Free Desperate Measures by Laura Summers Page B

somewhere in Australia and Mrs Frankish said we weren’t going there. When she found out Great Auntie Irene was eighty-one and didn’t have a phone, she said staying with her wasn’t an option and we weren’t to bother her.
    I should never have listened to the old bat – Great Auntie Irene was family.
    It really would be like a fantastic holiday, I thought. Better even. It would be like coming home. A proper home. And, if we could never go back to Paul and Sarah’s, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. We’d make a new life, start new schools and make new friends – no one like Rosie maybe, but she was a one-off. Re would come on leaps and bounds with Great Auntie Irene’s help. She loved reading stories with her. And Jamie would settle down at last. He’d finally stop whacking people. He was always so gentle with Jip – that dog brought out the soft side of him. They’d play together for hours in Auntie’s huge garden and he’d make loads of dens and camps but she wouldn’t mind a bit. She was like that. Maybe she’d even let us camp out on the island again. And we’d help her too – earn our keep with the chores like shopping or cleaning. Even Re could help wash up or lay the table so us being there would be good for her too. And we’d be company.
    ‘Old people get lonely,’ Great Auntie Irene told me once. ‘We like to have you youngsters around to shake things up a bit and remind us we’re still alive!’
    I thought of Elizabeth back in her huge mansion with just her memories for company. We could go back and see her. Visit. Take Great Auntie Irene. The pair would get on like a house on fire. They’d be swapping wartime memories like there was no tomorrow. I smiled to myself. Everything was going to be perfect.
    I opened my eyes. Re and Jamie were playing noughts and crosses on a scrap of paper. Jamie was letting her win for a change and she had a big grin on her face. The radiowas still on but the cricket seemed to have given way to the news. I double-checked our map, mentally ticking off the stations we’d already stopped at and planning our route when we got off at the station after the next one. Suddenly something the newsreader said made me sit up sharp.
    ‘. . . the three missing children, non-identical twin girls aged fourteen and a boy of ten . . .’
    I froze. Jamie and Re hadn’t heard. The newsreader began to describe our exact appearance. Hardly daring, I glanced over to the people sitting on the other side of the aisle. They were chatting and laughing at the moment but how long would it take one of them to notice us? I quickly reached over and flicked the radio off. The man with the beard immediately started to stir.
    ‘Quick, get up,’ I urged Jamie and Rhianna.
    ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jamie.
    The man picked up his radio, puzzled at its abrupt silence. He shook it, then realising it had been turned off, glared at us, switched it on again even louder, giving us another rude stare.
    ‘Appeals for the children to return home have so far been unsuccessful and police are becoming increasingly concerned for their welfare and safety. And now the weather . . .’
    Jamie went white and grabbed his bag. I got Re to her feet and started ushering her out of the carriage following Jamie. We passed a woman in a red jumper who glanced up at the three of us.
    There was a flicker of surprise in her expression. She looked as if she was about to say something but I didn’twait around to listen; I bundled Jamie and Re into the next carriage. The train was coming into a station.
    ‘What’s the matter, Vicky?’ Re asked.
    ‘We’ve got to get off now, Re. Right now.’
    ‘But we’ve only done five stations. I counted. You said six.’
    ‘Never mind. Come on. Bring your bag.’
    We moved quickly through the carriages to the other end of the train and when it came to a halt and we could finally open the door, we leapt out.
    It was a tiny station surrounded by countryside in the