Attica - By Garry Kilworth Page 0,122

nudging his brother and smirking. ‘I see – the quiet ones are the worst.’

‘No, it wasn’t like that. She’s older than me, anyway.’

‘Only by a hundred years, you said. Hardly significant in a relationship as strong as yours.’

‘Oh, shut up, Jordy,’ Chloe said.

But Jordy’s eyes had suddenly gone misty and distant as he remembered the Tarzan-girl he had seen in the rafters.

Alex then recalled something. ‘Hey, I ran into that other board-comber, you know, the one with the bat hanging from his ear? He gave me a present – I think it’s another model steam engine.’ Alex took off his backpack and reached inside. ‘And there’s a gift for each of you two. This is for Chloe. And this for you, Jordy, though he said you didn’t deserve anything, being as you’re a pain in the butt.’

‘No he didn’t,’ replied Jordy, taking the small round parcel. ‘Wonder what it is?’ He unwrapped it, producing a red leather ball.

‘An old cricket ball.’ Jordy was disappointed at first until he turned it over in his hands and then he exclaimed in delight, ‘Signed by Nasser Hussein! Wow. And that old guy, Ian Botham. And a couple of others. Wait till I show this to everyone at school.’

‘Cool,’ said Alex, not meaning it. ‘A cricket ball. Hey, your arm looks better.’

Jordy flexed it for Alex’s benefit. ‘Good as new.’

Chloe peeled the brown paper away from her gift. She gasped in delight. It was a small book, a children’s story, entitled The King of the Golden River – or The Black Brothers – A Legend of Stiria.

‘Never heard of it,’ muttered Jordy. ‘Is it any good, Clo?’

‘It’s a first edition,’ breathed the enchanted Chloe. ‘It’s a rare antique volume by John Ruskin.’ She leafed through it carefully. ‘Look at the illustrations. They’re beautiful. “Illustrated by Richard Doyle.” This is a treasure. It’s probably worth thousands of pounds.’

‘Let’s not go overboard, girl,’ said Jordy. ‘A few quid, anyway.’

She clasped it to her breast. ‘I shall never sell it. We’ve all come out of the attic with wonderful treasures, haven’t we?’

A female voice came floating up the stairs.

‘Are you getting washed and changed?’

‘Yes,’ they chorused, scrambling away in different directions. ‘Coming.’

Mr Grantham looked irritable and confused when he answered the door the next day and was confronted by the three children. Clearly he had been sleeping in one of his armchairs and had been woken by the bell.

‘Yes?’ he said shortly. ‘What is it?’

‘We’ve been up there,’ replied Chloe.

It took but a minute for his annoyed expression to clear and a new and sparkling light came into his rheumy old eyes.

‘Well, what did you think?’

‘It nearly did for us,’ muttered Jordy darkly.

‘Well, it was supposed to. You don’t want to live in boxes of cotton wool, do you? You need a bit of danger in your lives at your age.’ He looked them up and down. ‘Besides, you’re up to it. I can see it in you. Him,’ he pointed at Alex, ‘made it back by the skin of his teeth, didn’t he? He’s got the look.’

‘I found your watch,’ said Alex, stepping forward. ‘Here.’

He put the silver watch into the open wrinkled hand of the old gentleman and let the chain coil into his palm. Mr Grantham opened the timepiece and stared with glistening pleasure at the face. He turned the hands to the hour. Frère Jacques came tinkling out. Then he studied the faded photograph, cut to fit the lid, and his expression turned to one of sadness.

‘She hasn’t changed a bit,’ he said, ‘in all those years. But of course, she wouldn’t. This is my Susan, not the one who lives somewhere else now, this is the one who was fond of me.’ He lifted his head to face the children again. ‘I’m very grateful. I know you’ve had an adventure. Had one myself once, when I was about your age, but you’ve guessed that. Anything else up there, while you were rooting around?’

Alex said, ‘Oh yes,’ and reached into his pocket. ‘Here, this letter was there. You’d better read it in private, it’s very personal …’ Then he realised he had given the game away, and added, ‘We just glanced at it.’

‘That’s all right,’ murmured Mr Grantham, taking the letter and removing the envelope. ‘You can keep this, young man. I expect you collect stamps, don’t you?’

Alex didn’t argue.

‘Thank you, Mr Grantham.’

‘You’re very welcome.’ He looked at the watch again, his pleasure evident in his smile, then he said to Chloe, ‘And

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