Free An Explosive Time (The Celtic Cousins' Adventures) by Julia Hughes

‘Glass paints eh?’
    ‘Yes Crombie. They work well on glass.’ Wren mocked. Crombie took a couple of steps backwards, to get a better view of the scene glistening wetly on the small rectangle of glass above the door frame.
     
    ‘That’s quite good son - how’d you manage the lead?’
    ‘It’s a type of plastic, and it dries out that silvery black colour. Not bad.’
    The dingy smeared window had been transformed into a piece of coloured church glass, only instead of a biblical scene; Wren had painted an art deco sun with thick rays outlined in the fake lead. When he switched the kitchen light on, the orange and yellow paint glowed creating the illusion of warmth.
    ‘Not bad at all.’ Crombie said, unwrapping the fish and chips. ‘Hope you don’t mind, I thought seeing as how I pinched your lunch the other day, my treat. I got Skate this time.’ He looked around frowning.
    ‘Where’s your better half?’
    Wren concentrated on drying his hands with the tea towel, paying extra attention to the soft webbing between his fingers.
    ‘Carrie?’ He paused. ‘She’s left me.’ He looked up to smile brightly at Crombie. ‘Tea?’
    ‘Left you?’ Crombie shifted his weight from leg to leg. ‘You mean you’ve had a row.’
    ‘Whatever. You should be pleased. You’ve told her enough times I’m no good.’ He tipped the kettle to one side, lighting the gas underneath, then turned to face Crombie. ‘Plus you get her share.’
    Crombie knew he should be glad; Carrie was far too sweet for Wren. Yet. They had seemed good together, and for a while even Crombie believed that maybe Carrie was a good influence on the precocious Wren.  
    Wren’s back turned again as he fussed over the tea things and opened cupboards to root around for tomato sauce and plates. His movements stilled when Crombie said.
    ‘I’m sorry she’s left you, but not sorry she’s gone. You’ve made a dangerous enemy son.’
    The kettle whistled, Wren lifted it from the gas hob and poured boiling water into mugs, stirred vigorously and buttered bread before placing it on the table, nodding at Crombie to unwrap their meal. His eyes were hooded.
    ‘You mean Harry Lampton.’ He turned to fish the teabags out, then ferried the mugs to the table, taking a seat opposite Crombie.
    ‘You know about him?’
    Wren nodded, and began picking at his meal.
    ‘Where’s Carrie now?’
    Wren consulted his watch. ‘Somewhere over the Strait of Gibraltar I should think.’ His lips clamped, and Crombie realised she’d probably flown out with Killer to Africa.
     
    ‘I’m sorry. I’ll go if you like.’ Crombie offered.
    ‘No, stay, I’ll never manage three helpings. Though Alfie would probably be pleased.’
    ‘How did you do it? I’ve been to that yard.’
    A trace of Wren’s usual smugness appeared.
    ‘I followed them out to the Tramshed Social Club, waited till the show finished. Created a diversion.’ A nervous giggle escaped him at the memory. ‘Alfie was in his box. I swapped boxes with one I’d made earlier.’ He glanced at Crombie.
    ‘Don’t tell Carrie. She thinks I swapped the boxes before the fight. That seemed a little too risky.’
    Crombie nodded agreement. Doubtless with the alligator’s show over, he’d be left in the box until the next time he was needed and it might have been days before the switch was discovered. Even so, it had taken guts.
    ‘Did you see the fight?’
    ‘No. I heard it though.’ The corners of Wren’s mouth twitched, and he looked up at Crombie with a haunted expression in his eyes.
    ‘Did you see into the yard?’
    Crombie shook his head no.
    ‘You didn’t see the freezers? Chest freezers.’ Wren suddenly remembered Crombie took sugar and pushed the bowl over to his side of the table. ‘They’ve got an angle grinder too. Next to a wood chipper.’
    Crombie’s blood ran cold. ‘You knew all this yet went ahead and stole that bloody thing from under Lampton’s nose?’ Deliberately reaching