CHAPTER 26
Ginger
The door led into a dimly-lit white corridor. On the wall the numbers 09, two feet high in silvery grey paint, told us where we were. Three lifts stood at the far side.
“Oh good, they’re working,” said Serena, noting the glowing light on the steel panel. She pushed the button. Seconds trickled by while I silently cursed our bad luck and ran through possible scenarios. What we’d needed was for the snow to have obligingly got worse the instant we arrived, preventing Mike getting to Strata, then to have lightened when we were ready to go; and it had done the opposite. We had a limited amount of time before Mike found out we were here. David, Katie or Eddie would tell him as soon as they saw him. And someone in Strata would have earplugs, if he hadn’t improvised something already … I wondered if he’d be prepared to use the gun in public, or would wait until he could trap us on our own. Unless he’d lingered in the Hall he might walk round the corner at any moment.
I stared at the lift, willing it to hurry, and noticed a printed sheet of A4 sellotaped at eye level:
THE LIGHTS WILL FLASH THREE TIMES BEFORE I CUT THE POWER TO THE LIFTS.
Ginger
Serena saw what I was looking at. “He turns them off if we’re getting low on electricity, and everyone has to use the stairs. That’s why he’s the only one who lives at the top.”
I was thinking we should take the stairs when a lift arrived and its doors parted with a sigh. Three men got out. The first was tall and striking and wore dark glasses and a rakish military-style jacket. With his craggy good looks, shaggy hair and the bunch of pendants round his neck he made me think of an aging rock star. He had the air of relaxed confidence and authority that derives from success, money and the respect of others. He stopped and cast an eye over us. The men with him stopped too.
“Guests?” He turned to Serena. “Who’s sponsoring them? You?”
“Yes,” she said. “This is Tori and Morgan. They’re just here till the snow lightens.”
He nodded. “Enjoy your stay,” he said to us, and walked towards the Hall.
“That’s Randall,” she said, getting in the lift. We followed her. “Visitors have to have someone who’s answerable for their good behaviour. I should have told you. Just don’t get in a brawl while you’re here, you’d get me into trouble.”
Morgan said, “Who deals with that sort of thing?”
“The Peace Committee.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Orwellian name.”
“Oh, it’s more hippy than totalitarian. The committees rule on the small stuff, and anything major goes to Randall. Once or twice he’s kicked people out. He has this laid-back manner, but they say he’s ruthless if you cross him.”
The lift moved smoothly up to the fortieth floor. Taped to the wall beside me was a handwritten notice:
If the lift stops press Alarm and I will restart it long enough for you to get to the floor you want and out. Don’t use it after that or you’ll be stuck till I turn it on again. And it’ll be YOUR OWN FAULT so don’t bother moaning to me about it because I won’t care.
Ginger
“What happens if the power gets low while we’re up here? Will we have to walk down the stairs?”
Serena laughed. “No, Ginger would turn it on for us. He’s an old softie really, he just gets fed up with people trying to take advantage.”
We got out of the lift, Franz Ferdinand immediately assaulting our ears, and followed Serena to an open door. She banged on it and went in. “Hi Ginger, it’s me.”
A large space; what had originally been the most expensive duplex in the building. That it had been designed specifically to impress was just a bit too obvious; the place was jumping up and down waving and squealing, “Look at ME!” Massive struts, pillars and beams reminded the visitor this was no ordinary apartment, but a penthouse in an iconic groundbreaking piece of architecture. Huge slanting windows ran the length of a double height living room, their glass obscured by a clinging layer of snow. To our left a steel and glass staircase rose past vertical panes displaying what had once been a spectacular panorama of London lights, and was now a view of blackness with swirling snowflakes. The room held an idiosyncratic mix of opulent show-flat furniture and workshop equipment. The work area was lit by bare light bulbs dangling from looped flexes. A trail of grime on the carpet led from a lathe, some other machines I couldn’t identify and benches piled with tools, to a well-used grubby section of the long L-shaped mocha sofa. A laptop sat open on a coffee table; beside it a printer, stacks of DVDs, a full ashtray, the remains of a meal, and a fishbowl full of greenies. Cans of beer littered the floor. The room smelled of machine oil and cigarette smoke, and Take Me Out belted from a sound system that wouldn’t have been out of place at a rock concert.
Ginger put down his spanner and wiped his hands on his jeans. Bright eyes in a weathered face regarded us. “Hi.” He turned Franz Ferdinand down so we didn’t have to shout.
“This is Morgan and Tori. They’ve come to see the view and the turbines.”
Ginger laughed, showing a gap in his teeth. “The view’ll be back around five thirty tomorrow morning. Unless there’s another whiteout.” He glanced at the window. “Which seems likely. I’ve done nothing but clear snow from the turbines this week. When it builds up on the blades the mechanical brakes come on. I’ve got to go up there now. D’you want a drink?” Ginger gestured to a table crammed with bottles and cans. “You do the honours, Serena.”
While she poured us drinks, Ginger zipped himself into an ancient ski suit. “Talk among yourselves. I’d better get the blades moving again or the power’ll go down.”
Morgan said, “Mind if we take a look?”
“Nope, you’re welcome.”
I said, “You’re going up there in the dark? In this weather?”
Ginger grinned. “If I paid any attention to the weather, we’d never have any power.”
We put on our jackets. As Ginger led us into the corridor, we heard the faint whine of an approaching lift. I stiffened, heart pounding, and Morgan flattened himself at the side of the lift, ready to pounce. Ginger’s eyebrows went up. The lift doors opened. A woman wearing an apron and carrying a tray got out. When the lift doors had closed, Morgan rejoined me.
“Hi Ginge.”
Ginger slipped the woman some greenies, and she thanked him and went past us into his flat.
“She’s collecting the dishes,” said Ginger, answering our unspoken question. “Who were you expecting?”
I don’t think Morgan would have answered, but Serena said, “Mike. He wants to shoot Morgan.”
“Well, he can’t shoot him up here. It’d make a mess, and the bullet might hit something important. I’ll turn the lift off when Sue’s gone down.”
We followed him along the corridor. I had the impression he’d just tipped Sue rather than paid her. My guess was the people in charge knew how much they depended on Ginger to keep Strata lit and warm; he was probably able to name his own terms. They sent him his meals up, and no doubt collected his rubbish, cleaned for him and paid him too. Maybe he was a greenie millionaire.
Ginger led us through a white door with black fingerprints down one edge, bearing a sign that said NO ENTRY. Bare light bulbs lit the way. We went up a utilitarian metal staircase, and through another door that said No unauthorized entry Roof access only. Ginger flicked a switch. Fluorescent tubes hummed into life, illuminating a wide and messy space, littered with cables and crates. Huge girders spanned the ceiling and angled the walls. The floor had sections of paving slabs among pebbles, which Ginger said were ballast to damp down the vibrations from the turbines. He opened a couple of the metal cases on the walls and checked readings, adjusting dials and clicking switches. He was in his element here; this was his kingdom. Horizontal along one side was a massive black metal thing, like a robot’s leg.
“What on earth’s that?”
“The telescopic arm. They used it for building maintenance. I got it out once just to try i
t. Look at this.”
He pressed a button and moved a lever. A warning beep went off. With a hum, the whole horizontal section of the wall behind the telescopic arm began to move slowly inwards, disappearing into the wall above. Snow blew in and fell on the floor.
Surprise made me laugh. “It’s like something out of a Bond movie!”
The moving wall ascended smoothly out of sight, leaving a sort of terrace area open to the night. We picked our way between girders and pipes and bits of machinery and metal boxes to the edge and looked over. The penthouses’ sloping windows formed a triangular ski slope, ending in mid-air. I imagined slithering helplessly down that slope, knowing a sheer drop of over a hundred metres awaited me. Looking up, we could see the enormous ellipses of the turbine tunnels, the middle one nearly close enough to touch.
“The rig swings right out with a cradle on the end. Fun. I’ve offered Serena a go. Dunno why she won’t come.”
“Huh.” Serena pulled a face. “He knows I get vertigo if my heels are too high.”
We stood a while, chatting and trying to make out other buildings in the distance, but of course nothing was visible except snow and darkness. After a few minutes Ginger moved the lever to lower the wall. He checked a lit green display above some switches, and opened the door of one of the big metal boxes on the wall. Inside was a confusion of electronic bits and pieces. He flipped a switch on and off three times and glanced at his watch, then at Morgan.
“I’m going to turn off the lifts now. Why does he want to kill you?”
“Because he’s a nutter.”
“It’s a long story,” Serena said. “I’ll tell you later.”
He opened another box and clicked a switch. “That’s the lifts off.”
I felt relieved. Now if Mike did come through the door, his hands would shake too much to hold a gun; he’d be too knackered after climbing thirty-odd storeys to do anything except collapse in a heap. There was, however, the growing problem that the longer we were up here, the likelier he’d be to work out where we were and what to do about it.
We climbed narrow metal treads, more like a fixed ladder than stairs, to the next level. An extraordinary space right beneath the turbines, the underside of the tunnels housing them resembling dinosaurs’ ribcages. I pointed this out to Morgan, and he said the ribs would be running the other way, and I said he was being pedantic. Loads of cables ran along banks of control boxes. There was a big generator and several smaller ones. Car batteries, thirty or more, stood in rows to one side, with wires trailing from them. Ginger must be brilliant, if he understood how all this worked.
I wandered around. There wasn’t much there except a scaffold tower and a step ladder. I noticed snow-covered square windows above us, with spotlights the size of small dustbins. “What are the spots for?”
“They shine coloured lights on the turbines. Used to be just for fun. I use them when I clear the snow off in the dark.” Ginger grinned. “And all night once a year, on my birthday.” He flipped a row of switches in turn, and a dazzling pink light shone from the spots.
Ginger climbed a fixed ladder beneath the lowest part of the right turbine housing. He opened a drop-down metal hatch bearing a notice:
ACCESS HATCH
RESTRICTED ACCESS
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
and a heap of snow fell in. A steady drift of flakes followed. Once through the hatch, he got me to pass him the broom and brush lying at the foot of the ladder. Immediately above I could see another ladder with snow on every rung, attached to the column supporting the turbine. Ginger stepped sideways out of my view, and Morgan followed him. I went up the ladder and stuck my head through to look out on to the gently curving surface. Picture driving snow; a nine-metre diameter white tube, cut at an angle; the turbine blades lined up with the vertical circular opening, and everything softened by a thick layer of snow. It was like being inside a snow globe. Ginger brushed snow from one curved side over the edge, revealing three windows. As he did this, the space filled with a wash of pink light from the spots. Ginger handed the broom to Morgan and asked him to do the other side, then knocked the snow off the ladder rungs and climbed to the top. He was a metre away from a circle of nothingness with no railing or barrier of any kind and a sheer drop. Wind blew thick snow about, which swirled in the spotlights’ beam like cherry blossom. Morgan looked around and turned to me.
“Are you coming up, Tori? It’s amazing.”
Heights aren’t my favourite thing. I’d have needed a very good reason to go up there. “I’ll stay here and watch.”
Ginger balanced beneath the central hub of the turbine which resembled an enormous bullet, hanging on to a rung with one hand. Leaning out with the brush, he swept pink snow off the hub and the bases of the knife-like blades. Snow settled on his shoulders and the parts which he had already cleared. Morgan brushed snow from the foot of the turbine’s column, then cleaned the blades within his reach, wandering around calm as anything, walking to the edge to look over, making me palpitate. I told myself not to be silly; just because he was high up, there was no more reason for him to lose his footing than on the ground. I didn’t tell him to be careful; he was a grown man and I wasn’t his mother. I fretted privately instead. Ginger got me to pass up a hairdryer on a long extension lead to melt the ice round the base of the blades. As soon as they came down, Ginger switched that turbine on – it made a hum which, though very quiet, filled the room – and crossed to a short ladder to access the central turbine. It’s lower than the other two, so its trapdoor is on one side, not immediately beneath the turbine column like the others. I didn’t watch this time, but went back to the penthouse with Serena. We made ourselves comfortable and talked; down there you could just feel rather than hear the hum of the turbine. I finished my peanuts.
“Will anybody mind if we have to stay at Strata overnight?”
“You have to get permission from Randall. He’ll be okay about it, he won’t turn you out in this weather. He’ll let you use one of the flats on the sixteenth floor.”
“That’s where Mike is?”
“Yes …”
Better to camp out in a flat without asking permission, though it would be freezing. We could huddle together under several duvets. We’d be all right. Serena saw the reservation in my face. “Why don’t you ask Ginger if you can stay here? He’s got three bedrooms, and it’s fabulously warm because he has the underfloor heating on all the time.”
“Would he let us?”
“I’ll ask him for you.”
Half an hour later Morgan and Ginger came in, covered in snow, shaking it off their clothes. Morgan said, “It’s got worse out there. We’ll have to stay overnight.”
Ginger walked over to where I was sitting on the sofa. “Here, take these.” He picked up a fistful of greenies from the bowl and dropped them into my hands. “He was mildly helpful. When he wasn’t getting under my feet.”
“I said you didn’t have to pay me.”
Ginger said, still addressing me, “Dunno how he thinks you’re going to eat with no money.”
“Thank you.” Ooh, we can buy sandwiches …
“Second thoughts, hang on.” Ginger reached out and plucked one greenie back. “He swept the brush over the edge.”
“Huh. Could have happened to anyone.”
“By the way, as you’re stuck here for the night, you’re welcome to use my spare bedroom. Might save you bumping into Mike.”
We took him up on this offer. I put my loot into a zipped pocket for safe keeping. Serena stayed for a drink, then said, “Suppose I’d better go and find Mike, he’ll be wondering where I am. I’d much rather hang out here.” She stubbed out her cigarette, fished a perfume spray out of her bag and sprayed her hair. “He’ll still smell the smoke. Nose like a sniffer dog. Ah well.” She sighed and got to her feet. “See you, guys.”
She left, slowly and reluctantly. I wondered if Mike was aware of how little she liked him. It seemed to me their relationship was
living on borrowed time; she knew this and was hardly bothering any more. The rest of us sat around after she’d gone, feet up, drinking and joking, but something was niggling me. I’d noticed on the way in there was a hole on the flat’s front door where the lock had been.
“Does …” I hesitated. “Is there any way you can lock the apartment?”
“Nah – I don’t even shut the door. Saves going to let people in. It’s like a small village here – everyone knows everyone else, they’re not going to steal stuff. Bicker and gossip, yes, steal, no. Anyone who does knows if he’s caught Randall will chuck him out.” I must have looked anxious, because he said, “I’ve got a couple of bolts somewhere I’ll put on the door.” He smiled. “I don’t want Morgan splatted all over my carpets any more than you do. He wouldn’t be able to clear the snow for me tomorrow and give me a lie-in.”
He went and ferreted about in the workshop till he found two large black bolts in a box full of bits. He screwed them to the door and frame with long screws, while we sat on the floor watching and talking to him. I asked how he came to be here.
“I lived round the corner. (Pass me that screwdriver.) Before the helicopters came, I’d set up a few of the flats with generators, just to keep people from freezing till they were taken off. I was going to go on the last helicopter out. Unfortunately, it never came back for that last trip.”
“What about the man who runs Strata?”
“Randall Pack. He turned up and got things organized. It’s what he does, he’s good at it. He ran some alternative internet site you’ve probably heard of if I could remember the name. Tomorrow first thing I’ll go and see him and tell him about Mike and his gun. He’ll get it sorted.”
I felt cautious relief; Morgan’s expression was guarded, but he didn’t object. I said, “That sounds great, but … you don’t think now would be better rather than waiting till the morning?”
Ginger glanced at his watch and shook his head. “The House Committee meets tonight.” That must have been where he was going when we saw him by the lifts. “They’re once a month, those meetings, and always go on for hours with loads of people with items listed on the agenda, stuff they’re passionate about, and they’ll be well away now. He wouldn’t thank me for interrupting.” Ginger reached for another beer. “We’re a funny mixture of democracy and dictatorship, with Randall as a sort of benign despot. Not everyone likes his style, but they stay because there’s nowhere better to go. Strata’s got power, a currency, a miniature market garden, a restaurant, a lot going on. We got a dentist a couple of months ago, and we’ve had a doctor since the early days. Rather a good one.”
Ice Diaries Page 19