"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't send the lot of you back to Manchester."
Mrs Baker glared at the four boys stood in a line in front of her, all dressed in pyjamas, Gene with a bruise forming on his elbow and Christopher with a red patch over the right side of his forehead, all looking suitably contrite. She wasn't quite sure whether the three older boys really were sorry yet- she'd long since learnt that children of their ilk didn't really do good behaviour- but none of them had talked back yet, instead remaining staring at the floor, heads bowed in what she hoped was a genuine sign of apology.
The landlady of the house was assessing the damage, having heard the bang from her bedroom; no doubt it would be pretty expensive, and a great inconvenience for the lady of the house. Mrs Baker was angry, as the teacher in charge of the children who had caused the damage. They were just children, irresponsible and to an extent unable to predict the outcomes of their actions, but tray tobogganing- especially when they were meant to be asleep- and causing that amount of damage wasn't about to be taken lightly.
"Well? Come on. One reason between the four of you, shouldn't be too 'ard."
Gene sniffed. Ray scuffed the carpet with his toes.
"Somebody? Anybody?"
Nothing. Mrs Baker sighed, leaning back against the wall, tapping it with her long nails.
"Well, all four of you'll be gettin' the cane, that's for sure. Just a matter of if that's 'ere or in Manchester now."
She thought she saw Gene wince, but if he did, the expression was gone so quickly that she couldn't be sure it had been there at all. She'd long since learnt that Gene was a hard child to understand.
"One reason."
She wasn't expecting anyone to speak up, was beginning to wonder why she was asking it; it startled her when a small voice spoke from the end of the row, its owner staring up at her with tears in his big, doleful eyes.
"We were just playin', Miss. We're sorry fer damagin' the wall," Christopher said meekly, picking nervously at his nails, one tooth worrying at his lip. "We're sorry. We were just playin'."
Gene stiffened, but Mrs Baker chose to ignore it.
"Just playin'. Well, not only 'ave you damaged that wall quite badly, but you could've damaged yourselves as well. Think about it- if one of you 'ad 'it the wall with their 'ead, they could've knocked themselves out, or worse. Much worse. People 'ave died doin' stupid things like you did."
Ray shuffled, his face droopy for the lack of its usual smirk; Brian was studying the flowery pattern on the carpet as though it held the answers to the universe, his cheeks red.
"So. You 'ave no good reason for doin' what you did, you've caused a lot of damage to the wall, Gene and Christopher are 'urt, and woken me up in the dead of night to deal with you, not to mention the landlady. Whose idea was it, please?"
Utter silence.
The Question had been asked.
Mrs Baker was fully aware of the psychology of this question; the sidelong glances, the embarrassed shifting from foot to foot, the mutters of "it was him, Miss, honest, it was him!" and then the indignant remonstrations from the supposedly guilty party. The answer could almost always be found in the body movements, in the quick looks. The best actors learned to disguise this, or peer round at someone to try and mask their own guilt, but in the split second when the question was asked, someone would reveal it. Without a shadow of a doubt.
Only nobody moved this time.
"Whose idea was it? Come on. Someone must 'ave come up with it."
Gene Hunt seemed the most likely candidate, troublemaker as he was; she opened her mouth to ask him, eyes trained on the bowed blond head in front of her, only to be cut off by the small voice to her right, a mumble she would have doubted even existed had she not heard it with her own ears.
"It was me, Miss."
"Christopher?"
The boy himself was beetroot-red, eyes watery and bottom lip quavering, but when he met his teacher's gaze his own was unwavering. Mrs Baker raised her eyebrows.
"Really?"
"Yes, Miss. Sorry."
The last word was no more than a whisper, so quiet that she barely caught it, despite the total silence of the hotel. Brian and Ray looked down at their feet; Gene clenched his fingers, wrapping his arms round his stomach like a shield.
She had no doubt that Christopher was lying. But she also had no doubt that there was a reason.
And sometimes you just had to let that work itself out.
She studied Christopher's little face, now glazed with tears, and sighed, standing up straight.
"Well, I think you've all been very silly, and we'll see about the wall in the mornin'. You'll each 'ave five strokes of the cane. Go an' get into bed an' get some sleep."
The boys nodded as one, all but Gene looking up as she opened the door and beckoned for them to head back to their rooms, holding it open for them as they filed out into the corridor. Christopher attempted a mumbled "goodnight Miss", shuffling nervously out after Brian and casting fertive glances at Gene, as though waiting for the older boy to tell him what to do next.
As Gene passed her, she glimpsed a strip of red on the back of his T-shirt, and a thick, dark patch of bruising where his shirt didn't quite reach his trousers.
She was certain he hadn't been bleeding after he'd gone into the wall. And he hadn't hit his back.
"How's your 'and, Hunt?"
"Piss off," Gene mumbled, resting his head against the window of the coach and curling his hands into each other in his lap. His caning earlier had left his right hand sore and red, and the cut the impact of hitting the wall had re-opened on his back stung under his shirt; he could only hope it wasn't bleeding now, pressing himself into the cushions and focusing on the city flashing by outside. Just my luck Jamieson an' Carter saw us being caned.
No doubt they'd be taking every opportunity to tease him about it, probably trying to grab his hand or bend it back to aggravate them. And Alex would start nosing into it as well.
He wasn't ashamed of it. It had been an accident and he'd only gone along with the whole plan in the first place because Brian seemed to think it was a good idea and Christopher had been whinging. But it would shock Alex, and loathe as he was to admit it, he didn't really want her to start thinking he was that badly-behaved, like all the teachers back in Manchester. He didn't want to single-handedly prove the stereotype to her, the Northern flatfoot whose education would be completely wasted on them. Even though he didn't like studying, Gene still used it, because if he could get an education, he would be able to get a good job, and have a good life, and that would make him better than his father. And Gene was determined to turn out better than this father.
"Hey, Hunt, high five!" John Carter laughed, waving his hand around to shouts of laughter from the back of the coach; Gene cast him a single heated glare, folding his arms over his chest and resolutely staring out of the window. Mrs Baker, watching him from behind the driver, smiled. Maybe there was hope for him yet.
"What's Daddy goin' ter say when little Eugene comes 'ome with bright red 'ands, eh? Maybe 'e'll give yer a couple 'imself, just ter-"
Gene never found out what his father would be caning him to do, because just then Christopher whipped round in his seat and punched William straight in the stomach.
"Oof!"
The coach exploded with laughter, Brian and Gene easily the loudest as William gasped for air, winded; Mrs Baker glanced back in the rearview mirror, smiling to herself as she pretended to be too immersed in the shops going by outside to notice a red-faced but beaming Christopher being quietly congratulated by Gene, Brian and Ray.
"Lively bunch you've got 'ere," the coach driver commented quietly, flipping the indicator on. Mrs Baker rolled her eyes.
"Don't I know it…"
The morning was uneventful, apart from Gene tripping Amelia Forester up accidentally on purpose and nearly sending her flying onto the wet canvas Micky and Christopher were using to draw the Underground out; the rain kept Gene and Alex inside, pattering down miserably on the windowpanes as Gene lounged idly on two chairs and Alex attempted to entertain herself by playing several rounds of noughts and crosses with herself and inevitably failed. By the time the rain finally eased up and the bell rang for break, the pair were bored witless, slouching out into the crisp air and over to the monkey bars, Gene taking advantage of the height to stick his tongue out at William Jamieson and mime being winded in safety.
"What are you doing?" Alex asked curiously as she held her hands up for a lift, her well-bred accent sounding even posher for the childish curiosity. Gene looked down at her from his perch, hauling her up onto the bars next to him and hurriedly hiding the wince that came with the movement.
"Christopher punched 'im. Winded 'im."
"Really?"
Alex looked scandalised, her eyes wide with shock; Gene smirked, patting her shoulder.
"Yup. Proper punch. Winded 'im. I've got an idea, let's go out of the school fer the next one, do a proper crime scene."
Mainly he wanted to get away from William and John, and preferably Mrs Baker as well. But Alex didn't need to know that.
"We could find an alleyway or somethin', make out someone got murdered there. Loads of people get murdered in alleyways, don't they?"
"Do they?"
"Yeah. Loads and loads of people." Gene's eyes began to glitter as he sniffed an opportunity to wind Alex up. "There was this man up in Manchester, 'e came out o' the pub an' went inter an alleyway, an' someone stabbed 'im in the eye with a massive knife, so 'is eye burst an' splattered everywhere, an' then all 'is brains started leakin' out an' went all over 'is face an' in 'is mouth an' 'e started chokin' on 'em-"
"Eurgh, no, Gene, stop it!"
Alex covered her ears, her face screwed up in revulsion; Gene sniggered, grabbing the bar behind him only to be painfully reminded of his caned hands.
"Fuck," he hissed, somewhat glad Alex's hands were still over her ears as he cradled his sore fingers, clenching and unclenching them to make sure they still worked. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Mrs Baker glancing at him, a strange mixture of sadness and sympathy on her face; grinding his teeth together, he deliberately turned his back on her, pulling Alex down from the play frame as the bell sounded for class.
"Go an' ask Mrs Pankhurst, I bet she'll say yes. Little teacher's pet."
Alex meekly pretended to punch his shoulder, clasping her hands in front of her skirt as she ran towards her teacher, ignoring Amelia Forester accidentally on purpose stepping on her foot as she was shepherded inside.
"Mrs Pankhurst? Could Gene and I…"
"How long will it take?"
"Five minutes to clean the place out. Easy as pie. Why, Rod, you scared?"
"Course I'm not fucking scared! Just… doesn't take long for the rozzers to find you, does it?"
"Grow up, Rod. We won't give them the chance to call the fuzz. Just in and out, take the stuff and run. I've done this so many times before, I could do it in my fucking sleep. Just keep your face covered, and watch my back. When we're done, we go out through the back, there's an alleyway there that we can use. Understood?"
"Yeah, Steve. I understand."
"Good. Now get in the van and stop snivelling. This'll pay for that holiday in Majorca the missus wanted, won't it?"
"And more…"
"That's the attitude. Now get out there and let's do this jeweller's over."
After a little exploring around Fenchurch, with Mrs Baker in tow and Gene's expression getting steadily grumpier by the second, the small group finally managed to stumble over an alleyway nicely secluded from the main road to set up their 'crime scene' in; Gene placed the fake gun borrowed from the drama department carefully beside the 'body' as Alex outlined a person lying sprawled on the ground in white tape, eyebrows knitted in concentration as Mrs Baker watched, intervening once to remind Alex that the corpse needed feet. By the time the sun had came out and it was bright enough to take the photo, Gene had become bored, scraping a handful of pebbles from the pockmarked tarmac and using them to annoy the cashier in the jeweller's the alleyway ran behind. Mrs Baker, busy unsticking the roll of tape from Alex's elbow, failed to notice her other charge sniggering to himself as the cashier swerved round once again, glaring out of the window to try and find where the annoying tapping was coming from, too low down to see the little boy crouched under the window, scrabbling around behind a patch of weeds for more stones.
"Gene, come over 'ere, you can take the photo," Mrs Baker called just as he was about to throw another stone, stopping him in mid-throw; grumpily throwing the whole handful of stones at the window, Gene pushed himself to his feet, brushing his hands down on his trousers and quickly hiding his wince as Mrs Baker beckoned him over, her attempt at a smile vanishing at the stormy look on his face.
"Is your 'and hurtin'?"
"No," Gene muttered, eyes fixed on the camera; Mrs Baker sighed to herself, slipping it over her head and making to put it over his neck, stepping back slightly as Gene snatched it from her and turned his back on her, bright blue eyes giving her a flash of injured anger before they focused back on the 'crime scene' and Alex. What is it with 'im? The others aren't behavin' like this…
Just as Gene's finger lowered over the button, a shout from the jeweller's made everyone jump.
"Hands in the air! This is a robbery!"
"Gene!" Alex squealed, dashing forwards to cling to him; Gene stared round at the window he'd been crouched under, just catching a glimpse of balaclavas and the glint of a gun before Mrs Baker grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind a bush with her.
"Ow! Gerroff!"
"Gene, sweetie, stay still an' quiet, don't move," Mrs Baker whispered, tightening her grip on him, one arm round his chest and the other clutching Alex's hand as the crash of glass splintering came from the jeweller's, accompanied by a scream.
"Someone needs ter call the police," Gene hissed, struggling against Mrs Baker's arm; his teacher tightened her grip on him, shaking her head quickly, her hair whipping into a whimpering Alex's face.
"Don't you dare. You stay right 'ere, someone else will call the police. Gene Hunt, you stop that right now! They'll 'urt you if they see you."
She pulled him closer, pressing his skinny body into hers; Gene clenched his fists, still writhing to try and free himself of Mrs Baker's grasp, but a small, cold hand on his and a tearful, frightened whisper of "don't, Gene, please, stay here!" stopped him and he let Alex hold onto his hand, pressing himself against his teacher and squeezing the trembling little fingers in his. Gene Hunt liked to go where he was needed, just like with Christopher in the hotel, and a tiny voice in his head firmly told him that right now he was needed at Alex's side, that the adults would take care of everything else. So he reluctantly let his teacher hold him, one hand still in Alex's, and crouched as far down as possible as the sound of voices grew louder and the handle of the back door of the jeweller's turned.
"Right, let's go!"
And then someone was running out into the alleyway, swinging a sack filled with jewellery and money round as they swerved to yank someone else out behind them, both of them yanking their balaclavas off with one hand.
The sack smacked Mrs Baker on the head.
With a scream, she dropped back against the wall, spark out.
"AHHH!" Alex screamed, clinging to Gene, her heart thudding so hard in her mouth she thought she would be sick then and there; Gene swerved to face the two men now staring straight at them, pushing Alex behind himself, some primal instinct telling him to keep her safe as the two men stared at him in evident shock, both holding guns aloft.
"Shit," one of the robbers muttered. "What do we do now?"
"Only thing we can do. Hold the sack," the other replied, and passing the sack of jewellery to his friend, he reached out and pinned Gene's arms to his sides, his tight grip bruising Gene's skin as he pushed his face aggressively into the little boy's, ignoring Alex starting to cry.
"You saw nothing. Understood? You say a thing to the police, and we'll come looking for you, and set fire to your house in the middle of the night."
Gene spat in his face.
"Little bastard!"
Before Alex could do anything more than whimper, the man had smacked Gene across the face, sending him sprawling to the ground, his yelp echoing round the alleyway.
"Gene!"
"Bring the bitch too. We'll have to take the both of them," the man snarled, hauling a struggling Gene up onto his shoulder; the other man grabbed Alex and hoisted her up, clinging tightly as she started to thrash against him, screaming "Gene! GENE!" at the top of her voice.
"Shut up!"
And before she really registered what was happening she was being hurled into the back of a van, Gene dropped carelessly beside her, the van roaring and rattling beneath her as someone held her down and someone else tied her wrists and ankles, gagging her as she started to shriek again. Gene began yelling, screaming loudly enough to wake the dead in a vain hope that someone might hear, someone might help, but no-one came to save them and he was left to struggle uselessly as the superior strength of their captors won out and he was quickly restrained, blood trickling down his face and chin from cuts on his temple and lip.
Alex rested her head on his shoulder and sobbed through the gag, her bound hands travelling over to hold Gene's as best they could and Gene's cold fingers grasping hers back as the van grumbled on, the cold, hawk-like eyes of the two robbers watching steadily.
"My dear woman, are you alright? Can you hear me?"
"Does she need some water?"
"Can you hear me, madam?"
"Urghh…"
Mrs Baker's eyes slowly slid open, hazy eyesight gradually clearing; she could just about make out a blur of white hair, a thick red cut above what seemed to be an eye. Someone handed her a glass of water, their hand on her shoulder as she eased herself up and glugged the water down, her battered brain fighting to regain its memories.
Gene… and a girl… making the crime scene, Alex missing out the feet… poor little Gene, his red hand and the hurt in his eyes, the flicker of guilt she'd felt for caning him… and then the screaming…
Gene and Alex!
"Oh my God! The two- there were two children with me, a little boy and a girl- are they-"
The white-haired man she could now make out in front of her frowned, supporting her up as she looked round wildly, heart pounding; the tape was still on the floor, some parts scrunched up and dirtied, and the fake gun had been kicked into the dust of the scrubby weeds.
But no children in sight.
"GENE! ALEX!" she screamed at the top of her voice, determinedly not letting her voice break; but no reply came, no small voices or childish sobs.
Something on the floor caught her eye, and she almost choked on a strangled gasp, pitching forwards.
A small pool of blood. And a child's handprint, just the size that Gene's hand had been as she'd caned it this morning, his long, delicate fingers jerking up with each blow.
In that moment, she knew they were gone.
A/N: This is quite a major detour from my original plot, which I suspect was a bit less dramatic to say the least. So I need you awesome people to review and tell me if you like it! Please, you can spare a review for a friend, can't you? I am literally begging you here.
I would love some reviews because I have had the week from hell. A friend has had a serious accident, I've had more migraines than I thought was possible, my family have been pretty indifferent apart from my brother taking every opportunity possible to wind me up about the amount of revision I have to do and my college work seems to centre around The Kite Runner, eg. child rape, war and murder. So please, knowing that people are still reading this and that my efforts are still being appreciated would be a real tonic. Save The Fanfics asks you once again to step up to the mark, as you have done so wonderfully in the past or will do so brilliantly now, and just donate a little review. Because if I don't get some love, I may just go and crawl into a hole and try to forget the world ever existed. Jazzola