by Greg Elswood
‘No, he’s not, he’s getting some things sorted before tomorrow. I assume you’re still OK for the morning?’
‘Yes, of course, I’m free to help, although I haven’t been told what the plan is yet.’
‘Oh, OK, I thought Martin had explained it to you. It’s straightforward enough. We’ll be handing out free samples of the snack at Liverpool Street tomorrow morning. If you meet us here at six, you can come with us. We’ll drive over there in the van with the stuff, unload it at the station, and then you and the other helpers will hand them out. Once they’re all gone, we’ll pack up and pay you all. We’ll be done by nine o’clock. Easy as that.’
‘But where are the snacks?’ Maria asked, looking around the lock-up and stepping further into the space towards the old vehicle bay, as if the goods might have been concealed behind the units. She glanced up at the hatch to the upper level for good measure.
‘Oh, they arrive tonight. Don’t worry, they’re on their way. I will be here all night, guarding them with my life.’
‘OK,’ Maria said, accepting his explanation without question. ‘Mind you don’t fall asleep again then.’
‘Oh, you saw me dozing? Well, if I get to sleep now, I should be alright tonight.’
Maria didn’t think that Peter looked like he could stay awake all night. His pallor matched the ash at his feet, and with his sunken, half-closed eyes, he looked shattered. But she didn’t press the point. He seemed a little cranky.
‘OK, see you tomorrow at six then,’ she said, and walked to the door. She turned back to wave goodbye and saw Peter slump back in his chair.
Before leaving, Maria glanced up again at the upper floor and an idea took shape in her mind. On her way down Rivington Street, one image kept returning to her: a tired, unwell man asleep in his chair, beneath a cosy loft. Maria hurried back to the Refuge.
***
Brandon paced from one end of the den to the other, biting his nails, deep in thought, not even glancing at his screens.
He’d heard of numerous masterminds who had experienced moments of uncertainty when so close to their moment of destiny, but he’d never expected it to happen to him. Usually any last-minute doubts would be on technical grounds, whether something could be achieved with the skills, capability and knowledge of the people executing the plan. There might be practical considerations, such as time, budget or logistics. But none of this worried Brandon, so why was he getting cold feet now, when he was confident that Proximity worked?
The moment he’d let Sleeper loose at Stratford station the previous morning, in his mind he had commenced an unstoppable process, where he would test the program, prove its ability to infect and control other people’s devices, and then use his undeniable technical skills to deliver the plan. Until now, Brandon hadn’t questioned the morality of his actions. Why would he, when he had already convinced himself that he was doing this for the greater good?
He knew that elements of his plan were personal crusades, such as his loathing of greedy institutions, his antipathy towards Bitcoin and his quest to show the world the frailty of their gadget-obsessed lives. He also knew that he was about to commit a crime, actually several serious crimes rolled into one, although he was sure that most people would support the eventual outcome regardless of how he would achieve it. But did that really make it the right thing to do?
Brandon gave up on the markets and left his den. He stood at his huge living room windows and stared into the distance, looking at nothing in particular. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had missed something, an unforeseen consequence of his actions that would only become apparent once the plan was underway. He thought back to his reconnaissance of Liverpool Street, the walkways, the cashpoint machines and the departure board. He played back the success of Replicant at Gianluca’s café. Nothing. He couldn’t work out what the problem was. Just a nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right.
It was time for a walk, and he knew his destination before he left the loft. As he had the day before, Brandon pulled his hood over his head and set off in the direction of Mark Square.
But, on this occasion, he went no further. He sat down on one of the benches in the former grounds of St. Michael’s Church and rested his forehead in his hands, his elbows digging into the top of his thighs. His face hidden from view, to any bystander he would have appeared the very picture of despair or, to the more morbidly inclined, an anguished, hooded spectre in an ancient churchyard.
Brandon knew the history of this place intimately. He had spent over a year of his life at the Refuge, sheltering from the streets during his teenage years, and he was aware of its association with the church. He had always been inquisitive, and even as a vulnerable and abused teenager he had researched its past and taken the time to understand the people who had rescued him. He had learned about the sacrifices they had made and the kindness that had been shown over the years to the destitute and defenceless. Brandon had been one of those unfortunate souls welcomed into the shelter, and he would never be able to repay the debt.
But in many ways, Brandon considered himself lucky. He had discovered skills and talents which, with the crucial support of the Refuge, had enabled him to escape life on the streets. He now lived free of poverty and he wanted for nothing, at least in any material sense. He no longer worried where he would be sleeping or where his next meal would come from, which was more than could be said for many of the Refuge’s residents, past and present. His time at the Refuge was the source of his confidence, of his strength and his courage.
But Brandon still felt alone and isolated. Like today, sitting in the churchyard, he had no one to talk to, no one he could confide in, and no warm, human contact. How he missed the camaraderie of the Refuge. He didn’t hanker for that life again, he couldn’t go back, but he longed to rekindle those feelings of unconditional acceptance and inclusion. But it wouldn’t happen now, not with the paths he had taken since leaving the Refuge. It was too late for that.
Brandon looked up at the shelter’s walls. He had never given even one hour of his time to help anyone within, despite knowing from personal experience how much it meant to those in need. He told himself that other people made better volunteers, because they knew how to handle the homeless, with their natural patience and tolerance. But deep down he knew that these were convenient excuses that simply protected him from his own insecurities; he was scared of failure, of being rejected again, just for being who he was.
But he took solace in the fact that he could still contribute to life at the Refuge, by helping in the only way he could. With money. It was not the same, he knew that, but the shelter relied on benefactors like Brandon to survive and he was determined to make a difference. Giving money to the Refuge was what motivated Brandon to beat the markets at their own game, it had driven him to develop some of the most advanced trading programs in the market, and it had inspired him to create Proximity.
Brandon sat in the churchyard in the shadow of the Refuge and stared at the blank walls, thought of his time there and those still inside, and felt his sense of purpose renew.
***
Orla took her bag from the locker and pulled its strap over her shoulder with a sigh. She had enjoyed her morning with the children, but for some reason she felt more tired than usual, although she didn’t know why. Was she coming down with something, or was she just over-exerting herself by combining her voluntary work every day at the Refuge with her full-time job at the crèche? She was certainly shattered most nights by the time she got home.
Orla shook her head. She couldn’t bring herself to reduce her hours at the Refuge, even if her voluntary work was contributing to her frazzled state, because she knew how important it was to the people there. People like Jacob. Even whilst semi-conscious last night after the attack, he had asked for Orla by name, showing how much he valued her. She wasn’t conceited by nature, but Orla did feel proud that he had asked for her, even if it felt like a guilty pleasure.
Onc
e out onto the street, Orla tilted her head back and closed her eyes, stopping for a few seconds to soak up the early afternoon sunlight. She had always preferred working the second shift at the crèche, as her break avoided the normal lunchtime rush, when thousands of City workers would descend on the local sandwich shops, salad bars and fast food outlets, and the streets and terraces would be overflowing with people. But a late lunch felt unhurried, and during dry weather she would often wander down to Broadgate Circle or take the slightly longer walk to Finsbury Square and sit on the grass to eat her lunch.
But Orla took a different route for her lunchtime walk today. She decided that it would be better to revisit Jacob sooner rather than later, as she didn’t know if he would still be there if she left it until she’d finished work. She should just about have enough time if she hurried. It also meant that she could go straight home after work. Orla had found Michael’s behaviour this morning disconcerting and she wanted to ask him a few questions. She had a disturbing feeling that he was up to something.
At the Refuge, Orla went straight to the medical bay and checked in with Corinne.
‘Jacob’s doing fine, and he’s a bit brighter than this morning. Maria sat with him for a while, but she left after he finished his lunch,’ the nurse said. ‘He’s had a painkiller for his head and ribs and he was dozing when I last looked in. You’re welcome to sit with him.’
Orla thanked Corinne and entered the room. Jacob appeared to be asleep, propped up against his pillows, so she sat on the chair nearest the door. But within a few seconds of Orla sitting down, Jacob opened his eyes and smiled when he saw her. ‘It’s OK, I’m awake. I heard you come in.’
‘How are you doing? You look a bit better than this morning, but then it would be hard not to.’ Orla’s voice was soft, conveying concern for his welfare but also an optimism that the worst was over.
‘Not too bad, thanks, better for a little grub. Maria fetched lunch for me. She’s a nice girl, that one, kind-hearted.’
‘Yes, she is, very thoughtful. But do you know where she’s got to now? I thought she might still be here with you.’
‘She said she had to go and see her boss. Apparently, she’s got a new job. I saw her looking yesterday and she didn’t seem very hopeful at the time, so I’m glad she found something.’
‘Oh, yes, she mentioned that to me this morning. Working in a food shop I think she said. Good for her.’
‘Talking of which, shouldn’t you be at work?’ Jacob asked.
‘Oh, it’s OK, it’s my lunch break, so I thought I’d come to see how you’re doing. I don’t have long, but I have other things to do tonight.’ Orla shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling guilty at the suggestion. ‘It’s the only time I can spare. Sorry.’
‘What are you apologising for?’ Jacob looked at Orla. It dawned on him that she may have felt pressurised into visiting him because he had asked for her during his delirious ramblings the night before. ‘You have done more than enough and I didn’t expect you to come out during your lunchtime, or after work. Please don’t feel you have to.’
‘Honestly, I don’t mind. I don’t usually do much in my lunch hour anyway.’
They fell silent. Orla realised that, in his own way, Jacob was expressing his gratitude for the effort she had made. But he was also embarrassed that he’d been the cause of it, and he didn’t want her to spend all of her free time with him.
After a few moments, she stood to go. ‘It’s good to see you looking better, and hopefully when I see you next, you’ll be back to fighting fitness. Just remember what I said this morning. Stay out of trouble, and keep away from that Bill man at Liverpool Street.’
Jacob nodded and they exchanged smiles as she closed the door.
On her way back through the lobby, Orla saw Maria coming up the steps of the Refuge towards her. She was flushed and panting, as if she’d been running.
‘Hi Maria,’ she said and she held the door as Maria caught her breath. ‘I popped in to see Jacob. He seems quite a bit better, and I’m sure he’d like to see you if you have time.’
‘I was on my way there now,’ Maria said between gulps of air.
‘Great! But I’ve got to get back to work now, sorry, I can’t wait. I’ll probably see you at breakfast in the morning. Bye!’
Maria opened her mouth to answer that she wouldn’t be at breakfast because of her job, but closed it again. Orla had gone. Never mind, I’ll tell her about it another time. It’ll keep. But what couldn’t wait, she decided, was the idea that she wanted to discuss with Jacob, and she hurried off to see him.
Orla grabbed her phone to check her messages. Concentrating on her screen, she almost collided with someone coming the other way.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she said instinctively, ‘I should look where...’
Orla’s apology tailed off as she recognised who it was, and her words stuck in her throat.
‘Hi Orla,’ Brandon said. ‘Long time no see.’
‘Oh my God, it really is you. Hello stranger!’ Orla threw her arms wide and hugged Brandon. She squeezed him tight for a few seconds, before stepping back to look at him.
‘I had no idea you were still in the area. Mind you, if you’re always wearing this thing,’ she said, pointing at his hood, ‘then I’d probably walk right past without recognising you. How have you been?’
‘Oh, not too bad, getting by. I only live around the corner, between here and Liverpool Street, and I often walk up this way, for old times’ sake. You know how it is, I owe a lot to this place.’
Brandon looked up at the building and Orla could see in his eyes the genuine affection he still felt for the Refuge.
‘Yes, it is a special place and I’m sure many of our old friends feel the same way.’ She paused but then screwed up her eyes in apology. ‘Oh, I’d really love to stand and chat and hear what you’re up to, but I’m on my way to work now, so I don’t have much time. If you live close by, we must get together another time. Do you have a mobile?’
Brandon told Orla his number and she entered it into her phone. Almost immediately, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.
‘Right, now you have my number too, so no excuses, eh?’
‘Thanks, I’ll call you. Do you still work at the crèche? If so, I can walk with you, it’s not out of my way.’
They headed towards Orla’s workplace and small-talked about the weather and nothing in particular. Anything important could wait until they had more time together. However, as they approached Orla’s office, there was one thing she couldn’t leave unsaid.
‘I hope you don’t mind me asking,’ Orla said, a slight tremor in her voice, ‘but are you living with anyone at the moment?’
‘Oh Orla, of course I don’t mind you asking. You probably know more about me and who I really am than anybody else.’ He thought about the best way to reply. ‘No, I’m not living with anyone, and I haven’t since I left the Refuge. I don’t think it’s the right time and it would be tough, not only for me, but also for whoever I was with. Maybe I will in future, I don’t know.’
Orla stopped and looked at Brandon. She tentatively raised her hand to his face, half expecting him to flinch or step back. But he stood perfectly still and let her slide her hand under the hood and touch his unshaven skin.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but I couldn’t help noticing. Is it why you wear a hood?’
‘Partly, I guess. But mostly I like hoodies because they are baggy and comfortable, and it’s not as though I need to look smart to go to work. I work from home, programming and stuff like that. You’ll remember how good I was at it.’
‘So, you’re going ahead with it then? I always thought you would, although it must be hard for you.’
Brandon shrugged and started walking again. ‘Compared to what happened to me on the streets, it’s not so hard. But the Refuge, and you in particular, picked me up when I needed it, and here I am, looking forward and not back at the dark days.’
They h
ad reached the entrance of Orla’s employer. She hugged Brandon again and then stepped back, looking him up and down.
‘Well, here’s to the future then. The hoodie suits you, it’s the right look. I always said you were too pretty anyway, for a boy.’ She gave him a wistful smile, then span on her heels and marched away over the tiled floor.
Brandon watched Orla recede until she disappeared from view. Seeing her again had brought back so many memories, and now he knew that he had made the correct decision. He was doing the right thing.
16
She turned her key in the lock and pushed open the door. She bent down, picked up her mail from the mat, sifted through it, then, without thinking, put her hand to the door to close it behind her.
‘Boo!’
Jenny screamed and jumped back from the door. Her letters cascaded to the floor.
‘For Christ’s sake Michael, what do you think you’re doing? Jeez, you almost gave me a heart attack, bloody fool.’
Jenny held her hand to her chest and leaned back against the wall, breathing deeply in an effort to regain her composure. When she could speak again, she looked up into Michael’s grinning face. ‘It’s not funny. You’ll be the death of me,’ she said between gritted teeth, before laughing herself as her adrenaline rush passed.
‘Couldn’t resist it Jenny, only a bit of fun.’
‘I’ll give you fun, idiot.’ She gave him a playful punch on the chest and he howled in mock pain.
‘Now we’re even, eh?’ Michael said and he winked at her.
‘What are you doing here Michael? You don’t usually welcome me home. If you can call that a welcome.’ She took another deep breath and then her eyes widened. ‘You haven’t told Orla have you, about us?’
‘No, not yet, I’ve not seen Orla much today. I’ll see what mood she’s in tonight. Don’t worry, I will do it, I just have to pick my moment.’
‘I can’t help it, I just can’t wait until you’re all mine, that’s all.’ Jenny stepped forward and put her arms around his neck, and teased him with a seductive whisper as she looked up at him. ‘Anyway, you still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here if you haven’t told her?’