‘Before we start, have you got a mobile on you?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘Give it to me.’ Mike put out his hand and Seb passed it over. Mike removed the cover and prised out the exposed SIM card and battery, and placed them on the table. Leaning back in his chair, he folded his arms and said, ‘Okay, tell us about yourself, your name for a start, and then anything relevant about you, like your background.’
At that point, Seb thought he’d rather be anywhere than where he was right then, but the long hours of training and preparation kicked in. ‘My name? Seb, Seb Harvey.’ He paused. ‘The demo at the bank was my first demo. I knew what had been going on in the world markets, because for the last two years I’ve been working in the financial sector, but I left. I was sickened by the risk taking, the exploitation of the naive and gullible, and the worship of money.’
‘So how come you were working there in the first place?’
‘My father’s in business and… ’
Mike cut across him, ‘Don’t tell me, he wanted you to follow in his footsteps. You’ve had it easy. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘I’m not responsible for that, just as you’re not. ’
‘What do you mean?’ There was a long silence. He’d put his foot in it. He tried backtracking. ‘Well, all I meant to say was, what our parents do, and who they are, we have no control over. So, I’m not like him. He’s a self-made successful, businessman, a bastard basically, greedy and ruthless.’
Still no comment. Mike broke the silence and said, ‘Okay, we get that, so what made you leave your work?’
‘The whole thing. The people. The system. It’s sickening, the differences between the haves and the have-nots. And it can only get worse. A lot worse. They’re going to want to recoup their losses, which can only mean one thing, an attack on the public sector and since the public sector employs the ordinary people, they’ll be paying the price. They have no power, no status, no clout to fight back, because Thatcher destroyed the unions. I want things to be different.’
He glanced round, he’d got their attention. He continued; there were no interruptions. He spoke fluently about his background, his work, his gradual disillusionment. It had built up over time, he said, until he reached the point where he couldn’t continue. He’d dropped out, he didn’t know what he wanted, but he did know what he didn’t want. He was looking for a purpose in life, something that would engage him.
‘So apart from your personal stuff, at what point, did you make that decision – to get out?’
‘I was working in Canary Wharf. It’s like the Vatican, only the worship of money has replaced the worship of God. The wealth of the shops, the bars, the buildings, it’s like a gilded cage. One day I reread Orwell’s Down and Out in London and Paris – that had been a school book, so I ventured outside Canary Wharf and I had a shock. I saw the poverty, the food banks, the rough sleepers, the drug users. I hadn’t known and I hadn’t understood that their lives are about survival.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Central London, parts of Islington, Peckham, Camberwell…’
Mike spoke again, ‘Okay. We get it, but why Grassroots?’
Seb looked quickly at Nixie. She smiled at him.
‘The Bank of England demo, like I said, that was my first experience. I was shocked, seeing innocent people kicked and batoned. The police brutality was a wakeup call. I had to get involved. It was a chance meeting at Starbucks. Nixie was there with a friend and we got talking.’
Nixie laughed. ‘Yeah, what he hasn’t said, is that he pulled my mate, Andrea, from under the hooves of the police horses. She’d have been trampled to death, but for him.’
‘Anyone would have done that,’ Seb said.
Mike was staring at him. ‘Returning to the matter in hand,’ he said.
‘We began chatting and she told me about Grassroots.’
Silence. Seb considered whether he should say more about the personal life of the traders, the financiers he’d worked with and the politicians, how they’d had their own way for too long and how the police protect the status quo, but decided he’d said enough.
‘So what can you bring to the table?’
‘I want to join others in opposition.’
‘Yeah, yeah, be more specific.’
‘I’ve got a degree in business and computer security, and an insider’s knowledge in how the financial sector works. I can make sense of company accounts and I have a rough idea of who’s who in the system. I know who to watch in the City, the ones who hang out with the politicians, talk the talk, and do the deals under the table.’
All eyes were fixed on him. Mike continued eyeballing him. He didn’t trust him and that made him feel uneasy.
‘So where did you go to school?’ The question was from Nixie.
‘My father worked for an international company with business interests in the Far East. I went to a load of different schools, including the International School in Singapore, mixed with kids like myself, privileged but starved of a proper family life. We moved every few years. I’m a bit of a nomad really, I don’t belong anywhere.’
‘And where do you live now?’
‘In a flat. It’s cheap but I’m on my own. I prefer to keep myself to myself. I don’t want anyone poking their nose in my business.’
There was another silence. Mike was studying his face intently. Then he spoke, ‘Okay, step outside. We’ll have a chat. We’ll be ten minutes, give or take.’
Seb stood up. He hadn’t liked the attitude of Mike and being interrogated. He left the room and went downstairs to the bar. Had he been over the top, given too much away, stuff they could check up on? The barman pushed across his beer, and without looking at him, silently held out his hand for the money. He felt so pissed off, again he almost walked out, but he drank his beer and dragged himself back.
Mike was waiting. He put his hand out in greeting. ‘Okay mate, you’re on. Here’s your mobile and Nixie’ll show you the ropes, take a seat.’ He pushed a chair towards him. Seb wondered if he ever smiled. He sat down and glanced at Nixie. She smiled warmly at him, mouthed ‘welcome’ and the meeting began.
He only half listened to what was said; an analysis of the demo and the brutality of the police. He’d heard it all before. It bored him. He wanted some action, something significant, something he could report back to Gimp but there was nothing that grabbed his attention.
He waited for the meeting to end, and then sauntered over to Nixie. ‘Greetings,’ he said, smiling.
‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.
‘Interesting, if not fascinating. Thanks for the support. Drink?’
She smiled at him. ‘Yeah, why not. Here?’
‘Too noisy. Is there somewhere quieter?’
‘There’s a smaller pub, nearby, The Lamb and Lion.’
It was a few streets away. It was quieter but only marginally so. He bought the drinks and they found somewhere less crowded to retreat to.
‘So tell me more, how do you think it went?’
‘A bit heavy, but to be expected.’
‘We haven’t had anyone new for a while but we have to be careful. Since that guy was busted as a police informer, we don’t know who’s a friend and who’s an enemy. That’s why Mike took your mobile. Meetings have been recorded and everyone can get rounded up just before a big demo. By the way, how old did you say you were?’
‘I didn’t say. Why do you want to know?’
‘Personal. Just interested.’
‘Part of the inquiry?’
‘Yeah, you could say that.’
‘Well, I’m twenty five.’ There was a silence. ‘Mike seems to be on top of the game.’
‘He is, he’s been an activist ever since he could walk.’ She laughed. ‘He knows his stuff, he specialises in communication.’
<
br /> ‘So what’s that mean?’
‘Social media, he knows his way round, so when some group plans an event and wants support, he’s your man. Knows everybody there is to know. He gets the people out and on the streets. He was behind the bank demo.’
‘Impressive. How well do you know him?’
‘We were at uni together, but on different courses, so we never bumped into each other, then I met him at a demo and we took off from there.’
‘We? Are you an item?’
‘Off and on, but he’s too intense for me, sleeps, eats and breathes the cause. A man on a mission.’
‘You like your men to lighten up a bit then?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I like men, particularly men who want to change society. I take after my dad in that way.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘Not right now, I only just met you.’
She laughed, and looked away across the room to avoid eye contact, but she must have seen someone she knew because she waved. She stood up. ‘I won’t be long, just got to say hello to a friend.’ She walked over to a group of women.
He watched her as she talked. She was animated, listening closely to what her friends were saying, occasionally nodding her head encouragingly. He took a good look at her. She was attractive. Her Levis and tee shirt were tight enough to show off her figure and her body looked good. Compared with Carole, she was serious, politically and socially concerned, so definitely not his usual type. He turned his attention back to Nixie and tried to imagine her dressed in a tight short skirt with heels, but it wasn’t possible. His imagination failed him. She just wasn’t like that. With her short crop, her jeans and tee shirt she was more the outdoor or gamine type, sporty, fit, and she had that gap in her teeth. The imperfection appealed to him.
She was walking back across to him, and sat down. ‘Sorry about that.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘Fellow conspirators?’
‘What? You mean… well yes, I guess so.’
‘Everyone seems to have a role, so what’s yours?’
‘You’re looking at it. I look after the newbies, encourage them, support them.’
‘Ah, and report on them?’
She gave him a look. He could see she wasn’t amused. He changed tack, reverted to his usual chat-up line, ‘So, when you saw me across a crowded Starbucks, did you accost me not because you fancied me, but because you saw me as a prospective member of Grassroots?’
‘What are you talking about? Do you carry on like this all the time?’
‘You mean flirting. No, only with attractive women.’ He grinned. ‘Just kidding. So what’s next? Given the shit going on, what plans are there?’
‘I can’t tell you much, except have you heard of the Occupy movement?’
‘A little, tell me more.’
‘Well, it started in the States. It’s about fighting globalisation and the lack of democracy so a group of us are getting together for a sit in. We want to bring the City to its knees. That’s all I know right now.’
Seb looked at her. If that was the best they could do, what was basically a propaganda stunt, his employers had nothing to fear. But he kept his mouth shut and was just about to ask another question, before he decided against it. He’d asked enough and she might get suspicious. He’d work on his friendship with her, get to know her better, see how she operated. Once he knew that, he’d have the advantage. Job done. He finished his drink.
‘Got to go, Nixie, any plans for the rest of the evening?’
‘No, not really.’
A hint of disappointment passed over her face. He trusted his observations. It was a skill he’d developed at school. There’d always been something going on between the boys and he’d learnt how to be one step ahead. Ages ago, he’d realised whoever wrote Lord of the Flies had got it right. It was a dog eat dog situation. The aggression in the City was less in your face than at school, but working with traders was like conducting a game of poker. The mouth said one thing, the eyes another. But if you watched and listened, you could keep ahead of the game. As far as Nixie went, what he was tuning into was a certain vulnerability and if he was right about that, if and when he did get involved with her, she’d be a pushover.
He said, ‘I’ll walk you home.’ It was a try-on. He’d expected her to play hard to get, tell him to get lost but she didn’t play that game. She said nothing other than, ‘If you’re going that way.’ He hadn’t been, but he was now.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived outside a block of council flats. It was one of many and part of the Broadwater Farm estate. High, gaunt and built in concrete, it reminded him of a prison. She stood at the bottom of one of the stairwells, looking as if she didn’t know what to say or what she should do. ‘Do you want to come up? I live on the second floor. There’s no lifts.’
It wasn’t exactly welcoming but he took up the invitation.
She shared her flat with one other, a woman by the look of the clothes scattered around, but whoever she was, she was out. It was the first time he’d been inside a council flat and he was curious to see what they were like inside.
He’d been oblivious to them once but since he’d taken up this work he’d become aware of the differences between the haves and the have-nots, especially when it came to the housing market. Some had money, and some hadn’t, but he had no conscience or guilt about this inequality. His attitude and interest was neutral, if not anthropological. It was just the way it was. Interesting, but different.
She offered him tea which he accepted and while she was in the kitchen, he took a look around. The decor was, he observed, an object lesson in how to be creative on next to nothing ─ anti-consumerism in action. Whoever put the room together had made the best of a few possessions. Most things looked second-hand, and had probably been picked up in a charity warehouse or on Freecycle. The walls were red and covered with posters. Piles of leaflets were stacked neatly on the floor. A navy patterned Indian throw was draped over an old sofa. The bookshelves were made from reclaimed wood balanced on bricks. There were the usual books critiquing capitalism and consumerism globalisation; the advocates of different values and life styles by the authors they all read and admired, Noam Chomsky, Naomi Klein, Oliver James, Vance Packard.
His eye was drawn to an unframed photograph of Nixie propped against some books. Taken from above, she was climbing a sea cliff and smiling up at the camera. Below her could be seen the sea, the water swirling, surging, foaming on the rocks. She must have nerves of steel. He was impressed.
‘I see you go sea cliff climbing.’
She put down the mugs of tea, and sat down. ‘Yeah, whenever I can.’
‘Where do you go? I’m a climber but I’ve never tried sea cliffs. I’d like to.’
‘Really? Slab climbing gives me a buzz. The photo was taken by my mum not far from Porth Clais in Pembrokeshire. That’s where I was brought up. It’s great. I’ve been climbing since I was eleven. My dad taught me first, now I climb with my mates. Where do you usually go?’
‘The Lake District or the Isle of Skye, but they’re too far. I need to get in some practice, somewhere closer.’
She looked at him as if considering what she was about to say. ‘Don’t you know the Castle in Stoke Newington? It’s got a climbing wall. ’
He considered whether to invite himself when she went next, but decided against it. He was getting her measure. He’d wait for an invitation. He didn’t have to wait long,
‘No, never heard of it. I’ll check it out.’
‘I go Sunday mornings, do you want to come along?’
He smiled. ‘You’re on. Ten thirty?’
‘No, early is better. Say nine thirty. Is that okay? There’s fewer people Sunday mornings… so where did you learn climbing?’
For a split second he almost told the truth, that one of the masters at his schoo
l climbed and he’d taken a few boys, including himself, to the Dales over the weekends, but then he remembered his story.
‘When my dad worked in the States, I used to climb in the Yosemite National Park, I started with Go Climb a Rock. It was for beginners and it took off from there.’
‘Wow, I’d love to go there.’ She paused, looked hard at him. ‘You really have had a privileged background. But I still don’t get it. Why you’ve joined us?’
He looked straight at her.‘I’ve told you. You heard in the Bricklayers. The system sickens me. Maybe it’s to do with my father. He’s part and parcel of it.’
‘Maybe so, but look at it this way, because of him, you’ve had loads of opportunities the rest of us haven’t.’
‘So what. You wouldn’t say that if you knew my father. I’ve had to live with him.’
‘Don’t lose your cool. I’m only asking.’
‘Does it matter anyway ─ what my motivation is?’
‘Maybe not, but it’s interesting, you know, what drives people.’
‘So what about you? What’s pushing your button?’
‘I’ve been brought up that way.It’s all I’ve known. My dad’s an environmental activist, he used to work for Greenpeace, not so much now. My mum’s a forensic psychologist. She’s doing research.’
‘Forensic? Is she interested in criminals?’
‘Yes and no. She’s researching the psychopathic personality.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m quoting my mum now. It’s a set of personality factors that some traders and politicians have.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like superficial charm, grandiosity, pathological lying and manipulation, no guilt, no empathy. The list goes on.’
‘Very attractive. Sounds like me.’
Nixie laughed. ‘We all think that. But it’s a question of degree and how we operate.’
‘So how did your mother get into that?’
Truth and Lies Page 7