Free In a Class of Their Own by Millie Gray Page B

whatever’s going to happen to us will.”
    “That’s right. And we’ve just got to save oor hame. No maitter whit.”
    Carrie and Sam dropped to their knees and began cautiously crawling towards Gabby. Sam went on one side and Carrie the other. Sam signalled to Carrie that they must roll Gabby over. So they pulled and pulled, but he just wouldn’t budge.
    “Ye’ll need to push while I haul,” Sam whispered, but he now saw that Carrie was trembling and was quite unable to do anything. “Get a grip, Carrie,” he urged through his clenched teeth.
    Carrie took a deep breath and then shoved at Gabby with all her might until he slowly rolled over. In his coat pocket her first find was the bag of sweets. She shoogled it joyously before picking one for herself and then popping a second into Sam’s mouth.
    “Look, dopey, I cannae haud on much longer. So will ye get a move on?” pleaded Sam
    Carrie furtively searched all of Gabby’s outside pockets, but all she found was another half-bottle of whisky, a couple of broken biscuits, a twist of Bogey Roll tobacco, a box of Swan Vesta matches and, finally, a clay pipe.
    “Try his inside pockets,” urged Sam, tightening his grip on Gabby’s coat.
    Carrie obeyed, and immediately her hands curled around a small wooden cylinder. She was about to take it out when Gabby suddenly roared, “Thievin’ bastards! Thievin’ bastards! I’ll get even wi ye aw!”
    The unexpected outburst startled Sam so much that he instantly let go of Gabby, whose body now firmly crushed Carrie’s hand.
    “Sam, I’m stuck,” she wailed, realising that Gabby had lapsed once more into a drunken stupor.
    Sam made a grab for Gabby’s coat again, but his grasp slipped repeatedly before he managed to haul Gabby over and allow Carrie’s hand to break free.
    “Sam! Sam! See! See! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Carrie yelled triumphantly, brandishing the cylinder with its bundle of crisp fivers rolled around it.
    Hannah, who had heard Gabby’s shouts, now came running in. She snatched the money from Carrie and began to unroll one five-pound note after another.
    “What d’ye think you’re doing?” Carrie demanded angrily.
    “Getting the money for Mam.”
    “But we only need a fiver. You’ve taken two. Now – there’s three in your hands!”
    “If we leave any he’ll just drink it. And we could do a heck of a lot with all this,” moaned Hannah, waving the fivers in the air.
    “No, Hannah! We only take one fiver. The rest goes back,” Carrie replied decisively as she grabbed the cylinder and money.
    “But—”
    “But nothing! Our rules are always that we only take what we need to get by. Besides, Jesus knows exactly what we need, so to take more would be letting him down.”
    “Besides, Hannah, Granddad mightnae miss yin fiver,” Sam suggested. “The state he’s in, he’ll think he either drunk or gambled it. That wey he’ll no caw in the polis.”
    “Does that mean I’ll no get the birch?” asked Carrie, rubbing her buttocks.
    “Aye,” said Sam, nudging her playfully with his shoulder. “Cos I was just kiddin’.”
    “You were?”
    “Aye. Did ye no ken they stopped birchin’ the hell oot o bairns years ago?”
    With great satisfaction, Carrie handed one large five-pound note to Hannah. She rolled the rest around the cylinder again and fastened them with the elastic band, but before she could put them back in Gabby’s pocket he let out another great roar and screamed, “Bastards! Bastards! Bleedin’ thievin’ bastards.”
    Sam and Hannah scampered from the room, followed quickly by Carrie, who only just had time to drop the wooden cylinder by her grandfather’s side.

    Rachel emerged from the side entrance of the Queen’s Hotel where stinging ice particles of sleet assaulted her face.
    “Some night, Rachel, and you’ve missed the last bus,” Duncan the doorman informed her.
    “Aye, well. Lord Strathcannon drinks to all hours so the bar must bide open till he