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“Now to the next bit,” she said. “Does anyone know anyone who’s a whizz with computers?”
They looked at each other for a while before a light bulb went off over Jean’s head.
“I have a grandson who designed a game for the internet. Made a lot of money, he’s using it to pay for Uni. Well, that’s what his parents say. He told me he’s going to buy a Ferrari and date the Kardashians,” Jean said.
“Great.” Kirsty leaned forward. “Give me his contact details.”
“Is that Martha’s son?” Shona asked.
Jean nodded.
“You can’t get him involved with your schemes, he’s only thirteen. It’s wrong to make him do anything illegal,” Shona told her.
“Who said anything about illegal?” Kirsty said. “I’m only going to get him to break into a computer. That’s not a proper crime. He’ll be fine.”
Jean hesitated but handed over the information Kirsty wanted.
“You’re a little scary in this mood,” Jean told her.
Kirsty nodded in agreement. She was scaring herself too.
Twenty minutes later Kirsty was negotiating with Jean’s grandson. If she didn’t already know he was thirteen, she would have guessed it. He was five and a half feet of everything irritating about the male race.
“What do I get out of this?” he said with a superior smirk.
He plunged his hands into the pockets of his distressed jeans and waited. As though he was certain she would pay him off. Kirsty blew her hair out of her eyes and glared at him.
“You don’t get anything. You’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart and because you want to help the town.”
“I don’t think the English guy would see it like that.”
“Are you trying to blackmail me, Gordon Stewart?” She narrowed her eyes at
him and he didn’t even have the decency to blush with shame.
“No. I’m telling you that skills like mine come at a price.” He pulled his hands out of his jeans and gestured towards the rest of the town. “Where else in this dump are you going to find someone with my ability? Nowhere. That’s where. And I’m not doing it unless you make it worth my while.”
Kirsty wanted to lock the arrogant wee smell in his room for about a month—without his precious computer. And while he was there, she’d pay someone to shave that ridiculous Justin Bieber haircut off his head.
“Time is running out,” he said. “Mum will be calling me for dinner soon.”
“What do you want?” she said between clenched teeth.
He didn’t even hesitate.
“I want to be backstage for the runway show. I want to see the models getting dressed.”
Kirsty’s jaw dropped open.
“You tiny wee pervert.”
He shrugged.
“I’m thirteen. If there’s a chance I’ll see some boobs, I’m there.”
“It’s not going to happen,” she told him.
“Well then, neither is your computer sabotage.” He stepped inside the house and moved to close the door. “Tatty bye,” he told her.
