by S Williams
‘Absolutely.’
38
3rd November
York to Leeds train
* * *
‘So we’re clear on the plan?’ Jay said for the tenth time. Her feet tapped a frenetic beat on the floor of the train, adrenalin flooding her body, possibly not helped by the nuclear-strength coffee she had bought at York Station. They had driven in from the cottage whilst it was still dark and caught the five thirty-five express to Leeds. Joseph sat quietly by her side, gazing out at the rain as it scraped its way across the window.
‘Yes, we’re clear. As clear as we can be, anyway. It all depends if they turn up, doesn’t it?’
‘They’ll turn up.’ Jay clenched her fist, willing it to be true. ‘Don’t forget to go to the market first, so that you clock Clarence’s kiosk. It will look more authentic if you can say that you saw it before. And when you do pick up the dummy charger, don’t call him Clarence; he’ll kill me.’
‘I know, get a cup of tea at the Moroccan stand, and glance over.’ He sighed. Jay and he had been through the plan, such as it was, endlessly the night before.
‘And remember not to act too eager,’ she reminded him. ‘They can’t suspect that you know anything.’ Joseph didn’t bother replying, realising that Jay was talking more to herself than to him. Calming herself down and psyching herself up at the same time. ‘And remember to draw attention to the phone.’
‘It’s not a phone.’ Joseph sounded genuinely upset. ‘It’s a relic. I feel like an idiot.’
‘Yes, well they’ll probably search you when you first go in. That’s why we need the excuse of the haircut. How long is your lecture?’
‘An hour and a half.’
Jay nodded. They had already discussed it but she wanted Joseph to say it again. To make him think through it all.
‘Right. So I’ll give it another hour after that; long enough for you to get where they need you if they turn up. Then I’ll ring you. You’ll need to pretend I’m somebody else.’
‘Obviously.’ The affront in Joseph’s voice was honey-thick, making him sound like a teenager. ‘And what are you going to be doing?’
‘I’m going to go to Daisy’s flat. I need to get a look at it and try to work out how they gained entry.’
‘Actually, I’ve had a thought about that. About how the door could be bolted from the inside without it being done by Daisy.’
Jay shook her head. ‘There wasn’t anybody hiding inside. She doesn’t have any doors or hidden areas. There’s nowhere to conceal yourself. We’d have seen them.’
‘That’s not my thought.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Go on then. I’m all ears.’
‘You are with no hair.’
She hit him. ‘Fuck off. Tell me your brilliant idea.’
‘You said the door was wooden, yes?’
‘And?’
‘And the bolts were metal?’
‘Yes. Where are you going with this, Joseph?’
‘Magnets,’ he said firmly.
She looked at him. Several seconds ticked by. ‘Magnets,’ she said finally.
‘Electromagnets. Powered by electricity. You get them from specialist shops. They could be used to slide back the bolts. Even through a thick wooden door. I’ve seen it done.’
Jay stared at him, trying to decide if the pressure had been too much. He smiled back at her. ‘Where?’ she said, finally.
Joseph looked away, mumbling something.
‘I’m sorry? Where did you see this done?’
‘On YouTube. On a programme about how illusionists do their tricks.’
Jay didn’t really know what to say.
‘What?’ said Joseph under her scrutiny. ‘It was really interesting. It’s how they used to get the spirits to move the puck on Ouija boards.’
‘I think you might need to get out more, Joseph.’
‘It was just a thought.’
Joseph turned away and looked out of the window, clearly hurt.
‘No. It’s good to think out of the box. Magnets. Of course. I should have thought of it myself.’
‘If you’re going to make fun–’
Jay smiled and patted his shoulder. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I’m just quite wired. I’m worried someone might recognise me, or I might not be able to figure it out.’ She shook her head. ‘Or I’ve got it all wrong somehow, and Daisy is actually–’
‘You haven’t,’ said Joseph, placing a hand on her arm. The corded muscle under her sleeve jumped and jittered at his touch.
‘I just need to go to her flat. I’ve got a spare key at mine. She gave me one in case of emergencies.’ Jay’s stomach tightened at the guilt she felt. ‘Because she thought I was her friend.’
‘You were her friend,’ said Joseph, his voice firm. ‘You are her friend. This Slane… she’s setting her up for murder. With the lie about who called in the police she was setting her up for your murder too.’
Jay nodded. Daisy had been the one to call for an ambulance before she disappeared.
‘Okay, but you’ll be careful? I don’t think I could face your mother if–’
‘I’ll be careful, Joseph. I need to find Daisy, and I need to know what happened. The only way to achieve both things is to be careful.’ She looked at him, her eyes clear. ‘And possibly violent. Hopefully violent. Whoever beat me up…’ She left the sentence hanging, but her intention couldn’t have been more telegraphed.
They looked at each other. Above them, the crackle of the intercom came into life.
We are now approaching Leeds Central Station, where this train will terminate. Please make sure you have all your belongings with you, and on behalf of the on-train staff, I hope you have enjoyed your trip with Northern Rail, and have a pleasant continuing journey. All alight at Leeds Central, as this train will terminate here.
‘I think you mean the journey will terminate, not the train,’ muttered Joseph absently, staring out at the driving rain that lashed at the platform as it swung into view.
Beside him, Jay stood and retrieved her bag from the overhead shelf. In it was a baseball bat bought from a sports shop in Whitby, a hammer and chisel, in case the locks on either Daisy’s or her flat had been replaced, and a change of clothing, in case she needed to suddenly look different.
Once the train had stopped and the passengers began to leave, Joseph stood, clutching his briefcase. Together they shuffled off the train. Joseph followed Jay through the automatic turnstile and stayed behind her as they walked with the rest of the passengers to the station’s exit. He scanned the concourse as he walked, looking for policemen, or not-policemen. Looking for danger.
When they reached the exit, Joseph pulled the piece of paper out of his pocket to check on directions. He wished he had his smartphone with him, so he could just pull up a map.
‘Which way to your lecture?’ Jay slung the rucksack onto her back. Pulled a pre-rolled cigarette out of her top pocket and slotted it into the corner of her mouth. He squinted at the paper.
‘Right,’ he said.
Jay fired up her cigarette, blowing smoke into the rain. She pointed across the taxi lane in front of them. On the other side was a structure housing steps that led down to the road below the station.
‘That’s me.’ She turned to Joseph, then, unexpectedly, hugged him tightly. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘And thank you.’ She gave him one last squeeze, then broke off abruptly and walked away, limping slightly, across the road and down the steps. Joseph watched her go, hoping with all his heart that she would be all right. Safe.
Then, pulling his coat tight around himself, he turned right, around the bend and headed for the Corn Exchange, then on to the market.
* * *
End of Part Two
Part III
Joseph
39
3rd November
‘Welcome to King Koby, brother. Take a seat. Brett’s just finishing off; he’ll be with you in a short while.’ The Dean-ager with the quiff and
the stubble beard smiled brilliantly and pointed at an industrial-looking wooden bench against the wall. Joseph couldn’t remember when he’d last seen so many gold teeth. Latvia, maybe. Or Georgia. Somewhere Eastern European. Back in the nineties. He nodded his thanks, walked over, and sat down.
On the sound system, some grime was being pumped out; low and dirty, the female rapper toasting about choice, and who owned her body: it was clearly her. Opposite him were four nineteen-fifties barber chairs occupied by four young men, being barbered within an inch of their lives by four other young men. Bare Edison light bulbs hung from the roof on thick black industrial cables, with no attempt at gentrification. The walls were uniform with white tiling in the style of a hospital sub-basement from the nineteenth century, save from the four giant mirrors in front of the chairs.
Joseph settled into the bench, letting the atmosphere wash over him. Giving himself space to think about Slane and Collins. About The Fishermen.
And Jay.
She was so different from her mother, yet exactly the same. It was like looking through a backwards mirror. Seeing the old woman he knew in the young face he did not.
And despite her swearing and rebel attitude, she was so vulnerable. Joseph felt a genuine protection toward her, and not just because of the debt he owed her mother. The way she seemed to be empathising with the girl, Daisy, was amazing. Having to deal with all the conflicting roles she had given herself. Protector. Friend. Witness. Traitor. And somehow, from sheer willpower, she was holding the storm within her.
‘It’s Joseph, yeah?’
Joseph came out of his reverie to find one of the barbers standing by him, a gentle smile on his face. ‘I’m Brett. I’m going to be doing for you today, if that’s cool?’ Brett was wearing a pair of black dungarees, no socks, lobe plugs, and had enough tattoos to send Ray Bradbury on a drinking spree.
Joseph smiled back. ‘That’s great, thank you.’ He got up and walked the few feet to sit down in the barber’s chair. The music had changed to Billie Holiday. On the counter in front of the mirror were all the accoutrements of a hipster hair establishment. King of Shaves oil and talc. Monkey pomades. Joseph spotted one bottle worryingly called Head Lube. Brett stood behind him and started gently examining his hair.
‘What would you like me to do today, Joseph?’ he said, his eyes never leaving the hair.
Joseph didn’t really want a haircut, but it was needed for their plan. An excuse to come back into town.
‘Um, maybe just a trim?’ There seemed to be so much testosterone in the room that Joseph was surprised there was no one fighting. The thought suddenly fired off a spark in his brain. He smiled and looked around.
‘You know, Brett, this place reminds me of a film. Fight Club. Have you seen it?’
Brett grinned like Joseph had just made his day. ‘Sure, Joseph. And do you know what the first rule of Fight Club is?’ Brett turned and addressed the entire room. ‘Guys? Do we know what the first rule of Fight Club is?’
In unison, the barbers answered. ‘The first rule of Fight Club is… Good Hair!’ A couple of them bumped fists. Joseph realised he had stumbled on an in-joke.
‘Now if you just want a trim, that’s cool, but you know, Joseph, I’d love to put a fade in. Give you a bit of a forties vibe.’ He pulled out a wooden-framed hand mirror and gave Joseph a view of the back of his own head. ‘We could crop and chop here, then fade it up to the top, see? We could crew up the sides and leave the front a bit punky. Kind of giving the finger to the corporate world, while owning the boardroom. Do you get me?’
Joseph looked at him in the reflection of the mirror, translating. ‘Do you mean a short back and sides, filling out the middle so I don’t look bald?’ Joseph said evenly.
‘Bang on, brother.’ Brett put the mirror back. ‘Only with a twist, yeah? Now have you ever thought about having a beard?’
Joseph smiled. ‘No beard.’
As Brett worked, Joseph thought about The Fishermen. About the abuse and destruction they had caused, back in the day. And not just in the day, he mused. Abuse was like a truck: it just kept on rolling, causing more destruction; wrecking more lives. The lives of the families who lost their children to it. The families of the abused and the abusers both; resulting in having to live outside of the norms acceptable to society. Pretending to take part in the day-to-day mechanics of living, but rotting inside, festering and decaying until the shell, one day, collapses.
‘So they thought that becoming fish was the more likely option. How batshit is that?’
Joseph blinked and looked back out of himself at the reflection of Brett in the giant mirror.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The birds. What people used to think they did.’
‘Brett, sorry but I blanked out for a minute. What are you talking about?’
Brett nodded. ‘It’s the sound of the snips. It zens you straight into the inner-self. A metal mantra, you get me?’
‘Sure. What about the birds?’
‘It was on the radio. I like to listen to podcasts when I’m cleaning up. Documentaries and stuff. Keeps the brain from getting split ends.’
‘Right. You mentioned fish?’
‘And mermaids, yeah.’
Joseph felt a push at the back of the brain, like someone had greased it and pulled a lever. The sound of the snipping all around him took on a sinister tone. ‘What about them?’
‘It’s just mental, isn’t it? What the guy said. On the radio. That back in the day, the sixteenth century, they didn’t know about birds migrating and that. They saw all these birds in the countryside then…’ he snipped his snips for emphasis, ‘…one day they all disappeared. Like overnight. Migration, yeah?’
‘And?’ Joseph put an encouraging smile on his face.
‘And they couldn’t work out where they all went! Little things flying thousands of miles to Africa? Madness!’
Joseph waited.
‘So what they thought was that the birds had turned into fish! Became like special fish that hibernated at the bottom of rivers and ponds. That one day they all transformed. Became something else. Like a disguise against nature.’
Joseph felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, indicating that he had received a text.
Brett put some Pomade in Joseph’s hair, applying the finishing touches. Then he brushed him down, removing the last of the cut, and taking off the grey smock he had wrapped round him to protect his clothes from the cut hair. Joseph stood.
‘How so?’ he asked.
‘They transform, don’t they? They used to be human but then transform. Have to live in an environment that isn’t theirs.’
Joseph wasn’t completely following Brett’s reasoning, but that didn’t matter. He was following his own.
‘Birds into fish? Like the people think they can change into something they’re not? Is that it?’
Brett smiled. ‘That’s it. Mad, yeah? All the things we used to believe.’
‘Totally. Brett, you’ve made my day. How much for the hair?’
Brett told him. Joseph thought it was cheap and left a good tip.
‘Best haircut I’ve ever had,’ he said.
‘What it’s all about.’
‘One thing, Brett,’ Joseph asked as he was leaving.
The barber raised one perfectly pierced eyebrow.
‘All this,’ he waved around him, taking in the whole shop, ‘this set-up. With the brotherhood thing. And all the accoutrements. It’s all very masculine. What about the girls?’
Brett, still smiling, opened his arms wide. ‘Everyone needs a space, man. Where they can relax. A time out. A safe zone.’
Now it was Joseph’s turn to raise an eyebrow. Except he couldn’t. It was not a skill he’d ever learned. Instead, both went up.
‘And where do the girls relax? Where do they get their zen?’
Still smiling, Brett reached under the reception counter and handed Joseph a card. It was made from thick, rough cardboard, downmarket-expe
nsive. On the front was a black-and-white picture. Like a stencil. It showed a girl with a heart tattoo on her neck and a fifties quiff. Like a female James Dean. A cigarette dangled out of her mouth. Joseph turned the card over.
From midnight every Saturday
Queen Koby
Because everyone counts
Joseph looked at the card a moment, then up at Brett.
‘Two faces of the same love, you get me?’ said the barber.
Joseph placed the card in the top pocket of his jacket.
‘Thank you, Brett. For the haircut and the chat. It’s been a real experience.’
Joseph smiled and left. He walked down the stairs and out of the arcade onto New Market Street.
Joseph entered the market proper and walked down the rows between the stalls.
He located the phone shop that he had seen earlier, owned by Jay’s friend, and walked through the beaded entrance into the kiosk.
40
3rd November
Jay watched the security door to the flats she and Daisy shared. Used to share, she reminded herself. She smoked her cigarette thoughtfully, trying to decide the best way in. The rain was lighter, but still persisted, and the sky had turned the colours of a moth’s wing; all blues and purples as the weak sun tried to work its way through the thick clouds.
The only traffic on the road to speak of was industrial; small municipal gutter cleaners, with yellow flashing lights and weary drivers; delivery vans and early worker taxis. Every few minutes the door would open and an occupant would emerge, either on their way to work or for a run, weighed down with personal monitors and arm strengthening bars. Jay watched as they jogged away, the outer door slowly swinging shut behind them.
She decided to try to catch the door next time someone came through.
‘It always works on the TV.’ She threw her butt down by her feet and pulled her cap low over her head. Swinging the rucksack over one shoulder, to make it look more sporty, she stepped out of the doorway and onto the pavement. She was about to cross the road when she stopped, something nagging at her mind. Something from now, but also something from before. She turned and slowly walked back to the doorway, and squatted down.