The reality TV show to die for. Literally

by Kerry Drewery

  ‘Half an hour later some men turned up in a truck. My father let them in and I saw him give them cash and shake their hands. Two of them set to work on the 4x4.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Fixing it. It looked hopeless to me, but they’d brought a new bonnet and paint …’ He sighed, took my hands and pulled our swings together. ‘I’d already taken photos though,’ he whispered. ‘And I tried to record the other men talking to my father on my phone, but the quality wasn’t too good. I snuck out of the house and followed them when they left. I don’t know why; it would’ve been easier to head back to bed, pull the duvet over my head and be ignorant, but something stopped me. I parked over there in an old car park,’ he pointed past Crocus Street and towards a closed-up bar, ‘and I dodged through the shadows and hid in the doorway of the shops.’

  He squeezed my hand.

  ‘I listened to them talking as they stood over her, then I followed them towards the High Rises, and while they were smashing up Oliver B’s car to make it look legitimate, I was hiding among the bins. I can’t imagine, with the noise they were making, that I was the only one who saw them.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you do anything?’

  I felt his hand run down my hair and rest on my cheek. ‘I phoned for the police and an ambulance,’ he said, ‘but what else could I have done?’

  ‘Told someone who could do something?’

  ‘Like who, Martha?’

  ‘The police? Newspapers? A journalist? Someone …’

  ‘Nobody would’ve believed –’

  ‘You had proof! It could’ve been a scoop for them. You could’ve told them what your father did, shown them the photos, the video. They would’ve loved it, put it on the front page as a scandal.’

  He lifted my hands to his face and kissed them. ‘I wish,’ he whispered. ‘I really do wish that could’ve happened. But you know it wouldn’t have worked. The story would barely have got from anyone’s mouth before it disappeared, and all evidence with it. You know that, Martha. Have you ever wondered what the most powerful thing in the world is?

  ‘Some person?’ I said. ‘Someone with the interests of the people at heart. Or it should be.’

  ‘It should be, but it isn’t. Power is the most powerful thing in the world. Whoever has it can do whatever they like. How they get it might be legitimate, but how they keep it, grow it or exert it, that’s the worrying thing.’

  ‘This is wrong. Even with all that evidence we can’t do anything. What’s the point of trying? How can we ever get anyone to listen or show anyone?’

  He pulled me towards him and I felt his warmth on my face as we kissed.

  ‘We don’t give up,’ he breathed. ‘Here – now – you and me – together we’ll find a way.’

  He let go of my hands and stood up. ‘Enough doom and gloom,’ he said, and he twisted the swing I was sitting on around and around, the chains it hung by wrapping around each other as my seat squeezed and lifted a bit.

  ‘Hold on,’ he said, ‘and look up.’

  I did as he said and he let go, and I watched the pinpricks of stars in the sky above me as the world spun and tipped around me first one way, then the other, over again, ’til all the twisting of the chains ran out of energy and the swing stopped.

  ‘That’s mad,’ I said, and on wobbly legs I stood and with my head still spinning, I kissed him again.

  The whirr of the camera on the wall brings me back and takes away the smile my memory gave me.

  Seems a way found us, Isaac.

  I lift my head and look at the camera. How many people are watching me?

  All the people from the Avenues and the City who’ve got Jackson Paige on a pedestal?

  How many more will be watching in two days’ time?

  They’ll know the truth soon enough.

  Eve

  Eve parks her car at the underpass within sight of the mountain of tributes to Paige.

  Gus tuts.

  ‘What?’ she asks.

  ‘This crap,’ he says. ‘People are so stupid.’

  ‘You know the truth then?’

  ‘I’m probably the only one who knows all of the truth, but it don’t mean I’m going to tell you.’

  ‘Because I won’t pay you for it?’

  ‘That, yeah, and because of honour,’ he says.

  ‘Oh don’t give me that.’

  ‘What, you think cos I’m from the Rises and I haven’t got no money, and cos of them owning me like they do, the authorities and that, that I haven’t got no principles neither?’

  ‘I didn’t say –’

  ‘You didn’t need to, woman. You’re the one with no principles, forcing me to get in the car with you. Threatening me.’

  ‘I didn’t threaten you. Anyway, why don’t the authorities know? Why haven’t you told them?’

  ‘They haven’t asked. They don’t want to know. And like I said to you, cos of honour.’

  Eve drums her fingers on the steering wheel.

  ‘Where do you live?’ she asks.

  He spins around to her. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Because there are some papers and letters you need to give to me.’

  ‘I haven’t got no papers and shit.’

  ‘Yes you do. Isaac told me.’

  ‘I’m not taking you to my house. What if folks see?’

  ‘That’s why I came at night time.’

  ‘Don’t make no odds. I’m not taking you to my house, full stop. And anyway, even if I gave you all that crap, it don’t say who killed him or why.’

  ‘You’ve read everything?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Then what about Martha’s letter?’

  He stares at her. ‘Well … Still don’t say who killed him.’

  ‘But it’s all evidence.’

  ‘What’s the use in that? Can’t do nothing with it. Who’s going to listen? Who’s going to print it? Pointless.’ He turns and stares out of the window, watching the police officer pace back and forth in front of the tributes to Jackson.

  ‘You know, I’m sick of this,’ Eve says. ‘I’m trying to do the right thing and people are difficult. Martha didn’t do it, I’m certain of it, but she won’t say so. Isaac more or less said it, but won’t tell me anything else because of some promise, even though that means she’ll die.

  ‘You say you know everything but won’t tell me. And all this time, it’s getting closer and closer to that innocent girl being killed and I can’t do anything about it.

  ‘Just give me the papers,’ she says.

  ‘What if you tell someone it’s me who gave you them or that I’d been hiding them? Hey? What d’you think’s going to happen to me then? They’ll have me. You won’t see me for dust and no bugger will know or care.’

  ‘I’m not going to tell anyone.’

  ‘Correction,’ he says. ‘You don’t want to tell no one, but sometimes you don’t have no choice.’

  She drops her head in her hands. ‘Nobody is going to do anything to you just for looking after some papers.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody believe it, woman!’

  She starts the car engine, fastens her seatbelt again and locks the doors.

  ‘What you doing? Let me out!’

  She revs the engine and the police officer guarding the flowers stops walking.

  ‘Do you think that police officer would be interested in knowing how you jumped into my car and demanded money off me?’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘What about if I gave him an excuse to search your house?’ She revs the engine more and the police officer stares at them. ‘What if he found the documents? He’d think you broke into Jackson’s house and stole them. What would happen then?’

  She lets the car roll forward. The police officer’s hand goes to his radio.

  ‘Don’t …’

  ‘We both know what would happen, don’t we? You spelt it out before. What did you say a minute ago? They’ll have me. You won’t see me for dust and
no bugger will know or care – something like that, was it?’

  ‘Y’know, I thought you was decent.’

  ‘They were seeing each other, weren’t they? Martha and Isaac Paige?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Weren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, all right, they was seeing each other.’

  The car rolls a little closer.

  ‘How did they meet?’

  ‘I ain’t saying …’ He pulls at the door handle but it doesn’t budge. ‘Shit, woman! Shit! All right … all right … they met after her mum died. Isaac started hanging around down here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, Jesus, are you stupid? Guilt, of course. Cos of her mum.’

  ‘Why did he feel guilty? He didn’t have anything to do with it, did he?’

  Gus lifts his hands in desperation. ‘He didn’t kill her mum if that’s what you’re asking. He’s a decent guy …’

  ‘What about Jackson? Did he know they were seeing each other?’

  The car continues to roll and the police officer unclips his gun.

  ‘Jackson? Shit, he forbid them to see each other, and her flat was trashed, said he’d kill her if they didn’t stop seeing each other and he meant it.’

  ‘So he came and found her that night?’

  The police officer starts walking towards the car.

  ‘Shit, please, let me go now!’

  ‘Who shot Jackson? Whose gun was it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  She pulls the handbrake on and the police officer shines his torch through the windscreen.

  ‘Jackson’s gun. It was Jackson’s. Said he was going to shoot her, said some shit about her mum, some real nasty shit …’

  The police officer steps closer.

  ‘Who shot him?’

  ‘I can’t!’ he says. ‘It can’t come from me!’

  ‘Who was there? Who saw it happen?’

  ‘I … he … Jesus, woman, let me go! I’m stuck here. I’m caught in some bloody triangle with the authorities, Martha and Isaac – and now you, and I didn’t do nothing!’

  The police officer knocks on the driver’s window.

  ‘What’s the name of your street?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Quickly, what’s the name of your street?’

  ‘Snowdrop Close, Jesus fucking Christ, Snowdrop Close!’

  She presses the button, the window whirrs down and cold air blasts in.

  Gus lowers his head.

  ‘Good evening, madam, can I ask what you’re doing down here this evening?’

  Eve smiles at the officer. ‘I’m sorry, officer,’ she said. ‘We’d come to look at the tributes.’

  ‘And you?’ he asks, shining the torch in Gus’s face.

  ‘Yeah, me too,’ Gus mutters.

  He looks back to Eve. ‘No problems, madam?’

  ‘None, thank you.’

  ‘Well, I’ll leave you to your business then.’

  He starts to walk away. Gus breathes a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh,’ Eve says out of the window, ‘sorry, officer, one thing, could you give me directions to Snowdrop Place?’

  He wanders back to the car. ‘Snowdrop Place? Why does someone like you want to go there?’

  ‘I’m a solicitor,’ she lies. ‘I have some files to drop off for a client.’

  ‘I see. What number?’

  ‘I’ll take you,’ Gus interrupts. ‘It don’t matter, officer, I’ll show her.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ Eve says with a smile.

  The police officer moves away. Eve closes the window, starts the engine again and pulls off.

  ‘Y’know, you lot from the Avenues come here to do your dirty business, get us wrapped up in your crap and we have to take the blame cos you’ve got the money to get out of it. Shit falls downwards, woman. ’Bout time it stopped. I’ll give you the stuff, the letters and that, I promise, but I’ll tell you what else too – stop the car.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Stop the car near the underpass. Here, stop here.’

  She pulls to the side.

  ‘See that on the wall?’ He leans forward and points through the windscreen. ‘CCTV. Been there years. Said it was to protect us. But when we needed it, said it don’t work.’

  ‘But …?’

  ‘Unlock the door.’

  ‘Do you think I’m stupid? You’ll run away.’

  ‘Nah,’ he says. ‘I told you I promise and I meant it. Now, watch the camera.’

  As he strolls away from the car and across the road, Eve watches the camera turn and follow him.

  Counselling

  ‘I didn’t think they’d let us meet again,’ Martha says, looking up to Eve with her wrists and hands bandaged.

  ‘It took a bit of convincing,’ Eve replies. ‘How are you? You look tired.’

  ‘I am,’ Martha replies. ‘It’s …’ She trails off

  ‘You want to talk about it?’

  Martha stares at her, her chest moving up and down as she breathes, her fingers fiddling as they rest in her lap. She wipes a hand over her shaved head. ‘No,’ she whispers.

  Eve nods.

  Martha takes a deep breath and leans forward. ‘In some ways,’ she whispers, ‘it’ll be a release when it comes. I didn’t think … it’d … it’d be …’ She folds her arms across her chest. ‘… I don’t know …’ she mumbles. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asks.

  ‘I hope so,’ Eve replies.

  Martha hugs her arms around her body.

  ‘The guard said there won’t be any more designated counsellors, said there are these virtual ones now in a room where a voice talks to you.’

  ‘I know – I only found out yesterday. Have they taken you to one already?’

  ‘No.’ She stares over Eve’s shoulder to the window. ‘Y’know, I’m glad you planted the tree. It’s nice to see something green. Something proper.’

  ‘If they do take you to one, you don’t have to say anything.’

  Martha looks back to Eve.

  ‘It’s live-streamed to the outside,’ Eve says.

  ‘What about the cameras in the cells?’

  ‘Those too now.’

  ‘They’re watching me all the time?’

  ‘Didn’t you realise that yesterday when you pulled your stunt with the message on the wall?’

  ‘Not really. I just thought people in the offices might see it or … I don’t know … What? Streamed onto the television?’

  ‘Television, internet … It’s free. Well, it’s free up until about six o’clock on your day seven.’

  ‘Then they have to pay for it?’

  Eve nods her head.

  ‘Could you see all those names on the wall?’

  She nods again.

  ‘Good,’ Martha whispers. ‘And my message?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  Martha gives a hint of a smile. ‘You’ve been watching it then?’ she asks.

  Eve shuffles in her seat. ‘Just some last night,’ she replies.

  ‘Huh, I’m glad you couldn’t watch the other night.’

  ‘Which one?’

  Martha shrugs. ‘Cell 3, I think. They all kind of blend into each other.’

  Eve crosses her hands in front of her. ‘A prisoner once told me he thought that in one of the cells they gave you some sort of gas that made you hallucinate.’

  ‘That’d be the one. Crazy fucking shit.’

  Martha pulls her hands up the sleeves of her overalls and folds her arms across her chest. She shuffles further down in her seat. ‘Some folks must find it funny.’

  ‘Some crueller people perhaps.’

  ‘Yeah and now they can watch. Like it’s all part of the fun, the entertainment, y’know, like some bizarre zoo or something.’ She rubs her hands over her face and exhales loudly. ‘If they couldn’t see the gas then it’d be hilarious, wouldn’t it? I would’ve looked like some deranged mad girl. You never know, perhaps some decent fol
ks won’t like it, maybe there might even be some kind of public outcry, saying it’s … I don’t know … against your human rights or something. You’d think it would be. Being gassed and all.’

  She pauses, thinking.

  ‘What time were you watching?’

  ‘Around four or five this morning,’ Eve says. ‘I woke and couldn’t get back to sleep.’

  ‘So you watched me sleeping?’

  ‘I was concerned about you. It … was … the only way I could see how you were. Are you upset by that? Would you prefer it if I didn’t?’

  ‘Why were you concerned about me? Because it’s your job?’

  Eve thinks a moment. ‘I suppose I was worried about what they were doing to you. How you were feeling. Not because you’re my client, but because … because you’re vulnerable. And alone.’

  ‘Because I’m a teenager?’

  ‘No, not really. Because you’re human. Because I don’t like suffering. Or pain. Because I worry about you. Because I feel useless. Because I don’t want you to die.’

  Eve watches as Martha wipes the back of her hand over her eyes.

  ‘Because I think you’re scared.’

  Martha’s breathing stutters through her chest.

  ‘I won’t watch again,’ Eve says.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Martha replies. ‘Just feels a bit weird, that’s all.’

  ‘You want to talk about it?’

  ‘Huh, you sound like a counsellor saying “you want to talk about it?” all the time.’

  ‘Now that’s weird,’ Eve says with a smile.

  Outside the tree bends in the high wind and the birds are buffeted back and forth.

  Martha looks to the side of the room. ‘There’s a clock in every cell, you know, and they all tick as loud as that one. I thought I’d get used to it, but you don’t.’

  ‘I remember one of the prisoners,’ Eve says, ‘his name was Jorge, managed to climb onto the door frame and pull the clock off the wall. He smashed it to pieces.’

  ‘They’ve got metal cages around them.’

  ‘Since then they have.’

  Martha grins at her. ‘Are you supposed to tell me stuff like that?’

  Eve’s shoulders lift.

  ‘What will happen to your job with these new virtual counsellors?’

  ‘You’re my last client,’ she says.

  Martha shuffles in her seat. ‘You won’t forget me then?’