25
Elena was having the day from hell.
Joey didn't come straight out with it. He spent the first few hours 'getting to know his beautiful daughter', as he put it.
They went out for that big English breakfast he'd been looking forward to ever since he stepped off the plane from Nigeria. And then his 'get the cash' campaign began. Joey was smiling, joking, saying how wonderful it was they'd found each other again.
And at first Elena was almost taken in. She did enjoy being with her dad. They went sightseeing and he told her stories of the family she'd never met back in Africa. She was fascinated and intrigued, just as he meant her to be.
It wasn't until mid afternoon that the subject of money and her inheritance came up. He was so pleased that her dear mum had managed to leave a few pounds for her and he only wished he had money to spare too.
'It doesn't matter, Dad,' Elena replied. 'It's just great to see you after all this time.'
But Joey wasn't finished. 'But I can help, darling, and I want to – it's my duty as a father. There's an investment I have lined up that will double your money, guaranteed, maybe even treble it. Much better than leaving it in the building society with its miserable couple of per cent interest.'
Elena's heart sank. If only he hadn't said that. If only Joey really had made the long journey back to England to see her and be with her.
She listened in silence as he went on and on about the great wealth they would make by investing in his friend Sonny's scheme to export second-hand 'white goods' – fridges, freezers and washing machines – back to Nigeria.
'You see, darling, in Africa we repair old white goods so they can be reused. It's not like the UK, where people throw them out after a few years because they want a new style or colour. It's a winner, babe, I'm absolutely certain of it. And believe me, I wouldn't risk your inheritance if I didn't trust Sonny like a brother.'
Elena nodded and smiled and eventually agreed to go and speak with Sonny. There was no way that Joey or his friend were going to get their hands on a single penny of her savings, but at that moment she was too tired, disappointed and disillusioned to even argue.
'We'll go now then, shall we, darling?' said Joey with a huge grin. 'No time like the present.'
'Yeah, all right.' Elena just wanted the whole thing over and done with.
They set off with Joey convinced he was at last on the way to the fortune he deserved, and with Elena wishing that he would go home and never come back.
She liked Sonny exactly as much as she had expected to – not at all. He was loud and self-important and dripping with chunky gold. And he spent most of their visit telling them how lucky they were to have the opportunity of coming in on his moneymaking scheme.
They wandered around his lock-up, staring at old fridges, freezers and washing machines that looked as though they should have been carted off to the rubbish dump instead of taking up valuable cargo space on a freighter to Africa.
And as far as Sonny was concerned it wasn't just Joey and Elena who were benefiting from his benevolence. 'The people back home in Africa are fortunate I can provide this service for them. Of course I make money, I'm a businessman, but I also consider I'm doing my bit for the third-world countries.'
'Yeah, you're all heart, Sonny,' whispered Elena to herself. After nearly an hour she couldn't take any more. She tugged at Joey's sleeve and spoke quietly to him. 'Dad, I'd like to go now. Tell him we'll think about it.'
'Sure, darling,' answered Joey. 'But you sure you learned enough?'
'Yeah, more than enough.'
Sonny wasn't pleased about them leaving; he'd obviously been expecting a quick and easy kill. 'Don't be too long making your mind up,' he called as they went. 'There are other investors looking to get in on this.'
The north Norfolk coastline stretches away from the resorts of Cromer and Sheringham in a long semicircle of flat beaches of fine sand or shingle. The wind blows in from the Russian Steppes, driving away many of the bucket-and-spade brigade.
Serious hikers stride along the shingle banks to catch a glimpse of the seals basking in the sunshine off Blakeney Point. And birdwatchers gaze out through powerful binoculars, hoping for a sighting of some rare feathered visitor to British shores.
But most visitors leave as the sunlight starts to fade. That's what Fergus was counting on. Darkness was approaching as he and Danny walked down the narrow road leading to the isolated stretch of beach he had chosen for their overnight stop. At the bottom of the road was a small deserted car park.
Danny was tired. They'd had a long walk since getting off the train at its end-of-the-line halt. 'There's nothing here,' he said irritably.
'That's the idea,' replied Fergus. 'We won't be disturbed and we're close enough to Meacher's place to get there early in the morning.'
But they weren't quite alone. As they reached the top of the sandy bank that met the beach they spotted two vehicles that had been driven through a gap in the bank onto the beach itself. One was an old Transit, its sides painted with multi-coloured flowers. The other was an even more battered-looking VW camper van, with curtained windows and a roof that opened to give standing room inside.
Near the vans, straggle-haired children played in the sand and a ponytailed guy threw bits of driftwood onto a bonfire.
'Hippies,' said Fergus. 'They won't bother us.'
Fergus led Danny further down the beach where three salt-stained, dark wooden sheds stood. 'Fishermen use these to keep their gear in. It'll do for the night.'
Danny looked at the three doors, each one protected by a heavy padlock. 'And what about the locks?'
His grandfather went to the door of the last shed. The lock was a large round combination with a black disc on the front and numbers from one to a hundred. 'Take off one of your trainers.'
Danny was learning not to question his grandfather's orders, however weird they might sound. As he slipped off one of his Nike Airs, Fergus twisted the lock to expose the shiny steel back. 'Now hit the lock with the heel of your trainer.'
Danny slapped down the trainer, hitting his grandfather's hand as much as the lock. 'Go on, keep hitting it.'
The trainer thumped down on the lock a second and then a third time, and as Danny lifted his arm for a fourth attempt, Fergus unhooked the lock and handed it to his grandson. 'The springs inside these things shake about if you hit them with something soft, like a rubber mallet. Or the soles of trainers.'
Inside, the shed was dark and gloomy. It smelled of fish and looked as though it was rarely used. There were curled lengths of rope, fishing nets, buoyancy floats and a rusting anchor on the floor. But there was plenty of room for Fergus and Danny to spread out their sleeping bags. It would be a reasonably comfortable night.