Sweet William

by Iain Maitland

  God, it’s like hell, just walking the same empty and identical fields one after the other, over and over again. This bleak and relentless landscape.

  We may have to rest there, by those trees, for a while, out in the middle of nowhere. But it will give us a little shelter and some cover from the skies above.

  Is that where it all ends?

  I can’t go on much further.

  Really I can’t. I’m close to giving up now.

  I lift William up and over the gate, laying him down carefully on the ground. As I climb the gate, I look back automatically – still nothing and no one in sight. I listen again – no police sirens, barking dogs or the whirring of helicopters in the distance.

  I’ve done well really.

  To get this far.

  Have ridden my luck for so long now, it has to break some time.

  Picking William up, we make for the trees. Two long neat rows of them. I walk through them, almost at the point of exhaustion, and then, in the distance, close enough to see the cars and the lights, I spot that bypass.

  At last.

  Thank you.

  God, bless you.

  If we can just press on for half a mile more to get there, maybe slide into and hide in a ditch by a lay-by, we might still have a chance. If a car, any car, pulls in, we could do something, anything, to get away.

  We go into the next field, me striding straight across as best I can rather than skirting round the edges as we have done with some of the muddier ones. My feet sink in places in the thick, squelchy ground.

  I stumble once, then again, struggling to stay upright and keep my trainers on. I drop William as I stumble but he does not seem to notice. I cuddle him quickly, as we keep moving, licking the back of my hand and wiping a smear of mud from his cheek.

  Closer now. To the bypass.

  I can hear the roar of the cars.

  Four, five minutes away, I’d say.

  Is that a police siren? In the distance behind me? I’ve been expecting that. But I can’t tell – with the noise of the road in front of me – if it’s real or my imagination, waiting for the sound this past half-hour or more, and conjuring it up in my mind.

  I stop for a second or two, drawing breath, and I hear it more clearly now, carried on the wind first this way, a little weaker, and that way, a little stronger.

  Not long now then. The old man with the shotgun will be telling them what happened, that I had a gun and saying he’d seen me head off towards the bypass.

  I’d cut through the fields, though, thank God – not stayed on the road, where they’ll look first.

  On we go, across the fields, towards that bypass, not so very far.

  One step in front of the other, left then right, left then right. On and on.

  We’re off the fields now, they are all behind us, and we are on a track that runs along the side of the bypass with trees – planted years ago for soundproofing I guess – between the track and the bypass.

  On the other side of the bypass is a housing estate. I glimpsed it as I came to the end of the field and passed half walking, half slipping, my arms tight around William, down a slope and onto the track.

  I’ve seen something else too.

  On the outskirts, not far away.

  Some sort of tower, maybe for phone masts?

  Somewhere I can hide, that is.

  Think about it, why don’t you?

  The coppers are behind me now, in their car at the cottage and, in five or ten minutes, there will be more coppers and cars and dogs and Heaven knows what flooding the roads, the bypass and that housing estate.

  They won’t know where I’ve gone. But they’ll be sure of one thing – that I’ve kept going; up or down the bypass, across into the housing estate to steal a car. Anywhere, but always away, ever on the move.

  We need to hide and sit tight. If we can get to that tower and climb it and lie low there until morning – while the coppers, dogs and helicopters buzz angrily around us – we might still have a chance.

  You just watch me.

  Despite everything, we’re going to get away.

  Just you see if we don’t. Just you wait and see.

  All of this – the running, the hiding, the chasing – will end once we are at the tower. It will all be over.

  A nice sleep.

  Waking to a sunny day in the morning.

  The end of this nightmare and the start of our new life.

  9.59pm SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER

  I move along the track, looking for a path through the trees that will lead me to a bridge over or a tunnel under the bypass and into the housing estate. All I can hear now is the sound of the traffic – if there are police cars, dogs and helicopters behind me, I cannot tell. Thing is, I don’t want to hear them. I want to press on and get to that tower and some cover for the night.

  I’ve found it.

  A tunnel, an underpass – just like I said.

  We’re down it now and cutting through.

  Out the other side and all clear, I walk up and on to the border of the housing estate. I need to be careful here; have to make sure no one spots us and recognises who we are.

  I lift William up again and lean him against my shoulder so that, if we see anyone, I can put my head down close to his as if we are talking. It will shield my face and his; we’ll just be like any other daddy and little boy going home from an evening at a neighbour’s house. Maybe a family party to celebrate a birthday.

  A much-loved uncle perhaps.

  Sweet William’s favourite.

  Now it’s time to go home to bed.

  From what I can make out, the housing estate is one long curving road.

  Various avenues and closes come off it. Fancy names for a shit place like this.

  I have to walk, so far as I can see, right along the curving road and somewhere ahead, some way to the left, there will be an avenue or close that will take me to the tower.

  Off I go, my head close to William’s, in case anyone sees us. I feel exposed here, on this housing estate. There are houses to my left and to my right, lights on, cars in the driveway, music and noises and the occasional shout or ripple of laughter breaking the night air.

  Further up the road, to my left, I see a young girl, late teens maybe, coming out of the front door of a house. She turns, as I hang back, pretending to talk to little William, and says something, laughing, to whoever is still indoors. She teeters off on heels, her back to me, on her way out for an evening.

  A car comes past me from behind, a silver Peugeot.

  Full of boys, out on the piss. The car slows as it comes alongside the girl up ahead of me.

  Raucous laughter this time, something shouted from the car window; she feigns deafness.

  I carry on walking as the car roars away, keeping in step with the girl, but holding back, 100 yards away, so that, if she looks round, she won’t think I’m following her. I look up, two or three minutes later, and see the girl has gone, must have turned into one of the avenues up ahead of me, maybe going to meet a friend, share a taxi into town.

  It’s busier now, the estate. Cars go by me both ways, ordinary cars but no police cars, thank God.

  One car pulls up on a driveway ahead of me and a couple, holding bottles and takeaway bags, get out and disappear into the house.

  Head down, I keep up my bizarre walk-stop-walk-stop pattern, striding out and then slowing and stopping and pretending to talk to my sleepy boy whenever anyone is in sight. On we go, as quickly as we can.

  Halfway to the tower, I see a parade of shops and a children’s playground next to it with a slide and broken-down swings. Youths sprawl, two on the swings, another on the slide. Two more, on bikes, wheeling back and forth. Another, younger boy, by the look of it, has a skateboard that he’s pushing up and down with his foot.

  Aimless, they are, and spoiling for trouble. I daren’t risk it. I have to cross the road before they see me, can’t have them looking too closely at me and William, dirty now and spl
attered with mud from the fields. It only takes one of them to pull out his mobile phone.

  Over we go, before they look over and spot us approaching. God, please let them leave us be, let us be on our way around this endless road on this ghastly shithole of an estate.

  We’re alongside them now, these yobs, on the other side of the road. Just keep looking ahead, daren’t glance across, attracting their attention. If they know they bother me, that I’m worried or frightened by them, they’ll call out, taunting and jeering. Any sign of weakness, that’s all they need to see.

  Maybe the braver ones, the ones on bikes, will come over, following me, wanting to know who I am, where I’m going, demanding money to leave us alone.

  I hold my breath, keep going. I put my head down a little as if I am talking to William, fast asleep now in my arms. They’re almost behind me. We’ve nearly made it. And then one of them, I don’t know which, makes a meowing noise, like a cat. Quiet at first, then louder, howling on and on. Others laugh and one or two join in with the caterwauling.

  It’s clearly directed at me, this mocking, echoing noise. As if to say they’ve seen me and know I’m scared of them, that I’m chicken. Kids today, eh? Perhaps the ignorant fuckers think it’s chickens that meow.

  On we go, not so far now; the tower is in sight.

  I can see it down at the far end of this curving road.

  On the home straight, and then to the left, at the end of an avenue.

  As I walk, I am listening all the time, a sixth sense, hearing beyond the noises from the houses, the comings and goings of cars, the people moving about ahead and behind us, all taking little or no notice as they go about their business. I’m tuned into the sounds of pursuit – the sirens of the police cars, the whirring of the helicopters, the barking of the dogs. And I don’t hear anything.

  Thing is, they’ve gone the other way.

  For sure. No doubt about it at all.

  They’ve headed back out, down those country lanes and fields, back towards Ipswich or Woodbridge.

  But not here. If they were coming this way, they’d be here by now. I’d have heard sirens, coming ever closer. I’d have seen the lights of the helicopters. As they drew nearer, I’d have had to drop off this road and out of sight, maybe looked for a house that was dark, with the owners out, and broken into a back-garden shed, hiding out there until daybreak.

  But there’s been nothing, no sign at all, since I came to the bypass. Even then, thinking about it, I only heard a police car siren – thought I heard a police car siren – back towards that cottage.

  Maybe I imagined it all. Easy to do when you’re under so much stress. Thinking about it a little more, that man with the shotgun may not even have had a telephone. It was just a bluff, that’s all, to make me give up the little ’un.

  Yes, we’re almost home and dry.

  Good job too – have to say I’m exhausted and William is as well; he hasn’t moved a muscle for ages now.

  We’ll hide in the tower until the morning.

  We turn into the little avenue that leads us to it. I can see it at the far end, behind a wall and a gate; simple to climb that, and there may even be an easier way in if I scout round the back. It’s dead quiet here; just four or five houses to either side. Some lit up, others dark and empty. I stand for a second, just listening again – no noise at all, not that I can hear, from any of the houses.

  We move forward, past one house, all lit up.

  Then the second, this one in darkness.

  A third, all lit up, a woman at the kitchen window, washing up at the sink, I reckon.

  She’s looking out towards me but she won’t see me. Lights on in the house, dark outside, see? Makes it impossible to see anyone that does. I should know. I spent hours at the annexe, planning my escape, watching what was happening outdoors, and just working out exactly what I was going to do when I got the chance to get away.

  I had to do all of that when the lights were out, though, that’s the thing. When the lights were on, I couldn’t see anything outside. But people could look in and see me and what I was doing. I didn’t realise that straightaway, to be honest. In fact, we had a bit of trouble about that in the early days when I first arrived, but that’s another story and not a very nice one actually. Let’s not talk about that. Don’t even think about it.

  As I said, the woman in that house, looking out, cannot see us.

  Know what? I’ll prove it to you.

  I give her a little wave. Then a big one.

  Nothing, not a glimmer. I can’t help but chuckle to myself. I could be stark naked for all she knew. But as I say, let’s not go there. Just forget I mentioned anything.

  On we go, by the fourth and fifth houses, some sort of sensor lights going on as I pass by, and on to the wall surrounding the tower. I walk slowly around it, so that I’m out of sight of the houses, just looking for a way in.

  At the back, where youths have obviously been hanging out, judging by what’s on the ground (don’t ask), there’s been some damage to the wall; enough for me, holding William carefully, to climb over and in.

  I take off my jacket, using it to wrap around little William, strapping him to my body, just in case. It’s a long way up, for sure.

  We start climbing the steps, up and up we go to the platform near the top.

  It’s cold.

  And the steps are slippery.

  But I need to do this.

  We need to be safe.

  And we will be.

  At last, we’re here. We’re safe now. About time too. We can get some peace for once. We can settle down and get some rest until daybreak.

  I unstrap William, still deep in sleep, and lay him down carefully, my jacket rolled up beneath his head. I move to the edge of the platform, peeking over.

  It’s all quiet down below in the avenue, other than a woman walking quickly from one house to another. No more signs of life anywhere at all. I look up into the dark, clear sky and gaze around me 360 degrees. No signs of any helicopters.

  I sit for a while and listen. No sounds of sirens. I look down again over the housing estate. All is just as it should be. Nice and quiet. The world is at peace. And so, I have to say, are we, me and my beautiful little boy.

  He means more to me than anything, but then I have told you that, haven’t I?

  Yes, I’m sure I did.

  He means the world to me.

  I settle back, am going to snooze gently for a little while. Not too long, mind, and not too deeply – I need to be alert, just in case.

  After all, you never know, do you?

  Better safe than sorry, that’s what I say.

  I’m not home and dry yet. Not quite.

  I can’t tell you how exhausted I am. And we have a long day ahead of us again tomorrow, don’t we? Up at six, a coach to London, then, one way or the other, on to France and away to our new life together forever.

  A villa in the south of France.

  Paddling in the pool. Stretching out in the sun.

  Our life will be just perfect. For ever and ever.

  Yes, it’s all coming together very nicely now, extremely well indeed. We’ve had some trouble along the way, for sure we have – but nothing I couldn’t handle. From here, though, it’s all going to be plain sailing. But you know that by now, don’t you?

  I’ve told you that.

  Yes, I definitely have.

  We’re looking at a very happy ending. What you might call a happy ever after. And it all starts when we wake up in the morning.

  11.44pm SUNDAY 1 NOVEMBER

  God almighty, what was that? I’ve been fast asleep.

  Night-time surely? But it’s as bright as day.

  The tower is ablaze with lights.

  I sit up, checking William is still next to me. He is. The tower is brightly lit and I can hear someone shouting, from somewhere far away, but can’t make out the words. The wind blows the voice this way and that.

  I crawl on my hands and knees to th
e edge of the tower – I daren’t stand up and be seen – and peer down towards the ground below. In the distance, a line of police cars blocks the top of the avenue. There’s an ambulance there too, with paramedics, ready and waiting. I see one or two coppers stopping people from coming in. The houses and bungalows to either side are dark. I can make out an elderly man here and a young family there being ushered away by even more police.

  There are a lot of them down there.

  All with their eyes on me.

  And guns? Yes, I reckon so.

  In front of that line of police cars, in the dead centre of the road, is a cluster of five or six policemen, between two spotlights aimed up at the tower, all clearly talking among themselves and deciding what to do. One has a megaphone and that, I assume, is the voice that woke me. Here he goes again. I still cannot make out what he’s saying. But these are angry, demanding words.

  Do I need to make them out?

  What he’s saying is directed at me and obvious.

  “Give yourself up.” No more, no less.

  I crawl back and look down at my little boy with his soft and gentle face, his features not yet properly formed. He’s still not much more than a baby, really, untouched by life. He lies there, asleep, not moving at all. I crawl away. I just have to think, get my head straight, and decide as fast as I can what to do next.

  I run quickly through the options.

  Any which way, it’s the end.

  One way or the other, it’s over.

  If I stand up now, straight and tall, as proud as a daddy should be, with my head and shoulders in view, I have no doubt the police marksmen, out there somewhere, will shoot me dead where I stand. The houses are dark, but I know, deep down, that there must be police with guns at the windows.

  I thought I was safe here.

  I did not think things through. Someone must have seen me, reported it to the police.

  The coppers with guns are there, somewhere, just waiting.

  I could stand up, with my beautiful William in my arms; they daren’t shoot me then. And we could, dad and his little lad, go together. Over the side and into the night forever.