by Bob Summer
I didn’t know whether my stomach somersaulted due to the fear of the alley or the sensation of his hand, but every inch of me tingled. Such a rush. ‘Look. Down there at the end.’
His fingers slipped between mine in a lovers grasp. ‘Stay close, okay?’
No way would I have gone anywhere. My hand fitted into his too, too perfect. We walked down the centre of the alley with me half a step behind watching the rear. It wasn’t the time or place to decide to play the wussy girl, but that feeling of being protected sent my brain to mush. I had to get a grip. ‘Keep an eye out for trouble,’ I said, keeping my voice firm, almost bossy.
‘It’ll be fine. If anybody tries to have a pop I’ll hide behind you and you can give them one of your smacks.’
‘Ha de ha.’
A line of people stood silently against a graphitised wall. Obscenities and grotesque demons in fluorescent 3-D hovered over agitated men, worried looking women and silent children. It hadn’t occurred to me we wouldn’t be alone.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Stuart. ‘This must be the cargo.’ He let go of my hand and took his backpack off to hold in front of him, like a shield. ‘Best get in line I suppose.’
Talk about anti-climax.
A door opened bang on ten and we were herded through a gate. Two men in standard rail uniforms stood either side taking slips of paper from the people filing past. They had a proper underground racket going on. Brilliant but cheeky. Not to mention dangerous. I forced myself to stay focused but Stuart radiated warmth and smelled gorgeous. I whispered into his ear. ‘They’ve got tickets.’
‘I can see that.’
Our turn came and Stuart said, ‘We made arrangements with Charlie to collect our tickets on arrival.’
Not strictly true.
The weedy man with the bony nose standing in the queue behind us leaned towards the guard. ‘If he has no ticket he should be sent packing. Some of us have waited too long already.’
The guard held a hand up and muttered into a radio pinned to his chest. Word spread along the queue.
‘Charlie told us to come straight here,’ Stuart said to the guard, ‘we had a meeting with him this afternoon.’
The man behind shoved his way in front and snarled into Stuart’s face. ‘No ticket? No ride. Now on your way.’
The queue piled up and crowded in from behind. I couldn’t see a way back through the door, the air stank of pure hatred. I clung to the back of Stuart’s shirt. ‘We need to get out of here.’ Stuart gave a teeny shake of his head and kept his eyes trained on the guard, ignoring the man up in his face. ‘Seriously,’ I said. ‘This is going to turn scary any minute now, we need to get out.’
The crowd morphed into a mob within seconds and shouts from the back encouraged those at the front to ‘sort it out.’ The guard stooped to listen to somebody answer his radio call and the weedy guy leapt forward like some kind of ninja. He grabbed Stuart by the throat, lifted him off the floor and thrust him into the wall. The ticket collector shouted, a woman screamed, and kids wailed. Other blokes jostled between me and Stuart, shouting and grabbing at each other. A chaotic brawl of arms and bodies flailed in front of me. Stuart hung suspended above everybody else. I willed him to relax but he grasped at the man’s hands trying to prise them free. I fought to get closer, yanking people out of my way, desperate to help but there were so many and they all looked so furious and frantic.
Somebody grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my side. A voice, calm, barely above a whisper, ‘Take it easy.’
My first thought should have been how stupid were we not to recognise a trap when we saw one. Or, now we’d never be able to fetch Gemma. Or, holy shamboozles I’m going to die. But my first and pretty much only thought, as I got dragged kicking and screaming through the throng, was, Oh God, please don’t let us lose each other.
Whoever carried me down the corridor had the strength of a rhino. I wriggled, squirmed and ground at his shins with my heels the whole way out of there.
‘Ouch, Jesus, keep still, you little bitch.’
I hollered and growled. ‘Let me go you…’ I forgot any promises to Mum and pulled out all the curses I’d ever heard. He threw me into a room full of crates and boxes and slammed the door. I landed on my knees and my right one screamed a burning lightning strike of agony straight to my brain. I curled into a ball and clenched my teeth. ‘Dirty, stinking…’ The key clunked rather than clicked and I knew the lock must be a biggie.
When the pain eased to a mere agonising torture I opened my eyes. The door stood old yet solid, made with thick planks of oak. No way could I smash through that. It didn’t stop me dragging myself up and trying though. I wasn’t so much angry as poop-expelling scared. I needed to get back to Stuart. With him, the whole trip would be exciting, like a slick adventure, but without him I felt terrified. For the missing kids, for Stuart and for me.
Chapter 17
I hammered and yelled at the door until my fists were grazed and my knee glowed red-hot, like it might burst into flames any second. I collapsed into the dust to get my breath back and the blood rushed to my head when I heard some geezer laugh; none of what just happened was any way funny. I put my ear to the door and tried to listen for more voices, hoping for a clue as to why I’d been locked up and what the hell they’d done with Stuart. But the noise down the corridor had eased off to nothing more than the odd shout in the distance.
Other than what seeped under the door, the only light came from a long strip window up near the ceiling on one wall. I figured the room must be somewhere in the station - a back storeroom or an old office. I pushed some crates and balanced a couple of boxes to climb up and get my bearings. I rubbed the grime from the glass with the chump of my fist and peered through at hoards of people on the platform way below me. I recognised some of the tense, sallow faces from the line outside. They milled around before being picked out, seemingly at random, and ushered into a train that looked like it should be carrying fuel; round, bulbous trucks with red warning triangles splattered across their bellies, hooked one after the other.
No sign of Stuart.
All those people were paying to ‘escape’, risking their lives, when they’d all likely end up scraping a living in a place like Shanks estate. City people fantasised about this ridiculous image of country living being all farmers markets and leaving the back doors open. The reality is very different. In the villages, and towns like Basley, people are robbed by people they know and probably trusted, rather than faceless city strangers. I stood and watched until the hatches on the trucks were lowered and the train pulled away. If Stuart was on it, I’d lost him. The few people remaining on the platform were pushed and shoved out of a side door back onto the street. I hoped the weedy toad who grabbed Stuart’s throat was among the rejects.
Everything went still.
There seemed little point in balancing on top of the crates just watching the rats wake up so I climbed down and began to root through the boxes in the hope of finding something to jimmy the door open with. But they all contained bundles of pamphlets. I opened a batch and held one up to the light, maybe it had my dad in it. The key clunked and the door swung open so I shoved the leaflet in my back pocket alongside the one Gavin gave me.
Charlie stood in the doorway and looked at the floor by my feet, his grey face shining tacky in the light from the passage. ‘Come on.’ He stood to the side to let me pass and indicated down the corridor. ‘Off you go.’
My muscles tightened ready to fight or fly. ‘Where’s Stuart?’
‘He’s waiting on board.’
‘I’m not going anywhere without him.’
He didn’t answer but gestured for me to get a move on.
Charlie ushered me down dim passages to a platform and into a train carriage like a wooden crate, reminding me of an ancient cattle truck. It stank a bit like one too. Inside were mountains of clear bags full of clothing. I climbed on top. ‘Where’s Stuart? I told you I wasn’t going without him.�
� The sliding door clattered across and slices of light from between the wooden slats striped the bags. It sent my eyes funny. ‘Stuart?’
‘Over here.’
I crawled through, throwing bags behind me to clear the way. I found him lying in a dip, his nose a mulch of red and black flesh. ‘Oh my God. What did they do to you?’
‘Hey, you should see the other guy.’
‘Shut up, Stuart. That was so lame.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’ His sss came out as shh.
‘What the hell have they done to you?’ To my shame I started to cry. I have no idea how it happened, the tears came from nowhere, no warning, nothing. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay.’
He eased himself onto his elbow and pulled me into him. I buried my face into his neck and sobbed. All that grot leaving trails on his collar bone, talk about humiliating. I tried to wipe it away with my hand, then used the neck of his tee shirt.
‘What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault. Are you all right?’ He pulled his head back to get a look at me. ‘They didn’t hurt you did they?’ His chin brushed my forehead and it felt rough but gentle, like a cat’s lick.
I shook my head and gave a gloopy sniff. ‘No.’ I wished for a tissue, I didn’t want him to see me all snotty. ‘They just locked me in a room and then brought me here.’ I whined like a three year old. Stuart flinched as he adjusted position to get a better hold of me. ‘Oh God,’ I said and rubbed at the damp stain on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Nope, don’t be. You stay right where you are.’ He snuggled me close and put his mouth in my hair and breathed deep. ‘So worth it,’ he whispered.
We stayed laying quiet until the carriage squealed into action and picked up a steady, if slow, creep out of Craffid. The crying had given me a headache and I felt stupid and weak. Crying was nothing but a total waste of time and energy. I wanted to make up for it and look after Stuart the way he’d looked after me, but I had nothing to offer. Stuart’s bag had been lost in the scuffle and he’d been forced to hand over all his money. ‘Basley Law have put out a call on us,’ said Stuart. ‘Charlie and his friends took advantage, upped the price and robbed the lot.’
I pulled out the bundle of cash I’d kept hidden down the back of my jeans and counted it out. ‘Three hundred and fifty.’ It struck me as precious little out of the five grand we’d set out with.
‘It should do us,’ said Stuart. ‘Once we’re there we won’t need very much.’
‘How are we going to know when to get off?’
Stuart hooked me back into his arms and spooned me close, his breath hot on my neck. ‘They’re going to sling us off when we get there. It’s going to be fine, try and sleep.’
I didn’t sleep. I lay and tried to imprint the feeling of being held so close and safe deep into my memory. Even as he slept he gave me the occasional squeeze and I hoped to remember how warm and safe it felt, to be held and wanted like that, forever.
The morning light crept through the slats into the truck and the dark mounds of bags took a more solid shape. We rattled and jolted along at a snail’s pace. Perhaps my plan to make a leap for it might still be worth serious consideration. I turned over to take a peek at Stuart sleeping.
He gripped me tighter and gave me a crooked smile with his eyes still shut. ‘Where do you think you’re sneaking off to?’
‘Ooph.’ I winced at the sight of his face. ‘That looks sore.’ I pulled away and sat up.
‘Yeah, it is a bit.’
‘What about the rest of you? Do you hurt anywhere else? Are you up to making a leap for it?’
He opened his eyes. ‘I want to stay here, with you.’ He held his arms open.
‘Um. Gemma?’
‘Yeah suppose. You’re right.’ He sighed, eased himself to a sitting position and tested his limbs. Nodded with an upside down smile. ‘It’s all good. Don’t want to jump though. They said they’d let us off when the time is right.’
‘Why should we believe them all of a sudden? After they let those rabids loose on you?’
‘Because they’ve taken a mountain of money and could have let them rabids, as you call them, kill us both. Have you ever seen anything like that before? Unbelievable.’ He touched his swollen nose and then thought better of it. ‘They’re chancers and scumbags but not inhuman.’
I pulled a face. ‘Charncers and scarmbargs, eh?’
He tried to smile but it must have hurt too much. ‘And they put us in first class.’ He raised a finger. ‘Always look for the positives. And wherever we get off, it’s closer to where we want to be than we were, and it’s away from any tails such as Gavin. Now come here.’ As Stuart reached for my hand the train jerked to a stop. Somebody shouted from the front and then the scrunch of footsteps on gravel stopped outside our crate. ‘Too late,’ said Stuart struggling to his feet. ‘Sounds like this could be where we get out.’
The doors slid open and the head and shoulders of the friendliest guard in the world poked over the ledge. ‘Out you get.’
The jolly guard would normally have irritated me rotten in the way all incessantly cheerful people tended to do. But after Charlie and his mangy mates I felt like hugging him, just because. He grinned and held out his hand to help me off the carriage. I shook my head and he simply moved on to help Stuart. ‘Are you two going to be okay out here?’ He spoke like everything was completely normal and helping beaten-to-a-pulp stowaways off cattle trucks happened every day. ‘You’re miles from anywhere by here,’ he said with a chirpy chuckle.
Stuart looked around at the fields and hills of nothing. ‘We’re in north Wales though, right?’
‘Oh yeah, that’s where they said to drop you, so that’s where you’re at.’
‘Thanks, mate.’ Stuart held out his hand.
The guard shook it. ‘You’re welcome. Take it easy.’
We were back in the holiday movie.
We slid on our backsides down the embankment and waited for the train to clatter away into the distance, the guard waving from a window like the fat controller. Then there was nothing. No sounds: just a hazy heat thick with gnats. I swatted and batted at them with my palms flat. ‘Tsk. Why do they like me so much?’
‘Good taste?’ Stuart got to his feet and studied the sky. ‘I can smell the sea.’
‘There’s nice. But can you remember the address?’ The file had been in his bag.
‘Sapton Manor, Shepton. Shepton is by the sea.’
Poor thing, all those s’s. ‘Pardon?’
‘Sapton Manor, Shepton. And Shepton…’ he turned to look and saw my smirk. ‘Ooo. You can be cruel, Atty. So, so cruel.’
‘Sho Sho cruel.’
He rolled his eyes and flinched. ‘Ouch, that hurt.’ He wandered down to a stream and knelt at its edge. ‘What do you reckon? Safe to drink?’
‘Unlikely, but it’ll do to wash your face.’
I bathed his face with the cool water. He looked into my eyes the whole time pulling the occasional flinch and giving me the odd smile. ‘I can’t wait to get you somewhere comfy, Atty. And that’s no lie.’
Oooph. Judging by the weird sensations, like goosebumpy neck and the warmth spreading down my belly, neither could I.
Chapter 18
The sun blasted the tops of our heads, racking up my headache to a level that would knock a donkey out. To hell with the remembering being hugged thing, I wished I’d got some decent sleep in instead. The air felt hot and sticky in my lungs, like being in a tent at midday. We meandered along country lanes overgrown with cow parsley and hemlock. Stuart loosened his jeans so they hung low below his bruised hip. He swiped at the hedges with his belt. ‘Shall we pick some?’
‘What for?’
‘It’s poisonous.’
‘I doubt we’ll get chance to grind it into anybody’s tea.’
‘You never know. I’ve heard it’s pretty easy to do. Put a few leaves in their salad maybe.’
‘Now who’s been wat
ching too many movies?’
‘It’s an idea.’
‘True. Hello Mr Crawlsfeld, fancy a salad? Well, I happen to have a few leaves in my pocket.’
Stuart shrugged. ‘Can’t see the harm in being prepared. Just in case the opportunity presents itself.’
We bypassed a few villages by cutting through the fields. We must have looked like we were traipsing home from battle. My eye had fully opened and Stuart examined it. ‘It looks like a marble in a puddle of tomato juice.’
I rooted about for a matching compliment to throw back. That smile of his affected my brain and the ideas were slow in coming. ‘Your nose,’ I tilted my head in mock studious concentration. ‘It looks like a donkey’s dongle.’
‘A donkey’s, eh?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Odd how donkeys and dongles are on your mind.’
I slapped his arm. ‘Stop it.’
He curled his shoulder away and laughed. ‘What sort of come-back is that?’ He put on a girly voice. ‘Stop it, Stuey.’
‘Huh. From the guy who wants to defend us by feeding the enemy salad.’
‘Ah but, Atty. A crappy plan is better than no plan, right?’ He turned away and went quiet for several seconds. ‘A donkey. Sheesh.’ He looked at me sideways, a dirty smirk on his face. ‘I do hope I don’t disappoint.’
Yet another moment for me to deal with and another chance for me to lay down some ground rules, tell him where to get off. But I didn’t want to. I pointed towards the horizon. ‘Look. I can see the sea.’
‘So it is.’ He held my hand, fingers loosely entwined, his thumb stroking my palm.
We walked in a silence I’d thought was comfortable but Stuart had clearly been thinking too much. ‘Who’s M Gee?’ he asked.
‘Joe’s boss.’ Keep it simple, felt safest.
‘Ever met her?’
‘No.’
He pulled a face I couldn’t read. Talking of M Gee and Joe led me back to thinking about my dad. I fished the leaflets out of my back pocket. The two were very different but both interesting in their own way. The one from the station was thicker and more official looking than Gav’s; it had shiny paper and glossy images. I let go of Stuart’s hand to open it up. ‘I found boxes of these in the room at the station. Looks like a questionnaire thing.’