Bitter Sixteen

by Stefan Mohamed

  ‘Well, that’s great, isn’t it?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Then why the lack of joy?’

  ‘I’m just . . . tired, I suppose.’ Then I remembered Kloe’s request. ‘Um . . . Kloe wants to go to Blue Harvest tomorrow. Does it open on Sundays?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Connor. ‘Around six.’

  ‘Could we go?’ I asked.

  Eddie shrugged. ‘Of course. I have to work at eleven, but I could come for a couple of hours.’

  My spirits lifted. ‘Great! Will you play?’

  ‘Well . . . are you sure you want us to be there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Connor. ‘Don’t you want to be alone with your lady?’

  ‘I’ll talk to her,’ I said. ‘Ask her if she minds. I don’t think she will – she wants to meet you all. Will Sharon be working?’

  ‘I can’t remember,’ said Connor. ‘I’m sure she’ll come if she isn’t, though.’

  ‘Great.’

  Daryl hadn’t said anything, but I knew what he was thinking. That’s ridiculous. Someone manipulated Kloe into being in London to mess with me? He has no evidence. And it’s ridiculous.

  He’s just looking out for me.

  Screw him, said my sulky teenager voice, a voice I hadn’t heard from in a while. None of his business.

  It still doesn’t make any sense.

  ‘You all right?’ asked Eddie.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You went a bit catatonic for a second.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Must be love,’ said Connor, winking at Eddie. ‘Only a woman could infiltrate a lad’s brain like that.’

  Eddie laughed. ‘I dimly remember the feeling.’

  ‘Speaking of something that’s a different subject from my love life,’ I said, ‘how about your love life? Are you going to ask Hannah out again?’

  Eddie fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘I don’t . . . it’s not really . . . it’s complicated.’

  ‘’Cos of her brother?’ said Daryl, casually.

  Eddie shot Connor a look of death, and the Irishman held up his hands. ‘Don’t look at me. These two are like the Spanish Inquisition. They thumbscrewed it out of us.’

  ‘I bet.’ Eddie stared intently at his beer. ‘Partly her brother, yeah. He made things very difficult for us. For her. He still does.’

  ‘How come?’ I asked.

  ‘Hey,’ said Eddie, ‘how about we don’t talk about this any more?’

  ‘I’ll stay out of your romantic entanglements if you stay out of mine,’ I said, holding out my hand.

  ‘Deal,’ said Eddie, and we shook.

  I lay on my back on a hard floor, my body hot and so tired I could barely move. Invisible hands wrung out a cold sponge over my forehead and the water dripped onto my face. I heard helicopters in the distance, rotors cutting air, spinning blades talking to one another. The ceiling came into focus, a primitive painting in primary colours. A grey man, a red boy, a white dog, a blue girl, yellow fire. I could hear scuttling.

  Spiders . . .

  In the distance forests burned and houses crumbled. A low, sexless voice was talking in my ear, scratchy like worn vinyl. ‘Pain has an element of blank.

  ‘It cannot recollect.’

  ‘When it began, or if there were.’

  ‘A day when it was not.’

  ‘I love poetry.’

  ‘Do you.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My Emily knows, she does. Miss D’s got the skills.’

  What is this?

  Someone was picking out a melancholy Spanish melody on a guitar. I could see the shadows of fingers dancing on strings and the air buzzed as the notes vibrated. The tune was familiar but lost. Once again I could hear scuttling.

  Spiders . . .

  ‘Stand up.’ Freeman’s voice. I stood up. The room was square and made of brown and rust. It smelled like . . . ‘Fear?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Right.’

  Freeman laughed and all his teeth fell out. His next non sequitur was simply a formless mumble, falling backwards into a great mouth on the front of a big giant head.

  Spiders . . .

  A small figure in red pyjamas, and then —

  I opened my eyes and was immediately wide awake. It wasn’t like waking from a nightmare. My heart was beating normally. It was just . . . wakefulness. I looked at my watch. Ten past three.

  I won’t be sleeping again.

  I got out of bed and pulled on black jeans and my black hoody. Cool night tonight. London beckoned.

  What else ya gonna do?

  As I floated out of the window, I heard a low voice. ‘Oi. What are you doing?’

  I turned, hanging in mid-air outside the window. Daryl had been sleeping on the chair in the corner of the room and now he was staring accusingly at me. ‘Can’t sleep,’ I said. ‘Going out.’

  ‘What if someone sees you? What if —’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said. ‘Powers, remember?’

  ‘But what if —’

  ‘God, you sound like Eddie.’

  ‘He won’t be happy. Connor and Sharon won’t be happy.’

  ‘They won’t find out unless you tell them,’ I said. ‘Are you going to tell them?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Daryl did a sort-of shrug. ‘Fine. Just be careful.’

  ‘I will. Don’t wait up.’ I turned and looked to the end of the garden, to the orange lights and the gigantic shadows beyond. Where to go?

  Where to go?

  I shot upwards, gaining height even faster than I’d intended, and came to halt when I was high enough to see most of the city. Part of me wanted to go straight for the centre, for the big buildings, to dance from spire to spire, run down the faces of skyscrapers, skate the bridges, surf the Thames. But I knew it wasn’t a good idea. Too many people with cameras on their phones. Too many CCTV eyes. I knew if someone captured me flying on film it would find its way back to my new guardians.

  And then what? Either they’d know it was me, or they’d think there was some other kid flying around, and then —

  I mentally slapped myself. Enough tangents. I had a whole city to play with. It was the middle of the night. If there was any time to be doing this, now was it.

  So what to do?

  I half-considered finding some grimy estate and looking for trouble, acting out my little mental short film, but I knew that if I went looking for it I might end up causing it rather than simply finding it. Whereas if I didn’t go looking for it, maybe it wouldn’t occur at all. Going out and helping people was one thing, but I wasn’t going to go and pick a fight for no reason. That wasn’t me.

  That’s not me.

  My eyes fell on Big Ben and I grinned, took all the caution and tossed it to the winds. Making sure my hood was up, I zapped towards the great clock tower, staying high and hoping I was small and dark enough to avoid whatever radars kept the centre of the city safe. I alighted on the top-most tip of the tower, crouching perfectly still, balancing like a dancer, keeping myself hunched over and inconspicuous. The endless dark bright shatter of London lay before me, laid out like Christmas presents. The height was dizzying. Somehow being on a building felt more dodgy than being in the air. In the air, I had to fly. Here, I had something to fall from. I hopped off the spire and dropped down towards the enormous, luminous face of the clock, down to the hour hand, which was perfectly horizontal. I stood there and breathed, an ant on ol’ Ben’s huge metal moustache.

  I’m not Peter Pan, I don’t BEEP with fairies . . .

  As I stood there, watching and drinking in the cold air, I felt a rush in my stomach that travelled decliciously up to my chest. At this precise moment, I owned this city. I could cross it in minutes. Leap its buildings in a single bound. I could take on whatever it had to throw i
t me. Mr Freeman’s employers, Smiley Joe . . .

  At this precise moment, I knew that I was going to be a superhero.

  Somehow, someday, I was going to do it.

  I had to.

  Later, as I floated back through my bedroom window, I saw that Daryl had waited up for me. He asked what I’d been up to and I told him, and I could tell he was impressed, although he hid it well. ‘Been done,’ he said. ‘Standing on the hands of the clock? Definitely been done.’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said, as I got back into bed. ‘But it was still cool as shit.’

  ‘Shit ain’t cool, grasshopper.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘And it’s still a cliché.’

  I closed my eyes. ‘You’re just jealous.’

  ‘Bored now.’

  ‘Whatevz.’

  ‘Are you still talking?’

  ‘Nooope.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  CONNOR HAD ALREADY left for work when I came down for breakfast in the morning, but Sharon had the day off, and we sat together and ate croissants and drank coffee. ‘OK,’ she said, after a while. ‘What’s wrong?’ The way she looked at me, her eyes so full of affection, was how I remembered looking at my younger cousins. That sibling protectiveness. I’ve only known her since March. I must be doing something right.

  Did I ever wish for an older sister?

  Kinda feels like it now.

  ‘I . . .’ Words stalled. ‘Um . . .’

  Sharon laughed. ‘All right, so there definitely is something wrong.’

  ‘Yes.’ I finished my coffee and glanced at the clock. Half past ten. Just go for it. ‘Does the name Freeman mean anything to you?’

  Immediately, her expression changed. The concern was still there, but there was anger too, writing itself across her brow. She nodded. ‘Yes. You’ve met him, then.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘First time was the week before last. And then I saw him again yesterday, after I saw Kloe off.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘That I have a destiny, sort of,’ I said. ‘And power.’

  ‘Did he give you a card?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘He gave me one too,’ said Sharon. ‘And to Eddie and to Connor. All of us, separately. He talked to me like I was some . . . chosen one, or something. Talked to the others that way too. Made us all feel special. And then afterwards he just discarded us.’

  ‘After what?’

  Sharon looked pained. ‘He’s part of something. Something big. I don’t know if it’s government-related or not, but it’s definitely big. He used us all to get rid of . . .’ She blinked very fast. Don’t cry. Tell. ‘Things.’

  ‘Things?’

  ‘You remember when you first came here, when we went out to the playground,’ said Sharon. ‘Connor and I had that . . . discussion. About Smiley Joe. The reason I was so surprised, why I’m still so surprised about Connor’s attitude, is that there have been other monsters. Before Smiley Joe. And we’ve fought them.’

  I remembered Freeman’s words. It is not the only abomination to stalk these streets. It wasn’t that I hadn’t believed him, but hearing it from Sharon . . . it suddenly felt real.

  Monsters.

  Plural.

  ‘When was this?’ I asked.

  ‘I was sixteen,’ said Sharon. ‘I’d only recently discovered my powers and I was freaking out, to put it mildly. I was living rough around London, mixing with . . . the wrong people. And one night I was wandering around in a daze and I met Freeman. He looked rich – he was wearing an expensive suit – and he gave me his card and some money and told me he’d be around. Being young and braindead I figured I had an ally.’

  ‘A guardian angel,’ I said, darkly.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Sharon. ‘Not long after that he turned up again, out of the blue, telling me that I had a choice, that I was destined for great things. Then on our third meeting he told me about this creature living in the sewers. People called it the Worm. I’d heard about it, figured it was just an urban legend, something to scare kids, but Freeman told me it was real. He told me that if I could destroy it then I’d . . . I’d be saving lives. That I would prove myself. I was going through some stuff at the time and I . . . anyway. That doesn’t matter. I was terrified, absolutely out of my mind, but I went down there, down to the sewers, and I fought this thing . . . and I killed it.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘I don’t . . .’ The memory was obviously making her uncomfortable, and I hurriedly apologised. ‘It’s OK,’ I said, ‘don’t worry.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Sharon. ‘It . . . it was huge. Disgusting . . . like a massive slug with a teeth. I can’t even describe the smell. Never been so scared in my life . . . but I managed to kill it.’

  Fair play. ‘And Freeman?’ I said.

  ‘I never heard from him again,’ said Sharon. ‘I’d not long met Connor, and when I told him about it he told me a similar story, except that his was some kind of flying creature. He didn’t go into much detail. Again, Mr Freeman severed all contact with him after he defeated it.’

  ‘And Eddie?’

  ‘We met him a couple of years later. Another variation on the same story, but he refused to tell us about his monster. He never talks about it, and none of us have heard from Mr Freeman since. And now you’re his new project, by the looks of things.’ She shook her head, her lip trembling with anger. ‘Bastard.’

  ‘He didn’t mention a monster to me,’ I said. ‘I brought up Smiley Joe and asked some questions, and he went a bit funny and left.’ The implication was there, though.

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘Did he know a lot about you?’ I asked. ‘Freakishly private stuff?’

  ‘Nothing a bit of research and detective work couldn’t uncover,’ said Sharon. ‘Why? He knew a lot about you?’

  ‘Too much.’

  ‘Well, don’t trust him,’ said Sharon. ‘If you see him again, tell him you’re not interested, and come back and tell us immediately. He’s . . . bad news.’

  I nodded. ‘OK. Thanks. Sorry . . . I know I should have told you immediately.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ said Sharon. ‘I remember what he’s like . . . the things he has to say. How it feels. It’s scary, but in a way it’s exactly what you want to hear.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. ‘Um . . . so you all know about monsters, then. But . . . Connor swore there was no Smiley Joe. Acted as though it was completely ridiculous . . .’

  ‘Mm.’ Sharon nodded. ‘Yes . . . it’s just something he wants to leave behind, and he doesn’t want it to affect you the way it affected us. And the only way he feels he can deal with it is to pretend it never happened, and that it couldn’t happen again.’

  ‘I imagine he wasn’t happy with you, then,’ I said. ‘Pushing it.’ Immediately I wished I hadn’t said that, but Sharon just smiled.

  ‘Neither one of us is the boss of the other,’ she said. ‘And anyway, it gets very boring if you agree on everything.’

  I laughed. ‘Yeah . . . s’pose so.’ I looked at the clock again. It was nearly eleven. ‘Oops. I’m meeting Kloe soon. Better get going.’ I got up and headed for the door, and was just on my way out when something occurred to me. I turned around. ‘Sharon?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Are you going to tell Connor and Eddie about Mr Freeman?’

  ‘I think we should,’ she said. ‘They’ll want to know. They should know.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘Yeah . . . I guess. Um . . . can I do it? I’ll . . . I’d like to pick the right moment. I imagine they might not take the news as well as you.’

  ‘I imagine you might be right.’ She nodded. ‘All right. Deal.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I said. ‘I’ll call
you later and let you know about Blue Harvest, OK?’

  ‘Sounds good.’

  Even though I left early, traffic conspired against me and I arrived at Waterloo fifteen minutes late, cursing at a billion decibels inside my head and sharing in the festival of eye-rolling and declarations of ‘typical’ that were the only real communication strangers seemed to have on public transport in London. Kloe was waiting by the station exit. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Gremlins, or summat.’

  She nodded and rolled her eyes theatrically. ‘Typical.’

  ‘Like, so typical.’ We giggled, and hugged, and I don’t think I could have felt further away from the idea of monsters.

  Kloe had never seen Casablanca and I hadn’t watched it for over a month, and I figured I might as well put Mr Freeman’s money to good use, so we decided to go and see it. Kloe was excited about Blue Harvest and eager for Sharon, Eddie and Connor to join us. ‘I’d love to meet them,’ she said. ‘They sound really cool. Plus I need to vet them, to make sure they’re looking after you properly.’

  ‘They make me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs,’ I said. ‘And they feed me crusts and old rain water.’

  Kloe nodded approvingly. ‘Sounds about right.’

  The film was at four, so we spent three and a half hours wandering around eating and talking. So much talking, it was amazing. We talked about food (A Very Good Thing), films (things by which I lived my life, and things that Kloe put on in the background while doing other things), school (or lack of same), TV (see above re: films), politics (that didn’t last long), religion (Not A Very Good Thing), music (I’d never even considered Beatles vs. Stones to be a real thing, as The Beatles were so obviously, demonstrably superior, but it turned out that Kloe was a Stones girl – go figure), terrorism (Most Definitely Not A Very Good Thing), and everything in between (not literally). After what Sharon had said, I was glad that we disagreed on some things. It felt healthy. Kind of sexy, even. We also discussed Kloe’s aunt (not such a sexy topic), who was aware of her parents’ wishes regarding me and had not been entirely happy with our plans for today. ‘I kind of guilted her into being OK with it, in the end,’ said Kloe. ‘She told me this story years ago, about a boyfriend she had when she was fifteen, who her parents hated, and I shamelessly used it against her.’