be tricky.

Back at Landfill Cottage, Nathan was also preparing for the quest ahead.
He too had packed a small canvas holdall and was adding some essentials: a box of chocolate fingers, his grandfather’s old war-time combat knife, two carefully folded maps and the old mobile phone his sister had given him.
He walked over to his bedside table and quietly dragged it away from the wall.
Nathan stooped low and rolled back the edge of the carpet and from under the green rug took a large brown envelope.
He replaced the carpet and table and sat on his bed with the envelope on his lap.
But a sudden panic overtook his next action and he rushed to his bedroom door and crept onto the landing.
He lay by the stairwell banisters and peered downstairs.
The coast was clear.
Nathan returned to his bed and opened the envelope.
He counted the £20 notes inside… exactly 18 of them.
“£360 should be enough,” he thought, “Just hope we get everything finished before dad realises I sold my X Box and his old electric guitar on Ebay!” he chuckled nervously.
He stuffed the wad of banknotes into his jeans back pocket and slipped his hand into the envelope to pull out a small, but clear, photograph and a handwritten note.
He looked at the photo carefully.
“Oh TJ,” he whispered, “I do hope we find you and make you better.”
The face in the photo was of a 20-something-year-old girl with a broad smile, blue eyes and long blonde hair. She was cuddling a baby orang-utan and the background of the picture betrayed a tropical jungle.
Nathan brushed back his own blonde hair from his forehead and small tears welled in his blue eyes.
Everything gathered, he slipped on a light waterproof jacket and with the canvas bag under his left arm, crept downstairs.
He stopped in the hallway of the cottage for a moment and peeked through the crack of the old study door.
Sitting at the desk, his father was hunched over, writing more chapters of his new book and vaguely staring at two separate photos on his desk.
“In another world,” thought Nathan, as he made his way to the back door.
“Sorry, Dad, but you will understand one day,” he said quietly.
He left a scrawled note on the conservatory table, walked out into the sunshine and made his way across the neighbouring field in the direction of Greenfield Mansion.

Joe’s escape was fraught with more difficulty and danger than his friend.
First, he realised that the back doors were patrolled by his mother and the scullery maid, Joy.
The dogs would surely bark if he exited through the veranda, and Bob the butler, and Helen Wills, the cook – both about their daily duties – blocked the other outside doors.
So, bag over shoulder, Joe clambered out of the sash window of his bedroom and, perched between a black drainpipe and an ancient Virginia Creeper, he began his descent.
Halfway down, he glanced into the distance beyond the coppice and garden wall and could just make out Nathan ambling over the hill.
Joe let himself fall to the ground and sprinted for the cover of the herbaceous border and the trees beyond.
He was safe and now the quest could begin.
But a short distance away, from behind rusty wrought iron railings of an old air-raid shelter, a pair of angry brown eyes watched his every move.