The Long Weekend (2 page)

''Course I can!' Sam said indignantly.

Sam wasn't about to admit that he scared easily. When his parents went out and left him at home with Tab, she
always
found the scariest thing to watch on TV, and he always had to hide behind the sofa. Tab didn't find anything scary and Sam wished he'd inherited that gene instead of the blonde hair one, which he knew Tab would have died for.

Lloyd took the DVD out of its case and slid it into the player. He pressed play and slumped back with a bag of crisps in one hand and a Coke in the other. Sam followed his lead. If there was a really bad bit in the film at least he could pretend he was taking a long sip of Coke and that way he wouldn't have to see the screen, although he'd probably still hear the screams.

The film started with a phone ringing and a babysitter answering it, and Sam's heart sank. He'd seen clips of this film and knew he was going to hate every minute of it. He sneaked a glance at Lloyd, who was totally engrossed in it. Within ten minutes, the babysitter had been killed in the most gruesome way – and Lloyd had spilt half his Coke down his shirt. Sam had only narrowly managed to avoid the same fate by clamping the can to his mouth just before the killer jumped out of the shadows.

'Crap!' Lloyd muttered, rubbing at the brown stain with a soggy tissue.

Outside it was gloomy and the rain drummed steadily on the roof of the car. Sam wondered how far away from school Lloyd lived, and how much more of this film he could take. Not much, he decided.

'Wannna go back to playing music?' he asked.

'Yeah, all right. I've seen this film a thousand times anyway. They all die in the end!' he said, laughing.

Sam wasn't sure Lloyd had ever really seen the film, but he wasn't going to say anything, and Lloyd was probably right about the ending. Although Tab always said there was usually one survivor and that the killer never really got caught, or killed at the end, because then the director could make another film without having to find a new idea.

They put on Usher's new album, and messed around with the Sat Nav system, typing in all the addresses they knew, and several they made up, and getting the system to come up with a route.

'Do you live quite far?' Sam asked.

'Not really. Usually home in half an hour,' Lloyd said. 'I'll put my address in and the school's, and then you can see.'

Lloyd typed in his home address and the name of the road their school was on. 'See?'

'But that's nowhere near any countryside,' Sam said, glancing out of the window at the empty fields and woods beyond.

'I know that, goofball. Your turn.'

Sam typed in his address and waited for the screen to come up with a route. It usually took about twenty minutes for him to get home from school, and more like half an hour to get to school in the mornings. His house was on the edge of a little town just outside London. 'Best of both worlds,' his dad had said. 'We get a bit of fresh air, but the big smoke's not too far.' His dad was a senior partner in a very big international property development company and the head office was in central London, so he had to get the train every day, and he complained about it every day, too.

'So where are we?' Lloyd said, peering at the map.

'What?' Sam asked, baffled by the question.

'Where are we on the map? Don't worry if you can't find it,' Lloyd said. 'Keep forgetting you're new to the area. I'll show you some brilliant cycle runs. I go out with my dad on Sunday afternoons and we could arrange it so you can come with us. If you want to.'

'That'd be great,' Sam said. He looked out of the window at the countryside rushing past. His watch said half past five, which didn't sound right. He couldn't remember what time they were picked up, but it had been late. Very late. It was definitely way after half past four, but Sam couldn't remember exactly what time it was, or why that was important now.

'We go camping,' he said. 'We're going for the weekend during half-term. Do you think you'd be allowed to go?'

'Might be. I'll have to ask Mum and Dad,' Lloyd replied. He leaned forwards and pressed eject on the CD player. 'Bored of this album. What do you want next?'

'Ask him now,' Sam said.

'Um, never heard of that one,' Lloyd said, flicking through the pages of the compact disc holder. 'Who's it by?'

'No, I mean, ask your dad now,' Sam said. Maybe he'd spoken too quietly because Lloyd wasn't listening to a word. His head was still buried in the CD holder and he was singing song titles as he flipped through them.

'Right, this one's good.' He put the new CD in and pressed play, his head bobbing from side to side in time with the music.

'Ask him now.'

There was an edge to Sam's voice, a slight tremor that made Lloyd stop and look at him. 'My phone's dead, stupid. Remember? Anyway, what's up with you?'

Sam swallowed hard. His mouth had gone dry. He reached for his Coke and realised that his hands were shaking too much to pick the can up.

Outside it was practically dark. The rain beat down incessantly, but Sam's heart was beating faster, and louder.

'Sam?'

It was a decision made without thinking, Sam thought later. Much later. Sometimes those big moments creep up on you without you even knowing it, or recognising it. You just act. Or follow. You don't stop and think: Should I be doing this? Is this the right thing to do? Is this something I should think about?

'Sam?'

Lloyd's voice sounded incredibly muffled. He could barely hear him. Sam looked at him. He could see Lloyd's lips moving, but couldn't work out what he was saying. Maybe he'd caught an ear infection, or something, from being out in the wind and the rain, and that's why he couldn't hear.

Sam turned away from Lloyd and glanced out of the window. Well, at least the rain had stopped, and the sky was a bit brighter, or rather not quite as dark. It was strange how one minute it was summer and the days were long and endless and warm. You were allowed to play in the garden for hours and stay up really late, and parents didn't mind too much. Then suddenly it was autumn and within a week it was colder and darker, and if you didn't go to bed on time you'd get an earful. Sam used to quite like autumn, but he couldn't work out why now.

Hands grabbed him by the shoulders and wrenched him away from the window.

'Listen!' Lloyd shouted into his face.

Sam did try to listen, but it wasn't his fault his ears weren't working properly. He put a finger in each ear and rubbed vigorously. Had that helped? He tried listening again. Mm, not much. What was Lloyd saying? He knew it must be important, because his friend kept saying it over and over again. The music was still blaring out from the CD player, but Sam couldn't make out who was singing. He recognised the tune, though, and that meant his ears must be working a bit. He had to listen to Lloyd carefully. Focus, Sam, he told himself. And that reminded him of his dad. His dad always said that when they were out playing cricket. 'Come on now, Sam, focus. Focus on the ball. Don't take your eyes off it. Keep your position. Bat at the ready,' he would say, and then, 'Excellent hit!' whether it was or wasn't.

Sam focussed.

Gradually, he made out the words. Words he didn't particularly want to hear. Maybe that's why his ears weren't working properly. They knew he didn't want to hear what Lloyd was saying. But he heard the words, and once he'd heard them he couldn't get them out of his head.

'Isn't this your car we're riding in?'

It could have been the chorus to a good song. Sam sang it over and over to himself.
Isn't this your car we're riding in? Isn't this your car we're riding in? Isn't this your car we're riding in?

Shut up! He screamed inside his head. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

'No,' he answered. His voice was small and quiet, like the whisper of a mouse.

Lloyd's mouth fell open. Their eyes turned simultaneously towards the driver. The dividing window was still up between the front and the back of the car. All they could see was the back of his head. Slightly balding, dark hair, blue shirt collar, and maybe shiny leather jacket shoulders. That's all they could see.

Sam pressed the button that opened his window. It didn't work. Maybe it was stuck. He pressed it harder. It still didn't work. He jabbed it several times. Then he punched it with his fist. Nothing happened. He reached across Lloyd and pressed all the buttons on his side. None of them worked. He pushed at the knob that unlocked his door. It didn't work. He reached across Lloyd and tried to unlock his door, but it didn't budge either. He yanked at the door handle so hard it should have come off in his hand, but the door remained shut and the handle remained firmly attached to it.

He sat back in his seat. 'Child locks are on, I guess,' he said, breathing heavily from the exertion.

Lloyd didn't reply. Sam guessed Lloyd's ears were going through a non-hearing stage like his had. Except Lloyd's eyes were watering as well. He didn't want to look at Lloyd in case he caught the eye-watering infection off him.

He didn't want to cry. He just wanted to get out of the space capsule. He wanted to be in his mum's little runaround, which still had the wind-up windows and was covered in crumbs; or in his dad's brand-new Jag, which did have electric windows, but which you played with at your peril. (He had tried it once and after his dad had almost had a heart attack over it, Sam had thought that it was probably not a good idea to do it again).

Lloyd was taller than Sam, and tougher. Once he got over the not-being-able-to-hear-or-think-straight thing, he'd come up with a plan. Lloyd always had a plan, an idea, a game. That first week at school had been one of the best first weeks at a new school Sam had ever had, and it had all been down to Lloyd.

Sam glanced at his friend. He was taking a long time to get over it. He had taken refuge in the corner of the car, huddled deep into the back of the seat. And he seemed to have shrunk a bit, too. It looked as though it was going to take him a bit longer to get over it. Shock. That was the word. Or was it horror? Either or both would do.

Sam concentrated on looking out of the window. He was hoping to catch someone's attention, but there was no one around. A glimpse of a road name would have been good, too, as they could have tried to work out where they were. But there didn't seem to be any people, or houses or road names in the countryside. Just trees. And fields. And more trees and more fields.

All he needed was one person to be walking down the lane. That wasn't too much to ask for. One person, out walking their dog, to spot a kid calling for help from a big white shiny flash car. They'd call the police, there might be a chase as the driver might not stop, but in the end he'd be outmanoeuvred by the cops, and crash into a hedge where he'd hit his head on the steering wheel so hard that blood would pour from the gaping wound, but Sam and Lloyd would be fine as they had their seat belts on. The police would smash open the back of the car and take them home to their mums and dads. The End.

But there was no one out there. No blinking people, no blinking dogs that needed blinking walking.
Blinking
was his mum's word. She never used
bloody,
she always said
blinking.
Sam didn't know why that word had popped into his head, but it just had.

There was a signpost up ahead, and a fork in the road. Sam squinted and wondered where he'd put his glasses. He could just make out the words: Puddinsford to the right, Haresfield to the left. Which one would the driver take? And where on earth were Puddinsford and Haresfield, anyway? Maybe Lloyd would know.

Sam turned the music up a notch. He knew the driver couldn't hear them, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

'Have you heard of Puddinsford or Haresfield?' he whispered.

Lloyd looked at Sam blankly. Either he was still suffering from hearing loss, or he'd never heard of those places. The car had reached the fork and without any hesitation swung over to the right.

'Lloyd, think! Have you heard of them?' Sam hissed louder this time.

Lloyd shook his head. Not good, but at least his friend was getting his hearing back and that meant tough Lloyd would be back soon with a plan that would get them out of here. Or a really good explanation for the situation they were in.

'Looks like we're headed towards a place called Puddinsford,' Sam whispered.

And then he had an idea.

'Hey, Lloyd, maybe your dad arranged a special treat for us. You know, like you told me he does sometimes. Like tickets to a concert, and meeting a famous pop star, or jamming with a band. He knows lots of famous people, doesn't he? All of them would have a car like this for sure. Who wouldn't if they had buckets of dosh?'

Sam was immensely pleased with himself. There was nothing to worry about. In fact there was everything to be excited about. Lloyd's dad had obviously organised something because he knew Lloyd wanted to impress his new friend. That had to be it. He rattled on for a bit about who he thought they were going to meet before he noticed that his coat sleeve was being tugged insistently.

'Yeah?' he said, turning to face Lloyd.

Before Lloyd could say anything the dividing window whooshed down for the first time during the journey.

'Be there in a couple of minutes,' the driver called back. 'Hope you're both comfortable. VIP treatment all the way for you two! And wait till you see what's in store for you. Stuff of dreams!'

The driver didn't wait for a reply. The dividing window slid back up, leaving the boys listening to Christina Aguilera's new album. Lloyd was not at all embarrassed at admitting that he was madly in love with her. If Sam ever said anything like that, the whole class would have rolled around laughing at him. But not at Lloyd.

'See, I told you! Your dad's brilliant, Lloyd, he's sorted this all out for us,' Sam gushed. 'Anyway, what were you going to say?'

'I think I'm going to be sick.'

Now that Sam looked at him properly, he thought that Lloyd did actually look a bit green. He looked for something for Lloyd to use and spotted the sweet bag. He dumped its contents on the opposite seats and handed the empty bag to Lloyd – just in time as it happened. Sam turned away and tried not to retch as the pungent smell filled the back of the car. He wished he could open the windows and get some fresh air in. He knew he had to do something – holding his breath wasn't working and pretty soon he'd have to ask Lloyd for the bag back and add the contents of his stomach to it as well. He rummaged through the pile of sweets until he found some extra strong mints and popped one in his mouth. When Lloyd had finished, Sam passed him the packet, but Lloyd shook his head. He still looked green. His freckles were standing out on his pale skin so much that they looked like they were about to make a bid for freedom.

'Must be the excitement,' Sam said, grinning, 'or all those chocolates and sweets earlier! We should have stopped after the tenth one!' He laughed, but Lloyd still looked ill.

'Sam?' Lloyd said weakly. 'I-I hope you're right.'

'What do you mean? Of course I'm right. Once I had a whole Yorkie bar, a Mars bar, a packet of wine gums, and twenty cola bottles, and I had bellyache all night. I think I threw up, too.'

'Not about that, Sam.'

'What then?'

'You know.'

Maybe Sam did know what Lloyd was referring to, but he wasn't going to let himself think that way. He was really pleased with his quite brilliant explanation – and the driver had backed it up too. Hadn't he said 'VIP treatment' and 'Stuff of dreams'?

Yes, Sam had been a bit afraid before the driver spoke to them, just a bit, but not any more. Now it all made perfect sense.

Lloyd was just being a pain. He was just embarrassed because he'd chucked up in front of his friend. And he'd obviously had way too many surprises and special treats. Not that Sam hadn't had any. He usually got a special treat on or around his birthday – you couldn't consider it to be a surprise in any way, but it was still pretty good. Occasionally, out of the blue, his parents would surprise him with something, like the new bike when it hadn't even been his birthday.

The car pulled off the road and went bumpity bump down a narrow lane, which was little more than a track. Overgrown hedgerows on either side brushed up close against the car. Swish, swash, swish, swash – it was like being in the car wash with his dad, and just as claustrophobic. Most kids loved the car wash, but Sam was one of the few who hated it. He never admitted to it though, and so his dad always asked him if he wanted to go with him. Nowadays, homework usually provided the best reason for just not being able to go.

'Sorry, Dad, but I've got stacks of homework to get through,' he would say in a very convincingly resigned tone.

'Never mind, son. We'll go out and hit a few balls later when you're done,' his dad would reply, which suited Sam fine. Cricket versus car wash – no contest there.

Suddenly the car stopped. In front of them was a large wrought-iron gate. It swung open slowly, inviting them in.