The MacGregor by Jenny Brigalow Read Free Book Online Page B

Black and chrome, burgundy and gold, green, pink, orange and black, blue. A rainbow of bikes. Some were choppers with low seats; many were old and others brand new. All were clearly loved.
    Douglas cruised slowly down the narrow, bitumen street until he found a space. Seconds later Megan hopped off and pulled her helmet off her head. She felt a pang of anxiety and pushed an impatient hand through her hair. She hid a grin as she caught Douglas doing the same. He caught her eye and smiled.
    â€˜You look fine,’ he reassured her kindly.
    â€˜You too,’ she said.
    â€˜Ready?’
    Megan nodded and followed him back up the road, her eyes trying to see everything at the same time. Many of the buildings were old and in danger of falling down. Some were more cared for and lights burned behind curtains. There were a few businesses barred and locked up for the night.
    A group of young people huddled together beside a warehouse. As Megan followed Douglas towards them, they all turned and stared with hostile expressions. Then a tall, whip-thin young woman with vivid, kohl-rimmed green eyes nodded in their direction.
    â€˜Watcha Candy,’ she said.
    Douglas smiled at the girl. ‘How’s it hanging, Mulberry?’
    She shrugged her leather-clad shoulders. ‘All right. Same shit reheated, you know?’ She paused and pirouetted gracefully on one Doc Marten. ‘Who’s she?’
    Megan bristled. How freakin’ rude. ‘She’s the cat’s mother,’ she said succinctly.
    The Mulberry girl raised a black painted eyebrow. ‘Chill, sister.’
    Douglas stepped up. ‘This here is Megan.’
    The rest of the motley crew all eyeballed her like she was a pickled head in a jar. Megan eyeballed them back. Actually, she was glad to have the excuse to check them out. They looked like they’d escaped from Halloween. Despite it all, she was captivated by their costumes. A carnival collection ranging from tutu to top hat. Cool. She felt drab by comparison in jeans, tee-shirt and old anorak.
    A young man in a white tutu and outsized ballet shoes curtsied. ‘Pleased to meet you, Megan. I’m Spam.’
    Megan giggled. He looked ridiculous. The atmosphere lightened perceptibly.
    Douglas grinned. ‘Catch you later,’ he said.
    The group nodded and returned to their huddle.
    Megan was brimming with curiosity, and hurried after Douglas. ‘Why do they call you Candy?’
    Douglas ran a hand through his hair. ‘’Cause my hair looks like candy floss,’ he explained.
    â€˜Is Spam’s real name Spam?’
    Douglas shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ He pointed up the street. ‘Nearly there.’
    Megan looked ahead eagerly but couldn’t see the nightclub. In fact, he seemed to be pointing to a vacant block. She hurried up the street after Douglas.
    When they reached the block she looked around and tried to dampen down a wave of disappointment. There was no sign of a club, just piles of rubble, squashed coke cans, plastic bags, and what looked suspiciously like several limp condoms curled up like shed snakeskins. Gross.
    There was an old grate sunk halfway into the gritty grass. And, to Megan’s surprise, Douglas headed towards it. He stopped, reached down and grasped the rusty bars, and with one fluid jerk lifted up the grating. He looked over his shoulder. ‘Ladies first!’
    After a brief hesitation Megan slid past him and dropped down into the musty space. Seconds later the grate clunked shut and Douglas stood beside her. She looked up and around. It took a moment to work it out but she got there. ‘Why,’ she said, ‘it’s an old railway tunnel!’
    Douglas nodded. ‘Sure is. Follow me.’
    Despite the inky darkness Megan followed with ease along the old track, her eyes swam around the curved brick ceiling. It was damp and water dripped onto her head making her shiver.
    After several minutes the muffled sound