Waterloo Road

Reviews!

elmo12356: Were you really late for work after the last chapter? What on earth did you tell your boss?!

Paisley: I'm afraid no more Carol—yet—but more coming up right away on Kacey and Connor.

Guest: Aw, thanks! ox

NothingLeftToSayImagineDragons: I'm SO into Tom/Christine from this. Shame it can't actually happen for real. Perhaps I'll need to do a follow up to explore that more…

Jessiekat89: Yes! Exactly, Jasmine was terrified—but so was everyone else and in the process people lost sight of what it must've been like for her.

Kevasty fans should enjoy this next bit, but the Comogens must wait…. As always, read, enjoy, review. Some of your guesses of what's coming have been very near the mark…

6.30am, Mulgrew House

Imogen hesitated at the kitchen door, her hand hovering on the handle but not turning it. She knew Christine was there, she could see the thread of light that bled into the dark hall along the door's bottom, but she was unsure what she'd find when she entered.

It was almost a week since Connor and Kacey's disappearance and each passing day made it harder and harder to believe they'd get them back. The police had searched for three days before informing Christine that there was little more they could do except keep an eye out; there was no concrete evidence linking Steve Malone to the disappearances, and the 'Pete' that Jasmine kept mentioning was a dead end. Without a surname, the police could go no further; as their case officer had pointed out trenchantly, they could hardly go around Greenock and Liverpool lifting every man with the name 'Pete'!

In the meantime, Imogen had moved back to Christine's rather than face her own mother's attempt at genuine sorrow; Sally had only ever tolerated Connor at best. At least her mother-in-law shared her agony… and in truth, Imogen wanted to make sure Christine got through this in one piece. They had no way of knowing what state Connor would be in when he returned—she flatly refused to contemplate the alternative—and in the meantime, she'd do everything in her power to ensure that the strain did not send his mother sliding off the wagon. Besides, it was easier to worry about Christine than it was to think of what Connor and Kacey might be suffering; it was easier to fuss over her mother-in-law than to endure the constant concern she encountered at school.

Now she fixed a determined smile on her face and opened the door, trying for a cheery greeting.

'Hey. Bit early for you this, isn't it?'

Her mother-in-law whirled, her arms going out to hide the worktop behind her, a movement that triggered a wisp of suspicion in her daughter-in-law's brain.

'Imogen.' Christine's mouth twisted. 'What're you doin' up?' In the poorly lit kitchen her eyes were darkened to unfathomable black.

The younger woman shivered, remembering her own silent tears in the darkness. 'Couldn't sleep. You?'

'No.' Christine refused to meet her gaze. 'You should go back,' she advised awkwardly after a moment's pause. 'Tom told me not to come in until after briefing, so we're not leaving until after eight.'

'You're goin' in?' Imogen did not have to feign surprise; she knew that Mr Clarkson and Miss Boston had literally ganged up on her mother-in-law and strongly recommended that she stay home for the duration. 'Thought he said council had OK'd the compassionate leave for as long as you needed it.'

As she spoke she moved to the cupboard for her cup before approaching Christine and the fridge. Her mother-in-law stiffened as she drew near, and the thread of niggling suspicion turned into certainty.

'What's that you've got?' she asked, moving around the island to see what the older woman was hiding.

'None of your business,' Christine snapped, also moving. 'Go back to bed, Imogen.'

'Too late!' Imogen grabbed the bottle of vodka from behind her and turned a hard stare on her mother-in-law. 'Christine, what're you doin'? If Connor knew you were drinkin' because of him it'd break his heart!'

'He should've thought of that before he went racing to Kacey's rescue!' The tone was hostile, reminding Imogen of their first term at Waterloo Road, when Connor's mother had not scrupled to hide her dislike of her son's girlfriend. She'd thought—hoped—that the in the intervening period the dislike had turned to affection, but just now… it was if the clock had turned back and Imogen stiffened, partly from hurt and partly from outrage.

'What, so you'd have preferred him to just… let that man walk off with Kacey?' she accused. 'Even though you knew about the threats?'

Christine returned glare for glare, her eyes shooting daggers.

'Actually, I would have preferred it if he'd used a bit of sense and come to me so that we could call the police, but oh no, that's too sensible for my martyr son. Here, give us that back.' She tried to snatch the bottle away from Imogen, but the younger woman clutched it protectively as she backed away.

'Are you kiddin'? There's no way I'm givin' this back! Only place this is goin' is down the sink!'

She was taken aback when Christine began to laugh, a laugh that was utterly devoid of amusement.

'You're too late, it's quite safe. My darling son has beaten you to it.'

'Eh?' Imogen looked from her mother-in-law to the bottle. 'What d'you mean?'

Christine made a weary movement with her hand as she turned her back on Imogen, muttering something her daughter-in-law could not hear. Imogen sent her another glare for good measure before unscrewing the top and sniffing.

'That… doesn't smell like vodka,' she said tentatively after another few sniffs. 'I know they say vodka's not supposed to smell, but it does and that…' Cautiously, she dipped her finger into the bottle until it hit liquid and licked it. 'That's water!'

'Yep.' Christine turned to face her once more, her lips drawn tight, emphasising the fine lines that clustered there. 'It seems Connor doesn't trust me either, despite all his fine words.'

'And look at you now, it's just as well, isn't it!' Imogen spat.

For a moment she regretted it. Christine looked … desolate.

'I suppose not.' She sighed again and rubbed her face with her hands, her expression turning pleading. 'I… please don't tell him, Imogen. I, I just needed something, a sip, a gulp—that's all, I promise, I wasn't going to drink the whole thing even if it was vodka, I swear.'

Imogen refused to be moved. Even if the bottle contained only water, it was the principle of the thing.

'You said it yourself, you're an alcoholic. There's no such thing as a gulp or sip for you!'

'And what do you know about it?' Christine shot back, the little tremor of vulnerability disappearing as if it had never been. 'Standing there, all pure and so, so sickeningly self-righteous and thinkin' you know everything… no wonder you and Connor hooked up, you're as bad as each other. A couple of wide-eyed kids who know absolutely nothin' about what real life is!'

'You know what?' Imogen slammed the bottle back on the worktop. 'Drink yourself to death for all I care. Connor's out there, endurin' God knows what, and you're still behavin' like a bitch and wallowin' in your own feelings instead of tryin' to get him back. And when I get him back—and trust me, I'm goin' to—we're goin' to go as far away from you as we can. We shoulda done it before now, but Connor didn't want to leave you an' we thought—we honestly thought—you'd changed. More fool us!'

With that she pulled out her hearing aids and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind her with such fierceness that the vibration rattled through the wooden floor and all the way up to her skull. Once back in the room she'd shared with Connor, she pulled on her uniform as quickly as she could and sent Dynasty an urgent text. If they wanted Connor and Kacey back they were on their own, she thought bitterly. Christine would only hold them back.

7.00am, Barry House

'Hey.' Kevin picked up a strand of curly golden hair and tickled his sleeping girlfriend's nose with it. 'Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty. Rise'n'shine.'

'Hmmmmmfff, gerroff.' Dynasty twitched away from him and turned on her side, snuggling back into her pillow.

Kevin propped his head on his hand whilst his elbow rested deep in the feathery embrace of his own pillow and watched her, appreciating every inch—the frizzy golden mass of her hair, the gentle curves of her figure, presently hinted under the bedclothes.

'Dyn,' he whispered, running a hand down her arm. 'Dyn, it's nearly seven, we need to get up. Today's the day you're coming back to school.'

'Right.' Her tone was sleepily sardonic. 'Wrong, Kev. Me place is at 'ome, with me mum and our Barry til we 'ear about Kacey.' She flopped on her back, staring at the ceiling with anxious eyes. 'I can't stop thinkin' about 'er out there. It was below freezin' last night; what if they're not under shelter? An' grub. Barry told us about Munch not eatin' right. That's not a good start, is it?'

'Connor's with her,' Kevin soothed, continuing to run a hand up and down the silk of her arm. 'He'll watch out for her, you know he will. Imogen told yer what Jasmine said, that Connor promised he was gonna get 'er and bring 'er back.'

'Aye, an' that worked so well!' Dynasty sat up suddenly, the movement throwing his hand off. 'You an' me both know Connor's been a right 'eadcase for weeks. 'E's hardly fit to look after 'imself, let alone me baby sister.' She pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on them. 'What if Steve-O and Pete 'ave 'urt her, like they said they would? 'Cos of me? Kev, if me wee sister has suffered 'cos of me, I'll never forgive meself, I'll never get over it.' She paused and went on with a quiet intensity that raised the little hairs on the back of his neck. 'It's not right an' it's fair, what've us Barrys ever done that the world seems to 'ate us so much? Just as we get over one bad thing another 'appens, it just goes on and on…' She hid her face in the pink-and-purple duvet and spoke in a muffled half whisper: 'I'm so… tired of 'avin' to be strong all the time…'

'I know.' He had to clear his throat. 'I know, Dyn. But we'll find 'er, yeah?' He grabbed her hand and held it in both of his as he stared deep into the blue eyes he loved. 'We won't give up 'til we know. We won't give up 'til we've found 'em. There's gotta be a way, we just havta think of it. The police don't know everythin', do they?'

'They don't know anythin',' Dynasty snapped, swinging her legs over the side of her bed and reaching for her dressing gown with a shiver. Something bleeped, and her brow creased. 'Was that me phone?'

Kevin sprawled across the bed to make a long arm for her dressing table. 'Yep, it's Imogen. Will read?' She gestured agreement, pulling the edges of the fluffy dressing gown under her chin. 'Oh. Oh, this ain't good…' He exhaled a long breath and Dynasty leaned towards him.

'What is it? What's she say?'

'She's 'ad a row with Christine, she says. Somethin' about vodka—'

'What?' Dynasty plucked the phone from his hand. 'I don't believe it,' she insisted after reading the message for herself. 'Mrs M's not like that, I should know.'

Kevin shrugged and scrambled to his own feet. 'Either way, Im's comin' 'ere now an' we'd better be ready for 'er.' He quirked a grin. 'Seems she had the same idea as us. Grown ups are full of fail, if we want Connor an' Kacey back we're gonna have to do it ourselves!'

Unknown

'What time is it?'

Connor's voice was anxious and Kacey suppressed a sigh. 'I dunno, mate. I can't see either, can I? It's early, know that much.'

And cold, she thought with a shiver as she pressed up closer to Connor. Out here—wherever that was—the only warmth they had was each other.

'What are we doin' here?' Connor demanded fretfully. 'This stopped bein' fun ages ago. I wanna go home, I wanna see my mum and Imogen. Why can't we go home?'

Frustration and fear mingled in Kacey's gut. This was what her life had become since the day of her abduction; as if being forcibly kidnapped from her school wasn't bad enough, she'd then had to relive the experience multiple times a day every day for the benefit of her severely concussed would-be rescuer. Sometimes she wondered, sickeningly, if Connor's brain had been hurt.

'We can't go home,' she explained wearily. 'We're bein' kept 'ere by Pete, Steve-O's mate—you remember Steve-O?'

''Mmmm….' Connor's voice trailed off and Kacey panicked.

'Connor? Connor, can you 'ear me?'

''Course I can hear you, I'm not deaf,' he returned grumpily. He moaned. 'I wanna go home, why can't we go home?'

She blinked away tears of hopeless frustration at the endless cycle.

'I wanna go home too,' she whispered, and said nothing more as she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep. She knew Connor shouldn't have been sleeping willy-nilly with that head injury, but it felt as though they'd been cooped up here for days and sleep was the only thing they could do.

They were awakened the by the door bursting open, flooding the tiny cabin with sharp white light of winter. Kacey's retinas protested at the onslaught and it took a moment to recognise Pete.

'Up yous get, kiddiwinks,' he began with joviality that caused her heart to thump uncomfortably. 'Yous are well lucky today, you're 'avin' a visitor. Won't that nice?'

She tried to lick her lips. They were dry and chapped, the roughness of them catching on her tongue. 'Who?'

'Aw, only yer old mate an' mine, Kace.' She could not see Pete's face, but she knew from his tone that he was smiling. ''E's dyin' to see yer, sommat about needin' to give yer a seein'-to.'

Kacey's breath caught.

'What's 'e on about?' Connor demanded fretfully. 'Kace, who's that guy?'

'Still not got 'is memory back then?' Pete asked casually before she could summon the voice to answer. 'Shame. Bright kid, wasn't 'e?' He shook his head mournfully; Kacey could see the silhouetted gelled spikes waft like thorns in the wind. 'That'll teach 'im to stay in Steve-O's good books in t'future, an' all.'

The cabin was cold enough with the door closed; now that it was wide open the wind was blowing straight through. Her teeth began to chatter; she'd come to feel the cold intensely. Even Connor, injured as he was, did not seem to be as badly affected. Her breath hitched again, emerging as an aborted sob.

'Aw, don't cry, kiddo,' Pete said, his mock concern making her skin crawl. 'One way or 'nother, it'll not be for much longer, eh? Oh, 'fore I ferget, 'ere's your food ration.' Something hard landed in Kacey's lap. 'And yer drink.' A second thump, this one making her wince. 'See yous laters, kids. Be good!'

The door rattled shut, once again cutting out the light, and Kacey could no longer even pretend to repress her sobs. Her fingers explored the shapes Pete had dumped on her lap; investigation revealed that the 'food' was a lump of old bread, so crusty that it was difficult to tear apart. The drink was a bottle of water—and only half full at that, judging from the limited sloshing she could hear. She prodded Connor into drinking and eating a little before curling up beside him once more, her own fingers grasping her hunk of bread as she tried to think what to do.

Connor was useless, utterly useless. If they wanted to escape it was up to her, but how? Her head was so muzzy from lack of food that she could barely think straight, and Pete's visits were always so short and fear-filled that she'd never really had the chance to look past him. She was certain of only one fact regarding their whereabouts: that they were not at warehouses by the docks; the wide expanses of blue she'd glimpsed beyond Pete's shoulder had told her that at least.

She moved again, trying to take what limited comfort she could from using her bag as a pillow, shaking it and shaking it again—and in the process, her fingers discovered something Pete had missed in his quick check. Something that was flat and cold and could prove to be their salvation—if only it worked.

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