limbs. There were more flashes as a man in a grey anorak and jeans photographed the two women.
Clare burst out laughing and so did the uniformed policemen. They grabbed the girls and a female officer picked up their clothes. The two men in raincoats moved to the side and the girls were hustled down the hallway. The redhead started to cry but the blonde was more vociferous, screaming that she wanted to call her lawyer. The man with the camera followed them out of the room.
Clare picked up the still-burning joint and took a long pull on it. He held it up and offered it to the two detectives. They shook their heads.
“So what's the charge, guys?” asked Clare nonchalantly.
“Is it the sex, the drugs or the rock and roll?”
The taller of the two detectives picked up an ashtray and carried it over to the bed.
Clare was naked but he made no move to cover himself up. His well-muscled torso was still glistening with sweat. He stubbed out the joint.
“Martin Clare, you are under arrest for conspiring to export four tons of cannabis resin,” said the detective.
Clare's face tightened but he continued to smile brightly.
“Cannabis that we currently have in our possession at Rotterdam docks,” the detective continued.
“What is it they say in your country, Mr. Clare? You are nicked?”
“That'll do it,” said Clare.
“What the fuck. Let me get my pants on, yeah?”
Robbie picked up his sports bag as soon as the bell started to ring, but dropped it by the side of his desk after Mr. Inverdale gave him a baleful look. Mr. Inverdale finished outlining the essay he wanted writing for homework, then turned his back on the class. There was a mad scramble for the door. Robbie pulled his Nokia mobile from his sports bag and switched it on. He'd sent Elaine Meade a text message before the start of class and was keen to see if she'd replied.
“Outside with that, Donovan,” said Mr. Inverdale, without turning around.
“You know the rules.”
Robbie hurried out into the corridor. He had one text message waiting. Robbie's heart began to pound. Elaine was the prettiest girl in his year, bar none. Blonde with big blue eyes like the pretty one in Steps and a really cute way of wrinkling up her nose when she laughed. He pressed the button to collect the message and tried to ignore the growing tightness in his stomach. The text message flashed up.
“I'M BACK. COME HOME NOW DAD.”
Robbie grinned and pumped his fist in the air.
“Yes!” he said. It had been more than two months since Robbie had seen his father.
He stuffed the phone back into the sports bag and headed for the school gates. He looked around nervously but there were no teachers in the playground. It was lunch break and everyone was rushing towards the refectory. Robbie walked purposefully through the gates and broke into a run, his sports bag banging against his leg.
He was sweating and out of breath by the time he reached his house. His mother's silver-grey Range Rover was parked in front of the house. Next to it was a dark green Jaguar, its engine still clicking under the bonnet. Robbie ran his finger along the paintwork. His dad didn't like British cars: he said they were always breaking down and that you couldn't beat the Germans for quality engineering. Robbie walked down the side of the house and through the kitchen door. There were two bulging Marks and Spencer carrier bags on the counter top next to the sink and two mugs by the kettle.
“Dad!” There was no answer.
Robbie put his sports bag on the kitchen table and ran through to the sitting room. Empty. He went back into the hall.
“Dad?” His voice echoed around the hallway.
Robbie went up the stairs, one hand on the banister. He could hear voices coming from his parents' bedroom. Robbie broke into a run and pushed open the bedroom door, grinning excitedly. He froze when he saw the two figures on the bed. Two naked figures. His mother on top, sitting down, her spine arched and her head
Clare burst out laughing and so did the uniformed policemen. They grabbed the girls and a female officer picked up their clothes. The two men in raincoats moved to the side and the girls were hustled down the hallway. The redhead started to cry but the blonde was more vociferous, screaming that she wanted to call her lawyer. The man with the camera followed them out of the room.
Clare picked up the still-burning joint and took a long pull on it. He held it up and offered it to the two detectives. They shook their heads.
“So what's the charge, guys?” asked Clare nonchalantly.
“Is it the sex, the drugs or the rock and roll?”
The taller of the two detectives picked up an ashtray and carried it over to the bed.
Clare was naked but he made no move to cover himself up. His well-muscled torso was still glistening with sweat. He stubbed out the joint.
“Martin Clare, you are under arrest for conspiring to export four tons of cannabis resin,” said the detective.
Clare's face tightened but he continued to smile brightly.
“Cannabis that we currently have in our possession at Rotterdam docks,” the detective continued.
“What is it they say in your country, Mr. Clare? You are nicked?”
“That'll do it,” said Clare.
“What the fuck. Let me get my pants on, yeah?”
Robbie picked up his sports bag as soon as the bell started to ring, but dropped it by the side of his desk after Mr. Inverdale gave him a baleful look. Mr. Inverdale finished outlining the essay he wanted writing for homework, then turned his back on the class. There was a mad scramble for the door. Robbie pulled his Nokia mobile from his sports bag and switched it on. He'd sent Elaine Meade a text message before the start of class and was keen to see if she'd replied.
“Outside with that, Donovan,” said Mr. Inverdale, without turning around.
“You know the rules.”
Robbie hurried out into the corridor. He had one text message waiting. Robbie's heart began to pound. Elaine was the prettiest girl in his year, bar none. Blonde with big blue eyes like the pretty one in Steps and a really cute way of wrinkling up her nose when she laughed. He pressed the button to collect the message and tried to ignore the growing tightness in his stomach. The text message flashed up.
“I'M BACK. COME HOME NOW DAD.”
Robbie grinned and pumped his fist in the air.
“Yes!” he said. It had been more than two months since Robbie had seen his father.
He stuffed the phone back into the sports bag and headed for the school gates. He looked around nervously but there were no teachers in the playground. It was lunch break and everyone was rushing towards the refectory. Robbie walked purposefully through the gates and broke into a run, his sports bag banging against his leg.
He was sweating and out of breath by the time he reached his house. His mother's silver-grey Range Rover was parked in front of the house. Next to it was a dark green Jaguar, its engine still clicking under the bonnet. Robbie ran his finger along the paintwork. His dad didn't like British cars: he said they were always breaking down and that you couldn't beat the Germans for quality engineering. Robbie walked down the side of the house and through the kitchen door. There were two bulging Marks and Spencer carrier bags on the counter top next to the sink and two mugs by the kettle.
“Dad!” There was no answer.
Robbie put his sports bag on the kitchen table and ran through to the sitting room. Empty. He went back into the hall.
“Dad?” His voice echoed around the hallway.
Robbie went up the stairs, one hand on the banister. He could hear voices coming from his parents' bedroom. Robbie broke into a run and pushed open the bedroom door, grinning excitedly. He froze when he saw the two figures on the bed. Two naked figures. His mother on top, sitting down, her spine arched and her head
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