Sure Fire. Justin Richards
was smoking a cigarette. “We’ll wait a moment,” he said to Dex, who sat in the passenger seat. “Until they’re distracted.”
“Should be any second now, if they’re on the case.”
The whole security control centre shook with the power of the explosion. Monitors flickered and died. Those that stayed on showed the fireball ripping through the heart of the installation, the ball of black smoke billowing into the air.
Stabb struggled to retain his balance as another larger explosion tore through one of the main tanks. Then another went up.
And another.
He gritted his teeth and scratched at the spider-like mark on his face. It itched like hell – as if his anger was about to erupt through the scar. That anger was not diminished in the slightest by the sight of a car on one of the monitors. It was driving slowly along one of the service roads, back towards the main road.
It didn’t have its headlights on, but the orange glow of the fire lit up the sky.
Stabb shoved aside the guard in front of the monitor and reached for the camera controls. The picture zoomed in – showing two dark figures silhouetted inside the car. There was another explosion as the whole complex caught fire, illuminating the car’s number plate.
Smoke drifted across the picture, and the car was lost to sight.
Sandra Chance never saw the car that killed her. Just back from several years working in New York for a multinational computer company, she looked the wrong way as she stepped off the Manchester pavement. It was an easy mistake – she was so used to the traffic driving on the other side of the road. The driver was not to blame, but he didn’t stop to find out.
The funeral was a quiet affair at the local church in the Manchester suburb she had moved into just a few weeks before. Though she was originally from the area, she had no family there – no family anywhere. Except the children.
Richard and Jade were just fifteen when their mother died. Twins, they had always shared everything – toys, games, books, arguments, and now grief. Rich kept it bottled up, but it was there. His eyes were welling with tears as he stood with his sister in the front pew. Jade let the tears run down her cheeks as they listened to the priest’s words about their mother – about their loss, their bravery and their devotion – but Rich preferred to keep his emotions to himself. Jade would know how he felt – she always knew how he felt – and that was all that mattered. He didn’t care about anyone else. He didn’t have anyone else.
A few other locals had turned up, out of respect rather than love, but none of them had known Sandra Chance or her children. Mary Gilpin was the only person who knew her at all, as a neighbour and childhood friend. The children were staying with her now, but Mary’s husband Phil had never liked children, and had been quick to involve “the authorities”. He hadn’t even come to the church.
As the priest mentioned Mary Gilpin’s name, she looked up. Jade glanced at her, smiled sadly and looked away again. Rich didn’t react at all.
Then the door at the back of the church creaked open. The sound seemed even louder in the still moment of silence. Rich looked around. He stared at the man who stepped quietly into the church and closed the door behind him.
Rich watched the man cross himself and go to the nearest pew at the back of the church. He was a big man, but he moved quietly and easily. When he sat, there was a stillness about him, but also a contained strength. He looked about forty, with a rugged, experienced face and short blond hair. He was wearing a black suit and might have passed unnoticed and unremarked in a crowd except, Rich saw, for the man’s eyes. They were blue – like Rich’s own – and moved in a slow arc, as if he were taking in every detail of the church and people around him.
Jade had also turned. She too saw the man. The man’s eyes met hers, just for a second, then moved on to Rich. The two children looked at each other and frowned. Jade squeezed her brother’s hand. She flicked her head to get her blonde hair out of her eyes, and they both knelt to pray.
The cold autumn sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows of the tombstones across the churchyard. Jade and Rich stood together a little way from the grave.
“She should have looked the right way,” Jade said. “She was always warning us, telling us to be careful. Not to be in too much of a rush.”
“Don’t blame her,” Rich told her.
“I’m not,” Jade protested. “It’s just…” She sniffed and looked away. “She should have looked.”
The man from the back of the church was talking to the priest and Mrs Gilpin. There was another woman with them, a middle-aged woman with dyed hair. Rich knew she was with the Social Services. She was supposed to be looking after him and Jade until someone decided what to do with them. He couldn’t remember her name and he didn’t care.
“Who is that man?” Jade said. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
Rich shrugged. “More Social Services.”
“Why are they here?” Jade said.
“We can’t stay with the Gilpins for ever.”
Jade stared at him, her tear-stained face framed by her long blonde hair.
Rich sighed and went on: “Didn’t you hear him last night, going on at her again about how she can’t be expected to look after us and it isn’t fair on him?”
“Maybe we can go back to New York,” Jade said. “Stay with Charmaine and her family.”
“Yeah, right,” Rich muttered. “Like one of your old school friends is going to take us both in.”
The woman from the Social Services was shaking the strange man’s hand. She glanced over at Rich and Jade, then walked quickly away. The man seemed to gather himself, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath that made his chest heave. Then he and Mrs Gilpin came over to where the twins were standing.
“Hello,” the man said. His voice was deep and rich, and he tried to smile. He reached his hand out towards Rich, such a natural gesture that Rich found himself taking the man’s hand and shaking it. The man’s grip was firm and confident.
Rich felt his insides turn to water as the man introduced himself.
“John Chance,” he said. “I’m your father.”
They sat at the back of the church while the priest tidied things away and worked in the vestry.
“How can you be our dad?” Jade demanded as soon as they sat down.
“Why should we believe you?” Rich asked.
“It’s as much of a shock for me too,” Chance said.
“Why didn’t Mum say anything?” Jade asked. “We didn’t even know she’d been married.”
“It was a long time ago,” Chance said. “Sixteen years. I came home one day and she was gone. She left a note, but it didn’t say much. I assumed I’d hear – from her lawyers if not from Sandy herself.”
“No one called her Sandy,” Jade said. “Mum hated it.”
“I’m sorry,” Chance said. “Until last week I really didn’t know anything. Then I got a call from Mrs Gilpin. Apparently, your mother left a letter with her – in case anything happened to her.”
Chance smiled, but it looked strained. “I did love your mother very much,” he said. “I believed she loved me.”
“Believed?” Jade prompted.
Chance turned away.
“She never asked for a divorce – she even carried on using my