That Time I Got Kidnapped

‘I got confused,’ I’d say. ‘I’m British and on my way to Hollywood.’

Thinking about the box’s contents didn’t help. I needed to control my breathing: in through the nose and out through the mouth. Or was it the other way? I didn’t know! And why hadn’t I put my hand up yet?! Was my breathing suspicious-looking?

I let out a tiny fart. Luckily it was silent.

Where was the responsible adult to tell me what to do? There should be an app. You’d type in your problem and a teacher would reply with the correct decision. Only, I knew the right thing to do – I should tell the police. I should be a good citizen. If they wanted her, she’d have done something bad, right? That’s how it works.

One officer moved up the aisle with the other close behind. It was like the dinner service on the flight over, which was something that felt a lifetime ago. The female cop showed both sides of seats the iPad and all the passengers shook their heads. If someone else had seen her, that would save me a decision. But they’d all been on their phones when we’d got on.

(Meaning maybe all the teachers/parents have been right all along? Phones are bad for society. It didn’t stop them using the things, though.)

‘Hey,’ I hissed at the baseball cap in such a way that if you were looking at me, either in real time or a later CCTV recording, you’d not see my lips moving. ‘Hey!’

But my sleeping neighbour didn’t stir, and the police were now only six rows away.

‘Do you have any trail mix, ma’am?’ an elderly passenger asked the cops and I had no idea what she meant.

But there was hope, I realised, and that hope was the hat. It was pulled so far down over the girl’s face that, because she was turned to me, there’d be no recognising her from the aisle.

I would stay silent. Result. Best decision ever. Because it wasn’t a decision. And I wouldn’t be betraying her or lying to the police. Because I didn’t have it in me to deceive officials twice in one day. And these two were proper cops. With the faces and everything. I mean, the girl on the iPad wasn’t wearing a baseball cap, so …

There was a split second of panic as I wondered what Dad would say if he knew what was happening to his son (me) at this precise moment (are parents telepathic?) and also the decisions made to get here. But it was because of me that she’d hurt her wrist and not grassing her up to the police would kind of mean we were quits, right? It made sense.

The female cop was actually leaning across the girl and into me and showing me the iPad. Its screen was bright and hurt my eyes. Cruel and unusual punishment. The image was something you might see on social media. The girl was smiling but also wincing like the sun was in her eyes.

At the bottom of the picture was a single word.

MISSING.

It looked like a meme gone bad.

‘Is this individual with you?’ asked the female cop, pointing down to the girl. ‘This individual with the … package?’

This wasn’t fair. I hadn’t been expecting an out-and-out question. My throat felt all pink and tiny.

‘I’m sorry,’ I just about said.

‘I didn’t catch that,’ said the male cop.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Are you from around here, sir?’ asked the male cop, speaking loud and slow.

The way that police ask questions makes you feel guilty. Something in the tone. Maybe it’s part of their training. And this here now at this moment was how all bad stuff started. I could feel it, the world’s tightening focus and also the bad stuff. I struggled for control of my thoughts and voice.

‘I’ll be the one asking questions,’ said the female cop. ‘Are you from around here, son?’

One deep breath. Through the nose. And relax.

‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m British. And I’m heading for Los Angeles to be in a superhero movie because I won a competition. I was supposed to be on a plane but I missed it and then there weren’t any other planes because of the snow but my attitude is that if I keep my head down and stay out of trouble but stay on the bus, it won’t make a huge amount of difference, so …’

They stared open-mouthed. Eventually the woman spoke.

‘Are you trying to be funny, sir?’

Why do all the police think that? I’m only a kid from Somerset trying to get to Hollywood without upsetting anyone.

‘No.’

I shook my head and felt tears spiking behind my eyes. I should just confess all! Let them arrest me!

Take me away, officers! It’s a fair cop! Yes! It’s her! She’s the one you want!

‘Are we going to be moving any time soon or are we going to be moving any time soon? I’ve got me a dying grandmother to get to,’ shouted a gruff voice from the front of the bus. ‘And the Lord sure ain’t waiting!’

‘Is this individual with you?’ asked the female cop again, nodding to the girl.

‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘She’s British too.’

The cop stared as if she could look into my mind. And if she could, she’d have seen a tornado of confusion. Like, obviously the girl wasn’t British; she was wearing a baseball cap for one thing.

The police officer put a palm to her partner’s back and pushed him on.

‘Stay out of trouble,’ he said, as he stepped to the next line of passengers. ‘They don’t like strangers around these parts.’

I don’t think I breathed again until they’d left the bus and the deep thud of its engine started, sending vibrations throughout the cabin like the crazy nerves shaking my body.

And, through it all, the girl stayed asleep.

Saucy Boy

St Louis, Missouri

We stopped in a place called St Louis, which is pronounced SAINT LEWIS. Snow dusted cars and sidewalks, but it wasn’t as deep as Chicago.

The driver announced that we’d have an hour to eat, if we wanted, in the ‘food court’ inside the St Louis Greyhound station. There were empty seats dotted about the bus now – there must have been stops I’d slept through. And even though it wasn’t even six yet, most remaining passengers were out cold, including the girl. She no longer had her head resting against my shoulder, which meant I could go.

I hadn’t moved so quietly and carefully since creeping downstairs last Christmas morning to squeeze presents. First off, I stood up, my chest pushing against the back of the chair ahead and my head bowed but still scraping against the plastic underside of the overhead lockers. I pulled one leg up, like a spider ballerina, and then placed it delicately between the girl’s.

Although I didn’t touch her, and made no noise whatsoever – even my jeans were silent – she stirred. I froze, waiting until she returned to regular breathing. This wasn’t a great position to be caught in.

A woman walked down the aisle, stopping to turn and look at me and shake her head like I was another example of the state of kids today.

I lifted my other leg and managed to swing it all the way over the girl’s lap and into the aisle. Turning, my backside was now dangerously close to her face. For a second of panic I thought I might overbalance, meaning I’d end up sitting on the girl. My life would be as good as over. I managed to grip a plastic handle on a chair across the aisle and saved myself.

I stood like a stretching dancer, my left arm and right leg forming a perfectly straight line. Was that a bead of sweat running down my forehead? All I needed to do was pull my right leg from her lap and I was free.

‘Kindly get your ass out of my face,’ said the girl, not moving.

I half hopped, half fell and ended up lying face down in the aisle. I apologised and said I hadn’t wanted to wake her.

‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she said, her voice coming from the darkness under the brim of her cap. ‘What’s going down? Apart from you.’

‘We’ve stopped for food. I was going to stretch my legs. Sorry.’

‘Get me a Happy Meal. Chicken nuggets. BBQ sauce.’

‘I haven’t really got …’

Her left hand flicked up. Between her fingers was a twenty-dollar note folded once lengthways.

‘Take it,’ she said. ‘Get yourself something. But don’t forget the BBQ sauce. I love BBQ sauce more than life.’

I took the money, even though it was probably criminal. Her hand returned to the package. She asked what I was waiting for.

I’m not sure I’ve ever been so hungry as I was in the queue for McDonald’s. The ‘food court’ was like one you’d find in service stations off UK motorways: really expensive tiny versions of fast-food chains, the smell of fat hanging in the air like drops of grease in water.

I turned on my phone to check for messages. Nothing came through. Its battery had been at 27 per cent when I’d last checked. It was now at 15 per cent. And it had been switched off.

Maybe batteries deplete faster in America? Because of the foreign electricity? No, that doesn’t work.

After eating, I’d ask the driver if I could get my charger out of the Princess. I mean, that was an entirely reasonable request. No reason for him to think me an idiot or anything.

When my food came, I took it to a free table. Our RS teacher often said we should take joy in the moment. As I unwrapped my cheeseburger, I finally understood what she meant.

Don’t worry about being in a place called Missouri, a word you can’t spell, let alone find on a map. Don’t worry about the girl and the police. Don’t worry about Mum or Dad. Consider only the cheeseburger: the true meaning of life.

And as I opened my mouth to take a bite …

‘You get my BBQ sauce?’

She stood before me. If she’d not been holding her package, she’d have had her hands on her hips for sure.

Yeah, so I’d forgotten the sauce, and there was sighing and eye-rolling and I thought I was about to be sassed to death. Sassocuted.

‘If I give you this package, do you swear to God that you won’t lose it or drop it or whatever other lame British stuff you might do because you’re lame?’

I nodded, my mouth full of cheeseburger. She handed over the package. As she did so, I could see a faint bruise that circled her right wrist like a friendship bracelet. It didn’t look that bad. I mean, I’d prefer she hadn’t fallen over the Princess, but … it obviously wasn’t broken.

She saw where I was looking.

‘It still hurts,’ she said. ‘Like hell. I can’t even be driving myself anywhere now.’

‘Sorry.’

The box was heavier than you’d imagine. It was weighty enough to be a pain to carry everywhere. Especially if you’d hurt your arm. I shook it very gently. Did it rattle? I wasn’t sure. Why hadn’t she left it on the bus? It must contain something massively valuable. Drugs, cash, diamonds. Gulp.

She was soon back with the sauce. And she was quick to recover the package, placing it between her and her food, which meant she had to eat round it.

When finished, she wiped her mouth with a serviette and stared.

‘My name’s Jennifer. Not Jenny. Not Jen. But Jennifer. Don’t forget that.’

‘Jennifer,’ I said. ‘I won’t forget.’

‘Too right you won’t. I’d shake your hand but it’s covered in ketchup, which is totally disgusting. And it’s all around your mouth. Also, you broke my wrist, so, you know, any movement is total agony.’

‘I could get you some …’

‘I’ve got Advil.’

I nodded like I understood. So was she going to tell me what was happening or …

‘What’s your name?’ (She continued talking so I couldn’t answer. She leant forward, hands on the package, voice lowered. She even glanced behind her to check nobody was listening.) ‘Thanks for covering with the police. Appreciated. I thought it was over. You didn’t have to do that. So I could almost forgive you. For breaking my wrist.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Almost.’

‘I’m Jacob,’ I said. ‘And all this is pretty new to me.’

Nervous laugh.

‘Same.’

I asked the question.

‘Yeah. So. Why are the police after you? I mean, you look too old to be in trouble for running away from home.’ She didn’t reply. ‘So –’ my mind raced through the other questions I wanted to ask – ‘is it what’s in the parcel? Is that why they’re after you?’

She stood from the table. I guess we’ve all got secrets.

‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ she said. ‘If you’ve never ridden Greyhound before, you should do the same. The on-board one gets gross. Where’re you headed?’

‘Hollywood.’

‘No way. All the way to LA? For real? Are you going to be in a movie?’

‘No but really. I am. I won a competition. I had to write a poem about my favourite superhero.’ (Why did I tell her that?) ‘But, you know, I’m not one of those kids.’

I sounded like a five-year-old. She raised a single eyebrow.

‘What kids?’

‘You know, the ones who think it’s all real. Fantasyland. I don’t think it’s real. I don’t camp overnight to get tickets for the release of the new Avengers movie.’

(Lie.)

‘You like superhero stuff?’ I looked to the tray, nodding with the shame of the bullied. ‘That’s lit.’ I looked up. She wasn’t even mocking me. ‘I’m going to LA as well. It’s warmer out there. People are friendlier. I mean, that’s not true, but …’

‘Sounds good,’ I said.

‘What’s the poem?’

I felt an ice-chill travel through my body.

Never ask me about the poem. Especially never ask me to recite it.

‘Nothing. I don’t remember.’

She shrugged. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Be like that.’ She pointed at the package. ‘I’m trusting you to babysit it. Don’t let it out of your sight.’

She hesitated as if, in actual fact, she didn’t trust me. But her bladder must have intervened and so she left, her braids bouncing as she went. ‘Be like that,’ she’d said. If there were anyone being anything, it was her.

She’d left a single fry. I popped it into my mouth, trying not to think about how she was travelling to LA, trying not to admit why I’d lied to the police, trying only to return to the sleepy, safe Jacob of sleepy, safe Somerset.

The Cowboy

‘Howdy.’

The voice came from nowhere, a man materialising from a cowboy film. He stood behind Jennifer’s empty seat, thick fingers gripping the top of the chair. His skin was brown and wrinkled as if he’d spent his whole life burying bodies in the desert. He wore a black cowboy hat pushed slightly back from his forehead. He had a denim jacket buttoned to his chin, which made it look as if he were hiding secrets. And violent ones too.

He eyeballed the parcel. I edged it closer. His eyes followed. He didn’t ask if the seat were free; he didn’t repeat his ‘howdy’. He just stood there.

I remembered the black pick-up I’d seen from the bus. And this was so very much the same guy, the driver. Curling round his tight, thin lips was that dead caterpillar of a moustache. It belonged in the National History Museum.

I looked past his facial hair, to the door to the toilets, praying for Jennifer to return. She seemed like the type to know what to do when tall mute cowboys stood at your table without saying anything.

‘I’ve finished my food,’ I said, smiling like I was looking into the sun, because I had to say something.

‘That I can see,’ he said in as cowboy a voice as you could imagine, especially if you’re from Somerset. ‘Me? I’ve never had much time for French fries. I’m more of a grits man.’

I felt like I should offer him some food, but all that was left was a tiny fragment of lettuce. He didn’t look like he’d enjoy tiny fragments of lettuce. I mean, he wasn’t a rabbit.

‘I like burgers,’ I said, and I don’t know why.

The Cowboy stared.

‘You sound like you’re a long way from home, son.’

And I think he would have continued staring if he hadn’t started coughing. It was a hacking, rattling sound. And as his body bent in two, Jennifer appeared behind him. She froze outside the toilet door. Her face fell as she saw the Cowboy. She recognised him and you could see she wanted to run. But she was tied to that parcel, the one on my table, as securely as a dog to a lead. So, slowly pushing the door open behind her, she shook her head. She drew a line across her neck.

‘Do you want some water?’ I asked, shrugging my shoulders at Jennifer, as the Cowboy’s lungs cracked the air. ‘I could get some.’

Recovering, he noticed that I looked past his shoulder. He turned. But all there was to see was the closing toilet door. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his mouth.

‘You here on your own, son?’

‘I’m on holiday with my British family. We’re British holidaymakers. From Britain.’

I don’t think I’d ever said ‘holidaymakers’ before. It was a word my gran would use when trying to buy the Daily Mail from a Spanish newsagent’s.

‘Uh-huh?’ said the Cowboy. ‘Is that so? Where are your parents? If you called out, could they hear you?’

I smiled in a kind of dentist’s-waiting-room way.

‘They’re in the toilets. Their stomachs.’ I indicated the fast food restaurant. ‘You know. British.’

His eyes fixed on the parcel. He moved to speak but thought better of it. Instead he smiled. You might have expected rotten teeth or ones coated in silver. But they were film-star perfect. How old was he? There was something treelike to him. Like you could work out his age by cutting him open and counting the rings.

‘You’re right. Excuse my … lack of manners. I’m no great conversationalist.’ He touched the brim of his hat. ‘You have yourself a swell time. Enjoy the bus journey. I’ll be seeing you.’

Back on the coach, Jennifer didn’t even let me ask the driver about my phone charger. She rushed me through to my seat with urgent, shaking hands.

‘It’s just that my phone’s at, like, fourteen per cent.’ Sitting now, Jennifer had her head in her hands, her elbows balanced on the parcel. Her legs trembled. I decided to stop talking about batteries. ‘You okay?’

‘What do you think?’ she said.

‘No? I mean, the guy was creepy. Maybe he was just really old. People get weird when they’re old. My gran …’

My voice faded. I was doing it again: nervous talking. I turned to check if there were any free seats nearby. Maybe sitting somewhere else would be a good idea. Jennifer raised her head. Her fingers picked at her nails.

‘The guy works for my grandmother. A fixer. They call him the Cowboy. The police have failed, so now she’s sent him.’

‘The Cowboy? You knew him? Are they real?’

‘Are what real?’

‘Cowboys?’

Jennifer blinked at me.

‘What are you talking about?’

I shook my head.

‘Cowboys. I didn’t realise they were a thing.’

‘Look, there was this time a –’ she did air quotation marks – ‘business associate of my grandmother’s ran off with some money. Took a suitcase on a plane to Hawaii with a fake name, fake ID, everything. Who should be waiting for him as he steps out in Honolulu? The Cowboy. With the business associate’s name on A4 laminated card and everything. You want to know what happened to the business associate?’

‘They killed him?’

‘Worse.’

I laughed. Jennifer didn’t. I decided, like, maybe leaving this was a good idea.

‘He wasn’t expecting you,’ she continued. ‘He held off. But he’s on our trail. It’s only a matter of time now. He was a US marshal back in the day. He knows what he’s doing. You’re just a complication.’

‘I’ve never been called that before.’ Jennifer didn’t react, not even with a half-grin. ‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll think of something. Don’t sweat. He’s not the problem. Grandmother is the problem.’

‘Why?’

‘You want to know why? I’ll tell you why. You like superheroes – who’s the bad guy from Superman?’

‘Lex Luthor?’

‘Yeah. That’s the dude. Grandmother’s him.’

‘She’s bald?’

‘She’ll be pissed at me running off. And taking this –’ she patted the parcel –‘will have turned her nuclear.’

I’d thought things were bad when I’d missed the flight. Now I’d covered for a girl wanted by the police and found out she was being pursued by some cowboy dude, and had stolen from her scary grandmother, who was also Lex Luthor.

My eyes pricked with hot tears. I turned away from Jennifer. I tried to clear my head. I tried to pretend that everything was okay and I was, like, on a bus to school or something.

‘Did you say you had painkillers?’ I said in a tissue-thin voice. ‘I think my allergies are flaring up.’

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