CHERUB: Class A - Robert Muchamore Page 0,17

a bottle Joshua had batted on to the floor.
Joshua stopped screaming as soon as James took him. When Kerry tried to take Joshua back, he went nuts again. Kerry gave James the bottle and Joshua began drinking calmly.
‘Looks like we’ve found James’ job for this mission,’ Zara said, grinning. ‘He likes you for some reason.’
Kyle laughed. ‘Kerry probably traumatised him with the funny faces she was pulling the other afternoon.’
James wasn’t used to babies. He was terrified he might do something wrong and either hurt Joshua or get puked over. It turned out OK, apart from a few dribbles of milk. After feeding, Joshua lay quietly in James’ lap playing with the laces on his shorts. Once James got used to it, he thought having the warm little body wriggling on his lap was quite cool.
*
A third of the houses on the Thornton estate were boarded up. The detached homes looked decent enough, but nobody wanted to live in them because of the airport a kilometre south. Every few minutes, a couple of hundred people thundered overhead, shaking the ground and filling the air with the sickly smell of jet fuel.
You only ended up living on Thornton if you didn’t have a choice. The residents were a mix of refugees, students, ex-convicts and families who’d been chucked out of better places for not paying the rent.
A gang of lads had to stop their football match to let Zara drive through. Ewart and Nicole had arrived minutes earlier. Nicole had unpacked the mugs and started making tea.
The windows in the house were triple glazed to keep out the aircraft noise, but that didn’t stop everything vibrating. Besides, it was too warm to leave every window closed.

There were three bedrooms between seven people. Kyle and James got a box room with bunk beds, a chest of drawers and a tiny wardrobe.
‘Just like old times,’ James said, remembering when he and Kyle shared a room in a council home before he joined CHERUB.
‘There’s nowhere to hang my clothes,’ Kyle said miserably. ‘They’ll get creased.’
‘You can have the whole wardrobe,’ James said. ‘I’ll just dump my stuff in the bag or under the bed.’
‘If there’s anything that stinks in this room, I’m chucking it out,’ Kyle said. ‘I don’t care if it’s a sock or a seventy-quid pair of trainers – if it smells like you, it’s going in the bin.’
James laughed. ‘I’d forgotten what a complete tart you are.’
*
Zara made dinner for everyone: fish fingers and oven chips, with frozen peas.
‘Sorry,’ she said, handing plates to the line of kids in front of the TV. ‘You better get used to my cooking. It’s not exactly gourmet.’
Something crashed outside the living-room window. All the kids downed cutlery and bundled towards the window. There was rubbish all over the front lawn and a metal dustbin rolling towards the gutter. A couple of boys were sprinting off down the pavement. Ewart burst out of the front door, but they’d disappeared up an alleyway.
As James mopped his last chip through his ketchup, Ewart strode in and switched off the TV.
‘I always watch Neighbours,’ Kerry gasped.
‘Not today you don’t,’ Ewart said. ‘You kids have a job to do.’
‘Go outside and start making friends,’ Zara said. ‘There’s bound to be some dodgy characters in an area like this, so stick together. I want you back here as soon as it gets dark.’
‘And James,’ Ewart said, ‘you better pick all that rubbish off the front lawn before you go.’
‘Why’s it my job?’ James said bitterly.
Ewart broke into a smile. ‘Because I said so.’
James thought about starting a row, but you never win against someone like Ewart.
*
It was easy starting conversations. The summer holidays had dragged on for weeks and the local kids were bored. James and Kyle played street football until they got knackered. Kerry and Nicole stood by the kerb, nattering with a bunch of girls. When it started getting late, the four of them got invited to a kiddies’ playground.
There was nothing special about it: a burned-out park keeper’s shed sprayed with graffiti, a busted roundabout, a climbing frame and a slide. But once the sun started to go down, it came alive. Kids aged between ten and sixteen gathered in fours and fives; smoking, arguing and being loud. There was a tense atmosphere. Flash kids dressed like Nike commercials ripped into refugees dressed out of the charity box. Boys were trying to get off with girls and there was a rumour going around about a