Sputnik and Spanner-in-the-Works wear trainers down the Hill because they make for quiet walking, and because they are carrying the empty water crates and need to be sure-footed. I only have one pair of shoes and my flip-flops, and both make a lot of noise, and anyhow I am better in bare feet. We start off walking in quite an ordinary way, but we turn off our usual track and after that we do not talk anymore. It is quite late, but not very late. The street lights in the city turn themselves off at midnight, but it is only just after eleven. We hear the cathedral clock chime on our way down, and then a small, tinny striking from the clock that only works half the time, in the shopping centre.
Sputnik whispers very quietly into my ear, “We will wait here, Giorgio, to check that it’s really them.”
I understand that it will be a disaster if the police or the anti-terrorists figure out what the People are doing and arrest them all, then pretend to be the People themselves, to trap us.
We wait in the darkest shadows. There are waterfowl making a noise on the riverbank and a rat scurries past us, very close, not interested in us at all, but in bits of sandwiches which daytime walkers have carelessly left lying around.
We hear a vehicle approaching, the whine of an electric engine that needs servicing, and then a dark van appears and parks in the lay-by to the old road, which is only a footpath now, and an access track.
We do not do anything. The people in the van do not do anything. Rat number two joins rat number one and they squeak, which is not a noise I like. There is a gentle ripple on the river. Still nothing happens.
At last Spanner-in-the-Works says to Sputnik, very quietly, more like a breath than a whisper, “Seems okay.”
“Yup,” whispers Sputnik. “Let’s go for it.”
Then Sputnik and Spanner-in-the-Works step out into the silent moonlight and I follow them, because they do not tell me not to. The doors of the van open and two people get out. They do not look at us, just go to the back of the van and take out two crates of bottled water and three big boxes.
Sputnik picks up the boxes in turn, to see how heavy they are, and gives me one to carry. It is bigger but not as heavy as the others. Spanner-in-the-Works hides the crates of water in the dark place where we were waiting. He will have to make a second trip to carry it all up the Hill.
“Thanks, mate,” says Spanner-in-the-Works, and one of the People says, “You’re welcome!”
Then they get into their van and drive away.
We open the boxes when we are safely home, and while Spanner-in-the-Works is fetching the second crate of water. There are sardines in the really heavy box, and crisps in the big, light box which I brought up the Hill. We expect to find cereal bars in the third box but when we open it, it is packed to the brim with chocolate bars in different coloured wrappers.
“Oh, my goodness!” says Little Bear’s mum. “The kids’ll be in seventh heaven tomorrow!”
I go to bed. They let me have one of the chocolate bars to say thank you for my sterling efforts. I unwrap it and eat it when I am in my sleeping bag, next to Little Bear who has his head right under the covers, as he often does. The chocolate bar is full of something sweet and sticky, and it is delicious although my teeth feel gummy after I have eaten it. I think to myself, I’m already in seventh heaven! Then I start to wonder about the first six heavens. If chocolate bars are in the seventh heaven, what are in the first six?
* * *
Vishna and I go into the city the day Skye comes back, so by mistake I am not there to see her return. Walking Tall thinks I am in pretty good hands with Vishna, because she knows the ropes and can easily pass for someone who is a respectable citizen, as long as she covers up her tattoo.
“Why did you get a tattoo?” I ask her as we slither down the Hill. The path is wet this morning. We are carrying our shoes, so as not to make them muddy. We will wash our feet in the river at the bottom.
“To spite my parents,” says Vishna.
“Why did you want to spite your parents?” I wonder. I am thinking that if I had parents I would want to make them happy, not spite them.
“Well, you know…” says Vishna. And that is that.
* * *
We are going to see the man at the fruit stall. He has told us we may come at any time, because he will always have something for us. “Perfectly good grub,” he says, meaning food, “but the likes of this lot won’t pay a dime for it if a wasp or a caterpillar has so much as looked at it.”
“What about the JAMS?” I ask. Surely, I think, people who are just about making it would buy apples or cabbages with small marks on them?
“Huh!” says the man. “They used to come here at the end of the day, and pay a few cents for whatever they needed, until the government switched to giving them food stamps, which they can only use in certain shops. But some of them come by here, and then I help them.”
Today it is a Tuesday. We go to the stall, carrying our shopping bag, as usual. My feet are still a little squelchy from washing them in the river but I am quite smartly turned out, with my hair combed.
The market man sees us, and says, “Morning, you two!”
Then he looks worried. “Shouldn’t young Sonny Jim be in school? They all went back last week.”
By Sonny Jim he means me.
Uh-ho! Vishna and I both see that we have a problem. We are sure that the man knows I do not go to school, he knows perfectly well that we are feckless, and Scum of the Earth, but he is warning us that I will stand out, because no law-abiding citizen would be wandering around the city with a school-age child like me.
Vishna is quick off the mark. “Dental appointment,” she says, and the man hands back our shopping bag, full of fruit and vegetables that caterpillars and wasps have just barely looked at.
“Is that so?” says the man. To me he says, “Nothing too painful, I hope?” Then he says to Vishna. “Better get him back to the classroom. You don’t want people asking questions.”
We say, “Thank you,” and Vishna says, “I will!” and we walk back down the High Street.
* * *
After a few yards, Vishna says, “That’s a pain.”
“Yes,” I say, thinking that I will not be able to come down into the city with Vishna anymore, except at weekends.
“Sit here a minute,” says Vishna, and we sit on a bench looking towards the Guildhall. Two people walk past us very slowly, a man and a woman in smart clothes with labels on bits of tape round their necks. They give Vishna and me a long, thoughtful look, but they do not stop and talk to us.
Vishna says quite loudly, “We’ll go back to school when the anaesthetic has worn off, Edward.”
Edward? That is clever of Vishna, I think. So I say, also a little more loudly than I would normally talk, “All right, Mary.”
As soon as the man and woman are out of earshot, Vishna says, “School attendance officers.”
“What are they?” I want to know.
“Social workers,” says Vishna. “We’d better scram.”
We start walking down the street again. We are going to cross the Abbey Gardens and go past the cathedral and then the Bishop’s Palace, on our way home.
Only I have a really uncomfortable feeling. I look behind me, and there is a policeman typing into his droid. Then Vishna says, “Oh dear!” The two school attendance officers have turned around and are coming back towards us. Fortunately, they are both looking at their devices.
“Quick!” says Vishna, and grabs me by my sweatshirt and pulls me into the nearest doorway.
We are in a little church. I think it is very old, with stone arches and a table covered with a cloth.
And on the cloth is a cross, without a man stuck to it. A cross like the cross in the Q of my necklace.
“Hey, Vishna, look!” I say, and I go over and pick up the cross. It is large and heavy, and very shiny.
Vi
shna has closed the church door. Now we are seeing everything by the light of two dim electric lamps made to look like candles, which are by the table. She sees me holding the cross, and says, “I don’t think you should touch that, Giorgio.”
I put it back. “Why?” I want to know.
“Well, it’s sort of holy,” she says. “And anyhow, if anyone came in they would think you were nicking it.”
I can see that she is right. Vishna is sitting on one of the long wooden benches. I sit next to her.
“Why is it holy?” I want to know.
“Don’t you know anything about churches?” asks Vishna. She is not being critical, she is just interested.
“Not really.” Then I think I need to explain. “Religion causes a lot of trouble,” I tell her. “It’s best to keep away from it.”
“Well, yes…” says Vishna. “I suppose it’s like everything. It does some good and some harm.”
I remember something I have been told. “When Dragon’s Child was in care it was a religious place, and they hit her a lot.”
“Oh,” says Vishna. Then she says, “I think the People who bring us the water are religious.”
Now I am getting quite muddled. “But they are doing a good thing,” I point out. “The Old Man says they might be saints.”
Vishna goes across to the table where the cross is. “Haven’t you noticed?” she asks. “You see this sign everywhere.”
I have not noticed, but I am interested. “Is the cross a sign or a thing?”
Vishna picks it up, despite the fact that it is holy, then puts it gently down again. “I think it is a sign and a thing,” she says. “You ought to get Skye or someone to tell you about it. There’s a good story which goes with it.”
She goes to the door of the church and opens it a little. The outside looks very bright after the dim light of the inside. She says, “It’s safe!”
On the way home, we see how many crosses we can see. There are quite a few on and around the cathedral, but other than them we do not see too many at all. I think Vishna is exaggerating when she says you see the cross everywhere. Nevertheless, it has been an interesting morning. I think that if we do another bit of research I will investigate crosses.
* * *
When we get home, Skye is there. She has brought back a winter gilet for me. It is padded and has a zip up the front and a pocket on the inside for keeping money and contactless cards away from pick-pockets. She has brought me a proper pair of trainers too, with military buckles, like the ones I have seen on kids in the city. And she has a pair of socks each for Little Bear and me, with cartoon characters on them.
We sit round Walking Tall’s fireplace and catch up on all the news. Little Bear and I put our socks on, and laugh as the cartoon characters change shape as we pull them over our ankles.
Skye does not say much about her trip. Vishna tells her about our narrow escape with the attendance officers and everyone looks quite serious for a few minutes, thinking about what could have happened. Vishna says, “It was my fault; I should have remembered the schools have gone back.”
But Skye says, “Nonsense, Vishna!” Then she adds, “It isn’t getting any easier, is it? There are whole areas in the south east now, where they claim to have solved the homelessness problems altogether.”
“I bet their labour camps are full!” says Sputnik, and a few people laugh, but not with happiness.
Then Skye says, “The Europeans don’t like it at all.”
Spanner-in-the-Works asks, “How is it their business?”
Skye answers, “Well, they have this strong commitment to human rights. People aren’t locked up for being homeless in Paris or Rome or Edinburgh.” Then she adds, “I need to go and talk to the Old Man.”
* * *
At dinner they are all talking about this person Skye met on her travels. A captain in a religious group called the Salvation Army introduced them. It seems the Salvation Army is a group which does not cause trouble, and this captain, who Skye has known for years, thought she should meet this woman. Skye did not want to tell us about it until she had talked to the Old Man.
“She’s a journalist,” she says. “She works for a Swedish monthly. She wants to do an article about us.”
“About us?” Little Bear’s mum is looking worried. “How does she know anything about us?”
Walking Tall puts a hand on Little Bear’s mum’s arm, to calm her down.
Skye says, “She doesn’t know anything about us. I mean she wants to write an article about the remaining homeless, about people living off the grid in England after all these years of suppression.”
Spanner-in-the-Works says, “I think we ought to stay well away!”
Walking Tall says, “What does the Old Man think?”
The Professor, who has just arrived, says, “Which monthly does this journalist write for? One of my students went to work for a Swedish monthly.” Then she says, “Or was it Norwegian?”
Skye says, “The Old Man thinks it might be a good thing. If the European countries put pressure on our government, our lot might tone down their actions a bit.”
“Huh!” says Sputnik.
Vishna laughs.
The Professor says, “It’s true. They like to think we are the leaders in opportunity and freedom. The Alliance hates it when anyone points out the inequality in our society and the faults in our penal code.”
Little Bear’s mum says, “I don’t see how one article would make any difference.”
Walking Tall answers, “I suppose it’s about building up a body of opinion. People in Europe write letters to our government, you know. They sign petitions. They demonstrate outside our embassies.”
“Where we still have embassies,” says the Professor.
“So, what is the plan?” asks Spanner-in-the-Works.
Everyone looks at Skye. “If we all agree,” she says, “I will meet this journalist and talk to her. I won’t bring her up here, or tell her where we live.”
Little Bear’s mum says, “Everyone in the city knows we live up here. They only leave us alone because we don’t cause them any trouble.”
Walking Tall says, “Perhaps it’s time we did cause them some trouble!” Then he adds, “And anyhow, I don’t think they’ll let us stay up here forever. If it’s true that in the south east they claim to have rid themselves of homelessness altogether, you can bet your bottom dollar Hampshire will want to follow suit. I think they’ll try to close this camp down again, this winter.”
Little Bear’s mum says, “But we’ve got to be so careful. Think of the children!”
Everyone looks at Dylan, Little Bear and me, who have been sitting by the fire listening to it all, while Little Bear occasionally stirs the contents of the billy can. He sometimes cooks whole dinners on his own, now.
Walking Tall says, half to Little Bear’s mum and half to the whole circle, “I’ve been thinking it was time we headed north, anyhow. We always knew this wouldn’t last forever.”
Skye says, “I might be able to help there, Walking Tall, if you’re serious.”
Little Bear’s mum looks angrily at Skye. “Don’t bother talking to me about this!” she says, and gets up and walks away.
Big Bear gets up too. He walks over to his mum, who is standing by the earthworks looking out at the city. He puts his arm round his mum’s shoulders. He is taller than her now. After a few minutes they come back, and Little Bear serves us up the stew and potatoes, and we all say how good it is, and nobody says anything else about journalists or going north. But you cannot unsay things. The words which were spoken hover round the fire all evening, and their colours change the way everyone looks.
* * *
I move back to Skye’s shelter at once, although her fire has not yet been lit. When she wriggles into her sleeping bag, I say, “Tell me a story about your trip
, Skye.”
She says, “It was just an ordinary journey, Giorgi. Just like all the others.”
I say, “In this world, no two things are ever quite the same.”
Skye laughs. “Where did you hear that?” she says.
“Vishna told me,” I say.
Skye laughs again. “That girl is good for you!” she says. Then she adds, “And she’s quite right. This time I went east, sometimes I go north, and sometimes west. But it was east this time.”
“And did you meet anyone interesting?” I want to know. I really mean, Did you meet anyone who knows about my mum and dad, but that is not what I say. Skye told me, last time I asked, that it is extremely unlikely she will bump into them after all these years.
“I met a vicar,” she says. “That’s a sort of holy man.”
I say, “Vishna and I went into a church. To hide. We saw a cross on a table. Vishna said it was holy.”
Skye says, thoughtfully, “Well, perhaps it is, in a manner of speaking.”
I say, “But doesn’t religion cause a lot of trouble?”
“Mm,” says Skye, who is very tired, on her side of the red partition.
“Skye,” I say, “I want to do some more research, about crosses.”
“Mm,” says Skye again. “Ask the Old Man.” She is very sleepy from walking miles and miles on her trip. She is not thinking about crosses, or holy things, or research. Almost at once she is breathing big, deep, slow breaths. She is fast asleep. I curl up too. It is good to have Skye back, and to be going to sleep in her shelter again, where I really belong.
* * *
Right after breakfast I head up the Hill to see the Old Man. He is tending his herb garden by the maze, and when he sees me he stands, slowly, with his hand on the small of his back.
“Oh dear!” he says, “these old bones!” Then, “I thought I might see you today. Tea?”
We sit by his fire and drink the bitter tea that is not mint. I wait for him to start.
The Song of the Lost Boy Page 9