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“That’ll be ’im now.” Molly dismisses me and smiles a greeting at a man just entering through the front door. “The usual, Billy?”
I leave her to get on with her job. It’s time I met Gregory.
I waitoutside the games room door for a minute or two. Muffled voices drift from within, and the sounds of people moving about, cupboards opening and shutting, laughter.
Gregory is clearly not alone.
I check my gun, then turn the handle and push the door.
What the fuck…?
A lad of about seventeen is rifling through a cupboard set against the far wall. As I watch, he helps himself to a tablet computer, still in its box. The outer cellophane is intact. The device is clearly brand-new, and he sets to unwrapping it.
A smaller boy peers around the older one. He takes another item from the cupboard. It looks to be a board game of some sort. The lad tips the contents of the box out onto a table borrowed from the main bar.
The other occupants of the room are two girls and another boy. They are seated at the same table as the smaller boy, chatting among themselves.
All five regard me with varying degrees of shock and dismay. One of the girls catches sight of my handgun and screams.
Jesus!They may have broken in, they may be stealing from Jenna, but they’re still just kids. I don’t shoot children.
I tuck my weapon out of sight. “What is this?” I swing my gaze to each in turn.
No one answers.
“Let’s try again. How did you get in here? And what the fu—?” I pull myself up short. “What are you doing?”
The eldest boy, the one with the tablet, answers. “Nothing.”
I nod to the device in his hands. “You call that nothing? Stealing expensive tech?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not stealing anything. Jenna lets me use stuff. She knows…”
He gets no further. Any explanation is curtailed by noisy sobbing from the smallest boy. His face crumples.
One of the girls puts her arm around him. She glares at me. “Ye’ll have tae let us go. We’ll ’ave the law on ye.”
“Indeed? And how will you explain what you’re doing here?”
“We’re allowed,” she argues. “Every Thursday.”
The littlest lad sobs louder.
The oldest one puts the tablet down and moves to position himself between the younger kids and me. My admiration notches up slightly.
“My name’s Gregory Stocks. Who are you, sir?”
I regard him with interest. “You’re Gregory?” He’s not quite what I expected.
He nods. “And this is Polly. And Bella.” He gestures to the other boys. “Ned and wee Robbie. He’s only eight,” he adds as an afterthought.
I’m fast reassessing the situation. “Every Thursday? Is that right?”
They all nod.
“Why?” I cast my eye around the room but can see nothing much to attract a bunch of kids.
“To study,” Gregory informs me, as though it’s the most obvious reason in the world for a bunch of teens to be sneaking into a pub.
