"Watch out, the style police'll get you," Weird shouted after him. He yawned and stretched. "I can't believe how tired I am. Has anybody got any dexys?"
"If we did, they'd have been flushed down the toilet hours ago," Mondo said. "Are you forgetting the pigs have been crawling all over the place?"
Weird looked abashed. "Sorry. I'm not thinking straight. You know, when I woke up, I could almost believe last night was nothing more than a bad trip. That would have been enough to put me off acid for life, I tell you." He shook his head. "Poor lassie."
Alex took that as his cue to disappear upstairs and cram a last bundle of books in his holdall. He wasn't sorry to be going home. For the first time since he'd started living with the other three, he felt claustrophobic. He longed for his own bedroom; a door he could close that nobody else would think of opening without permission.
It was time to leave. Three holdalls and Ziggy's towering rucksack were piled in the hall. The Laddies fi' Kirkcaldy were ready to head for home. They shouldered their bags and opened the door, Ziggy leading the way. Unfortunately, the effect of Weird's hard words had apparently worn off. As they emerged on the churned-up slush of their path, five men materialized as if from nowhere. Three carried cameras, and before the foursome even realized what was happening, the air was thick with the sounds of Nikon motor drives.
The two journalists were coming round the flank of the photographers, shouting questions. They managed to make themselves sound like an entire press conference, so quick-fire were their inquiries. "How did you find the girl?" "Which one of you made the discovery?" "What were you doing on Hallow Hill in the middle of the night?" "Was this some sort of satanic rite?" And of course, inevitably, "How do you feel?"
"Fuck off," Weird roared at them, swinging his heavy bag in front of him like an overweight scythe. "We've got nothing to say to you."
"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," Mondo muttered like a record stuck in the groove.
"Back indoors," Ziggy shouted. "Get back inside."
Alex, bringing up the rear, reversed hastily. Mondo tumbled in, almost tripping over him in his haste to get away from the insistent badgering and the clicking cameras. Weird and Ziggy followed, slamming the door behind them. They looked at each other, hunted and haunted. "What do we do now?" Mondo asked, voicing what they were all wondering. They all looked blank. This was a situation entirely out-with their limited experience of the world.
"We can't sit tight," Mondo continued petulantly. "We've got to get back to Kirkcaldy. I'm supposed to start at Safeway at six tomorrow morning."
"Me and Alex too," said Weird. They all looked expectantly at Ziggy.
"OK. What if we go out the back way?"
"There isn't a back way, Ziggy. We've only got a front door," Weird pointed out.
"There's a toilet window. You three can get out that way, and I'll stay put. I'll move around upstairs, putting lights on and stuff so they'll think we're still here. I can go home tomorrow, when the heat's died down."
The other three exchanged looks. It wasn't a bad idea. "Will you be all right on your own?" Alex asked.
"I'll be fine. As long as one of you rings my mum and dad and explains why I'm still here. I don't want them finding out about this from the papers."
"I'll phone," Alex volunteered. "Thanks, Ziggy."
Ziggy raised his arm and the other three followed suit. They gripped hands in a familiar four-way clasp. "All for one," Weird said.
"And one for all," the others chorused. It made as much sense now as it had when they'd first done it nine years before. For the first time since he'd stumbled over Rosie Duff in the snow, Alex felt a faint flicker of comfort.
Chapter 7~8
Chapter 7
Alex trudged over the railway bridge, turning right into Balsusney Road. Kirkcaldy was like a different country. As the bus had meandered its way along the Fife Coast, the snow had gradually given way to slush, then to this biting gray damp. By the time the northeast wind made it this far, it had dumped its load of snow and had nothing to offer the more sheltered towns further up the estuary but chilly gusts of rain. He felt like one of Breughel's more miserable peasants plodding wearily home.
Alex lifted the latch on the familiar wrought-iron gate and walked up