Naked

by Kevin Brooks

  Bombs, I thought.

  Fertilizer bombs …

  Guns, nails, pipes, switches …

  ‘Jesus!’ I whispered.

  And then, just as I was raising myself up on tiptoes to see if I could get a better view, a huge flash of lightning lit up the sky, followed almost immediately by an enormous crash of thunder right above my head. The sudden explosion was so loud, and so close, that it made me jump, and before I really knew what was happening, the lid of the oil drum had come off, my right foot had slipped inside the drum, and I could feel the whole thing tottering over. I tried to steady it, flapping around with my right foot, trying to hold it down, but all my weight was on one side now, and there was nothing I could do to keep it from falling over. As the drum fell away from me, I reached up and grabbed desperately at the window ledge, but it was so narrow, and the wood so old and rotten, that I just couldn’t get hold of it. With the oil drum crashing and clattering to the ground beneath me, I was vaguely aware, for a fraction of a moment, that I was falling … falling … and then – THUD! – a sudden jarring impact knocked the air from my lungs, and I felt myself bouncing off something, and then I was sprawled out on the ground, face down in a puddle, gasping for breath and feeling sick.

  And the oil drum – which I quickly realized had broken my fall – was now spinning around all over the place like a giant top, crashing and banging into the fence, against the wall, making so much noise that even the rain couldn’t drown it out.

  As I struggled to my feet, still trying to get some air into my lungs, I knew that the men in the workshop had heard all the noise. I could hear the doors at the front opening, and raised voices – ‘Quick! Round the back!’ – and then the sound of running feet …

  I didn’t stop to think – there was nothing to think about – I just pushed the oil drum out of the way and began to run.

  I was a pretty good runner back then. I wasn’t lightning fast or anything, but I’d always been fairly speedy, and – more importantly – I had stamina. I could keep going for a long time, at a reasonably good pace, without having to stop. So, that night, as I raced off along the track behind the arches, and the men from the workshop came running after me, I knew that as long as I didn’t fall over, or get trapped in a dead-end, they probably weren’t going to catch me. Of course, that didn’t mean that I wasn’t frightened – I was absolutely terrified – it just meant that I wasn’t without hope. Just keep going, I urged myself. Keep running, don’t look back, don’t fall over, just concentrate on where you’re going …

  It was hard to know where I was going. There were no lights, it was raining hard, the sky was pitch black … all I could really see was the track right in front of me, and even that was hard to make out among all the puddles and potholes and piles of rubbish strewn all over the place.

  But I kept my head down, kept my eyes open for obstacles, and kept going …

  Don’t look back …

  Don’t fall over …

  Just keep running …

  After about a hundred yards, I heard a sudden sharp crack, and for a petrifying moment I thought it was a gunshot, but as the echo of the sound rolled around the sky, I realized that it was only a short crash of thunder.

  Keep going …

  I slowed for a moment and risked a quick glance up ahead, trying to see where the track was taking me. The bridge itself seemed to go on for miles – a blurred black line, curving gently away to the right, disappearing into the bright city lights in the distance – but not too far up ahead, about fifty yards away, the track seemed to turn off to the left.

  Don’t look back …

  I couldn’t resist it any longer.

  Slowing a bit more, I looked back over my shoulder.

  They were about thirty yards behind me, a huddle of figures running in the darkness. I couldn’t make out how many there were – at least two, maybe three, and it was too dark to see if one of them was William – but I could tell that they had no intention of giving up the chase. They weren’t racing at top speed, they weren’t waving their hands around or shouting out after me, they were just running … steadily, silently, patiently …

  They were hunting me down.

  I quickened my pace …

  Just run …

  I ran.

  I had to slow down a little when I got to the point where the track turned off to the left, but after I’d swung round the ninety-degree corner, I picked up my pace again and carried on down the track. I was running away from the bridge now. The men chasing after me were diagonally across to my left, and there were houses on my right. The track ran alongside the back fences of the houses, so it was a lot less cluttered than before, and it was slightly downhill, so it was a lot easier to keep up a good pace.

  Keep going …

  I was really moving now.

  From the corner of my eye, I could see that the men had just reached the turning, and I was pretty sure that I was beginning to leave them behind. All I had to do now was keep going and try to find a way to get off the track and get back to the streets. The streets meant other people, other people meant safety … and the streets meant taxis too. I had to find a taxi … I had to get to Islington …

  And Curtis …

  Oh, God …

  The gig!

  Don’t even think about it …

  I started to look at my watch …

  DON’T!

  I dropped my hand.

  Just keep running, keep going, keep looking …

  There were lights up ahead, in the distance. Streetlights, headlights … a main road? I couldn’t be sure … but what else could it be?

  Keep going, keep looking …

  I saw a lane then. On my right, a narrow grass lane between two houses, with tall hedges on either side …

  I slowed and peered down the lane.

  It led out onto a residential street. There was a car parked under a streetlight. There was a house, two houses …

  Keep going?

  I looked back up the track. The men were about fifty yards back, just approaching a slight bend in the track where a thick growth of ivy covered the wire-mesh fence. And as they ran round the bend, momentarily disappearing from view, I sped off along the grass lane.

  The street at the other end was a secluded cul-de-sac, quiet and empty. There were lights showing behind closed curtains in some of the houses, but most of them were in darkness. It was late, people were in bed … sleeping, dreaming …

  Keep going …

  I ran down the street, heading towards what I hoped was a main road …

  And when I got there, and I realized that it really was a main road, that’s when I started to cry. It was just such a relief to see it – a real, proper road … with two lanes of traffic, cars and buses … shops, streetlights, traffic lights, people …

  I’d made it.

  Thank God …

  I’d made it.

  Now all I had to do was find a taxi.

  I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked up and down the street, willing myself to see a black cab. I saw cars, a motorbike … more cars …

  No taxis.

  I glanced back up the cul-de-sac, willing myself not to see any running men …

  There was no one there.

  I turned back to the street again, looking to the left, to the right, to the left again …

  There!

  The black taxi was approaching me on the other side of the street, its yellow light glowing in the rain. I stepped off the pavement, raising my hand … and jumped back at the sound of screeching brakes. A car coming the other way had almost run into me, braking and swerving just in time. As it passed by, the driver hit his horn and angrily waved his fist at me … but I was already on the move again, running across the road, waving my hands at the rapidly approaching taxi, calling out to the dr
iver – ‘Taxi! Hey, over here! TAXI!’ I saw him look at me, and I saw the sudden surprise on his face, and I thought for a moment that he wasn’t going to stop. I must have looked like a crazy person – soaking wet, sobbing, covered in mud and oil and God knows what else … wearing a big black donkey jacket and a biker’s cap – so I understood why he might not want to pick me up, but there was no way I was going to let it happen. Not now. Not after all I’d been through. He had to pick me up. And I was perfectly prepared to do whatever it took to make him stop, even if it meant jumping out into the road in front of him, which was exactly what I was just about to do … when I saw him nod at me, and his indicator came on, and he pulled up right next to me in the middle of the street.

  I yanked open the door and jumped in the back.

  ‘Are you all right, love?’ he asked me, genuinely concerned.

  ‘Yeah, thanks … could you just get going, please?’

  ‘What the hell happened –?’

  ‘Please?’ I said desperately.

  He nodded, turned round, glanced once in his mirror, and drove off.

  26

  I didn’t have much time to think about anything in the taxi. The main road I’d ended up on turned out to be St Ann’s Road, which was only just round the corner from Seven Sisters Road, and from there it was only a couple of miles or so to Islington. So, by the time I’d assured the taxi driver that I wasn’t hurt, and that I didn’t need him to call the police, and that I didn’t really want to talk about what had happened to me … and by the time I’d convinced him that the Screen on the Green would be open at this time of night … well, by then, we were almost there. And all I’d really had time to think about was the time.

  It was 12.35.

  I’d be there in five minutes …

  And if things were running late, which they often did, there was still just a chance that everything would be all right. We’d have to play without William, of course …

  My mind flashed back to the scene in the workshop – William at the table with the three men, talking and joking, drinking and smoking … William with a pistol in his hand …

  No.

  I couldn’t think about it.

  Not now.

  I just couldn’t …

  The Screen on the Green was really crowded when I got there, and even though I ran all the way it still took me a good five minutes to get into the building and make my way to the dressing room. I could hear music blasting out from the auditorium, but it wasn’t the sound of a live band, and I just hoped that meant that the gig hadn’t started yet.

  It’s going to be OK, I assured myself as I opened the dressing-room door. It’s going to be OK, it’s going to be OK …

  It wasn’t OK.

  Stan and Jake were sitting disconsolately in the corner, watching in silence as four young men bustled around the room talking excitedly to each other. They had Manchester accents, so I guessed they were the Buzzcocks, and they all looked hot and slightly out of breath … and I knew straight away that they’d just finished playing. I knew that look only too well.

  I glanced over at Jake.

  He just stared back at me.

  ‘Am I too late?’ I said.

  Before he could answer, I felt someone grab my arm from behind, and even as I turned round and saw that it was Curtis, he started dragging me out into the corridor. I struggled, trying to pull my arm away, but he was holding me really tightly.

  ‘Hey!’ I yelped. ‘You’re hurting –’

  ‘Where the fuck have you been?’ he spat, pushing me up against the wall.

  ‘Get off –’

  ‘Do you know what you’ve fucking done?’

  ‘Let go of me, Curtis,’ I said, looking him straight in the eyes.

  He didn’t move for a moment, he just stared back at me – his eyes bulging, his teeth clenched tight – and it took all the self-control I had to stay calm, keep my eyes fixed on his, and not lose my temper.

  ‘Let … go,’ I repeated, slowly and quietly.

  ‘Fucking hell, Lili,’ he spluttered, throwing his hands up and stepping back from me. ‘I just can’t believe this …’

  ‘What’s going on?’ I said.

  He glared at me. ‘What’s going on? You’re asking me what’s going on?’

  ‘I just meant, you know … can we still play tonight?’

  ‘Oh, yeah,’ he said, laughing unpleasantly. ‘Yeah, it’s no problem at all. I’ll just go and tell the Clash that we’re ready now, so if they wouldn’t mind getting all their gear off the stage –’

  ‘Can’t we play after them?’

  ‘No,’ Curtis said. ‘We can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He looked at me. ‘Do you want to go and talk to Malcolm? Do you want to try explaining to him why we couldn’t play when we were supposed to play? I mean, do you really think he gives a shit anyway?’

  I sighed. ‘Look, I’m sorry, Curtis –’

  ‘You’re sorry?’

  ‘Yeah …’

  ‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ he said sarcastically. ‘I mean, it’s not as if this gig was important or anything. It was only going to change our lives for ever, wasn’t it? So, you know … who fucking cares?’

  ‘I said I was sorry –’

  ‘Go on then,’ he said coldly, lighting a cigarette. ‘Tell me what happened. Tell me what you’re so fucking sorry about.’

  I hesitated then, suddenly unsure what to say. If I told Curtis the truth, if I told him all about William and the three men, and what had happened to me … well, it probably wouldn’t make much difference to Curtis anyway, but at least I’d be telling the truth. On the other hand, if I didn’t tell him the truth …

  ‘Did you find him?’ he said.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Billy the fucking Kid … did you find him?’

  ‘No … well, not exactly.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘I found out where he lives … I mean, I went to his flat, but he wasn’t there.’

  ‘Really?’ Curtis said, looking me up and down.

  I stared at him. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘No reason … just wondering.’

  ‘Wondering what?’

  ‘How come you’re such a fucking mess.’

  ‘Well, if you’ll just listen –’

  ‘I mean, Christ, Lili … look at the state of you. You look like a fucking tramp.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Not that it matters now, of course –’

  ‘Do you want to know what happened to me or not?’ I said, beginning to lose patience with him now.

  He sniffed. ‘Where did you get those clothes from?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘You weren’t wearing them when you left here.’

  ‘I know –’

  ‘Are they his?’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘Billy’s …’ He stared at me. ‘They look like Billy’s clothes.’

  I frowned at him. ‘Of course they’re not William’s clothes … why would I be wearing William’s clothes?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  ‘They’re not William’s clothes,’ I said, exasperated and confused. ‘Chief lent me the jacket and the hat … you can ask him, if you want. And the T-shirt and jeans –’

  ‘I’ve seen that T-shirt before.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On Billy.’

  I shook my head. ‘It’s Nancy’s T-shirt, not William’s. Look, I was soaking wet when I got there –’

  ‘Who the fuck’s Nancy?’

  ‘She’s William’s …’ I sighed again. ‘Well, it’s a bit complicated, but she’s kind of his stepmother …’

  ‘Kind of his stepmother?’

  ‘Yeah –’
/>   ‘And she was there, was she, this Nancy? She was in the flat?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, sneering at me. ‘Of course she was.’

  ‘You think I’m lying?’

  ‘I know you’re lying.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s pretty fucking obvious, Lili … I mean, you’ve been at Billy’s flat for the last two and a half hours, and then you come back here wearing his clothes …? It’s not that hard to work out what you’ve been up to.’

  I stared at him, utterly speechless.

  He said, ‘I just hope you think it was worth it –’

  ‘That’s enough, Curtis.’

  He smiled cruelly at me. ‘Was he better than me?’

  ‘No more.’

  ‘Did you enjoy it?’

  I slapped him hard across the face.

  He didn’t even move. He just looked at me for a moment, his eyes cold and empty, then he raised his hand and lunged at me. I instinctively stepped back, turning my head away and closing my eyes, bracing myself for the slap … but it never came. I waited a second, then cautiously opened my eyes. Curtis was standing over me, his arm raised, his open hand just inches from my face. With a scornful smile, he moved his face right up close to mine, stared into my eyes, and gave me a contemptuous pat on the cheek.

  ‘No hard feelings, eh?’ he sneered.

  ‘Fuck you, Curtis.’

  He grinned. ‘Yeah, right …’

  And then he turned his back on me and walked away.

  My head was a mess of confusion as I headed back along the corridor. I didn’t know what I was feeling, I didn’t know what had just happened, I didn’t know what I was doing or where I was going …