Blame

by Simon Mayo

  ‘Different combinations of 8B 3S 2C3. I filled these walls, then, when I ran out of space, moved outside.’

  They filed back outside. Henry led them to the back wall. A few minutes earlier their backs had been pressed against the other side, facing the drone. Now they stared at hundreds of different combinations of Brian’s code. In the container’s top corner he had circled some figures.

  ‘Look, it could be anything really. Any one of these combinations could be the secret. But I was looking for patterns – anything that looked familiar . . . and then I saw it.’

  ‘We haven’t really got time for games, Henry,’ said Max.

  ‘You know that music I played yesterday?’ he persisted. ‘Van Morrison?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ant. ‘I said Brian talked about him.’

  ‘So he liked music?’

  ‘Old stuff mainly. But yeah.’

  ‘Then it might be one of these sets you need.’ He pointed at the encircled numbers and letters.

  ‘CBS 2328, CBS 3382, CBS 2833,’ read Ant, following the list. She turned to Henry, puzzled. ‘Why these combos?’

  ‘Mattie, quick – pick up that record sleeve.’ The jazz album lay where he had left it that morning. ‘Top right,’ said Henry, ‘what do you see?’

  ‘Letters and numbers,’ said Mattie, excited. ‘MPS 44782.’

  ‘Exactly. It’s a catalogue number. All records had one. If your PO was a music fan, the letters will be CBS. The Columbia Broadcasting System. It was a huge record label. The numbers, in one of these combinations, will be a record. A whole album, or maybe just one song. Find that and you might find your message.’

  Ant was buzzing now. ‘Wait! Henry, you call it a record sleeve. With a record number—’

  Mattie interrupted, ‘And Brian said to keep a record.’

  Ant, Mattie and Max looked at each other, each of them making the same calculation; each coming to the same conclusion.

  ‘We’ve got no signal and we’ve got no time to check this out,’ said Ant, taking a photo of Henry’s circled numbers. ‘Let’s get the van going now, or whoever was flying the drone will be here. If it’s not the police, it’ll be the Cloverwells.’

  With Max back in the driving seat, they tried to bounce the van free, but the front wheels were caught on the strong tree roots. Henry produced a pocket knife and threw it to Ant. She was about to start hacking when Mattie grabbed her shoulder. She followed his gaze and felt her stomach flip. A black car with tinted windows had appeared at the edge of the distant field, a cloud of dust in its wake.

  ‘Max, look at this!’ she said, her voice sounding suddenly breathless. He jumped out of the van and came to look.

  ‘What do we do?’ whispered Mattie.

  ‘Is there another way out, Henry?’ asked Max.

  ‘Across the river, maybe,’ he said, ‘but it’s just fields.’

  The car started to move. Slowly, it began to navigate its way across the field, and they ran. Single file, they tore through the woods, brambles whipping at their legs.

  ‘Where are we going?’ shouted Ant, leading.

  ‘Away from the car,’ said Max. ‘Head for the river!’

  They could hear the car’s engine now; it revved, then slowed again.

  ‘We can’t get across in time!’ yelled Ant as they ran past the container.

  ‘Can’t we hide?’ yelled Mattie.

  We’re running because we don’t know what else to do, thought Ant. This is just panic.

  They were within sight of the river when they heard the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.

  That made them stop.

  Mattie grabbed Ant’s hand. ‘The container,’ he said, panting. ‘You can lock it from the inside, remember?’

  There was only the briefest hesitation. Ant and Max nodded. ‘Go!’ she said.

  They turned back. Running towards the danger filled her with fear, but if they could just get to the container, maybe they could summon some help. They still had their phones, even if they had no one to call. The numbers and letters scrawled on the container’s end wall came into view as they heard a car door slam.

  ‘Faster!’ screamed Ant. Ahead, Max reached the open door and was already pulling it shut as Mattie, then Ant threw themselves inside. As they turned to slam the locking mechanism shut, they had the briefest glimpse of a figure in the woods, and then it went black.

  The container filled with the sounds of rapid, frantic breathing. Ant felt Mattie clutch her hand. ‘Who is that?’ he whispered. ‘Did he shoot Henry?’

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t know. They stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move. Ears straining, they heard shuffling, casual footsteps, the sound of someone in control and taking his time. Something hit the side of the container – the gun maybe – and, slowly, was dragged along one side. It bounced over every dent and blemish, causing the container to ring like a bell. The clanging of metal on metal continued along all four sides. Only the momentary darkening of the tiny beams of light showed the visitor’s precise location.

  Their ears were ringing, but when the silence came, when the gun-dragging was over, the waiting was as terrifying as the noise. In the darkness Mattie grasped hold of Ant. Ant, without realizing, grasped hold of Max.

  Then, from maybe ten metres away, came the sound of a man humming. It was tuneful, slow and soft, some notes barely audible. Ant and Mattie felt each other shift, their heads moving to catch the sounds better. Outside, the man – it was definitely a man – took a breath and started up again. Something inside Ant stirred. Memories fired. Images crashed.

  She knew the tune.

  She knew the voice.

  She knew the man.

  It was their father.

  Ant vomited where she stood. If she hadn’t been holding onto Max and Mattie, she would have collapsed. They eased her down onto the ground, Mattie urgent, terrified in her ear.

  ‘Abi, what is it, what’s the matter?’

  She groaned, spat, then wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She held his hand and reached for his hair, flattening and stroking where she could.

  ‘Il se Papa,’ she whispered. Ant felt him go rigid, saw the whites of his eyes.

  His voice was a tiny croak. ‘Papa? Here?’

  ‘W-w-wait a minute,’ stammered Max. ‘That’s your actual dad out there? The guy who disappeared?’

  Ant nodded.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I recognize that hymn.’ She could still barely talk.

  ‘What does he want?’ whispered Mattie.

  ‘Nothing good,’ said Ant. ‘It was never anything good.’

  Stones started hitting the container. Every few seconds another sharp crack would reverberate around the walls. Mattie put his fingers in his ears.

  Suddenly the voice was at the door. A London growl, the words slurred. ‘Seems like you might know who this is out here.’

  Ant started to shake. Everything came back in a rush: the control, the fights, the lessons, the drinking, the haircutting and the beatings. She forced herself onto her feet.

  Max held her steady. ‘There’s three of us, remember,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but he’s got a gun,’ she said. ‘I remember that.’

  The metal bar rattled; a boot thumped against the panel. ‘Time to come out, kids. Abi? Mattie?’

  Ant heard Mattie whisper, ‘Please go away,’ just as they heard another kick on the door. They all jumped and Mattie started to cry.

  ‘Little kids, little kids, let me come in . . .’

  ‘This guy sounds like a real jerk,’ said Max. ‘What’s his name?’

  Ant took a deep breath. They were words she hadn’t said out loud for a long time. ‘Kyle Turner,’ she said. ‘Though our mama usually called him Bata.’

  ‘I won’t ask. You want me to talk to him?’

  ‘Why not?’

  Max took a step towards the container door. ‘There’s no one here who wants to talk to you,’ he shouted.

  Kyle
Turner laughed long and loud. ‘No, I reckon that’s right,’ he said. ‘Quite a few birthdays I missed. But I just need a look around, that’s all. You’ve got something I need. Something that doesn’t actually belong to you. Something you stole. And you know what I taught you about stealing.’ He laughed again.

  ‘What’s that about, Ant?’ asked Max.

  ‘He must mean the strap-key,’ she whispered. ‘The drone saw it when I was in the river.’

  ‘Why would he want that?’ said Mattie.

  ‘Money,’ she said. ‘Same as everything. Must be worth a fortune.’ She didn’t need to check she still had it: she could feel its weight in her back pocket, but her fingers traced the familiar outline anyway. ‘But he won’t just want that. He wants us . . .’

  Another kick against the door. ‘Little kids, little kids, let me come in . . .’

  ‘Is he drunk?’ whispered Max.

  ‘You can never tell,’ said Ant. ‘His voice is always slurred. Just assume he’s dangerous.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I am doing.’

  The voice came again. ‘You should know, Abi, Mattie and the other guy doing the speaking, that there’s only me here. For now. But my friends aren’t far away, and they aren’t exactly patient. They called me when they knew where you were. So here I am! Back in your lives after all these years!’

  Max pulled Ant and Mattie close to him. ‘We are going to have to deal with him somehow. He’s right, there’ll be others nearby. Amos’s friends have moved fast. So we have to do something now.’

  There was movement outside and they heard another gunshot. Again they jumped; again Mattie held onto his sister.

  ‘Getting impatient, kids . . .’

  Stones started hitting the container once more. Every few seconds another sharp crack would echo around its walls. Mattie put his fingers in his ears.

  Ant closed her eyes. For a brief moment she could smell her father’s sweat, tobacco and hair gel again and knew she would do anything to keep him away. Away from her. Away from Mattie.

  She walked silently to the door and put her eye to one of the tiny holes. She couldn’t see much – just a few leaves, a piece of grass and that was it. Then her father walked past and she recoiled, flinching as though she’d been hit across the face. Just like the old days.

  She turned back to the others. ‘I want to take him out.’ She heard the new hardness in her voice and expected a reprimand from Mattie, but none came. ‘We’ll wait till he’s right in front of the door,’ she whispered. ‘And you’re right, Max, there are three of us, but we might only get the one go with those odds.’ She returned to the spy hole.

  ‘Can you see Henry?’ asked Mattie.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Can you see . . . ? Can you see Papa?’

  ‘No.’

  Then the stones started up again, this time hurled with force. With anger.

  ‘He’s walking around us,’ said Max, turning clockwise, following the sounds of rock on metal.

  Ant steered Mattie towards the largest rust-hole. ‘If you see him, put your hand up. If he’s in front of the door, right in front of the door, drop it.’

  ‘But I don’t want to see him,’ said Mattie, pushing back.

  ‘OK, me neither,’ said Ant. ‘But if we do this right, it’ll be the last time.’

  Mattie took a breath, nodded, then stood on tiptoe, eye pressed to the hole. As the stones continued to hit, Ant swiftly cleared a path to the door. Hands on the horizontal bar Henry had fitted, she counted back six paces. Ant and Max stood together on their mark.

  ‘Last time, Mattie. Guaranteed,’ she hissed.

  It appeared that Kyle had almost completed a circuit, each clanging stone marking his progress. Ant and Max crouched like sprinters before the gun. They saw Mattie stiffen; then his hand shot up in the air. Heart racing, blood hammering in her head, Ant was desperate to be unleashed. Silently she started her own silent count. ‘En. De. Twa . . .

  Then his voice again. Up close. ‘Little kids . . .’

  Mattie’s hand dropped. Ant and Max charged.

  Kat!

  Ant and Max hit the door-release bar together. The door burst open, hitting Turner with such force that he was poleaxed. As he collapsed on the ground, his gun went flying. Ant jumped on his chest, pummelling him with her fists. She landed blow after blow, each one accompanied with a flurry of words. It was a while before Mattie and Max could hear what she was saying.

  ‘This is for Mama . . . This is for Mattie . . . This is for me . . .’

  Mattie wanted her to stop. ‘Abi, enough!’

  ‘This is for Mama—’

  Max grabbed her shoulder. ‘Ant, that’s enough.’

  She turned on him. ‘No, it’s not enough – it’ll never be enough. And what do you know anyway . . . ?’

  Max held up his hands in surrender. ‘No, that’s not what I’m saying.’ He was doing his best to sound calm and reassuring. ‘You have every right to say all that stuff. But we need him to go back to the Cloverwells or whoever sent him. And we need to give him the strap-key.’

  ‘What? Are you mad?’

  ‘Because if we don’t,’ he continued, ‘we’ll be fighting the gangs as well as the prison system, the police and the law. Pick your battles. Pay them off. One fight at a time.’

  Breathing heavily, sweat pouring from her, Ant forced herself to calm down. There was a logic to Max’s argument. She hated his sweet reason, but he was right. She wiped the sweat out of her eyes.

  ‘I need some rope or wire then,’ she said, her voice hoarse but calmer.

  Mattie grabbed the electric cable from Henry’s record player and Ant had it around Turner’s wrists in seconds. She stared at him; she remembered him as taller, stronger, more stylish. He seemed diminished. Sure, his clothes were expensive, but they were worn, even threadbare in places. His face was gaunt, unshaven, with dark circles around both eyes But mainly it was bleeding: the container door had left deep cuts in his temple and cheek.

  ‘Don’t think you’ll be forgetting me again,’ she said.

  Turner stirred beneath her and she jumped up. Max threw a pan of Henry’s water over him and he spluttered, opening his eyes and then wincing in pain.

  ‘Hi,’ said Ant coldly. ‘I’m your daughter; this is your son. We are now going to tell you what’s about to happen.’ He blinked and tried to sit up, but she put her foot on his chest. ‘When we say so, you’re going to walk out of here. Straight back to where you came from. We’ll even give you the strap-key so that you can show your gangster buddies how brilliant you are. How does that sound?’

  Turner nodded his agreement, then lay still.

  ‘And your gun’s in the river,’ said Max. ‘Save you looking for it.’ He bent down and pulled Turner to his feet. ‘And my other helpful tip,’ he went on, ‘is this. You should get some stitches in your face. Just saying.’

  The blood was dripping from Turner’s chin onto his shirt and he wiped it with his arm. ‘When do I get the strap-key?’ he growled.

  Max and Mattie looked at Ant. She took a deep breath and pulled it out of her pocket.

  Turner eyed it greedily, then his brow furrowed. ‘Is that it?’

  ‘That’s it,’ said Ant.

  ‘Does it come with anything?’

  Max screwed his face up. ‘What kind of a question is that? What do you want it to “come with”? Fries?’

  ‘Like a case or something.’

  Ant poked the strap-key into her father’s chest. ‘You take the key. You run away. We never see you again. That’s the deal.’

  Turner smiled. ‘I said you’d be fine.’

  Suddenly Max was in his face. ‘How can you say that? How can you actually not care about your own children?’

  ‘Because,’ said Turner, eyes darting between Ant and Mattie, ‘with their mother, I was never sure that they were mine.’

  The first to react was Mattie. He charged, head down, crunching into Turner’s groin. Doubled up, his
father fell to the ground, pain rendering him speechless. Ant and Max pulled Mattie away.

  ‘OK, that’s it! shouted Ant. ‘He’s not worth it, Mattie. Let’s get rid of him.’ She hauled Kyle to his feet, spun him round and pushed. ‘Walk. When you get to the field, you get the key.’

  Turner limped and stumbled through the woods, Ant, Mattie and Max a few steps behind. As they passed the van, Henry’s face appeared at one of the back windows. Seeing that Turner had his hands tied, he opened the door and got out.

  ‘Oh, thank God for that! You got him! Bravo!’ He fell in beside Max. ‘Who is he?’ he said. ‘I’m afraid when he pulled a gun and fired at me, I hid. Old habits and all that.’

  ‘His name is Kyle Turner and he’s leaving,’ said Max. ‘But not in his car – he’s donating that to his kids.’

  Henry looked baffled; Turner turned to protest, then thought better of it.

  When they reached the parked Mercedes, Max shouted, ‘Keys!’ and Turner rummaged around in his pockets. Throwing them on the ground, he looked expectantly at Ant.

  Strap-key in hand, Ant hesitated. She had a flashback to Grey’s office and the moment she had picked it up for the first time. This was the tool that had meant freedom, and now she had to give it to her scummy father. She felt like throwing it at him, not to him. But she understood the logic, and before she could change her mind, she hurled it as far towards the road as she could. It spun through the air, landing thirty metres away in a puff of dirt.

  ‘Fetch,’ she said, but Kyle was already running towards it. He dipped, picked it up and kept going; he didn’t look back.

  ‘Bye then,’ said Ant.

  ‘We need to move on,’ said Max as they headed back towards the container.

  ‘But I thought—’ began Mattie.

  ‘Hopefully we’ve bought some time,’ said Max, ‘but in case we haven’t . . .’

  ‘Then I’m looking up Henry’s numbers,’ said Ant. ‘Looking for those records. I’ll be two minutes.’ And she took off for the river.

  By the time she got a decent signal, Ant was only a few metres from where the drone had interrupted her swim. This time she ignored the water. In the shade of a large tree, she stopped and checked her photos of Henry’s calculations.