Chapter 11
Satori leaves the community hall. His crystal ball weighs heavily in his black sports bag. He slings it over his shoulder. The redheaded woman is placing boxes in the boot of her car - one of the stall-holders, he presumes. As she shuts the boot, she turns towards him. He nods and she offers him a fleeting smile before disappearing into the car.
He marches towards home, pockets bulging with notes. The air is warm and smells of freshly cut grass. He hopes that this means winter has ended. He hates the cold, has for years.
Without thinking, his feet travel pathways he usually avoids. He glimpses Ivan and Freya’s house and hurries past. He turns a few more corners and stops walking. This isn’t his way home at all. He’s heading towards his Mum’s house and here is the street where Star used to live with Raven and Donna. He treads carefully towards their old front door. It feels like a pilgrimage to his past. Memories resurface, parties hosted by Raven at the top of these stairs, including that fateful evening when he met Star. It seemed like a dream at the time. Her beauty, youth and fragility enchanted him and he sensed something about her she had tried to hide, still tries to hide. It excited him.
He retraces his steps out of the cul-de-sac and decides to call on his mum before heading back to the cottage. It isn’t far. How closely they had all lived. It was inevitable that their lives would tangle, although perhaps not as much as they had.
He passes the park gates and looks at the grass beyond. Even the park holds memories, some good, like drunken picnics on summer weekends and others bad, like the death of Freya’s sister. It amazes him how interconnected so many parts of his life have become with those of his friends and enemies. He thinks of Ivan, Freya’s brother, and wonders for a moment whether he is still counted as a friend. Would a friend do what he is doing? Would a friend swoop in to steal the most important person in my life?
He checks the time and wonders whether his mum will be home. He decides to risk surprising her. If she is there she’s unlikely to have company. Satori has often wondered how such a beautiful woman hasn’t had a string of lovers since his father. Perhaps it isn’t important to her? She has never spoken about a man, or woman, with whom she has a close bond. After Satori’s father left she seems to have lived a life of chastity. He wonders for a moment how she can stand it then wonders whether, in fact, it might be a better life than his own, simpler and purer: just her, her work and him. No one to make demands on her time or dictate her lifestyle, of course it also means no sex.
He ponders this as he walks to the house they once shared. The redbrick Victorian terrace house within whose walls he grew and became a man. As he turns into his street a thousand memories assault his mind. He remembers crouching and watching Star waiting on his doorstep the day he came home from Paul’s. He recalls the day Donna visited and screamed at him until his neighbours rushed from their insular lives to help her. He even remembers watching from his bedroom window waiting for his father to return home. His mother cried when she told him Greg had left for good. Satori remembers hitting her, denying her words. She acted as though he had strength beyond his years and shielded herself from his tiny fists.
Satori touches his gate and pushes it open. He strides along the short path to his past and rings the doorbell. He has a key, but he is a visitor now. He hears movement within and voices. The blinds twitch beside him. He waves and smiles. Marian opens the door and embraces him.
‘I’m sorry, Love,’ she says. ‘I didn’t know you were coming.’
‘Do you have company?’
‘Yes, but they’ll be gone in a moment. Come in. Would you wait in the kitchen?’
Satori nods and smiles. He kisses his mother’s cheek and follows her through the hallway. As he passes the open door to the living room he turns and sees four faces stare at him. Two men, one old with white hair and stubble the other younger, around his mother’s age, and two women, dominant, strong looking women with stern faces and cold stares sit on the settee and chairs with tea cups before them. The women draw his attention, one is older, perhaps she is the white-haired man’s partner, and the other looks as though she may be younger than Satori himself. In spite of her scorn she has a pretty face; she holds a mobile phone against her ear, but does not speak. He smiles at the strangers and continues walking to the kitchen.
‘Pour yourself a coffee, Sweetheart. I’ll only be five minutes.’ She closes the living room door behind her and Satori cannot make sense of the hushed voices beyond.
He pours a coffee and waits obediently at the kitchen table. Soon the people filter along the hallway, nodding, holding Marian’s hands and saying goodbye.
‘Who were they?’ he asks, after Marian closes the front door behind them.
She shrugs and pours her own coffee. ‘Friends,’ she answers. ‘So what brings you here? Not that I mind of course. You’re always welcome, but I wasn’t expecting to see you until Sunday.’
‘I just wanted to see you,’ he replies.
‘Is everything okay?’ Her mouth trembles and he waits a moment to see if she has more to say.
‘Of course. It’s just… things aren’t how I expected?’
‘Sarah?’ She frowns.
He knows Marian has never approved of Star, but in spite of their troubles he still feels protective of his girlfriend. ‘In part, I guess. It’s not her fault.’
Marian nods. ‘It isn’t yours either.’
‘Mum, did you ever fall in love again after Dad left?’
‘I have plenty of love in my life. You, my work and my friends, I’m not lonely. Look, Baby, you can come home whenever you want. It doesn’t have to be this way. You said you needed to prove you could be a man. Well, you’ve done that time and time again. If it isn’t working between the two of you, you don’t owe her anything. You repaid that debt in full, remember?’
Satori nods. ‘It’s not that simple. I still love her.’
‘Does she love you?’
Satori stares into his mother’s hazel eyes. Her irises are predominantly grey, like his own, but held within golden haloes. Their colour changes with her mood and the light. If eyes are really the windows of the soul, hers must be in constant flux. He shakes his head.
‘You deserve love,’ she tells him. ‘You deserve someone who will make you happy.’
‘Maybe I’m like you, Mum. Maybe I’m destined to be alone.’
‘I’m not alone, Steve, and neither are you. Look, Baby, come home. Stay here a while. Let me spoil you.’
‘I don’t know, Mum. You have your own life and she needs me.’
‘Are you sure?’
Satori shudders. Marian’s words remind him of those spoken in another land years ago. “Are you sure she needs you to save her?” ‘Yes, I’m sure,’ he answers.
‘Steve?’ Marian asks.
‘Yes, Mum.’
Marian’s eyes dart towards the hallway and back to her son. ‘It’s nothing. I’m just… you know, I worry about you.’
Satori looks at the empty hallway. Shadows of Marian’s friends pass through the door again. The images tug at a distant memory. ‘Do I know those people?’
‘You met most of them years ago. I doubt you’d remember. We just support each other. Steve, you were always so strong headed. You have never taken my advice and you keep secrets from me. Look, years ago you chose your own path. I didn’t approve, but what could I do?’ Her cheeks flush.
Satori exhales, sharply. ‘You worry too much, Mum. I’m still standing. I want to know about those people. Who are they? What do they mean to you?’
Marian frowns. ‘So you are allowed to keep secrets, but I must tell you everything? More coffee?’
Satori glances at his empty mug and nods. ‘I just… I feel I’m missing something.’
Marian fetches the pot and pours dark liquid into both cups. Replacing the pot on the hot plate, she speaks without turning to face her son. ‘We’re just helping a friend who’s in trouble. Do you remember Freya?’ Marian turns t
o face him and returns to her seat.
Satori’s chest tightens. He shakes his head. ‘I haven’t seen her for years.’
‘She moved away. I… Mike… well anyway, we were just looking out for our own.’ She takes a large sip of coffee and purses her lips.
Satori reaches across the table towards Marian. She leans back, out of his reach.
‘Is Freya okay?’ he asks.
‘Sure. She has a baby now. They’re coming home... I… oh, Steve, Steve, where did I go wrong?’ Her eyes grow moist with the word baby and she gazes wistfully across the table.
Satori smiles, stretches his arm further and reaches for his mother’s hand. ‘You never did anything wrong, Mum. You’re perfect.’
She looks down at their conjoined hands, pulls away and wraps both palms around her mug of steaming coffee. ‘I just wish… I could protect you.’
Satori shakes his head. He feels confused. She is hiding something, he can feel it. ‘What are you talking about? All I’ve gone through and you think I need your protection?’
‘You will always be my son. If you had children you’d understand. Your wounds are my wounds, Steve.’
She faces the front door, and he turns to follow her gaze, but all he can see is an empty hallway. When he refocuses on his mother she is shivering. He stands up and moves around the table to her. He squeezes her tightly.
‘This is to do with those friends. Who are they? You don’t need to protect me, Mum. I thought you knew that. What are you afraid of? Let me help you.’ His voice sounds higher than he planned. The sense of calm he wanted to share is tainted by his eagerness to understand.
‘It isn’t like that,’ she says.
‘But this sadness and worry… it has something to do with those people who were here, right?’
‘No,’ she answers.
‘Who are they?’
‘I told you. They’re my friends. We’ve been helping Mike.’
He shakes his head. His mouth tastes bitter. ‘No, it’s more than that. I can feel it. I can taste your lies.’
Marian’s eyes narrow and colour rushes to her cheeks. ‘How dare you?’
Satori breathes deeply, trying to control his anger. He doesn’t want to fight with her. Why can’t she understand that? ‘Mum, remember all those times I would say things and you’d despair because I didn’t make any sense?’
She nods.
‘Well, now I know how you felt.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. Just tell me. Who are those people and why are you afraid for me?’
Marian stands up. She places her cup on a work surface and looks out of the kitchen window then turns back towards him. Her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes deeply. Even so her voice sounds unsteady when she speaks. ‘It’s too late. If we’d made different choices…’ Marian covers her eyes. Her body shakes to the sound of her sobbing. ‘I have a splitting headache. Can you get me some pills please, Love?’
Satori heads for the medicine cupboard, brings her some paracetamol and fills a glass with water. She downs the pills and he returns the glass to the sink. He holds her shoulders, hoping to reassure her.
‘I think I should go and lie down, Love, until the headache goes away. Are you okay to let yourself out?’
Satori frowns. ‘Don’t avoid me Mum. If you really think I need protecting at least tell me from what.’
‘Shhh, Love. My head… ouch… it really hurts.’ She closes her eyes and rubs her forehead. ‘Look, I just don’t know, okay? All I know is something’s coming. It’s angry and powerful. We think we might be able to stop it, but I’ll feel safer if you’re here, with me.’
‘Who thinks you can stop it? Those friends?’
‘I can’t do this right now, Steve, please. I’m your mother. You can trust me.’
Satori shakes his head. He feels dizzy chasing her around in endless spirals of logic. At times his eloquent and intelligent mother gets stuck like this and acts as though she is as muddled as him. Perhaps he can fit the pieces of this particular puzzle together more easily if he does leave? ‘Are you going to be okay?’
‘I’ll be fine. I just need to sleep. Thank you. Give my regards to Sarah when you get home.’
Satori watches as Marian leaves the room. Her shoulders hunch over as she walks. Suddenly, she looks ancient and weak to him. He feels bereft without her strength. ‘Sleep well, Mum. I love you.’
Chapter 12
Mark pulls his coat around him. A fire crackles in a metal bin at the other side of the tunnel. Its promise of warmth calls to him like a siren, but the crowd around the flames warns him to stay back. Who knows whether they are friend or foe? Hiding is safer.
He wonders whether he will see his mother tomorrow. If I do, will I be too frightened to confront her? Why should I be afraid of anything? I’m her son. She has to love me, doesn’t she? Even so, fear consumes him. Greedy faces look at him in expectation, fear in some eyes and desire in others. Everyone seems to want something from him, while all he wants is to be left alone. If only I could wear a cloak to shield me from their prying eyes. The filthy stink of his body should be camouflage enough, but it isn’t. They see him, the real him, through the grime and they want him. He doesn’t know exactly what they want, but he is certain it is something he isn’t willing to give.
A can rattles at the end of the tunnel. Mark looks up and sees a group of young men stride through the darkness towards the fire. The men move confidently and appear strong. They do not shuffle or wheeze. This is not their home. So why are they here? Is it for me? He hears cruel laughter and his body stiffens.
The people around the fire notice the strangers approach. Mud-stained heads turn and grimy bodies jerk inelegantly around the flaming bin. The light in the tunnel shifts and dances. Through strobe-like illumination, the men approach. They look more menacing than ever as their shaven heads are thrown alternately into shadow then light.
The leader twists his arm and a heavy chain uncoils by his side. Mark pushes himself further into shadow as the strangers move closer to the hobos around the fire.
‘Fuck off!’ A drunken man lurches from behind the fire bin towards the group of skinheads.
‘What did you say, Grandpa?’ The leader strides towards the swaying man.
The drunk shakes his head, thinking better of his plan and moves to walk away.
The man with the chain lifts his hand and cracks his metal whip against the skull of the staggering drunk. The vagrant’s knees buckle and he falls to the floor. Stagnant water rises around his body. The skinheads gather around the fallen body like hyenas. Mark notices a thread of blood flow from the man’s head, making the water around him pink.
With a growl, one man pulls back his leg and kicks the hobo in the lower back. Bones crunch, but the man does not cry out. Mark supposes he is unconscious or already dead.
Stifled gasps of shock and confusion rise from the vagrants as they watch their fallen comrade and Mark wonders whether any of them will help. The homeless people in the tunnel outnumber by far the three angry men. Yet the audience leave the arena, fleeing from the brutality like rats scuttling from cats.
Mark stays where he is to watch. The unconscious body becomes a rag doll, lifted by kicks and crushed by chains and the stamping of boots. Red liquid trickles across the ground towards Mark as he tries to comprehend what joy these men might gain from damaging the lifeless body of a stranger.
The kicks become slower and less intense. The men put arms around each other’s shoulders like teammates after a win. They turn in the direction from which they first arrived. As they turn one of the men catches sight of Mark through hazy eyes.
‘Over there,’ he says.
Mark looks left then right, ready to run.
‘Enjoy the show?’ the leader asks him. ‘Waiting for an encore?’
Bending his back, the man holds his forearms towards Mark and gestures with his fingers. Eight fingers waggle a beckoning and behind them the man grins
. His knees are bent slightly and his head cocked to one side. His head is shaven and his heavy, black boots and the turned up cuffs of his jeans are smeared with blood.
Mark stares at the man as the other two move to flank him, cutting off Mark’s escape routes.
‘We’re good here,’ Mark tells the jeering skinhead. ‘Just move along.’
The three men laugh. Sounds crash off the curved brick walls and vibrate against Mark’s eardrums.
‘Yeah, we’re good,’ one of the tribe echoes.
The others nod.
Mark closes his hand around something from the floor and stands up slowly.
‘Uh, uh, uh.’ The leader shakes his head. ‘I hope you weren’t considering leaving so soon.’
‘Of course not,’ Mark answers. ‘Not when the fun is just getting started.’
The men look at each other. Their faces betray confusion.
Mark shakes inertia from his limbs. ‘Are you going to let me pass?’
‘I don’t think so,’ the leader says. ‘Did you know this guy?’
Mark shakes his head.
‘Then why didn’t you leave when you had the chance?’
Mark shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
The leader drops his chain to the floor. Its clatter echoes around the tunnel and Mark’s teeth shudder to the frequency of the sound. When the echoes stop, he balls his hands into fists. The leader steps closer and the other two follow. They are an arm’s reach away.
Mark breathes deeply. Now or never? He ducks and lunges forwards, punching upwards and knocking the leader off his feet.
‘Fuck!’ The leader sits in a dark puddle and rubs his jaw. ‘Wait,’ he tells the others as they move to grab Mark. ‘How old are you?’
‘Thirteen,’ Mark answers.
‘Thirteen.’ The man rises to his feet. He nods at the other two and motions for them to join him. ‘I reckon we could make some money here.’ He nods towards Mark. ‘That boy has a killer right hook.’ The others mumble their agreement. ‘Hey, kid. Want to have a drink with us? I reckon you could make a pretty penny or two.’
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