Lone Wolf - Robert Muchamore Page 0,3

got a couple of jobs in the planning stage which I might as well work through,’ Kirsten explained. ‘But I can handle them alone.’

Fay’s jaw dropped. ‘We’ve worked together since my mum died.’

Kirsten tapped the pile of printouts. ‘Those are some of the best fee-paying schools in the country. Or at least the best ones with places for a thirteen-year-old with a patchy school record.’

‘You’ve home-schooled me well enough,’ Fay said. ‘I don’t see why I need some fancy school.’

‘Sweetie, I know how much explosive it takes to blow a safe open. I even know guys who’ll sell me a few sticks of dynamite. But that doesn’t mean I can teach you GCSE chemistry. Plus there’s the social side. You can’t spend all your life with a thirty-six-year-old auntie. You need to mix with people your own age.’

Fay picked out one of the school pages at random and scowled at lines of confident-looking kids in a school playground.

‘Mum sent me to school when I was little,’ Fay said stiffly. ‘Other kids pissed me off.’

But Fay had only done a few terms of primary school, and though she was too hardnosed to admit it, the idea of being in a room full of strange kids scared her. ‘I’m a lone wolf,’ she shouted, as she flicked the mound of printouts on to the floor and stood up. ‘When Mum died, you swore you’d look after me.’

Kirsten didn’t rise to her niece’s anger and began calmly picking the papers off the floor. ‘This is looking after you,’ she said, as she calmly placed the papers down in front of Fay. ‘Your mum and me were teenagers. We grew up in care homes and began by knocking over street dealers for twenty quid. Then we started with the bigger dealers. Then we started sniffing out cash houses and major drug hauls. Now there’s two million in clean cash, which neither of us will be able to spend if we wind up in prison.’

‘What’ll you do all day?’ Fay asked. ‘I can’t see you sitting on your arse watching Antiques Hunt.’

Kirsten shrugged. ‘I could set up a kickboxing academy. I could buy a café, learn Japanese, take up golf, try the banjo . . .’

Fay snorted. ‘What about the thrill of the chase?’

‘Luck always runs out, Fay. If we’re lucky the cops’ll get us and we’ll go to prison. But if a dealer catches up, they’ll torture and kill us.’

‘You’re so melodramatic,’ Fay said.

‘Your mother thought she’d live forever and Hagar got her.’

‘I don’t see why I’ve got to go to some stupid school,’ Fay shouted, as she held up one of the leaflets. ‘Look at ’em. Little ladies in pleated skirts and knee socks.’

‘If you don’t pick one, I will,’ Kirsten said. ‘Like it or lump it, you’re gonna go to school.’

‘I’ll flunk the entrance exam.’

‘Then I’ll send you to the local comprehensive. This isn’t up for debate, Fay. We’ve made all the money we need and you’re going to school.’

*

Two mornings later, Fay lay on her bed in a pink robe. She’d done the same two laps around the Outer Circle, only this time followed up with an hour-long kickboxing session with her aunt. The room had plenty of wardrobe space, but they moved every few months, so Fay habitually lived out of a pair of wheeled suitcases, whose contents had sprawled out like some multicoloured floor fungus.

Kirsten knocked and came in without waiting. ‘Manchester,’ she said abruptly. ‘Get dressed.’

‘Right now?’ Fay asked.

‘Buyer’s all lined up. Sixteen kilos at forty-five thousand per kilo.’

Fay looked confused. ‘I thought we stole eighteen.’

‘And word’s on the street that eighteen got stolen from Hagar, so I’ll shift sixteen now and keep a couple back for a rainy day.’

Fay looked excited. As the teenager grabbed jeans and a T-shirt off the floor, Kirsten was pleased to see the stack of school website printouts looking well thumbed. Fay had also added comments in the margin such as dorky uniform and middle of nowhere. Kirsten laughed when she saw a picture of a boy with FIT written across his school jumper in red biro.

‘The four on top are my favourites,’ Fay said.

Kirsten laughed. ‘All mixed schools I see.’

‘Well, if you’re forcing me to go to school, I might as well go where they have some boys.’

‘All-girls schools are kind of creepy,’ Kirsten agreed. ‘And I’m glad you’re warming to the idea.’

‘So what’s the next step?’ Fay asked.

‘I’ll call admissions and see what the situation is,’ Kirsten said. ‘If they