Free Robin Jarvis-Jax 01 Dancing Jax by Robin Jarvis Page B

any ambitious ideas.”
    The rear door opened. “Get in, Sexy Legs.”
    “Err, in your dreams, mentals!” she snarled. “I’m not getting in the back of no car with you, Brian Eastland, and as for you, B.O. Humphries…”
    “Shame!” they booed.
    “Come on then,” Kevin relented, getting out of the front seat and squeezing alongside the boys in the back. Emma didn’t thank him, but clambered into his vacant place and slammed the door.
    “What is that stink?” she complained, turning to the driver whose hood was pulled up over his head. “You lot drinking meths or something?”
    “Here!” she cried in sudden recognition. “Danny Marlow! What you doing?”
    “That’s our Baz’s overalls,” he told her, meaning the smell. “He does decoratin’. I bunged them and the turps rags under the seat. Don’t worry, you won’t get paint on you.”
    “That’s not what I meant!” she said. “What you doing in this motor?”
    Behind her, Kevin tapped her on the head and leaned into the gap between them. “’S all right,” he said. “It’s his brother’s car, innit. It’s not nicked or nothing.”
    “But he’s like, in our year – so that makes him the same age as us!”
    Kevin guffawed. “See!” he laughed. “You are good at numbers – Sarky Baxter would be proud!”
    Fifteen-year-old Danny revved the engine and, even as Emma hastily fastened her seat belt, the Fiesta roared away.
    Conor Westlake had left the house as soon as he received the email from 7734. A mad night out would do him the world of good after today. The haunting image of Sandra Dixon’s pale face glaring up at him was a memory he wanted to wash away, or at least dilute. The fridge at home was empty though so he hoped to bump into some of his mates down at the Landguard. None of them were answering their phones right now, but he was certain they’d be there.
    A cold wind was blowing in from the North Sea and the darkening sky looked threatening. He pulled his hood up and continued walking. When he joined View Point Road, he saw that there were many other young people heading down the peninsula, like a great herd of thirsty beasts seeking a watering hole. Most were on foot, but there were also some cars driving past and groups of cyclists. Two figures were even weaving in and out on Rollerblades. The skateboarders who usually hung out near the cinema were here as well.
    The road was long and, apart from a kink at the beginning and end, ran a tediously straight course. On the right, behind its high perimeter fence, was the container port. To the left, a caravan park that gave way to a stretch of sandhills and the sea.
    Casting around, Connor guessed many of his fellow eager pilgrims were older than him, but he saw a few who couldn’t have been more than ten years old, dragging their older brothers or sisters forward. Here and there the odd parent stood out like a watchful pillar of negativity and disapproval and he hoped they would have the good taste to merge into the background at the Landguard. Tonight was no place for the olds.
    He could feel a buzz of anticipation and excitement in the air. It was a carnival-like atmosphere. Some had brought torches and were waving them about, making patterns of light in front of them. Once the caravan park had been passed, they shone into the dark desolation that stretched between the sandhills and the road – startling the rabbits. Those sandhills formed a high, humpy spine all the way to the fort and Conor could see figures silhouetted against the sky on the ridge path, making their way along them. They were approaching the Landguard from the other side, to loop around it and join the rest of them in front of the gatehouse.
    Everyone was hoping for something special that night, a new experience – a new thrill. There was a tremendous feeling of not knowing what was going to happen. It was almost quarter to nine and around the last bend in the road, the squat, solid bulk of the pentagonal