Girl:Broken

by S Williams

He searched her eyes, and looked at her battered body again, then nodded sharply. Lifting the hinged counter, he edged past her and pulled down the roller door. A few years earlier, when she was still a beat officer, the young man had got himself into a fix; nothing serious, but he had pissed off a few nasty people. She had smoothed things over.

  It was something an officer on the street learnt to do; bend a few rules when a greater good can be achieved.

  Plus, you never knew when you needed a favour down the line.

  The door secure, he came back and looked at her, concern stamped on his face.

  ‘Jesus, Jay, who fucked you? You given up on girls and started dating lorries?’

  Jay smiled. She was beginning to feel light-headed from the pills and the adrenaline. She reckoned that Derrick would have reported her by now. Although she wasn’t technically under arrest, and was just meant to have a watch for her own protection, she knew that it would be reported back to Slane. She didn’t know how much time she had so she laid it on the line.

  ‘Something like that. I need a cold phone and some travelling money. I have to hole up for a few days, and I can’t go back to my flat. I know it’s a lot to ask, but–’

  ‘No sweat.’ Beemer held up his hand, stopping her in mid flow.

  Jay felt like crying. She’d been holding it together and now… she looked down. The youth’s hand was on her arm, warm and solid.

  ‘If you hadn’t sorted me out I’d be in jail or a wheelchair by now. I owe you, Jay.’

  She looked up and smiled at him, thinking of how genuine he was compared to Slane.

  ‘Nah, you’d’ve been fine, Clarence.’

  The man winced at the use of his real name. Jay reached forward and clasped his wrist. ‘But thank you. I’ll pay you back in a few weeks.’

  ‘No need,’ he said, his smile full and front of house; the gold in it almost dazzling her. ‘When you can, yeah?’ He held up his hand, with his fingers splayed. ‘Burn Street in five, okay?’

  Then he walked past her, back to the roller doors, and heaved them up.

  Jay shoved her hands in her pockets and limped out. She made her way to the bottom of the market, exiting through the outdoor section. She turned left, passing the food stall selling stuff that purported to be meat in bread rolls, and made her way to Burn Street, the name coined by the locals due to the fire that decimated it. All that remained was a facade; like a veneer. The front brickwork was held up with stanchions and braces; nothing solid. Behind them was a wasteland of broken bricks and twisted metal, a playground for children and lo-fi criminals.

  Checking that no one was paying her any attention, Jay stepped through one of the many gaps in the security fencing and stood in the shadow of the scaffolded wall. Due to the rain, there was nobody about. Jay slid down against the wall, weariness taking her the adrenaline left her body. She closed her eyes for a second.

  ‘Jesus, maybe you should go to a hospital, instead of hiding out!’

  Jay opened her eyes. Beemer was standing over her, a look of concern on his face. Over his shoulder he had an Adidas holdall.

  She smiled at him. Even that small action sent sharp thorns of pain into her. ‘I’ve been there; it’s fucking rubbish. I’m pretty certain someone was going to hurt me.’

  ‘What, more than you are now? You know, you swear more than anyone I know.’ He reached down, hand outstretched. She grabbed it and hauled herself up. She actually felt her muscles creak.

  ‘Well, if you’re good at something…’

  He smiled, handing her the bag. ‘It’s not much. I got you a clone-phone so there’s no way to be tracked. There are some clothes and shit, a preloaded cash card and some paper money; not much.’ Beemer shuffled from foot to foot. Although he acted tough, he was just a kid.

  She patted him on the arm. ‘It’s more than enough, Clarence. I’m really grateful. I’ll try to make it straight with you soon.’

  ‘As I said, no need.’ He looked at her sadly, then turned and walked away.

  She watched him until he was through the fencing, then pulled the zip on the bag and looked inside. There was a pair of cut-off jogging pants, a green hoodie and a fishing hat; the circular soft-brimmed headwear favoured by eighties rappers, that could be rolled into a back pocket. She pulled the hoodie out and slipped it over her waistcoat, wincing as she did so, then crammed the hat on her head, tucking her dreads under.

  ‘I look like a fucking raver,’ she muttered.

  She rummaged in the bag again, pulled out the phone and pocketed it. She put the slim roll of notes in a different pocket. Then she shouldered the bag and made her way out of the derelict land and headed for the bus station, trying not to limp.

  Once inside the building, she visited the toilets and changed into the jogging pants, transferring the money and phone, and putting her combats in the sports bag. She looked at her battered face in the mirror. The bruising had gone down but the eyes looked like they came from outer space. The pupils were massive from the painkillers and the sockets sunken from fear and pain and tiredness.

  ‘Definitely look like a raver,’ she said. ‘Plus I’m talking to myself, so I’m definitely on drugs.’

  She gave a little giggle and felt a tear slip out of her eye.

  Pulling a pair of shades out of the backpack she left the toilets and studied the electronic board. She looked at the names; cities and towns, from London to Blackpool. From here she could go anywhere. She sighed, feeling sad and alone, and then limped her way to the correct gate.

  She could go anywhere, but she really had nowhere to go. She needed to find Daisy. She needed to rewind her life and try to set things right.

  She needed to find out why Slane seemed to be setting them up. There was something going on that she was missing.

  And then she felt it. The thing she needed to keep her going. To fire her engine.

  She felt anger.

  Glancing at the board, she got on the bus.

  Jay looked at her reflection in the window as the bus’s engine sparked into life. Worms of Leeds-rain, heavy with a hundred years of industrial soot, oozed down its surface, ribboning her ghost-face. She could feel the throb of the bus vibrating her seat as the vehicle left the station, pulling at her muscles, sending ripples of pain through her.

  Jay sighed and looked out of the window. She watched the city centre turn from tower blocks and shops to industry and decay; building sites and abandoned churches, like history that refused to understand itself. Zombie buildings, clearly dead and unused but still standing; still telegraphing their past as if it was present.

  She sat on the bus, watching the city slip away like it was made of nothing. Watched the green and the grey of the Yorkshire landscape take over like it was made of forever. Out of Leeds. Through Oakwood and beyond. Past Wetherby and north, towards York.

  She’d signed into her WhatsApp and left a message with her mother, saying she was going away. Then she’d signed out and deleted the app. If she was being monitored then at least her mother would be safe. There was something about the way Slane had talked about debriefing that had terrified her.

  Next, Jay started working the phone, swiping and pinching and searching. She opened a separate window and messaged through Element – the encrypted peer-to-peer service that only the sender and receiver could open – the only person from work she thought she could trust. There was an outside chance he might help her, even after the bridge-burning Slane had insisted on before she joined their team.

  ‘Of course she did,’ Jay muttered, seeing it all in a new light.

  Then she’d checked into Doctor Hall’s medical notes. With his full name and ID she’d skimmed from his tag accessing his computer had been a doddle.

  She quickly scanned what had been written. True to his word he had checked back through her admittance.

  And discovered what had been redacted.

  What had been found in her bloodstream.

  She opened another screen to look up the dru
gs that had been identified.

  ‘Well, well. No wonder I passed out.’

  And just how much trouble am I in? she wondered. What’s really going on?

  She exited his notes, then she messaged the only person who could really help her now. Help her hide. Help her heal. The only person she could really, really trust.

  And then she sank back in her seat and closed her eyes, floating in a pharmaceutical fug until the bus arrived at where she needed to get off.

  33

  30th October

  Fulford, Nr York

  * * *

  Jay came to slowly, warm in the duvet she had wrapped herself in the previous night when she had arrived. The bed was rocking slightly and, for a moment, she felt protected, like when she was little.

  She revelled in it, snuggling deeper into the warmth until a noise from outside brought her fully awake. It took her a moment to identify it.

  A duck.

  Jay stared at the roof a few feet above her head. Wooden and warped and very close. It took her a moment to recall where she was, and why her body felt like it had been to a party without her brain.

  ‘Quack,’ she said, quietly, mimicking the duck.

  She sat up gingerly, checking into her body for any new horrors. The painkillers had worn off, and her mind was clear of the fog that had enveloped it when she had limped off the bus the previous night. Even in her befuddlement, it had not taken her long to find the canal, and the key to the narrowboat was where her mother had said it was, when she had messaged her the second time. Not on WhatsApp, but on Signal.

  ‘Quack quack,’ whispered Jay, standing up, her head inches away from the roof of the boat. The duck didn’t answer. Her mother, who had not acknowledged the first message, when she had said she was going away, had responded almost immediately to the Signal message. Jay had said where she was, and where she was heading. Her mother had sent directions as to where the boat was moored and how to access the key-safe hidden off the towpath.

  When Jay had arrived, late at night, with the weather seemingly taking a personal interest in her fucked-upery, she had lit the wood-burning stove, dry swallowed a double dose of painkillers, and buried herself in the duvet. The gentle motion of the boat had rocked her to sleep in zero seconds flat.

  And now she was awake.

  Outside the duck quacked again.

  ‘That’s what I’m talking about,’ whispered Jay. ‘Up and quacking. Ready to rock.’

  Although she wondered if she was up to it. She felt like she might have run out of body-road.

  ‘Get a grip,’ she said softly.

  The houseboat was warm, the ghost of the fire still ticking over. Gently, Jay stripped off her clothes, and limped down the single walkway of the vessel to the shower. It was a walk-in with a sliding door, a hole in the floor which ran the used water into the canal. Looking at the shower shelf, Jay could see that it was stocked with green products. Honey and oatmeal soap. Tisserand body wash. A flannel that looked like it previously covered a sheep. She picked up the body wash. Looked at the label.

  A unique collaboration combining Tisserand’s botanical expertise with the rich heritage of the National Trust

  ‘Oh dear,’ she said.

  Jay stepped inside.

  Five minutes later, when she was finished, she limped to the oak drawers by the fold-down bed she had slept in, and searched through them.

  ‘The underwear better not be knitted by the fucking National Trust,’ she said, pulling out cotton boxers, a black vest and some walking socks. In another drawer, she found some black corduroy plus-two trousers. She held them up, gazing at them incredulously. Instead of a zip, they had exposed sixpence coins as buttons, with no cover flap. Similarly, the fasteners just below the knee were also coins. Jay looked at the label.

  Bilitiz:4girlz

  ‘Right,’ she said, climbing into them and buttoning them up. They were slightly too big for her, so she rummaged around until she found a belt. Finishing off with a flannel shirt, she shuffled over to the desk and sat down. The desk faced a rectangular window. Jay pulled the curtain back and got her look at the canal.

  A light mist drifted just above its surface, lit and diffused by a low sun, indicating that it was early morning. She couldn’t see any other boats, just a dirty swan gliding past with no interest in her. Possibly on purpose.

  ‘Big sodding duck,’ Jay whispered, staring, then looked down at the desk. Despite being made of traditional materials the design of the structure was modern, with a monitor and a sliding drawer containing the keyboard. Jay reached forward and fired up the computer, tapping in the password her mother had sent her the previous day. Then, while Jay waited for the device to boot up, she rummaged through the drawers, searching for tobacco. All she found was a CND membership card, a Pride bracelet, and what seemed to be hundreds of identical keys. Sighing, she shut the drawers and looked at the walls of the narrowboat. Above the tiny sink was a picture of Che, fist raised in military salute; and a poster of Tanita Tikaram, hair cut in the style of Elvis Presley, staring past the camera.

  ‘Okedoke,’ said Jay looking at the posters thoughtfully. ‘All this and the National Trust?’ She was pulled from her thoughts by a notification bell on the computer, indicating an incoming Signal message. Jay pressed the button, accepting the call.

  ‘Whose boat am I on, Mother?’ she said without preamble when the familiar face appeared. ‘’Cause it appears to belong to a lesbian militant who loves the environment and wishes to protect the heritage of our great nation.’ She paused for a moment. ‘And why haven’t I met her?’

  Her mother looked out at her from the monitor. Even with the slightly stuttering image produced by the ever-refreshing connection, it broke Jay’s heart. Since she’d last seen her mother someone appeared to have driven worry-trucks across her face, cutting deep lines into her skin.

  ‘Jesus, Mum, you look like shit. I’m so sorry.’

  Her mother smiled, slicing another corner off Jay’s self-control. ‘Sayings about kettles spring to mind, Jaseran. Along with colours. Black, for example.’

  ‘It’s just Jay now, Mum,’ said Jay softly. ‘I changed it, remember?’

  Her mother looked sad for a moment. Sadder. Then she smiled. ‘But you kept the first letter, didn’t you? Used it as the complete thing. Thank you for that. Although I think you could do with the full name now.’

  Jay’s mouth twitched. She used to hate her name. That’s why she’d changed it. She didn’t want it nailed to her, for all to see.

  ‘You remember what it means, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I fucking do! It was my name!’ If her mother was fazed by her swearing, she didn’t show it.

  ‘Yes. Well, you should try to wear it, love. It’s why I named you. And it was such a lovely naming ceremony! I–’ Her mother’s voice cracked. Like a teacup she was holding too tight. ‘Oh, Jay. What have they done to you? Nobody would tell me anything! After you got suspended they said you went away! That they didn’t know where you were!’

  ‘Lies. All lies, Mum.’ She swallowed. ‘And not just them. Me too. I’ve been lying to you. From the beginning. I thought it was the right thing, but it’s all fucked up!’ Jay could feel tears forming behind her eyes.

  ‘I was never suspended. Just sent undercover. Transferred to a different unit.’ She shook her head before her mother could say anything. ‘Except I think I was set up. Chosen to do something I hadn’t signed up to. There was something hooky about it from the beginning. And then Daisy went missing and people started dying…’ Jay paused, as the confusion and concern on her mother’s face increased. She realised that her mother knew nothing of what had happened to her. She felt a stab of guilt.

  ‘Look, Mum. Thank you for doing this.’ She gestured with her hand, careful not to put too much pressure on her ribs. ‘I’m not sure where else I would’ve gone. Whose is it, anyway? The boat?’

  Her mother smiled. ‘No one you know. A university student with ric
h parents. She’s taking a term out to do some research with the WWF.’

  ‘Right. Lesbian militant who loves the environment and wishes to protect the heritage of our great nation.’

  ‘WWF as in wrestling. She’s the daughter of an old friend and has gone to assess the patriarchal gaze of female sports within the American rust belt. They won’t mind you staying there.’

  ‘The patriarchal gaze, right. What old friend? I thought you severed ties with your old life when you lawyered up?’

  ‘You never sever ties with your old life. There’s only one life,’ said her mother, her gaze steady.

  Jay looked at her. Saw the hardness of a life spent campaigning; first on one side of the divide as an agitator; then on the other as a witness. She nodded.

  ‘Yes. Right.’ Jay didn’t know what else to say.

  Her mother leant forward.

  ‘You used to have outdoor eyes, Jay. When you were young.’ Her mother’s own eyes shone as she spoke, her face juddering slightly on the screen. With a start of alarm, Jay saw that she was trying not to cry. ‘Outdoor eyes. Outdoor smile. Outdoor body. Now look at you. You look like there isn’t a secret you don’t know, like you set everything on fire just to see yourself. I can’t even tell what you’re thinking, and I used to be able to tell what had happened to you by looking. Or at least I thought I did. I’m so sorry if it’s my fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The life I led; before. The travelling and the prison. The protests and the…’ She shrugged. ‘I just wanted to make a difference.’

  Jay’s heart broke, glittered into a thousand pieces as she watched her mother cry, unhidden. She leaned forward. Gently stroked the screen.

  ‘It’s okay, Mum,’ she whispered. ‘It was just me. Being,’ she shrugged. ‘Not getting it. Being too fragile.’

  ‘Don’t be sorry, love. Just let me in! Let me be a mother. Let me help!’

  Jay smiled, and sat back. Outside the duck quacked again.