I hoped.
But, for my plan to work, I needed a decent computer. Preferably one I could have regular access to that belonged to someone who didn’t know the Camerons.
For my plan toreallywork, I needed someone with hardcore, and quite possibly illegal, computer skills. The kind of skills a spy might possess.
I ended my three-week Mack-fast and knocked on his door.
Another two knocks later, he finally flung it open. His dark eyes were rimmed with red, hair standing up in every direction, beard bristling; he was wearing a sagging jumper and the most unflattering pair of tracksuit bottoms I’d ever seen.
My heart lit up like a firework, whooshing around my ribcage for a few seconds in a flurry of happy sparks.
‘Yes?’ he croaked out eventually, sounding as though he’d not said a word in those whole three weeks.
‘Can I come in?’
Mack frowned.
‘Or you could come to mine?’ I blurted. ‘I wanted to ask a favour, not for me, but for a ten-year-old boy who really needs a break.’
‘I’m in the middle of something. I have a deadline coming up and…’
‘Can I at least explain what it is and then you can say no? No pressure, I promise.’
That got me a cynical look.
‘Okay. Not much pressure. And you’re perfectly capable of resisting me.’ Whoops. That came out wrong. The warmth flooding my cheeks could save a fortune on heating bills. All I’d need was to keep remembering how Mack had straightened to attention, jaw locked, and I could keep the radiators off all year.
‘It’s not that big a deal,’ I gabbled. ‘And I don’t know who else to ask. No, scrap that. It’s a big favour and a big deal. Too big. It’s a stupid idea and I should never have thought of it. It’s just so damn hard not being able to help him. Sorry to have bothered you. I know you’re busy. Just pretend I was never here. Thanks. Bye.’
I scuttled away before humiliating myself any further. What on earth had compelled me to ask Mack for help?
Forty minutes later, while I was lying on the only available space on the living-room floor, making shapes out of the stains on the ceiling, Mack poked his head in through the doorway.
‘Wow. You’ve made progress.’ He nodded in approval. I scrambled to a sitting position, as dignified as I could manage in the limited space.
‘Or… not?’ he questioned. ‘Jenny?’
‘I’m trying to work out if you’re being sarcastic.’ I pushed my glasses up.
He grimaced. ‘I was trying to be friendly. Or, at least polite. And to answer your question.’
I waited. This was interesting. Mack’s hair was damp. He wore a clean sweatshirt and decent jeans. I was pretty sure he’d trimmed his beard. Looking at him, filling up half the room, I couldn’t actually remember what the question was.
‘Because I haven’t spoken to anyone apart from Sarah all week. Because you remind me that’s not a good way to live. Because your hare-brained schemes are the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all year. Because, contrary to what you have, quite justifiably, concluded, I don’t hate helping you out.’
Ah, yes, I remembered the question now.
He coughed. ‘And sitting there wondering what crazy idea you’ve come up with is preventing me from getting any decent work done.’
We let that hover in the air between us for half a minute.
‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I eventually said, way too fast and too loud.
‘Um, yes?’ He crossed his arms, uncrossed them again. Scratched his beard.
‘I can tell you all about it,’ I said, trying to squeeze past without touching him, then, realising this was impossible, backing off and gesturing to indicate he should go first.
Relocating to the kitchen helped, a bit. Mack didn’t seem to be sucking quiteallthe oxygen out of the air in there, and I could stand at a nice, safe distance while he leant against the worktop.
