by David Carter
‘I knew where he and your slut of a mother lived. I knew the quickest way home. He would take a short cut down Simpson’s Alley, he always did. I was there, in the bakery doorway, waiting. Sure enough, he came stumbling down the jigger. He was so pissed he could hardly walk in a straight line. It was pitch dark, the merest fraction of sodium light filtering up from the main road. I saw his shadow stagger toward me. He had no idea I was there. He was so far gone he was muttering to himself. I let him drift by, and as he did so, I brought my section of copper piping down on his cranium. Coppered by the copper. Funny eh?’
Adam shook his head. ‘How bloody heroic.’
Smeggan ignored the kid’s jibe.
‘Smash! It only took the one blow. He fell down in the muck of that alleyway. Silent. He was probably dead by the time he hit the ground, but just to make sure, I gave him another slap or two, nine or ten if I remember rightly. Worked off a little frustration, you understand, you know how it is?
‘And do you know what the funny thing was? His body was never found. Odd that, don’t you think? I must have had powerful friends in high places, even back then. A few days later, I heard that some disposal squad had been rushed to the scene, first thing the following morning to clear up the mess. There was an unexplained cremation later that day at the council crematorium. If you ever get out of here go and check for yourself. The records say they burned some unknown tramp with no known relatives. But I know different,’ Smeggan grinned across at the kid, ‘Or rather we know different now, don’t we?’
‘Do you expect me to believe that crap?’
‘Suit yourself, kid, but we all have a right to know the fate of our parents. I thought it only fair to fill you in with the missing pieces.’
‘Can I get my chocolate?’
‘You what?’
‘Can I get my chocolate? I keep it up there by the window. Keeps it fresh.’
Smeggan glanced up at the small window high on the back wall. The kid really was just that. A kid, more interested in his bloody chocolate bar, and silly comics. Smeggan had just told him he had murdered his father, yet all the kid wanted was his buggering sweeties. What an absolute dick.
‘Sure, if you must.’
Adam stood and lolled to the back wall. He reached up for the silver foil and eased out a small piece of chocolate, slipped it into his mouth, and returned to the table, setting the packet down between them.
‘Want a piece?’
‘Sod off! What do you think I am?’
‘Tell me more about my dad?’
‘There’s not much more to tell. He was a wastrel. A tinker, up to no good, up to all sorts, rob anyone, he would, and far worse than that. In the end he got what he deserved. People often do. Your mother deserved better than him, and that’s the truth.’
‘So you killed him?’
Smeggan grinned. ‘Said so, didn’t I,’ shrugging his shoulders. ‘But don’t ever think of repeating that information beyond these walls. No one would ever believe you, and as I said, I had, I have, friends in high places. If you resurrected all that old boo-hah-hah it would go badly for you.’
‘You killed my mother.... and you killed my father.’
‘No, not quite. Technically, Sergeant Hewitt shot your mother, though I admit it was on my orders.’
‘And my father?’
‘What is it with you? Can’t you understand the frigging English language?’
‘I do, Inspector Smeggan. Only just left school, haven’t I, so it’s still all fresh, which is more than can be said for the likes of you.’
‘Watch yourself, boy. Show some respect’
Adam reached forward and pulled out another piece of chocolate, the biggest piece.
Smeggan glanced down at it. ‘What the hell is that?’
‘It’s a dagger,’ grinned Adam, ‘look.’
Smeggan leant closer still. It was a remarkable piece of carving. A short stubby dagger made from finest Swiss chocolate.
‘Take a closer look!’ yelled Adam, and he thrust the weapon into Smeggan’s right eye.
‘Argh!’ screamed the SPAT, struggling to his feet.
‘See it well enough now, can ya?’
Adam had never been certain that it would penetrate the eyeball, but the hardness and sharpness of the weapon, and the force with which he had thrust it into the SPATs face, had indeed produced the desired result.
Blood gushed down the man’s face and ran inside his shirt collar like an invading army.
Adam watched him becoming uncertain on his feet. Then he fell heavily onto his back. On the floor, he began rocking from side to side, his hands seemingly unable to obey the brain’s frantic messages to remove the foreign body from his face. Adam guessed he was in shock, and he didn’t know how long that would last. He lifted his foot and carefully set it on the end of the handle of the weapon. He pressed it steadily down, as if activating an explosion. The dagger entered Smeggan’s brain. He grunted once. Blood popped up like a fountain, splashing the hems of Adam’s jeans. No one could survive such an injury. He was dead. He had to be dead. Please God let him be dead. Thank Christ he was dead! Adam felt like shrieking. He rushed to the red buzzer and pressed it, time and again.
‘All right, all right,’ he heard the guard muttering, as he stumbled down toward the cell. Adam heard the key enter the lock, and watched the door open.
‘The Inspector’s sick!’ he shouted. ‘Really sick!’
‘What!’ said the guard, peering past Adam at the prostrate officer. Blood was running every which way over the cell floor. He pushed past Adam and crouched down over his boss. There was what looked like the handle of a weapon sticking up from Smeggan’s eye, and it appeared to be made of.... chocolate.
Adam took back his foot and stamped on the back of the guard’s neck with all the pent up anger of a damaged young man. The guard went down, banging his head into the handle, and onward into Smeggan’s head with a clunk.
Adam turned and ran from the cell. He flew along the corridor and up the first flight of stairs. The second guard was not at his desk. He must have gone for a pee or a coffee. Adam dashed across the general office. The beige door to the outer room was closed, and locked. He glanced about for keys. Nothing. Nowhere. Someone was trying to enter the door from the other side. The door opened. An old woman stood there, a happy puzzled expression set on her face. It was the tea lady. She was pushing a large battered tea urn.
‘Hello, lovey,’ she said, ‘would you like some tea?’
‘Not for me, thanks.’
‘Be a good fella,’ she wheezed, ‘hold the door open for me, love.’
Fella she had said, fella, not boy. He wanted to kiss her. He stood back and held the door open wide as if he were Walter Raleigh, and she, the Virgin Queen.
‘Thanks love, you’re a good boy.’
Oh for God’s sake, he thought, as he pushed past her, and bounded through the door and across the outer office. There were two or three officers there, but they were all busy chattering on the telephone, and only glanced up as Adam hurtled across the room.... and out through the door. He was in the outer hallway with only the old fool on the front door between him and freedom.
Adam rushed up to him. ‘Hey!’ he shouted. ‘There has been an incident in the cells, Inspector Smeggan told me to tell you to get down there, pronto-pronto!’
The old fool took two steps that way before thinking twice about it.
‘Hey you!’ he shouted. ‘Stop!’
Too late.
Adam was outside, bathed in cold watery sunshine. On his toes again, running, always running, running from trouble, running from life, the man-boy with nowhere to run. He dashed to the end of the street and flashed into the first alleyway. He couldn’t tell if anyone saw him. He didn’t care. He was free, and this time he intended to stay that way, for he knew that if they ever caught him, he would be dispatched to meet his mother and father from the end of a swinging rope. He wasn’t ready for that, not yet. Nowhere nea
r.
Thirty-Eight
Jemima scanned the letter from the local NHS divisional headquarters. It instructed all five of the Cornelius family to attend the local health centre the following Saturday morning in order to take the newly introduced compulsory DNA and blood tests. The left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing, she thought, that was nothing new, fat chance, with Joss and Colin being away, and including the boy Donald, as well, for goodness sake. What was the point of that? Severe penalties for non-attendance etc, blah blah blah. Get lost!
Eve watched her mother grimace and say something under her breath, as she screwed up the letter and tossed it into the bin.
‘Something important?’ said the girl.
‘Nah, nothing.’
‘It looked it.’
‘Well, it wasn’t. Change of subject. The Fair’s back on the Quomps,’ said Jemima. ‘Fancy going?’
‘OK,’ said Eve, surprised her mother should suggest such a thing. ‘What brought this on?’
‘Nothing really,’ said Jemima guiltily, ‘I thought it might be nice for just the two of us to go out together, and anyway, I want to talk to you about something.’
‘Yeah, like what?’
‘You’ll see, I’ll tell you later.’
‘Why are you being so mysterious?’
‘I told you, I’ll tell you later.’
‘OK, if that’s what you want,’ said Eve, setting the table for just the two, for their evening meal. ‘Donald will be mad he missed it.’
‘Donald is not to know.’
‘Where is he, anyway?’ asked Eve.
‘Sleepover with that Willie Martin kid.’
‘He seems to spend more time with them than at home these days.’
‘Don’t knock it, babe.’
THE FUNFAIR WAS OWNED and operated by an old Hampshire family called the Bectons. They and their fancy fair had been visiting the town for as long as anyone could remember. It was the biggest fair that ever visited the borough, and by the time Jemima and Eve arrived, it was in full swing. The first ride that bordered the road was The Hairy Octopus. It was new and exciting and was lit up in multicoloured lights that flashed on and off in time with the jerky movements and thumping music. By the look of it, it had just begun spinning round. All seats on the Octopus were taken, and a small queue was already building for the next thrill.
‘I’d love a go on that,’ said Eve.
‘Later darling, when it’s less busy.’
Truth was, the spinning, gyrating Octopus did not appeal to Jemima that much. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘let’s go on the swing-boats.’
‘The swing-boats! Mother please.... I wouldn’t be seen dead....’
‘Come on. It will be fun. My mother used to take me on the swing-boats when I was a little girl, and her mother probably took her before that; and on Becton’s famous red, white, and blue swing-boats at that.’
‘Mother, for one, I am not a little girl, and for two....’
‘Yes, I can see that well enough,’ said Jemima, peeking down at Eve’s burgeoning bust. They glanced at each other’s sparkling eyes and shared a happy laugh.
‘Come on scared-i-cat,’ insisted Jemima. ‘You know you want to.’
‘Oh mother! You are the end.’
Jemima was not to be denied. She grabbed Eve’s arm and practically dragged her through the pay point for the swing-boats.
‘Come on, darling,’ she whispered, ‘there’s something important I want to tell you.’
They climbed onto the first available boat and grabbed the ropes. Jemima began pulling, as Eve reluctantly joined in, glancing round to make sure that none of her friends were watching. She would have died if any of them saw her on the swing-boats.... with her mother. It didn’t take long to gain height, as the occupants of the other boats, invariably much younger than Eve, glanced across at them with a mixture of envy and annoyance.
‘So?’ said Eve. ‘Whatsupma?’
‘It’s your sister.’
‘What about her?’
‘She shopped your father. She testified against him.’
‘She did what!’
‘It’s true. I’ve seen her signed statement with my own eyes.’
‘Joss wouldn’t do anything as stupid as that.’
‘She did. Your father was convicted on her evidence. He might have got off, but for her.’
‘Why would she do that? It doesn’t make any sense. Was dad guilty?’
‘That’s not the point. Joss got in with the wrong crowd. That Frank Preston has a lot to answer for. No doubt he put her up to it, and as for your father being guilty of anything, do you remember when we were discussing the beloved Mrs Bletchington, how you described her?’
‘Course I do. I said she was evil, and I meant it.’
‘It seems you were right.’
‘Of course I was right.’
‘The only thing your father was guilty of, was speaking out against the government. Against her.’
‘Good for him.’
‘I wanted to warn you about Joss, I fear we may have lost her. When she comes home you must never trust her again, not with anything. Never. Promise me.’
‘That won’t be difficult. We don’t really speak much, not about anything important.’
‘There’s something else too.’
‘Like what?’
‘If anything should happen to me, if they should come for me, I want you to go and see the vicar at the Priory. His name is Glynn Emberton. He will help you. I’ve arranged for Auntie Mary to take in Donald so you will not need to worry about him. He will be well looked after.’
‘The vicar will help me with what?’
‘To get away, of course. Leave the country, Eve. He is running an escape line to Gibraltar. You will be in good hands there. He will arrange for your safe passage. I want you to go abroad, I want you to be free; I want you to make your own choices in life.’
‘What? I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you see, darling; we are being dismantled as a family. First your father, Joss has gone to the other side, it is only a matter of time, and now dad’s friend, that Martin Reamse who worked at the BBC, he is in indefinite detention, and that boy you got to know, what was his name?’
‘Adam?’
‘That’s the one. He’s gone the same way. His mother killed, his father among the disappeared.’
‘But....’
‘I hate to put all this on you love, you are so young, but....’
‘But what?’
‘I am worried that my time is running out too.’
‘Mum! You are scaring me. Why didn’t you tell me about this at home?’
Jemima glanced round as if fearing they were being watched, and listened to. The next boat housed a young girl of about five, with her mother. The girl was crying like a hungry seagull, as her mother encouraged her to pull the rope. Jemima stared at the mother, wondering who she was exactly, and who she might work for. On their other side, a boy and a girl both aged around ten, were having a heck of a time, their faces glowing with health and happiness. They had probably never seen a swing-boat before, or a security policeman.
‘We can’t talk at home anymore,’ said Jemima, barely moving her lips, ‘not about anything important.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Why do you think?’
A pause and then Eve slowly said, ‘They are listening, aren’t they?’
Jemima nodded and reached across and patted Eve’s knee.
‘That’s why we are here, isn’t it?’ said Eve.
‘Yes.’
‘Christ, I can’t believe it.’
‘Don’t use language like that, lover.’
‘You are not going away, are you mum?’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it. But there is something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘There are some papers.’
‘What kind of papers?’
‘Symbolic docume
nts.’
Eve’s face creased and she shook her head. ‘What?’
‘They are most important, and We have them and They want them.’
‘You’ve lost me, mum. Who do? What papers?’
‘Glynn will tell you all about it. I want you take them with you, when you go away. Promise me, you will.’
‘Ma-um! I don’t know what you asking me.’
‘Just promise me!’ yelled Jemima, as she reached over and squeezed her daughter’s knee.
‘All right, mum. If that’s what you want.’
Jemima bobbed her head and smiled through a sad face.
The ride was over.
Mother and daughter climbed down, and linked arms and sauntered around the fair, nodding at faces they vaguely knew, laughing at little kids with candyfloss-plastered faces. They shared a little boy’s happiness at discovering he had won the fattest teddy bear in the fairground on the old-fashioned hoopla stall. The bear was far bigger than the kid, and looked suitably grateful to be liberated from that oh so cold top shelf. Jemima and Eve moved on, glancing into the faces of handsome young men, and giggling together like sisters, as they discovered they were attracted to an identical kind of kid.
‘He’s nice,’ Jemima would say.
‘He is,’ agreed Eve. ‘His name is Dan. He goes to our school.’
‘Lucky you.’
Eve lightly elbowed her mother, as a striking blond lad approached, a dark girl clinging to his arm.
‘Now he is really nice,’ said Eve.
‘Oh, he is, yes.’
‘He’s spoken for though, more’s the pity.’
‘I can see that, though she looks a little insecure. Ugly thing, isn’t she?’
‘She is, and she’s a cow too. Dog rough common.’
‘Eve! You are terrible, where do you learn such expressions? She wasn’t that bad.’
‘Believe me, mum, she’s a dog. She sits on the back seat of the coach going home and drops her skirt and knickers and shows her bum to the drivers following.’