In the Shadow of London

by Chris Ward

  ‘You want some too?’ she said. ‘You could have just asked my brother.’ She spat in the direction of the exit.

  ‘Your brother?’

  ‘That cowardly prick. He likes to watch. He won’t touch me himself because he knows I’ll fight.’

  ‘That guy was your brother?’

  ‘Yeah. Surprised? That too much of a tragedy for you? Where are you from, like Covent Garden or something? Stiff.’

  David smiled. ‘St. Cannerwells is my neighbourhood. Covent Garden would be nice. Not sure it’s as nice as it once was, so I’ve heard.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Well, thanks for saving me. I’m not doing anything in return for you though. You’ll have to hold me down.’

  ‘I don’t want anything. I just couldn’t stand by and do nothing. My name’s David.’

  He held out a hand that hung comically in the air between them. The girl stared at it until he let it drop. Amused at his awkwardness, she gave a half smile. ‘Airie.’

  Taku’s footsteps echoed on the tiles of the concourse. ‘No time for chitchat. That weedy guy won’t be back but the tough will bring his mates for a rematch.’ He helped David to his feet, whispering in his ear, ‘Have I ever told you you’re crazy?’

  Airie stood up. She adjusted her clothing, pulling up her underwear and tugging down the ragged skirt she wore. A thin, patchy slip only just covered small, budding breasts.

  ‘What are you guys?’

  Taku winked at David. ‘We’re Tube Riders,’ he said.

  6

  Fighter

  As the nearly deserted train rattled through the tunnels, Lindon clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to keep his hands from cramping up. With his fingers stumbling, he unscrewed the plastic bottle and poured a little more of the water onto the rag, wrapping it first around one hand, then around the other.

  Underneath the cloth, his hands were swollen and sore. Fresh purple bruises filled the valleys between skinned, bloody knuckles.

  The fight had been tough. Not as tough as some, but tougher than most.

  He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. The bulge of notes in an envelope in his pocket was the only comfort. It was enough to cover rent for himself, Cah, and Spacewell for the next couple of months, keep them fed and looked after. It would keep the silence of Spacewell’s illegal Internet provider and give him enough left to buy something nice that might make Cah happy.

  Cah.

  He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about her, even though in less than half an hour he hoped to be in her arms, the only place he felt safe from the perils of London.

  But for how long?

  He snapped his eyes open. His stop was coming up, and dozing now might cause him to miss it. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  It had been a long fight. He was so tired. Few outside the gambling circles understood the nature of fist fighting. It wasn’t always three-minute brawls and bloodbaths. An experienced fist was hard like wood, but the bone of a skull was invariably harder. Most street fights were between a strong guy and a weak guy, and the weak guy quickly lost, but in organised fighting circles the men were well-matched. A longer, more brutal fight made for better gambling.

  Lindon’s stomach and back hurt far more than his face. Under his clothes, his lean, muscular body was a latticework of bruises and lacerations. For nearly two hours they had circled each other, trading body shots, waiting for an opening. Only a pair of light leather gloves was allowed, and you didn’t waste the strength in your fists on jabbing for the face in close fights. You picked off the softer body, slowly wearing down your opponent. Then, when your opponent made a mistake or dropped his guard, you were ruthless.

  The train pulled in, and an address system that sounded badly in need of repair announced his stop in a fussy, echoing voice. Lindon headed for the doors, patting the envelope under his clothes for comfort.

  A light rain was falling when he emerged onto the street. It was nearly midnight but a few people were still about, walking up and down the pavement in hurried steps, huddled under umbrellas. A car passed him, moving slowly, its chugging exhaust the only sign of decay, and he had walked almost half a mile before he heard his first siren of the night.

  Things were almost normal.

  Their tenement building was on the edge of an estate of several similar buildings. He had been offered a place in the Tank, but he liked to keep his distance. While he had designs on eventual leadership, once you gave yourself over to the Tank there was no coming back. Neither Cah nor Spacewell knew how involved he was, and he also had the other Cross Jumpers to think about. Moving into the Tank would imprison everyone around him by association.

  When he reached the ninth floor, a light was shining under their door. He knocked and Spacewell answered, the kid making him answer a series of stupid questions before letting him inside. Finally satisfied after Lindon regurgitated both his own, Cah’s, and Spacewell’s birthdays and favourite foods, the door finally swung inwards, and the thin, scrawny guy with the mop of unruly hair stared at him as if they were meeting for the first time.

  ‘You look tired.’

  ‘After twenty goddamn questions I have a right to be. Is Cah okay?’

  Spacewell shrugged. ‘She’s awake I think.’

  Lindon nodded. It was something. ‘Good.’

  Spacewell wandered back off to the room he had taken for himself and closed the door. Sammy had shared it with him, but Sammy had gone so it was now Spacewell’s alone. Lindon sat down at the table, his unease at facing Cah holding him back. He was late home; usually by now she would have already gone off to her other place.

  He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, ignoring a loose one in the left side of his mouth. If it didn’t fall out it would tighten up again in a few days. He squeezed his hands together, feeling the tiny swellings between his fingers. He touched the tabletop, making sure he could feel the smooth wood under his fingertips. It was a recurring nightmare that he would one day hurt his hands so bad that he would no longer be able to feel Cah’s skin when he touched her.

  ‘Hey. You’re back.’

  She was standing in the doorway to the bedroom, one arm resting against the frame. She was wearing his favourite nightdress, the silk one he had stolen from an abandoned warehouse a year ago. It hung off her frame, her breasts holding it away from her stomach, letting it drape loosely over her cream-coloured thighs.

  ‘I’m back.’

  ‘I waited, Lindon.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you coming?’

  His body ached as he stood up, but he tried not to show it. Once she had resented his fighting, but now she accepted it in the same way he accepted what she had become. She knew his fighting kept guys from kicking in their door, just as he knew that what she did brought her comfort. It was an uneasy truce, but a mutual one.

  She didn’t wait for him, turning and heading into the bedroom. When he closed the door, only a small desk lamp gave the room a warm glow. While the rest of their apartment was a rancid dump, their bedroom still retained some of the charm it might have possessed in years gone by, a wide double bed flanked by a quaint dresser to one side and a tall wardrobe on the other. The wallpaper was of blue and red roses in a swirling pattern, the carpet an only slightly faded green.

  Cah was already on the bed, her nightdress bunched up between her legs. Lindon pulled off his sweat-stained shirt.

  ‘My God, Lindon….’

  ‘It’s nothing.’

  She started to protest, then stopped. A small shake of her head was all that was left of her disapproval.

  Lindon unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of them.

  Cah lifted her arms. ‘Come here,’ she said.

  He kissed her all over. He tried to go slowly, but it never worked out that way. Every night they drowned in each other’s lust, as if it was the only thing that could protect them, and it was over far too soon. They lay beside each other on the bed, gasping for
breath. The light was to Lindon’s rear, casting Cah’s face in shadow. He was glad he couldn’t see her. He didn’t want to know if she was looking towards the door.

  With a multitude of aches that linked themselves around his body like a giant chain, Lindon was exhausted. His eyes seemed to be closing themselves, and despite his best efforts to stay awake, he quickly found himself dozing off.

  He snapped awake when Cah got up to go out. For a moment he held on to her, silently imploring her not to go to find her comfort in the other room, but she shook her head and lifted his hand off her waist.

  ‘Wait.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Lindon.’

  ‘Cah….’

  She shook her head. Running one finger over his muscular chest, she gave him a wistful smile as if recalling a wonderful memory, then she stood up, went to the door and slipped out, closing it behind her.

  Even in the short time since the fight had ended, his fingers had swollen too much to make them much use. He gripped the pillow in his clumsy hands and squeezed it like a man’s throat, closing his eyes and pressing it against his face, wanting to empty out his pain into its softness.

  ‘It’s my choice,’ she had told him during a tender moment. ‘I made it, I’ll live by it.’

  And it was true. There was nothing he could do except sit by and watch, and it was killing him almost as quickly as it was killing her.

  Lifting one battered hand and closing it into the tightest fist his swollen fingers could manage, Lindon pressed it against the pillow, wishing it were so easy to squeeze out all of the bad things in the world.

  7

  Tower

  ‘You found her, you deal with her.’

  Airie sat cross-legged in the middle of their living room floor, smoking one of Taku’s roll-ups. One side of her face was swollen and bruised. From the way his own face felt, David was sure his looked much the same.

  ‘Do you have a place to go?’

  Airie looked up, as if noticing them for the first time. In the light, she looked younger than ever, no more than thirteen or fourteen, but there was little innocence about her. She wore a defiant pout despite the swelling around one eye and the black welt down the side of her face.

  ‘Only back to my brother. You met him, remember? He’s the one that sold me to those two guys, then came along to watch.’

  ‘The skinny guy?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘No one else?’

  She paused for a moment before answering. ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Look, if you want me out on the street, I’ll go. I can pay for my keep though.’

  ‘How?’ Taku asked.

  Airie made a lewd motion with her mouth. ‘How do you think?’

  He smiled. ‘Tempting, but I’ve kind of grown out of hanging around schoolyards.’ Glancing at David, he said, ‘She’s your problem, bro. You deal with her. If she’s not paying rent she can’t stay.’

  ‘Taku—’

  ‘Two days, bro. That’s me being generous.’

  He went out of the room. David heard the latch being pulled back and Taku letting himself out.

  ‘Where’s he’s gone?’ Airie said.

  David shrugged. ‘Probably to get more tobacco. He doesn’t take it well when people smoke through his stash.’

  Airie pouted. ‘He’s a moody one, ain’t he? I only had a couple.’ She flashed a devilish grin that looked farcical on her battered face. ‘Huh. I like moody.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bother. The only woman Taku’s interested in is his mother.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘She lives over in Ravenscourt Park. He goes to see her every Sunday.’

  ‘Why doesn’t he live with her?’

  ‘He doesn’t get on with his stepdad. Every Sunday his stepdad goes out. Gambling, drinking, he doesn’t know where. I think Taku would happily toss the old git down a manhole but his mum adores him.’

  Airie gave a slow nod. It was the first time since they had got back that David felt he could see through the veneer she painted around herself.

  ‘London does funny things to family life, don’t it?’ she said.

  ‘If you’re lucky enough to have one in the first place,’ David said. ‘Come on. I’ve got a place you can stay. You’ll need to climb a little bit.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He grinned, trying to hide the reluctance he felt. ‘You’ll see.’

  ‘Up there? You’re crazy, right?’

  David smiled. ‘It’s not that hard after the first few times.’

  Just three streets from where he lived with Taku, the partially collapsed apartment building was David’s favourite of several bolt-holes he had scoped out across the city. The rear staircase had collapsed, and with the elevator broken, the only way to the upper floors was by climbing up the shaft. Brave—or desperate—gangs of looters had long ago cleared out anything of value on the lower levels, but the sheer inaccessibility of the upper floors had left them free of squatters or drug dens. David had cleaned up a spacious apartment on the fifth floor and fitted the door with a padlock. Occasionally he hung out there when he needed some quiet time away from Taku and the other drop-ins who sometimes used their place.

  ‘It’s only thirty feet,’ he said. ‘Then you get to a ledge. From there it’s pretty easy.’

  ‘How exactly are we going to climb it?’

  ‘Here.’ David pointed to a square indent in the wall of elevator shaft. It was about fifty centimetres wide and the same deep, and it stretched up as far as the darkness would allow him to see.

  ‘This is an old maintenance shaft that runs parallel to the elevator,’ he said. ‘There used to be a stepladder that went right up to the top floor. It’s gone now.’

  ‘So what are we supposed to do?’

  David stepped into the shaft and leaned back against the wall. He braced his feet against the other side, his knees bent. Then he slowly straightened his legs and his back slid upwards a few inches.

  ‘It’s smooth. As long as you have decent grips on your shoes you can push-slide your way to the ledge. From there, there are hand holds in the wall. Move very slowly, and when you come to shift your feet, only move them a few inches at a time, one at a time. Otherwise you’ll slip.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kidding me.’

  ‘Trust me, it’s worth it.’

  Airie shrugged. ‘Go on then, big man. You go first.’

  David shook his head. ‘Ladies first. Just in case you slip, I’ll catch you.’

  ‘You know what the last man who said that to me did?’

  ‘No.’

  For a few seconds Airie looked about to tell him, and David sensed some horror story rising to the surface. Then she shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘Are we going to do this or what?’

  David gestured towards the shaft. ‘After you.’

  It took Airie a few tries just to get off the ground. David talked her through the climbing technique again, and this time she managed to get a few feet higher. Then, getting her feet too high for her balance, she slipped and came tumbling down. David caught her in his arms. She was as light as a bag of bones.

  ‘Isn’t there some way you can carry me?’

  ‘There is, but it’s better if you learn the technique. What if one day I don’t come back? How will you get down?’

  With a sigh, Airie headed back to the shaft. Again she failed, slipping and landing on her butt with a hard thump.

  ‘It’s a waste of time,’ she said.

  ‘I have an idea,’ he said. ‘I don’t think your clothes are slippery enough. Try my sweater.’

  He stripped off his top and handed it to her. Airie held out her hand but was staring at his body.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  David looked down at the scars on his chest. One from a knife fight at age sixteen. Three smaller ones that came from the steel boots of a gang that had jumped him. A longer one in th
e middle that he had done himself, jumping over a railing to escape a group of DCA men.

  He shrugged. ‘London happened. Come on, let’s get up there. I have food, and something even better.’

  ‘Surprise me.’

  ‘Running water.’

  Airie lifted an eyebrow. ‘In a squat?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  He had piqued her interest, because after one more almost compulsory pout she made a ball with his shirt and began sliding her way up the shaft, quickly becoming a shadow in the gloom overhead. David waited with his arms out, aware that from more than halfway up he would only be able to parry her fall, but just when he though Airie was certain to slip, the girl knocked a hand on the steel pipes beside the shaft, the sound echoing down like a victory bell.

  ‘I made it!’

  ‘Quiet! There are sometimes squatters down here. Throw down my shirt.’

  A moment later it billowed out above him and he snatched it out of the air, pulling it back over his head.

  The climb was never pleasant, but over time he had got used to it. In less than a minute he was standing on the ledge beside Airie, a skinny shadow in the gloom.

  ‘Another twenty or so feet until the next stop,’ he said, reaching out and tapping one of the metal handles that stuck out of the shaft. ‘But we have handholds this time.’

  The girl nodded. One hand patted his arm. The touch gave him a momentary thrill, but he shrugged it off. Airie was already becoming attached to him, but she was just a kid.

  ‘When you get to the next ledge, wait there for me,’ he told her. ‘There’s a metal panel on the inside of the shaft that looks like it’s bolted solid. The bolts are fake. There’s a little bit of resistance because I weighted it in case some looter leans on it by mistake, but if you push hard enough it swings inwards.’

  Airie nodded. ‘Feel like I’m breaking into a bank,’ she said.