by RR Haywood
‘Bar,’ Ben says politely. ‘Right, and where is that?’
‘By the parking lot, man. You didn’t need to grab me up, dude.’
‘Yeah, sorry. Thank you, and sorry for, er . . . you know . . .’
‘Whatever, man,’ the manager says.
Ben smiles at him, then smiles at Gunjeep staring dully. ‘Thanks.’
‘She’s deaf, man. I just said that.’
‘She might lip-read.’
‘She doesn’t lip-read, man. She’s Indian.’
‘Right, well, we’re going now. And you kids, just stop throwing chips about. Messy shits. Mall closes at ten-thirty.’
‘Smooth, Mr Ryder.’
‘Sorry.’
‘You go now. Close now. You go.’
‘Yes, alright!’ Ben says to the worried security guard. ‘What about those kids? You kicking them out?’
‘Ben,’ Miri says quietly.
The security guard stares back.
‘In McDonald’s, throwing chips about.’
‘Fries,’ Miri says.
‘Throwing fries about,’ Ben says.
‘Owner’s kids,’ the security guard says. ‘You go. Close now.’
‘Right,’ Ben says. ‘Thanks,’ he adds brightly.
‘Smooth, Mr Ryder.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Think before you speak. Look before you speak. Process the world around you. Your communication skills are exceptional, so try engaging your brain at the same time.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t let Safa rub off on you. You are not Safa.’
‘Okay, sorry, Miri.’
‘Safa would have made him answer, but that’s because she is Safa. You are not her. You have other skills.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Don’t be sorry. Learn. Be better.’
‘Yes, Miri.’
‘Aggression is a tactic to be used when necessary.’
‘Yes, Miri.’
‘Intelligence is the tool we use all the time.’
‘Okay, sorry, Miri.’
‘When you and Safa have sex, do not let it impact on the dynamics. Safa will be fine, but make sure it does not affect your abilities.’
Ben stops and stares at her as they head to the car park. ‘Sex?’
‘Yes, sex.’
‘We’re just friends.’
‘Sure. In the meantime, try masturbation. Release the tension.’
‘Miri!’
‘You get anything?’ Safa calls out as they near the van.
‘Kid works in McDonald’s,’ Miri says. ‘Derek. Might be in a bar here.’
‘Bar there,’ Emily says, pointing across the car park to bright lights over a door marked Bar.
The five set off towards it. Ben mutters and shoots glances at Miri. Miri ignores him.
‘Everything okay?’ Emily asks.
‘Fine,’ Ben says.
‘I suggested Mr Ryder try ma . . .’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Ben cuts in.
‘Try what?’ Safa asks.
‘Nothing,’ Ben says.
‘No, what?’ Safa asks.
‘Tell you later,’ Ben says, buying time.
‘No, now,’ Safa says, not wishing to sell time right now.
‘Looks like a nice place,’ Ben says, looking ahead to the bar.
‘What should Ben try?’ Safa asks, looking at Miri.
‘Can we just drop it?’
‘Masturbation.’
‘Miri!’ Ben says.
‘What, wanking?’ Safa asks.
‘Oh my god,’ Ben groans.
‘Yes,’ Miri says.
‘Oh,’ Safa says. ‘Why does Ben need a wank?’
‘Can we please fucking drop it?’
‘Tension,’ Miri says.
‘You tense then?’ Safa asks him.
‘I fucking am now,’ Ben mutters.
‘Have a wank then,’ Safa says.
‘Jesus,’ Ben says.
‘You should,’ Emily says, nodding at him seriously.
‘What!? No!’
‘Helps,’ Emily says.
‘I’m not tense,’ Ben says.
‘You sound tense,’ Emily says.
‘Have a wank,’ Safa says.
‘Ask Safa to walk past you a bit more in underwear.’
‘Emily!’ Ben says in horror.
‘Fucking funny,’ Safa says, laughing at the comment that a month or so ago would have resulted in outright violence.
They stop outside the bar. Five of them gathered by the door, trying to peer through the glass to the darkened, gloomy interior.
‘See anything?’ Emily asks.
‘Nope,’ Ben says. ‘Too dark, and apparently I’m too tense to see anything.’
‘Get over it,’ Safa says. ‘I’ll go in and have a look.’
‘Is that wise?’ Emily asks.
‘Why?’
‘She might be talking to the boy from McDonald’s. You’ll just get angry and hit him.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Safa says with a scowl.
‘I’ll go,’ Ben says.
‘You can’t go – you’ll embarrass the hell out of her,’ Emily says.
‘Miri then?’ Ben asks.
‘God no!’ Emily says.
‘Well, we can’t all go in and look,’ Ben says.
Thirty-One
Ria sips the beer and stares into his dark eyes. His right arm propped on the bar reaching out so his fingertips can gently stroke the soft skin on her left arm. She giggles and listens, leaning in to pay attention and glancing at the shape of his bicep. She doesn’t mention there is no party and no buddies to meet. It doesn’t matter.
‘I bet you’ll look hot in the uniform,’ she says.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says, smiling coyly.
‘I’d love to see that. Have you got it yet?’
‘No, ma’am,’ he says, still smiling coyly. He likes Ria. She’s so different to anyone he has met. Her accent is so nice and soft, yet she told him the merits of the M4 assault rifle in adverse weather conditions, what oil is the best to use and how the magazines sometimes get a bit sticky. He asked how she knew, and she just laughed in a rather beguiling way and made a joke about being from the future, but from the past. He laughed too and drank his beer.
‘Oh, shame,’ she says, dropping her hand to rest on his thigh. ‘Well, you have a McDonald’s uniform – that’s something.’
She knows about proteins and carbs too, and about good fats and bad fats. Girls don’t know that kind of stuff in Derek’s world. Not in the detail Ria does. She seems sad though. Derek glimpses the pain in her eyes between laughing. It makes him want to know why, but Derek is a good kid, so he doesn’t pry. He likes her boobs and curves too. He likes the warmth of the soft skin on her arm and the way she laughs at his crap jokes.
‘Wanna ’nother beer?’
‘Love one. Let me get them.’ Ria pulls out a wad of banknotes from her clutch purse.
‘Hey, y’all put that back,’ Derek says quickly, looking around in alarm.
‘What? Why? It’s fine.’
‘Not round here it ain’t,’ Derek says, his tone serious. ‘Don’t show that here, Ria. These folks will rob you easy.’
‘Sorry,’ she says, peeling off a single note while offering him an apologetic smile.
‘Where you get that from anyway?’ he asks, glancing round again to make sure no one saw the money.
‘Smurfs.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. My family is wealthy.’
‘Hey, two beers,’ Derek calls out.
‘Sure thing,’ the bartender says. He brings over two uncapped bottles, takes the note and brings back the change.
‘Cheers,’ Ria says, holding her bottle out to Derek and not giving a shit about the bunker or Miri or the portal in the van or the launderette or anything at all other than this nice boy smiling at her.
‘Cheers,’ Derek says. He learnt that from Ria too.
&
nbsp; ‘Stout.’
Ria freezes, the bottle pressed to her lips.
‘What?’ the bartender asks.
‘Stout.’
‘What’s stout?’ the bartender asks.
Ria closes her eyes.
‘Ale. Stout. Maybe bitter?’
‘Bitter?’ the bartender says.
‘Aye, bitter, beer.’
‘Beer? You wanna beer?’
‘Aye.’
‘I’ll have one too, please, mate.’
‘Ladies?’ the bartender asks.
‘Orange juice.’
Ria winces at each voice. Her eyes closed.
‘Sure thing.’
‘Er, I’ll have a beer too, thanks. In a glass though. Not a bottle.’
‘You drink beer?’
‘What? I like beer.’
‘Okay, fuck that then. Scrap the orange juice. I’ll have a beer too.’
‘So four beers?’
‘Five,’ Miri says from behind Ria, who slowly opens her eyes, purses her lips and stares at Derek.
‘Hey,’ Derek says, ‘I think they’re British too . . .’
Ria turns slowly on the bar stool.
Harry glances down and smiles. Ben nods. Emily waves. Safa glares past her to Derek. Miri looks round the bar.
‘What the fuck?’ Ria asks.
‘Oh, hi,’ Emily says, as though surprised.
‘Seriously?’ Ria hisses. ‘What the fuck?’
‘Problem?’ Safa asks, still glaring at Derek and not liking the way he is looking at Ria.
‘Safa, stop it,’ Ria blurts.
‘Hi, I’m Ben,’ Ben says, leaning across Ria to offer Derek his hand.
‘Oh my god, Ben,’ Ria seethes, having to lean back as they shake.
‘Harry,’ Harry says, taking Ben’s place to tower over Ria in the offering of an enormous hand to Derek.
‘Sir,’ Derek says, staring up at the huge bearded man.
‘They got stout here?’ Harry asks him.
‘What?’ Derek asks.
‘No, Harry, they won’t have stout,’ Ria says. Wishing the ground would open up.
‘I’m Emily.’ She squeezes in next to Harry to offer her hand. ‘You must be Derek.’
‘Oh my god,’ Ria mutters, hardly believing this is happening.
‘Er, hi,’ Derek says, clearly bewildered. ‘Nice to meet you. May I get you a drink? Are you Ria’s family?’
‘Ach, nice manners, that lad,’ Harry booms as Ria winces again.
‘That was polite, wasn’t it?’ Emily says, smiling at Derek then back to Harry.
‘Ria, you okay?’
‘I am fine, Ben.’
‘Cool. We, er, we just wanted to, er . . . get a beer and . . . check you were alright.’
‘I am fine, Ben.’
‘Good,’ Ben says slowly, rocking on his heels.
‘Five beers,’ the bartender says, placing the bottles down as Ria plucks a note from the purse and holds it out without looking round.
‘Hey,’ Derek says, alarmed again at the show of money. ‘Don’t show that here.’
‘We’re more than safe,’ Ria says flatly. ‘Trust me.’
‘Oh, sorry,’ Emily says, ‘could I have a glass?’
‘Sure thing.’
‘Make sure it’s clean,’ Safa says.
‘Er, yeah, clean glass, sure thing,’ the bartender says, rushing off to find one.
‘Harry, don’t eat the nuts – they’re covered in piss,’ Safa says as Harry mouths a huge handful from the bowl on the bar.
‘So,’ Emily says, grinning at Derek. ‘You work in McDonald’s?’
‘How do you know that, ma’am?’
‘Saw you there,’ Miri says from the back.
‘We saw you there,’ Emily says.
Derek nods and peers round to see an older woman staring round the bar slowly. ‘I leave in a week. Enlisting.’
‘Oh no,’ Ria groans, sinking on the stool.
‘Enlisting?’ Harry asks, mouthing more nuts.
‘In the military?’ Emily asks.
‘Really?’ Safa asks, staring at Derek a bit harder.
‘Yes, ma’am. Marines, ma’am.’
‘Marines?’ Miri asks.
‘Yes, ma’am. US Marines.’
‘Good lad!’ Harry booms, clapping him on the shoulder.
‘Well done,’ Emily says.
‘Good lads, the Marines,’ Harry says. ‘Worked with them in Italy in . . .’
‘Beer, Harry,’ Ben says, passing the bottle over.
‘Can you join then? Being a negro . . .’
‘Oh my god, Harry!’ Ria blurts.
‘Harry!’ Emily says, moving in swiftly from behind Derek. ‘We’re from a different place,’ she says to the lad. ‘Different terms for things. Oh, did you drop this?’ She holds a folded brown leather wallet. ‘It was on the floor.’
‘He’s not racist,’ Ben says, as Derek takes the wallet, glancing from Harry to Emily to Ben.
‘Fought with some in Africa,’ Harry tells Derek, pulling his attention back. ‘Good lads too.’
Derek nods and swallows. He was brought up well. To be polite and respectful, but to challenge when things are wrong. ‘Sir, that word isn’t used now,’ he says to Harry.
‘What?’ Harry asks.
‘Negros, sir.’
‘Oh,’ Harry says. ‘What is it then?’
‘I’m black,’ Derek says. ‘Or African American.’
‘Seriously, what are you doing here?’ Ria asks.
‘Came for a beer,’ Emily says.
‘You so did not come for a beer.’
‘I gave a time, Miss Cavendish.’
‘I know, but I’m staying out.’
‘We had to come find you, Miss Cavendish.’
‘Ria! My name is Ria. I am twenty-two years old, Miri.’
‘You could have told me you wanted more time.’
‘I don’t have to tell you anything.’
‘I have security concerns, Miss Ca—’
‘Ria! My name is Ria.’
‘Take it easy,’ Ben says.
‘If you want more time, you ask for more time,’ Miri says.
‘What? Am I a fucking prisoner then?’
‘You are not a prisoner, but I . . .’
‘You are not my mother. She’s dead. I’m an adult, and I’m going to get drunk and have sex with this boy.’
‘What?’ Derek asks.
‘I’m not leaving. I’m not running away. I just want to get fucking drunk and have sex!’
‘What?’ Derek says.
‘I’m coming back. I just . . . I just . . . He’s cute and he’s got nice arms, and he said I look nice and he likes curves . . .’
‘What?’ Derek asks.
‘Problem?’ Harry asks, looking round at the suddenly quiet bar. ‘Be on about your business now.’
‘The shabby-chic chest is lovely,’ Emily says, breaking the heavy, charged silence. ‘And you look really nice, Ria.’
‘Sorry,’ Ben says, resting a hand on Ria’s shoulder as she fights back the tears.
‘It’s fine,’ Ria says, holding a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m sorry. What you’re doing is important . . . I’ll come back now and . . .’
‘No, no, no,’ Emily says. ‘Stay, it’s cool.’
‘No, I should . . .’
‘Stay,’ Ben says. ‘Have some drinks.’
‘You’re an adult,’ Emily says. ‘We were just worried . . . No phones, remember?’
‘I know,’ Ria whispers, looking round at them with tears in her eyes. ‘Bertie’s working on it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Emily says. ‘You look lovely, so lovely, and I love your curves. I wish I had curves.’
‘You’ve got a six-pack,’ Ria snorts, half-smiling, half trying not to cry. ‘I bet men love it.’
‘Men?’ Emily asks, smiling at her. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Know what?’
‘I’m gay.’
>
‘What?’
‘I’m gay,’ Emily says. ‘So trust me when I say you look gorgeous and your curves are lovely. Stay. Have fun.’ She leans in to kiss Emily’s cheek. ‘He does have nice arms,’ she whispers. ‘And a lovely smile.’
‘He does,’ Ria says, smiling as Emily pulls back.
‘You okay?’ Ben asks from behind her, his hand still on her shoulder. ‘Need anything? Money? Gun? M4 assault rifle? Bazooka?’
Ria laughs, wanting to cry again but with different emotions coursing through her. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘Okay,’ Ben says, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. ‘You know where we are if you need us.’
‘I’ll be fine . . .’
‘Miss,’ Harry says, leaning over to kiss her forehead, the bristles of his beard tickling her skin. He smells of woodbines and popcorn. ‘Nice to meet you,’ Harry says again, holding his hand to Derek. ‘Sorry I called you a negro.’
‘Sir,’ Derek says, shaking his hand again.
‘Nice arms,’ Safa tells Derek. ‘Do more cardio – you’ll define better. And wear a condom, or I’ll snap it off and shove it up your arse.’
‘Whoa, time to go,’ Ben says, guiding Safa away. ‘Nice to meet you, Derek.’
‘Sir,’ Derek says, staring in alarm at Safa.
‘I’m watching you,’ Safa calls out as she walks across the bar.
‘Ma’am,’ Derek says. He watches as they file out through the door and the bar slowly comes back to normality. The door opens. Safa leans in, pointing two fingers at her own eyes then at Derek before Ben pulls her out.
‘Families, eh?’ Ria says, smiling tentatively at Derek.
He looks back at her, then over to the door again. ‘Sure, families. Hooyah . . .’
Thirty-Two
‘Are you gay?’ Ben asks, his hand still clamped on Safa’s wrist as they walk across the car park.
‘No,’ Emily says. ‘I just said it to make her feel better.’
‘Really?’
‘Maybe?’ Emily says with a smile.
‘Name?’ Miri asks, pulling a small tablet from her pocket.
‘Derek Collins, middle initial T. Date of birth, 20 June 1988,’ Emily says from the glimpse of his driving licence she gained while Harry created a distraction.
‘Did you know Emily is gay?’ Ben asks Safa.
‘Yep,’ Safa says. ‘We should go back and get her. I don’t like him.’
‘Did you know?’ Ben asks Miri.
‘Yes.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Ben tells Emily.
‘Should you then?’ Emily asks.