L-2011

by Mark Gillespie

  CHESTER GEORGE: Let’s take a break from all this sporting excitement, shall we? How about something a little bit more intellectual?

  He looks at something out of shot.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now this is interesting.

  Chester George turns the camera towards the front of the building. There’s a masked figure sitting at one of the checkouts. The body shape is clearly that of a female: large hips, pert breasts, and thin shoulders. Chester George keeps the camera pointed at her as he speaks.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Hello there.

  GIRL: (Waving) Hi.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now my dear, I’d like you to talk to the camera for a little while. You’re a representative of The Good and Honest Citizens after all.

  GIRL: What am I supposed to say?

  CHESTER GEORGE: Well, for a start – tell us how old you are love.

  GIRL: Eighteen.

  CHESTER GEORGE: And where are you from?

  GIRL: The East End.

  CHESTER GEORGE: And isn’t it true my dear, that you’re an athlete?

  GIRL: Yeah.

  CHESTER GEORGE: What kind of athlete are you?

  GIRL: I run. Look I don’t really want to go into too much detail about it.

  She points at her mask.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Sorry my dear. It’s just that I want the people watching this to know something about the Good and Honest Citizens. You see for some reason, they think we’re all mindless thugs.

  GIRL: Alright then.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now - you’ve never been arrested before have you?

  GIRL: Never.

  CHESTER GEORGE: You’ve never been in any sort of trouble with the police, have you?

  She shakes her head.

  CHESTER GEORGE: And isn’t it true my dear, that one day you might run in that other Olympics – the boring one that everyone gets so worked up about.

  GIRL: I will run in the Olympics.

  CHESTER GEORGE: And tell me. Why aren’t you at home with your mum and dad tonight?

  The girl takes a quick glance around the supermarket.

  GIRL: ‘Cos this is fun. This is probably the best time of my life.

  CHESTER GEORGE: (Laughs) Me too love. And your mate who’s somewhere in here, the one you’re running around with. Tell me about her.

  GIRL: She’s a nurse. She’s a bit older than me - twenty, she is.

  CHESTER GEORGE: A nurse? A nurse and an athlete. That’s interesting isn’t it Mr Prime Minister. You got any other mates who run with The Good and Honest Citizens?

  GIRL: Yeah. I know of one girl who’s a social worker and she’s been out every night since it started. I’ve met law students, riding instructors, and even a ballerina on the streets. My mate’s a lifeguard and he’s having it large big time.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Thanks love. You can go back to the rest of the Olympics now. And remember - this is your time to shine.

  The girl gets up and walks towards the aisles where the others are holding impromptu Olympic events. Chester George stays put and turns the camera back on himself.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now I can guess what you’re going to say. All you academics, crawling out from underneath your little universities and chasing after us with your psychological and sociological theories. Desperately seeking understanding.

  Chester George sits down on the supermarket floor. Nearby, the sound of breaking glass can be heard.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now let me save you academics a job. ‘Cos this is what you’re going to say about the likes of that girl and all her friends in their well-to-do jobs – out on the streets rioting with the likes of me.

  He scratches his chin carefully.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Contagion theory. That’s it. It’s ordinary people getting carried away in crowds and losing themselves in the mob. Ordinary people doing things they wouldn’t normally do in their everyday lives.

  He pauses to catch breath. The camera remains steady in his hand, while the breathing is somewhat laboured.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Why would a good girl like that get involved in all this nonsense, eh? An athlete. You - the academics - will tell us that she abandoned her sense of personal identity and lost all sense of individual responsibility. It’s the crowd you’ll say. The crowd is alive. It leads people to commit acts of violence that normally they wouldn’t dream of committing. That poor girl is suffering from a rapid descent into mob mentality. Reasonable people no longer exist. They lose their reason in a crowd. That’s contagion theory.

  Chester George stands up. He points the camera around the supermarket and we get brief glimpses of the others, trashing what’s left of the supermarket, knocking over shelves or smashing them in with baseball bats.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Yes indeed Mr Prime Minister. We are an epidemic behaving with all the characteristics of a disease. This groupness is a virus and it affects the mind. The mind is infected. And the epidemic moves from person to person, town to town, city to city, country to country, until it’s everywhere.

  He stops once more for breath.

  CHESTER GEORGE: The mob? The crowd? It’s you. It’s your culture. We see it all the time at football matches where you gather together in your different coloured shirts. The crowd. It’s why we boo for some and cheer for others.

  He turns the camera back on himself.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Well, I hope you enjoyed our little Olympic event. Now there’s no need for another Olympics is there Mr Prime Minster? Why not spend the money on the people who live here, and who don’t give a shit about your Olympic Village.

  There are wild cheers off camera, followed by the sound of more glass breaking.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now. Before I go it’s time for a little announcement. Or should I say a big one. Very soon, I’ll be calling a meeting of The Good and Honest Citizens in London. And I want all of you to be there. This meeting will take place in London’s very own advertising Mecca - Piccadilly Circus.

  Chester George raises a finger and things quieten down in the background. The music playing over the speakers is cut off.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Now listen to this. It’s time for Phase Two of our little revolution. Phase Two. I want ALL violence in the city to end – as of right now. Spread the word. Tell all the Good and Honest Citizens. There will be no more trouble on the streets from us. No more looting. No more rioting. But keep to the streets and occupy the space my friends. This is civil disobedience. But don’t break any more shop windows or burn anything else down. Don’t give them an excuse to stop us coming together in Piccadilly Circus. After all, the world is watching and they can’t touch us if we do no wrong.

  Chester George pulls the camera closer to his face. The skull design leers back at the lens.

  CHESTER GEORGE: Mr Prime Minister – now it’s your turn to listen. If any of your feds or soldiers try to get in the way of our peaceful meeting, then I say this to The Good and Honest Citizens – BURN this city to the ground. Burn it. And last but not least, before you turn London into a pile of ashes, make your way to Westminster, to the Houses of Parliament, and have your fun there.

  Clip ends.

  Chapter 24

  #Piccadilly

  * * *

  Sample of Tweets - posted 15th August 2011

  A.T Ross @ScribblerManUK · 6m

  * * *

  There will never be a better time to make our voices heard - #piccadilly

  * * *

  Gregory White @MisterMaster81 · 6m

  * * *

  Is the PM really going to let #piccadilly happen?

  * * *

  Jane Lange @SkaYo · 7m

  * * *

  Estimates from @CBCNews say hundreds of thousands of people expected at #piccadilly. Not counting soldiers and police.

  * * *

  Maggie June @MJ_1962 · 8m

  * * *

  Yobs organising at #piccadilly. Soldiers and police useless. What happened to your spine Great Britain?

  * * *

  Sadie Hobbs @AlphaBitchSadie ·
10m

  * * *

  Bring back lynching. I’ll even put the rope around CG’s neck myself.

  * * *

  Jezza @tinylilspiderman · 10m

  * * *

  Chester George! Where can I get a hoodie like that? #piccadilly

  Chapter 25

  15th August 2011

  * * *

  They sat in a line, with their backs propped up against the brick wall of Lancasterian Primary School.

  Mack sat on one end of the line, watching the heavy rain, which had been coming down all morning.

  Sitting next to him, Tegz was watching the Supermarket Olympics on his phone – for about the twentieth time that day. Every now and then he’d fold himself over, his body convulsing while the sound of another giggling fit rang out across the playground.

  Sumo Dave sat in silence. His cap was pulled over his eyes and his head slumped forwards, as if he’d fallen asleep.

  Hatchet sat on the other end of the line from Mack. He was eating a BLT, which he’d picked up from a supply drop that morning on Tottenham High Road. As he sat there chewing away, Hatchet smacked his lips constantly in enjoyment - a sound that was to Mack, worse than that of someone scraping their fingernails down a blackboard.

  But Mack wasn’t the first to crack.

  After several more minutes of lip smacking, Sumo Dave lifted the cap away from his eyes.

  “Fucking hell Hatch!” he yelled. “I’m trying to get some kip here mate and you sound like a starving dog who’s just found a giant bowl of kibble.”

  Sumo Dave yanked his cap back over his eyes.

  Hatchet shrugged. “Yeah? Tough. I’m hungry.”

  Sumo Dave threw him the middle finger. “Sake!”

  Hatchet dropped the empty sandwich box on the ground. Then he reached a hand into his rucksack and pulled out a packet of chocolate chip cookies. Tearing furiously at the top of the packet with his teeth, he opened them up and started throwing whole biscuits into his mouth.

  CRUNCH.

  “Jeeeees-usss Christ!” Sumo Dave said, lifting the cap up again. “You got worms or something lad? When did you last eat?”

  Hatchet thought for a second. “Yesterday,” he said with his mouth full. “All the cupboards are empty at home now. And I never thought to go looting for food, eh?”

  Sumo Dave nodded. “What about your mum? Is she alright?”

  “That old cow don’t bother with food anymore,” Hatchet said, picking up a few crumbs from his jeans and scooping them into his mouth. “It’s vodka she wants. And there’s none of that going for free down the High Road, eh?”

  Sumo Dave shook his head. “Bollocks, innit?”

  “What about you?” Hatchet said. “You using the supply drops yet?”

  Sumo Dave grinned. “Nah. I nicked a shitload of food from Sainsburys and Tesco when this kicked off. I’m what you call a clever bastard, eh?”

  Hatchet glared at Sumo Dave. “Well ain’t you fucking great?”

  “You were too busy nicking giant flat screen TVs mate,” Sumo Dave said.

  There was a moment’s silence. Then Sumo Dave reached over and poked Hatchet on the shoulder.

  “Hey,” he said. “Anything you need mate - food and that - just pop over to my place. Yeah? I’ll sort you out.”

  Hatchet nodded. “Yeah,” he said, reaching for another cookie.

  It had been Mack’s suggestion to go to the school that morning. He didn’t want to sit at home all day listening to his parents talking to estate agents, discussing the value of the house in Stanmore Road. All of that meant thinking about Edinburgh, and about going home, and about Rossi.

  Not that he could blame his parents.

  That morning as he’d made his way to the school, Mack had seen the first armoured vehicles on Tottenham High Road. Two of them with armoured spines and V-shaped hulls. They looked like something you’d expect to see only on the news, rolling across the deserts of Afghanistan, dodging blasts, mines, and bullets.

  But here they were, on the streets of North London.

  The riot police were all over the High Road that day. The army presence was small but significant. Still, the Good and Honest Citizens dwarfed their combined numbers at least two times over. Following Chester George’s instructions, they had taken to occupying the streets in a non-violent manner. The transformation from savage violence to a peaceful occupation was quick and surprisingly coherent. It felt like everyone was working together now, and suddenly there was a goal.

  And it was Piccadilly.

  “Twitter’s gone loopy,” Tegz said, looking at his phone. “London’s trending all over the world. That means the whole planet is watching, eh?”

  Mack smiled. “Eager for the next instalment of London’s Falling.”

  “Yeah,” Tegz said, grinning. He went back YouTube and Chester George’s voice could be heard in the background:

  ‘It’s ordinary people getting carried away in crowds and losing themselves in the mob. Doing things they wouldn’t normally do in their everyday lives.’

  “He’s a smart lad that Chester George,” Sumo Dave said. “He knows we can’t just keep rioting forever. It has to go somewhere, eh?”

  “Yeah,” Tegz said. “He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sumo Dave turned to Mack. “You coming with us mate?” he said. “Piccadilly? It’s going to be history in the making, whatever happens.”

  Mack nodded. “Aye. I’ll be there. That’s if I’m still in London that is.”

  Sumo Dave leaned back against the wall. “You think they’ll sell the house?” he said. “With all this going on?”

  Mack looked out across the playground. “Everybody loves a bargain,” he said. “My folks are willing to drop the price and sell it cheap. And when all this shit blows over, whoever bought it cheap will be laughing.”

  “Be a shame to miss Piccadilly mate,” Tegz said.

  Mack nodded. “I know.”

  “It’s not just that,” Sumo Dave said. “You only just got here, eh? I was just getting used to your ugly little mug.”

  Mack smiled, and fell back against the wall.

  Sumo Dave scratched at a bit of dark fluff on his chin. “Yeah,” he said. “Piccadilly. I can’t wait for this.”

  “It’s a load of bollocks,” Hatchet said, tossing the empty cookie packet onto the playground.

  “What you on about?” Sumo Dave said.

  Hatchet turned towards them.

  “I thought Chester George was going to tell us to up the ante,” he said. “To start targeting more police stations or courthouses. Some fucking leader he’s turned out to be.”

  Tegz sat forward. “What?”

  “Are you serious Hatch?” Sumo Dave said. “Up the ante? The city’s already lying in tatters. It’s time for Phase Two mate.”

  Hatchet stared out at the rain. “No,” he said quietly. “Smashing things up – that’s the only way.”

  Mack looked over at Hatchet. Those dark eyes, usually so lifeless, were now ablaze with conviction.

  “All of this,” Hatchet said, “It only works when we’re doing what we’ve been doing so far. Playing it our way. Smashing in shop windows, burning down shops and homes – that’s the only power the likes of us have. It’s about not giving a fuck ‘cos we’ve got nothing to lose, eh?”

  “It can’t stay like that forever Hatch,” Sumo Dave said. “We’ve done that. And now we’ve got their attention. Now that they’re listening we need to have something to say.”

  “What the fuck do we have to say Sumo?” Hatchet said. “You think politicians and people that matter want to have a conversation with the likes of us?”

  “That’s what Chester George is doing, innit?” Sumo Dave said. “You’ve heard him. He knows things and he speaks for us – the likes of you and me Hatch.”

  Hatchet shook his head firmly. “Chaos,” he said. “That’s our language. Without it, everything will go back to normal. And I’ll tell you this Sumo, I can’t think of a
nything - anything – worse right now than my life going back to normal.”

  Hatchet turned away. He dabbed at something in his eye with his sleeve.

  Sumo Dave sighed. “There’ll be nothing left of London,” he said. “Not if we play it your way.”

  Hatchet looked out at the empty playground.

  “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  Mack didn’t speak, but he was listening to every word. It was the first time he’d seen Hatchet since the confrontation in Charlie’s. Nothing had been said, but for all Mack knew, Hatchet could have been carrying his dad’s gun in the rucksack, along with the cookies and the BLT.

  Best to keep quiet.

  Tegz slipped his iPhone into his hoodie pocket. “Does that mean you ain’t coming to Piccadilly Hatch?”

  “Course I am,” Hatchet said. “What the fuck else am I going to do?” With that, he swung his rucksack over his shoulder and got to his feet.

  “I’m going back up the High Road,” he said. “There’s got to be some action somewhere.”

  “Easy Hatch,” Sumo Dave said. “Listen mate, nobody’s rioting anymore. We’re onto Phase Two now.”

  “Yeah well,” Hatchet said. “We ain’t politicians yet, are we? You coming?”

  Sumo Dave shrugged. “Nah, I’m going to stay here a while.”

  Hatchet gave a snort of disgust. “Sitting in a school playground?”

  “I ain’t budging Hatch,” Sumo said.

  Hatchet shrugged. “Suit yourself. Tegz?”

  “Yeah, might as well,” Tegz said, getting to his feet. Without another word, the two teenagers set off towards the black fence and Kings Road.

  The rain was easing off at last, the downpour turning to a soft drizzle. A hint of blue sky crept slowly in between the cracks of blanket grey up above.