The Switch by Anthony Horowitz Page B

straight, too frightened to act. Tad had come a long way since then. He was certain now that he could make his parents believe what had happened to him. After all, he knew everything about them. He could describe things that only their true son would know. All he had to do was talk to them.
    He finished his breakfast and set off, up through Green Park and on toward the heart of Knightsbridge. He followed the road past Harrods department store and thought sadly of the times he had visited it with his mother. Lady Geranium used to take him there on his birthday and let him choose his own present. One year it had been a grand piano (although he had never played it). The next he had chosen the entire chocolate department. But now, of course, they wouldn’t even have allowed him through the door.
    The Spencers’ London home was in a quiet street on the other side of Harrods. Number One Wiernotta Mews was a pale blue house on three floors with a kitchen and dining room in the basement. Tad had a bedroom on the first floor and slept there whenever the family was visiting London. He wondered if they would be there now.
    It was eleven o’clock and the mews was empty. The other home owners were probably all at work. Tad crossed the cobbled surface and reached for the bell. It was only then that he had second thoughts. If the Spencers were at home and he rang the bell, Spurling would probably come to the door. And what would the chauffeur see? A dirty, disheveled boy whom he wouldn’t recognize. The door would be slammed before Tad had a chance to explain.
    Tad sighed. It would be much easier to explain things once he was inside the house. But how was he to get in? Break in—for the second time in twenty-four hours? Then he remembered. His mother always left a spare key in one of the baskets of flowers that hung on either side of the front door. Tad quickly found it, opened the gate and followed the metal stairway down to the kitchen entrance.
    As quietly as he could, he slipped the key into the lock and turned it. The house was silent. Tad stepped inside.
    He stood for a few seconds in the quarry-tiled kitchen. His heart was pounding in his chest and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t a thief. He wasn’t breaking in. This was his house. He lived here. Even so, when he moved forward it was on tiptoe and his ears were pricked for the slightest sound.
    He passed through the kitchen and crept upstairs. The first floor consisted of a single open-plan room with leather sofas, Turkish carpets and a huge wide-screen TV. A spiral staircase led upward and he followed it to the second floor, where his own bedroom was located. He stopped in front of a door, tapped gently and went in.
    The room was just as he had left it—evidently nobody had been there in the last few days. His bed, with its quilt patterned like a giant dollar bill, was freshly made. His London toys, books and computers were exactly where he had left them. Tad ran his hand over one of the surfaces, taking it all in. He had come home! Quickly he stripped off his clothes and went through into the adjoining bathroom. He didn’t care if anyone heard him now. He turned on the shower and stood for ten minutes in the hot, jetting water. It was as if the shower were washing away not just the dirt but all the memories of the past week. He dried himself in one of his own American towels. He had never appreciated how soft and warm they really were.
    Outside, he heard a car pull up. A door slammed and a voice called out. He recognized it at once. It was his mother! His parents had arrived.
    He felt a surge of excitement. In just a few moments he would see them again, talk to them, tell them what had happened. They would be shocked, of course. But once they understood, they could all begin again. The nightmare would finally be over.
    Moving quickly, Tad pulled some clothes out of the closet and tried to get dressed. It was only now that he realized he had a problem. The boxers he