PAXTON: But are you aware that rioters are now travelling down to London from other parts of the country now? From Birmingham, Liverpool, Manchester and other cities? You’ve been celebrating the fact that trouble in those other cities has decreased, but that’s only because they’re all coming down here to gather in the one place. They’re coming here for Piccadilly.
PRIME MINISTER: James, you’re talking about Piccadilly like it’s a sure thing. We don’t even know if there’s going to be a Piccadilly. Now I’m confident that a sensible and balanced approach to the problem will get rioters off the street with the minimum of bloodshed.
PAXTON: Okay Prime Minister. Let’s talk about the death penalty because that’s what people are interested in at the moment. It was abolished in the sixties. It hasn’t been debated in Parliament since 1994. Why aren’t you talking about it today?
PRIME MINISTER: I don’t believe that the death penalty has any place in a civilised society.
PAXTON: (Raising his voice) But we’re not living in a civilised society anymore! Half the city’s been razed to the ground. And now the people responsible have taken over the streets in their hundreds and thousands. The roads are blocked off and there’s very little food getting to those who need it the most. Don’t you agree Mr Prime Minister - that drastic situations require drastic solutions? Several of your MPs have publicly tweeted that they’re on #teamSadie.
PRIME MINISTER: It is not unacceptable to hold that view in the Conservative Party. That’s up to the individual. But the death penalty brings with it all sorts of issues and historically there have been instances in which the wrong person has been sentenced to death. Or new evidence has appeared after the execution. It’s complicated James.
PAXTON: Okay. I want to draw your attention to something Prime Minister. The government’s own e-petition site clearly states that if any single petition gathers more than one hundred thousand signatures then it is ‘eligible for debate in the House of Commons’. As of this afternoon, nine separate petitions calling for the return of the death penalty have gathered well over that figure.
PRIME MINISTER: Death penalties don’t lower the crime rate James. Since the death penalty was reinstated in the United States in 1976, the crime rate has actually risen -
PAXTON: Are you going to debate the matter? The British public have told you that they want you to debate the return of the death penalty in Parliament.
The Prime Minister dabs at the sweat gathering on his forehead.
PRIME MINISTER: Emotions are running high James. That’s understandable. But things are being said now that in the light of day, when the police and armed forces have suppressed these riots, will seem rather foolish.
PAXTON: But why not bring the death penalty back? From a general perspective. Aren’t there crimes that should be punished more severely than by imprisonment. The murder of a child for example. You’re a father aren’t you Mr Prime Minister? And what about the murder of a police officer killed in the line of duty? And while we’re at it - what about the murder of an entire city?
PRIME MINISTER: Look James, I think we need to remember that capital punishment is still illegal under EU law. As long as we remain part of the European Union –
Paxton cuts him off, turning towards the camera.
PAXTON: Well, earlier this evening we ran a Twitter vote that asked you if you’d like to see the return of capital punishment. The results are in and they’re pretty conclusive. Ninety-two per cent of those who voted are in favour of the return of capital punishment. With only eight per cent against.
Paxton turns back to the Prime Minister.
PAXTON: Twitter has spoken sir. Hundreds of thousands of people are signing petitions and yet still, you don’t seem interested in debating the matter. Are you sure you’re not with #teamChester?
PRIME MINISTER: Look James, I don’t think we should be making light –
Paxton holds up his hands.
PAXTON: Time’s almost up Prime Minister. But we have time for one more question. Let there be no doubt that the army of Chester George will soon be eating its way westwards across London. Given the severity of this impending threat, will you be debating the return of the death penalty? Yes or no?
PRIME MINISTER: It won’t happen on my watch.
PAXTON: Thank you.
Chapter 30
21th August 2011
BBM (Blackberry Messenger)
Message distributed widely across London.
‘This just in from Chester George.
Piccadilly. 1st September.
It’s on.’
Chapter 31
22nd August 2011
Mack tiptoed quietly downstairs. In one hand, he held a pair of Adidas Kicks tight to his chest, while the other squeezed down on the strap of the rucksack draped over his shoulder in order to prevent the buckles from rattling.
God, if they hear me.
Every time a sock hit the stairs it sounded like a clap of thunder. Downstairs, he could hear the TV playing in the living room. His parents were in there watching the evening news and somebody - it sounded like Dick Ronson - was talking about Phase Two and the occupation.
He landed on the hallway and crept quietly to the front door. Very gently, he pushed down the brass handle and was surprised at how cold it felt against his skin. And why was it so heavy this time? Was it just his imagination?
He pulled the door open as quietly as he could. Fortunately for Mack, the Walkers hadn’t inherited a creaky door at the house in Stanmore Road.
Stepping outside, he closed it gently behind him.
Click.
He let out a deep breath. It wasn’t quite Andy Dufresne standing under the rain in The Shawshank Redemption, but he’d been grounded for a few days now and with everything that was going on in London, being cooped up indoors was enough to make him go at least a little crazy.
Looking up, a blanket of angry clouds was encroaching upon the early evening sunlight. It would be dark soon, but Mack welcomed the opportunity to slip inside the night, out of the reach of prying eyes, of daylight, and normality.
Twenty minutes later, he was approaching Charlie’s, where Sumo Dave was waiting for him. As he walked west, he’d expected to hear the crowds on the nearby High Road. To hear something, anything - jeers, anti-authoritarian chants - any kind of noise. All those people had to be making some sort of racket, didn’t they?
But there was nothing. There wasn’t even the sound of traffic anymore.
And no longer were there any burning buildings on the horizon. No more orange and white lights spewing forth smoke up to the heavens.
The air felt good.
Sumo Dave was standing outside Charlie’s. The lanky teenager was looking at his phone but when he saw Mack walking towards him, he tucked the device into the side pocket of his jeans.
“Alright?” Sumo Dave said. “Sneak outta jail, did ya?”
“Aye,” Mack said. “Fuck it. What else can they do to me?”
Sumo Dave shrugged. “Yeah.”
They started walking towards the junction where Philip Lane came onto the High Road.
Up ahead, Mack saw crowds of people gathered together under the dim streetlights. When they reached the High Road, the scene was unlike anything he’d seen during the riots. This was Phase Two. Thousands of people standing or sitting on the streets, almost in perfect silence. It was like looking upon a vigil for a fallen idol.
There were no masks anymore. No faces hidden underneath hoods.
In fact, it would have been quite civilised if not for the burned out and windowless buildings that hovered in the background. A reminder of Phase One.
Sumo Dave led Mack through the crowds. There were people everywhere, standing in groups talking quietly to one another. Black faces, white faces, brown faces – Mack saw children, he saw dogs running up and down the street.
There were tents everywhere.
Others were sitting down in small groups, gathered together to share a
meal.
Mack looked up and saw people sitting on the roofs of whatever buildings were still strong enough to hold them. They were sitting over the edge, their legs dangling in the air, looking down and waving to the crowds below.
It was like walking through a street festival, but without the music. And although there was muted chatter amongst the crowds, it was still eerily silent compared to what had been going on for the last few weeks.
Sumo Dave brought Mack to the front of the Christ Apostolic Church, which had remained untouched by the violence. Up ahead, the familiar shape of Tottenham Police Station could be seen, as well as a massive huddle of people.
“Something going on over there?” Mack asked.
“You need to see it from up there,” Sumo Dave said, pointing to the upper floor windows of the church.
They walked towards the door of the three-storey, brown brick building. Inside, Mack wasn’t surprised to find it also full of people sitting around, talking, drinking, and smoking. It was like a giant party spread across different rooms – be it an office or storage room.
Sumo Dave led Mack upstairs to a large, spacious room on the second tier. It had a wooden floor and on the far end of the room, a large, protruding window looked down onto the High Road.
There were about twelve people inside the room. Most in their twenties or late teens at best. Sleeping bags were strewn across the floor, as were plastic bags, tins, water bottles, sandwiches and packets of junk food.
Tegz and Hatchet were standing at the large window with some of the others – typical student types with long hair, greasy skin, dressed in jeans and T-shirts.
Sumo Dave gave Mack a nudge. “Go on,” he said. “Take a look.”
“This is the shit,” Tegz said, standing aside to let Mack in.
Mack pressed his face up against the glass. To his left, a little further up the road, he saw Tottenham Police Station. Riot police surrounded the building, some on horses, but most on foot. Dozens of police vans were parked along the edge of the street in close proximity to the station. The army were there too, with the same two armoured vehicles that Mack had seen before. Small pockets of soldiers patrolled the area on foot, carrying small machine guns in their hands.
The Good and Honest Citizens had the police and army surrounded on both sides. There were literally thousands of people down there, positioned on both sides of the police and military presence.
“Holy shit,” Mack said.
“You’re not kidding,” Tegz said. “We’re dwarfing them ain’t we?”
Hatchet took a step back from the window. “We’ve got ‘em surrounded,” he said. “We’ve got the numbers. We could take Tottenham tonight – we could take it down. What the fuck is everybody standing around waiting for?”
“Piccadilly,” Mack said.
“This is big time,” Sumo Dave said. “It’s gone way beyond smashing in shop windows mate.”
“It’s a waste,” Hatchet said, glaring out of the window.
Then something happened that made Mack’s blood run cold. Hatchet took a step back from the window, lifted up his hoodie and pulled out something tucked in between his waist and his jeans.
It was a black pistol.
“It’s a waste,” he said again. “I ain’t afraid of those soldiers and their fucking guns, am I?”
He tapped the muzzle of the pistol off the glass.
Everyone else at the window backed off quietly. All except Sumo Dave, who stepped forward and grabbed Hatchet by the forearm. He tried to bundle his friend away from the window but Hatchet, who was stronger, wasn’t going anywhere.
Everyone in the room was watching them.
“Are you fucking nuts Hatch?” Sumo Dave said.
Hatchet smiled. Sumo Dave let go of his arm.
“I’m gonna tell you something mate,” Sumo Dave said. “And this is just a bit of friendly advice, yeah?”
He stood in Hatchet’s personal space, seemingly unconcerned about the gun.
“Hotheads like you need to stay well away from the coppers and soldiers,” Sumo Dave said. “You’ve had your fun, eh? Half the city ain’t there anymore mate. But now it’s time for something else - we wait for Piccadilly. We wait for Chester George. You give us that much before you start shooting the place up, yeah?”
Hatchet tucked the pistol back into the waist of his jeans. He shrugged his shoulders, and then walked over to his sleeping bag.
Mack needed a moment to regain his composure. To see a loose cannon like Hatchet wielding a gun, and knowing how much he hated Mack’s guts - that was something else. His heart gradually began to slow down.
Sumo Dave came over to him, a look of relief etched on his face.
“Close one,” he said quietly.
Mack nodded. He looked at the sleeping bags on the floor. “You guys staying here too?”
“Yeah,” Sumo Dave said. “There’s no going home anymore. Not until this is done.”
“Piccadilly?”
Sumo Dave nodded.
“What’d your mum say about it?” Mack said.
Sumo Dave smiled. “She didn’t try and stop me if that’s what you mean.”
Tegz, who was listening in at the window, walked over to them. He gave Mack a playful tap on the arm. “You’ll be there?” he said. “Eh?”
Mack nodded. “Aye mate. I hope so.”
He dropped his rucksack on the floor at Tegz’s feet “I brought you guys some food,” he said, looking at all the tins and packets scattered across the floor. “I didn’t realise you were already stocked up though.”
Tegz grinned. “No food shortages anymore,” he said. “Everyone’s working together now. Sharing.”
“We’ll still take it though,” Sumo Dave said, grinning. He put a foot on the rucksack and kicked it towards one of the sleeping bags.
Mack took one last look out the window, at the crowds outside the police station.
“I’d better go,” he said.
Sumo Dave walked him to the stairs. They said their goodbyes and Mack walked downstairs, squeezing past a group of people sitting on the steps talking about Piccadilly and the first of September.
When he was outside, Mack took a look back at the church, wishing that he could stay there with the others. Then he remembered Hatchet and the gun, and he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.
But he didn’t want to go home either.
Mack walked towards the thousands of people who had filled up the streets in anticipation of Piccadilly. This carnival of smiling faces was pulling him in. Somebody was playing the guitar nearby, fingerpicking a pretty melody. Elsewhere, a child laughed. And up above, the stars were out, a gang of celestial bodies looking down in envy at all the excitement on the tiny blue rock.
Mack walked away with a heavy heart, back to Stanmore Road.
The front door was locked.
Shit.
And the living-room light was on.
Mack took a deep breath before pulling the keys from his pocket. He unlocked the door, stepped inside and closed it gently again.
The house was silent.
Trying his luck, he made for the stairs. He almost had one foot up the ‘wooden hill’ - as his parents used to call the stairs when he was a child - when a voice, coming from the living room, interrupted him.
“Get in here.”
Isabella Walker didn’t sound angry. In fact, there was no trace of emotion in her voice whatsoever, which made it worse.
Mack sighed, turning back towards the living room. Slowly he pushed the door open and saw his parents sitting on the leather couch. Mack saw that familiar look of disappointment in their eyes.
And on the floor, a suitcase.
“No more arguments Mack,” Isabella said. “It’s done. You’re booked on a train to Waverley Station first thing tomorrow morning.”
Archie pointed at the suitcase. “You’re going home son.”
Chapter 32
23rd August 2011
At precisely 9.
33am on Tuesday morning, the train on Platform Four pulled out of King’s Cross Station - three minutes late - en route to Waverley Station in Edinburgh. The station was especially busy that day, and almost all of the trains pouring out of London were full. In particular, as Mack had sat in the carriage waiting for his own train to leave, he’d noticed a lot of families - mothers, fathers and little kids – hurrying on the platform towards the train as if being chased by something terrible.
Mack was probably the only person in the station who wanted to stay in London.
But his parents were having none of that.
He’d fought them very little on the topic of his going home. It was a battle he couldn’t win and so he hadn’t wasted the energy trying. Upon seeing the suitcase on the living room floor, he’d accepted the situation quietly and gone to bed. The following morning, after a cooked breakfast courtesy of his mum, there had been a rushed and awkward goodbye with her at the door.
Mack’s dad then drove him from Tottenham to King’s Cross.
“Your gran will be waiting for you at Waverley,” Archie said. “She’ll meet you, so don’t go running off without her, okay?”
Mack shrugged. “Okay.”
Archie laughed. “And don’t get off the train at the first station and try sneaking back to London,” he said, turning to Mack. “Because you know what’ll happen, don’t you?”
The Future of London Box Set Page 16