box of tissues on it. ‘Mum never brought my water up so I’ll just say I’m thirsty.’
Jordan let go. He was fond of his little brother, but he was also curious to know what was going on and it was no big deal to him if Dante got yelled at.
‘Just be careful,’ Jordan said. ‘Don’t hang around.’
The lights were on in the hallway and bathroom. Dante crept down in socks and pyjama bottoms. By the time he reached the hallway he’d worked out that the three voices belonged to his dad, the Führer and a big hairy Brigand who everyone called Felicity because he looked like some actress in an old TV show called The Good Life.
They were arguing about the redevelopment of the clubhouse. Dante was only eight and didn’t know the ins and outs, but understood that the land on which the Brigands clubhouse was built was worth a lot of money. Some members of the chapter, led by the Führer, wanted to knock down the barns and build shops, restaurants and a block of apartments. A smaller group led by his dad said they liked the clubhouse the way it was and didn’t want to sell it.
It was risky standing at the bottom of the stairs where he’d be spotted through the archway into the living-room, so Dante moved into the kitchen. He quietly slid the toaster out of the way and leaned across the worktop to peer through the wooden slats in the serving hatch above the washing machine.
They didn’t have a separate dining-room, and his father sat at a small dining-table, the back of his head less than half a metre from Dante’s prying nose. There were documents spread across the tabletop. Felicity sat opposite, while the Führer stood up jiggling Dante’s Wrestlemania pen between his thumb and forefinger.
‘Just sign,’ the Führer said, his voice the calmest it had been since Dante awoke. ‘You’re the only one blocking this, Scotty.’
‘Bull crap,’ Scotty said, as Dante watched his head shake. ‘The vote was nine to four, two abstentions.’
‘Those guys are with you,’ the Führer said. ‘If you change, they’ll change. And the vote doesn’t matter anyway. It’s your signature that we need: president, vice-president and club secretary can authorise the land deal.’
The Führer leaned on the back of the couch and spoke louder. ‘You know how many palms I had to grease to get permission to build on that land, Scotty? Half the county council have had their houses decorated gratis; the mayor’s wife is wearing a three-K watch. All that came out of my building company, not club coffers.’
‘It’s just money with you,’ Scotty shrugged. ‘But what’s gonna happen to the club? We lose thirty years of tradition and spend three years without a clubhouse. Members will drift away, the chapter will die.’
The Führer gave Scotty the kind of silly boy look that Dante got off his Year One teacher when he poured PVA glue in his lap.
‘We’ll hire a church hall or a school gym,’ the Führer said. ‘And when the project’s finished South Devon will have the best Brigands clubhouse in the country, probably the world.’
‘The barns have got soul,’ Scotty explained. ‘Sure it’ll be swank, but you can’t buy history, you can’t buy class.’
Felicity interrupted, ‘Scotty, guys like me and Big Ted need the money. We’re looking at two hundred grand for each full-patch member.’
‘Guaranteed, up front from Badger Properties,’ the Führer added. ‘Look around you Scotty. You’re living in a shithole. You can pay off your mortgage, fix this place up, buy a decent bike and still have enough left to take the kids to Disneyland or something.’
Dante had only previously heard his dad’s side of the argument: how the Führer’s plans would turn the club compound into a tourist trap, how the members would take their money and drift away. But the instant Dante heard the word Disneyland he flipped sides and wanted his dad to take the pen and sign.
But Scotty stood up and looked at his watch. ‘It’s two in the morning,’ he yawned. ‘We’ve been over this six, ten, maybe even twenty times. Everyone knows where I stand and now I’m going to bed.’
Dante grimaced as Mickey Mouse and a trip on an aeroplane vanished in a puff of smoke. Then he jolted and slid down off the cabinet as his mum crept up and touched his shoulder.
‘Nosey parker,’ she said irritably as she dragged her son towards the fridge-freezer. ‘You should be asleep. If you start