Dead Ball by Tom Palmer (snow like ashes series .txt) 📕

The man eyed Danny, then turned his back. He dialled a number. Waited. Then he turned to face Danny through the glass screen. ‘Business or pleasure?’

Danny didn’t know what to say.

‘Business or pleasure?’ the man repeated in the same tone.

‘I’m not sure,’ Danny said.

‘I see. Let’s say pleasure, shall we? Do you have anything to do when you’re there? They’ll want to know.’

‘OK,’ Danny said. He felt nervous. Who were they? The people on the other end of the phone. Why did they want to ask all these questions?

‘Pleasure,’ Danny said eventually.

‘How much?’ the man asked.

‘How much what?’

‘Money.’

‘A hundred pounds, please.’

The man raised his eyebrow again.

‘That won’t get you very far,’ the man said. ‘Are you going on your own?’

Danny felt like telling the man everything, but decided not to. He’d give short answers now.

‘No.’

The man nodded. ‘I see,’ he said.

Danny tried to hear what the man said on the phone. But he couldn’t catch a word. The man was behind the glass screen, a few metres away, his back turned. Thoughts flashed through Danny’s mind. Why all the questions? Did it matter if he was there for business or pleasure? Did the man really need to phone someone?

His mind drifted to what his dad had said.

Anyone going to Russia was immediately watched and suspected by both sides. The British and the Russians.

Danny wondered if the Post Office man was phoning someone other than the money people. Maybe he already had a load of roubles and was phoning to alert the authorities that there was a boy going to Russia and that he only wanted a hundred pounds. Someone needed to keep an eye on him. Someone needed to check him out. Someone needed to spy on him.

‘Tomorrow morning?’

‘What?’ Danny was surprised. The man was facing him, the phone down.

‘Tomorrow morning. Your roubles.’

‘That’s great. Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome, sir.’

Once Danny had paid, he left the Post Office quickly. He noticed that the man behind the counter was eyeing him over his glasses – all the way out until he was on the pavement. Then he thought he saw the man smile.

Dad was sitting in the corner on his own. A cup of tea and a can of Coke in front of him. The café was full of noise. Conversations between people and a radio on in the background.

Danny sat opposite him.

‘Did you get them?’ Dad said.

‘Tomorrow,’ Danny replied.

‘No trouble?’

‘No, but…’ Danny paused. ‘I felt like the guy at the Post Office was monitoring me or something.’

‘Who? Frank?’

‘The bald guy with the glasses. He’s…’ Danny stopped. Even he made the mistake of describing what people looked like to his dad.

‘That’s Frank,’ Dad said.

‘About sixty?’

‘Sixty-four,’ Dad said. ‘I knew him well before the accident. I know what he looks like. We were mates. Sort of. He would have been having some fun with you.’

‘Right,’ Danny said.

‘What did he say?’

‘It’s not what he said. He was just funny,’ Danny said. ‘He was making me feel like I was doing something suspicious.’

‘He was winding you up,’ Dad said, laughing.

‘You reckon?’

‘He knows all about Russia, does Frank.’

‘Yeah?’ Somehow Danny wasn’t surprised.

‘Frank was a member of the Communist Party when he was younger,’ Dad told him.

‘What does that mean?’

‘He was a communist. He wanted to overthrow the rich and share the money out. To put it simply.’

Danny stared at his dad. ‘You’re kidding.’ He drank his Coke quickly. It was cold and felt good.

‘Danny?’ Dad said.

‘Yeah?’

‘Is it going well with Anton? At the paper, I mean. Do you like the job?’

‘It’s great. I love it,’ Danny said. He could feel an important question coming on. His dad did this: asked him an easy question to move towards something more serious he wanted to know.

‘So do you reckon you’d prefer it,’ Dad said, ‘to being a detective?’

Danny was shocked his dad could think that. ‘No way,’ he said.

‘Right,’ Dad replied, muted.

‘I mean,’ Danny said. ‘There’s things that are the same. You have to find stuff out. You have to put it all together. So I suppose it’s not all that different. But I’m still going to be a detective.’

Dad nodded. ‘Will you do me a favour in Moscow, then?’

Danny frowned. ‘Sure,’ he said. He was right: something was coming. And this wasn’t going to be a request for him to bring back a Russian doll.

‘Don’t be a detective out there. OK?’

‘OK,’ Danny said.

‘It’s different in Russia,’ Dad went on. ‘Even now. I mean, we’re not sworn enemies any more. But it’s a very different world. Frankly, some of the police are corrupt. There are a lot of criminal gangs. Mafia.’

Dad stopped talking: Danny had gone quiet.

‘I’m not trying to scare you, Danny. If you’re there as a tourist – as a football fan, as a boy – you’ll be fine. Just be careful. This is a great opportunity for you. An amazing thing to happen. So long as you stay close to Anton and do what normal boys do, you’ll be fine. OK?’

Danny nodded.

Deep down, though, he was beginning to feel nervous. Or was he excited? He wasn’t sure which.

SATURDAY

HOUSE PARTY

‘So tell us again,’ Charlotte said.

Danny had been daydreaming. About the man at the Post Office. When Danny had gone in there that morning to collect his roubles, his dad’s friend had passed him the money and whispered, ‘Don’t forget to dust a bit of chalk on to your suitcase – to make sure it’s not been tampered with.’ Danny knew it was a joke. But it had set his mind racing. Was it going to be like that in Russia? He felt like he was about to step into the pages of a spy novel.

‘What?’ Danny asked, knowing that Charlotte had spoken, but not what she had said.

‘About the Range Rover,’ Charlotte said.

Danny was sitting outside a house that backed on to the school grounds. Inside the house a party was going on. Here in the garden Charlotte and Paul were quizzing him. The sky was darkening as they looked