No Refuge

by Greg Elswood

  The attendant watched Jacob in silence. He didn’t offer any help, and was relieved when Jacob stood, put his hand to the small of his back and arched it as if relieving stiffness, then started moving back towards the path. Neither man said a word as Jacob left the grounds by the Bunhill Row exit or when the gate clanged behind Jacob. He heard the key turn in the lock.

  Jacob looked up and down Bunhill Row, but already knew he would choose neither direction. Instead, he crossed the road and headed past The Artillery Arms on the opposite corner, one of his regular haunts when he was at the bank. He missed those days, when he had still believed he could leave his Army memories behind. He should have known better.

  It had been a responsible, well-paid job in one of the largest banks in the City, where he was treated with respect by his colleagues and commuted daily from the suburbs. But nightmares and sleep deprivation blighted his life, and when his violent mood swings, heavy drinking and sudden eruptions of pent-up emotion spiralled out of control following the loss of his wife and daughter, the result was inevitable. But, even though his life in the City had been short, he still recalled plenty of good times, and people, from those days.

  Jacob rested for a few minutes on a bench in Fortune Street park, but soon realised that a group of three youths watched him from the deep shadows around the children’s play area, otherwise deserted at dusk. Whether they were dealing or taking drugs, or both, they would see Jacob as a threat or a target, but either way it wouldn’t turn out well for him.

  He pretended that he hadn’t seen them, rose to his feet and ambled towards the park’s exit on Golden Lane. Although he feigned disinterest, he listened hard in case the three young men followed, but he heard nothing. At the gate, Jacob glanced back and saw that the youths were still under the trees, ignoring his slow retreat, and he began to relax as the familiar, grey, concrete walls of the Barbican loomed ahead.

  Despite their unsightly appearance, Jacob always thought of these buildings as his original sanctuary in the City, a refuge where he could find shelter, a warm doorway and sometimes food. He had wandered around the complex so often that he felt he must know it better than anyone else, and he varied his route into and around the estate to avoid the security patrols. They might have the advantage of technology, with their ubiquitous security cameras, but Jacob knew every entrance to the complex and was able to slip in and out largely unnoticed.

  However, it wasn’t the security patrols he needed to worry about this night, but a far more menacing and dangerous predator, closing in on him fast.

  At the bottom of the long ramp that ran up from street level to the raised walkway alongside the apartment blocks of Ben Jonson Place, Jacob was suddenly aware of footsteps behind him. He turned around, half expecting to see the youths from the park, but instead a flare of alarm blazed through him when he recognised the barman from the City Road Inn that morning. For a moment Jacob was confused, bewildered by his appearance, but there was no mistaking his pursuer’s intentions the instant Jacob heard his roar.

  ‘Stay there, you thieving tramp! I knew it was you the moment I saw you. You’re going to pay for smashing my whisky.’

  His fists were clenched into tight balls and every sinew in his neck stood taut, and from the murderous expression on his face, Jacob was in no doubt that Nathan was hell-bent on revenge. It was time to go. Jacob wasn’t going to confront him in his dark mood, not after the warning that Merv had whispered about Nathan’s temper and violent ways, so he span round, back towards his Barbican refuge and sprinted up the ramp. After it doubled back on itself halfway up, Jacob saw Nathan snarling after him and grimacing from the exertion of the chase, although he wasn’t wasting any further energy on cries or insults. But, despite being younger, Nathan hadn’t gained any ground on his quarry, and Jacob knew he would reach the top of the ramp first.

  He prayed that he would run into a patrolling security guard or resident, who could help him or deter Nathan from making an attack, but he looked around and saw no one. Jacob’s best hope therefore lay in out-running Nathan and finding cover, and his mind swirled with the possibilities of which route he should take and the best way of evading him. He knew every inch of the way ahead, but any miscalculation could be fatal.

  Jacob surged out of the top of the ramp, then immediately lurched to his right towards the exhibition hall entrances. Momentarily out of sight, he darted behind the wide concrete pillars and then round some shrubs where he would be hidden from view for a few seconds. His lungs burned from the effort of his run, but he could still hear the echo of Nathan’s footsteps behind, albeit fainter than before, and he knew he hadn’t lost him yet. No time to look back, Jacob forced himself to sprint along the walkway between the concrete pillars, and emerged into the open space adjacent to Cromwell Tower.

  Jacob trusted his intuition. Nathan would be expecting him to cower behind a pillar or crouch down behind some shrubs, and would never imagine that Jacob would hide in the open area. It was a gamble, but one that Jacob thought would work. The terrace was surrounded by plants and wooden benches, often used by residents and visitors alike during the day but deserted in the growing gloom and worsening weather. In the middle of the terrace stood several low, brick-built structures, which Jacob had occasionally seen used as benches or tables. But tonight they’d have to serve another purpose. Underneath each one was a gap just high enough for a person to squeeze into, and Jacob dropped to the ground and wriggled into one of the openings. He pulled himself as far into the cramped space as possible, just as he heard Nathan’s footsteps reach the edge of the terraced area.

  Nathan stopped, and Jacob suddenly doubted his hiding place. Had he seen Jacob or guessed where he was? Had he made a huge mistake?

  Nathan walked towards the low benches, his tread silent on the terrace, and Jacob forced himself to hold his breath. His lungs were bursting, but he mustn’t make a sound, he couldn’t give away his position. Jacob saw Nathan’s boots as he made his way ever closer, the scuffed toe-caps rising and falling. But then he heard a welcome sound. Panting. Nathan leaned forward, put his hands on his knees and dragged air into his lungs. Each rasping breath exposed his discomfort and he spat hard, his venomous spittle landing just inches from Jacob, whose own battle with breathlessness was a silent agony.

  ‘Damn, where the hell is he? He must be around here somewhere.’

  Nathan stood back upright, hissed through his teeth, and turned away from Jacob, hands on his hips. He wandered over to the wooden benches and then up to the shrubbery to see if Jacob was hiding there.

  Jacob could only see Nathan’s legs from his vantage point, but he could imagine his livid face, crimson from the rage of losing Jacob and soaked in sweat from the physical strain of the chase. Jacob smiled at the thought, despite his vulnerable position and the possibility of being discovered at any moment, with no means of escape from his cramped space.

  Nathan stalked all the way around the open area and looked behind its bins, plants and benches. After what seemed to Jacob like an eternity, Nathan eventually gave up and disappeared behind the concrete pillars, cursing loudly.

  Jacob sighed. He hoped his adversary had gone for good, although he wasn’t going to take any chances and he decided he would stay in his claustrophobic lair until he was sure that Nathan wasn’t coming back. In any case, it was too early in the evening to commandeer a doorway, so this was as good a place as any to conceal himself for the next couple of hours. It might get cold, but he would survive until it was safer to move to a warmer spot by one of the apartment blocks later. It was cramped, but at least he was sheltered, protected from the weather and from the prying eyes of residents who might look out from their balconies or windows above. From the strands of fine mist that swirled in the air, Jacob concluded that the weather was a greater risk this evening than the residents. But at least it would keep Nathan away.

  ***

  Orla was surprised to find the apartment empty when she arrived home from the crèche. Surprise
d, but also relieved that Michael wasn’t there. She wanted some time to herself after her busy day and the last thing she needed was a tense atmosphere between them after his behaviour this morning. She hoped he had gone to work and hadn’t spent the day at the pub, as she suspected he had a few times recently, judging from the smell of alcohol on his breath and in the flat when she got home. If he’d been there since lunchtime, there was no telling what mood he would be in.

  Orla settled down to watch TV with a simple bowl of pasta in one hand. But it was all so dreary. Most of it was reality TV; cheap programmes that were as far from real life as you could imagine. Well, Orla’s life anyway. She didn’t spend her time frolicking almost naked around a Spanish villa trying to get the attention of iron-pumping boys, nor did she eat pig testicles in an Australian jungle so that people would pick up the phone to vote for her to eat more of the same tomorrow. She looked down at her pasta and was glad she had chosen a simple vegetarian meal.

  But the real-life programmes were just as bad. One news station was showing the tragic scenes of an Italian earthquake and another was broadcasting an interview with a union leader, trying without success to justify today’s rail strike. After five minutes of channel-surfing, Orla gave up. Maybe she was in the wrong frame of mind for TV. She left her empty bowl in the sink and decided to run a relaxing bath. She set her phone to one of her playlists, lit a couple of candles, and lay back in the bubbles.

  ‘Ah, yes, this is more like it,’ she whispered to herself, ‘and not a testicle in sight!’

  Orla burst out laughing at the thought and then slid down the bath to dunk her head under the water, enjoying her moment of pleasure. For the first time that day, she felt her troubles wash away, and she dozed, a contented smile on her face.

  Orla awoke with a start, lying in a bath of tepid water.

  She grabbed her phone. My God, is that the time? Then she saw the text from Michael saying he was working late. She reached for her towel, wrapped it around herself and walked through the living area into the bedroom. Sure enough, there was no sign of Michael. At least he was working and not at the pub, which was a good thing. Or perhaps he wasn’t. Maybe he was avoiding her after this morning.

  Who cares? It’s fine with me, either way.

  Alone, Orla pulled back the duvet. She was asleep by the time her head hit the pillow.

  ***

  Michael was hard at work, but Orla wouldn’t have slept so soundly if she had known what he was doing. His plot was taking shape and he was pleased with himself, despite the arduous activity. Maria and Michael had swept, scrubbed and wiped all evening, and although Paddy had contributed little to the manual work, he helped where he could and fetched cups of tea and a fish and chips dinner to keep them all going.

  Shortly after ten o’clock, Michael remembered that he hadn’t told Orla he would be late. He thought about giving her a call, but she’d probably ask too many questions about what he was doing and, in any case, she had seemed tetchy this morning. He decided to text instead.

  ‘Hey, Maria, is there anyone you need to call to let them know where you are?’ he asked, holding out the phone.

  ‘Oh, no, that’s fine thanks. As I said, I live alone.’ She immediately looked away and carried on with her work.

  ‘OK, if you’re sure. I thought you might have a boyfriend? Or maybe someone like a neighbour, who might notice if you’re not there?’

  ‘No, no boyfriend. Just me.’ She blushed and, not for the first time, wondered if he was trying it on.

  ‘Fine, in that case, if there’s no one for you to go home with, I will walk you home when we’re done here. You know what these streets can be like at night.’

  ‘No, don’t worry, I’m used to this area, it’s a short walk and I know my way around.’

  ‘I insist, Maria, it’s what anyone would do. Any gentleman anyway. And as you say, it’s only a short walk, so it’s no bother.’

  ‘OK, thanks,’ she conceded.

  Maria knew that he wouldn’t change his mind, which gave her a problem. If she went back to the Refuge, she would have to admit that she lived there and she might then lose this job. Maria couldn’t think of anywhere else she could go that wouldn’t give away her secret, and she looked up for inspiration as another train rumbled overhead. Oh, why did I lie?

  Michael stepped outside for a cigarette. Something in Maria’s manner told him that she wasn’t being honest, but what was she hiding? Paddy may have been right that she was a danger to the operation. She had worked hard to clean the lock-up, so she had at least served one purpose, even if they did have to eliminate her before the attack rather than as part of it. He resolved to go home with her to find out for himself, and then he would decide what to do. The best time would be in the early hours, which reduced any chance of trouble if he needed to take action. It also meant they would get more work out of her in the meantime.

  Michael extinguished his cigarette underfoot and glanced down the path towards the street. He noticed a couple of people outside the comedy club and wondered if the place would be closed by the time he left with Maria. The fewer people that were around, the better.

  He wandered up to the bouncer on the door, who stared after a drunken City-type staggering down the road towards Shoreditch High Street. As Michael approached, the bouncer eyed him with unconcealed suspicion.

  Michael ignored the look and nodded at the swaying man. ‘Looks a little worse for wear, but I guess you get a few of them in here.’

  He held out his hand to the bouncer. ‘I’m Martin.’

  The bouncer didn’t take his hand or exchange any pleasantries. ‘No entry after ten-thirty, no exceptions.’

  ‘Oh no, I don’t want to come in, I was simply checking what time you closed. I’m new around here and was thinking about coming along one night,’ he lied.

  ‘The final act will be finishing up in twenty minutes or so and we’ll be shut by midnight. Monday is always a bit slow, but Thursday stays open a bit later, to about one o’clock.’

  ‘Thanks. What other days are you open this week?’

  ‘Just Thursday and Friday. Those are the nights the City boys and girls prefer.’ He nodded up Rivington Street to where the drunken man was leaning against a building beyond the railway arches.

  ‘Great, that’s all I need to know. Maybe see you Thursday.’

  Michael turned, happy in the knowledge that he’d be long gone by Thursday night. Along with plenty of the City boys and girls.

  He returned to the lock-up and surveyed the space. He was pleased with their progress. They could easily stop now as it was clean enough for the deliveries, but he needed to keep Maria going for another hour or two.

  ‘We seem to have this place pretty clean now, and you could almost eat your dinner off these shelves. Great work, Maria.’

  Maria smiled at Michael, her eyes half-closed with weariness.

  ‘We still need to do some tidying in the back room and a little sweeping up in the loft,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t need to be as clean as the rest, just enough to stop dust floating around and into this area. An hour or two, and then I’ll take you home.’

  ***

  The Brethren’s leader was mystified. Why did Paddy and Michael have a young woman helping them out in the lock-up? Donovan couldn’t ask Paddy the question without giving away the fact that they were being watched, so this unwelcome development would need to be monitored closely.

  All that could be done for the time being was wait. Sooner or later, this new recruit would have to go home, and then Donovan would decide what to do about her.

  10

  The cloying air intensified the silence and emptiness of his bunker and the mist lay thick and oppressive over Jacob in the dark shadows. He ached with fatigue and his body cried out for sleep, but his mind would not rest. The minutes dragged. Try as he might to focus his attention on his surroundings, and in particular any tell-tale signs that he had been discovered, Jacob’s thoughts kept returning to his li
fe before the streets, and after a while he gave in to his memories.

  Not a day went by when he didn’t think about Selma and Leila. Both loved, both lost. He had spent his life in service safeguarding people of all nations, races and religions, yet when it came to those closest and dearest to him, he had been an impotent bystander and had failed in his first duty as a husband and a father, to protect them. It wasn’t as though he had been unaware of their troubles, he couldn’t claim that defence. He simply hadn’t been able to help them when they needed him most.

  Following his time in Northern Ireland, Jacob had been posted to Bosnia during the conflict that tore apart the former Yugoslavia, where he guarded humanitarian aid convoys and helped protect safe areas in the region. It was here that he met Selma. Their deepening relationship raised a few eyebrows in his unit, but no one said anything to Jacob, he suspected because most of his colleagues thought it would end as soon as his tour did.

  But his family and friends at home were more forthright. They disapproved of the match and told Jacob that Selma wasn’t good enough for him, even though they hadn’t met her and knew little of her background. When Selma fell pregnant and returned home with Jacob, they accused her of using Jacob as a way out of a war zone. However, she soon enchanted them with her natural patience, tolerance and charm, and from the evident mutual devotion of the couple it became clear that this was more than a fling or an escape route. Selma’s detractors soon became her biggest supporters and, when Leila was born, they were viewed as the perfect family. And they were, for a while.

  When Jacob had seen Maria earlier, he had glimpsed Selma in her face. There was a clear resemblance in their delicate features, but what had struck Jacob hardest had been her demeanour and expressions, those perfect reflections of his wife. The same kindness, compassion and gentle determination shone in her eyes and smile, alongside a tinge of vulnerability that Jacob worried would be exploited by others. He had harboured the same fears for Selma.