Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  ‘What results?’ She put the tea on the table and sat down opposite him. ‘Go on, how will you be able to judge?’

  But Sandra didn’t get to answer. A third voice entered the debate.

  ‘Hear you want to teach kids how to use drugs, Dad.’

  ‘What?’ Sandra turned to face Noah, who was coming into the kitchen dangling his car keys from his finger while treading his usual path to the fridge.

  ‘Yeah, Dad ripped into the chatterati or something. Said we teach kids how to use tobacco and alcohol so we should do it with drugs. The Head was all over it this afternoon.’

  Noah re-emerged with what appeared to be a piece of ham wrapped round a chunk of cheese. Then grinned at his mother’s obvious discomfort. ‘She asked me if I had “any worries” at home.’ He then turned to Sean. ‘Good one, Dad.’

  ‘So now you know which part of your so-called marketing worked,’ Sandra shot at Sean. Then back to Noah. ‘She wasn’t serious, was she?’

  ‘As serious as any retard can be.’

  ‘Don’t use that word.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mum. You’ll still be able to walk down the High Street without people pointing at you. They think it’s Dad sniffing the plants in the greenhouses. And everyone knows the Head’s a trembler. First sign of any controversy and she panics. Anyway, I’m just going to Josh’s for a bit. See you later.’

  ‘We should have put you on that curfew insurance scheme. I don’t like you driving at night.’

  ‘Except when you two have been on the drugs, you mean?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Dad’ll explain. Socially acceptable, but still a drug, isn’t it, Dad? Alcohol?’ With that he threw a sarcastic smile at Sean, received one back and left. His job there was done.

  Sean started to smile. Pleased. Imagining the whittering that must have gone on after his speech.

  ‘See,’ he said to Sandra. ‘That’s a result.’

  ‘It’s not funny, Sean. The Head of the kids’ school thinks you’re some kind of druggie?’ But she noticed he was drifting on to something else.

  ‘Remember that motorhome we had? And we ended up travelling because you were always asking that sort of question. Well, it was more “who are they to judge”?’

  She finally grinned as she accepted her own words thrown back at her. He had that impish, mischievous glint in his eye that she had fallen for all those years ago. Mr Goody Two-Shoes who was desperate to be a rebel like his little brother Joey. The Mr Perfect who loved being top of the form but hated being called a spod. Who loved being deputy head boy but hated not being able to kick a ball straight like little brother Joey. Who could talk for Britain with every girl in the school but was always too shy to ask for a date. The Mr Clean who never traded in cash and hated drugs. How could anyone think he was some form of closet druggie? Not her Mr Softie.

  ‘Wish we’d just kept going sometimes,’ she smiled.

  ‘Nah, there was never enough room for the kids.’

  ‘Is it that, then? All this, throwing our money at community causes because you worry what they think of you?’

  ‘Bigging myself up, you mean?’

  ‘Go on, how much did it cost us?’

  ‘Sean spotted the emphasis on “us”. He let out a sigh of surrender. ‘Probably around five hundred for the food and lost business.’

  ‘And the discount.’

  ‘Yeah. But that lot wouldn’t have spent much anyway. They wouldn’t have been there in the first place, so whatever they spent we made.’

  ‘You’re too soft a touch. Do you know that?’

  ‘Better than bigging myself up?’

  ‘Probably. At that price though I wish I had come now. I’d have loved to have seen Julia Erskine’s face. And that prat Harold Peagram.’

  ‘You could always come to the CAD consultation tonight. I’m, er, we’re not paying for that.’

  She shook her head. ‘Same old, same old. Having Rupert Bronks staring at my breasts all night?’

  Sean grinned. ‘I had noticed, but I can’t really blame him. Even in that top.’

  She ignored the comment as she stood to go. ‘But you know what, Sean. If you really want to do something, do it. Don’t mess about. If you’re going to waste our money on good causes, pick something that will really make a difference locally.’ She headed for the door, but stopped and turned back. ‘Or go into politics for yourself. I’d also love to see Peagram’s face if you announced you were standing in the election. I’m going to see how Megan’s getting on with her homework.’

  Sean stared at the door. Was she really serious? Go into politics? After everything they had both said about politicians in the past? What everyone seemed to think about them at the moment? He had toyed with the idea before but always wondered if he could do any good as an individual councillor. He quite liked the whole networking scene, but getting anything done would mean he’d have to work his way in and then up one of the main political parties that seemed to dominate everything. More and more their idea of a good local candidate was a good national party member, which made it all feel close to the sort of nationalist totalitarian state parties that democracies were supposed to counter. Sean knew he would not be seen as one of the club so had always pushed the thought away.

  He picked up his mug and went across to put it on the drainer, but then decided he didn’t want another ear-bashing about why he couldn’t put it actually in the dishwasher. He put it on the top rack and let the door swing up. Yes, he grinned, he might not make a difference outside the political clique, but, like her, he’d love to see Harold Peagram’s face.

  ‘No, they’re all fine, Joe.’

  Natasha was on the house phone as Joey had got frustrated trying to get through on the mobiles. But his frustration was nothing against Natasha’s.

  ‘It’s those swines down at the chippy, Joe,’ she said.

  Joey had already processed that Luke and Matt had done something. But as Tanya was safe he wasn’t concerned about that. It was the vehemence that took him completely by surprise, as did the speed at which Natasha was winding herself up.

  ‘You may have been away, Joe, but you must know what’s going on down there. Those guys. The drugs. The girls. Something’s got to be done. Someone’s got to do—’

  ‘Hold on. Wait. Hang on.’ Joey was scrambling to catch up. Was this just mother’s talk or was she winding up to telling him she knew what he and Luke were up to? ‘Nat, Nat. Slow down. Talk to me. What guys? What drugs? And what girls?’

  ‘Everyone knows, Joe. The so-called parties. Getting young girls off their heads with—’

  ‘What?’ This was something new to Joey. ‘Are you saying Tan was—’

  ‘No. No. She was just there looking for Becky’s boyfriend and—’

  ‘Is she involved?’

  ‘Joe, look, accept that you’re not here. You don’t know. And you’re not going to catch up over the phone. God only knows what happened down there tonight.’

  Joey had some idea, but couldn’t share it with her.

  ‘OK. Yeah. But. You sure Tan’s OK? Definitely?’ He heard himself still trying to sound calm while his mind was in overdrive wondering what the hell Luke was thinking, doing something when Tanya was around.

  ‘Yes. Yes,’ Natasha replied, causing Joey to relax slightly, but not for long. ‘She’s got a bit of a bruise …’

  This additional bit of news immediately heightened Joey’s anxiety about what Luke might have done. And what might have happened to his daughter. Again. But Natasha immediately sensed his anxiety coming down the line and knowing she was stepping into an area she’d prefer to keep from Tanya, she said, ‘I’ll call you back on my mobile.’

  With that she hung up the house phone and looked across at Tanya, who, still holding the improvised ice pack to her eye had moved on from water to making hot chocolate, while Carol was at the toaster and Becky was scrolling her phone. They seemed to be getting back to normal.

  Natasha was already
pressing Joe’s icon as she stepped out on to the patio, quickly closing the sliding door and not realising she nearly decapitated Roscoe who was on her way to join her. He pulled back just in time, then sat wondering what was so secret even he wasn’t allowed to hear.

  ‘She’s OK, Joe. Honestly. Sounds like they walked into some kind of aggro going on inside the chippy.’ She stopped talking and listened to his breathing. It was slow but hard. She knew he was trying to keep himself in check. Just as she knew he was probably rerunning what he had been saying to her over the weekend.

  ‘You couldn’t have done anything, Joe,’ she quickly added. He didn’t respond. She sensed he was fighting a similar thought. ‘You can’t follow her round all the time.’

  ‘But,’ he finally replied. Now calm. Cold and determined. She could imagine his back stiffening, hands clenching and unclenching. ‘I could be down that chippy now, though, couldn’t I?’

  ‘And back in the cop shop again. What good would that do us?’

  She could hear the breathing getting lighter. He was trying hard to control his frustration. ‘Why are you so calm, anyway?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not,’ she replied. Making a greater effort to calm her own breathing. ‘I’d like to go down there myself right now …’

  ‘Nat, don’t you even—’ But he heard her voice go up a pitch as she cut across him.

  ‘I’m just telling you how I feel. How everyone feels, probably.’

  ‘About what?’ Joey asked. Now cautious.

  ‘Haven’t you been listening to what your Sean and Sandra have been banging on about all these months? Or their Noah’s campaign to clean up the park?’

  ‘I try not to.’

  ‘Don’t be flippant, Joe.’ She paused, realising she was getting wound up again, before adding, ‘Something does need to be done. Somebody needs to sort them out, Joe. If the police won’t do it. Someone has to.’

  This took him completely by surprise. This was not like her. She usually dismissed Sean’s rants as naïve do-gooder ramblings. ‘Er, what exactly are you saying, Nat?’

  ‘I’m saying, Joe –’ Natasha explained. Slowly, deliberately – ‘that you’re not the only one who has time to think when we’re apart. I know you, Nolan. And I know Luke Carlton.’

  She let it hang in the air. Waiting for his response. He stood staring at the occasional electrical flashes that came from the overground electric rails. She always used his surname when she was making the point of where he had come from. Who and what she had married. Did she really know? Was she fishing? Or was this just something she’d dreamed up herself?

  Before he could decide which one to bet on, he heard her voice again. She had turned to see Tanya and the others getting up as though they were getting ready to go out again. Damn.

  ‘Look, I’ll have to call you back.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’m freezing. I’m outside on the patio.’

  ‘That’s why they’re called mobiles, Nat. You can keep talking as you change locations and—’

  But she was in a hurry to stop Tanya from leaving. ‘Yeah, I know, but I need a sweater too. Call you back.’

  Joey was left hanging in cyberspace. Not even a quick luvya. What’s she keeping from me, he wondered. What did she mean about girls and partying? He stood looking at the urban skyline, thinking it through. Had Luke taken the shot? If he had, surely Tanya would have seen something? But would Luke really do that if Tanya was around? No, not if anyone was around. He’d told Joey about waiting for that clear five seconds. No witnesses. So, what had Tanya walked into? Whatever it was, it was a reminder that within a couple of weeks the apple of his eye had twice come close to being badly hurt.

  He tapped the messages icon and scrolled to Luke’s number. But he knew he couldn’t text. He’d just have to wait. Which only lasted about five more electrical flashes on the horizon before he climbed back through the window, threw his stuff in his bag and was out the door. He’d call Benno in the morning.

  Everything in the chippy was now calm, relatively. Fatchops, far from being splattered all over the walls, was leaning against the counter wheezing as the bearded one held a few pieces of crumpled wrapping paper against a cut on his forehead. The beardless one still appeared agitated by the rear door, while Mercedes was calming down as he twisted and turned, trying to gauge how bad his sticky Pradas were. He then went to examine the drinks cabinet but feeling the stickiness seeping between his legs he turned and aimed another kick at Fatchops.

  Kicking ‘must be a family thing,’ Matt said, with a chuckle as, up on the hill, he pulled away from the spotting scope and prepared to pull out. Luke waited another second or two then slid back himself with a sigh of relief. He and Matt had remained motionless as they waited for the bullet’s impact, thankful that at 900 metres per second it easily outpaced Tanya’s run. She had arrived after its kinetic energy tore through the glass door of the drinks cabinet and blew six 2-litre Coke bottles apart with enough explosive force to set off a chain reaction of bursting cans as they flew off the shelves. The bullet had then passed through the cabinet, coming to rest embedded in the damp plasterwork behind. It was the impact noise that had caused Fatchops to turn, startled, and then slip on the cascade of Coke foam erupting from the shattered cabinet. He started to slide sideways, tried to stop himself by grabbing at the counter but only managed to spin so that he cracked his head on the way down, clutching and clawing at the wrapping paper. That was the moment Tanya had arrived, closely followed by Becky and Carol, only to be met by Mercedes and his associates rushing from the back of the shop. It had got a bit rough and heavy handed, but at least the bearded one had shoved them out of harm’s way. That might help him later. But for Luke and Matt, it was time to move on.

  They slid out of the hide, with the broken-down Barrett split between Matt’s guitar case and Luke’s backpack. They would have preferred to just go. With the collectors coming later. That way no one is connected. The shooters have no weapons and the collectors can claim they stumbled across it all. Using women and kids was even safer, as every rebel force in history had learned. Democracy’s greatest weakness was its most valued principle: civil liberties.

  Still, no one should be looking, but to help cover their activities they tipped out the contents of a bin bag. Their own ration pack boxes were replaced with a mixture of crushed soft drinks, lager cans, a collection of sweets, fast food and tobacco packaging. They wanted it to look like a temporary kids’ hangout.

  While they were clearing up, so too were Mercedes and Fatchops who were in the back of the shop trying to figure out what had happened. The counter servers had been sent home, as had the guy in the alley who acted as banker, along with a few disgruntled customers hoping for either their special forks or sausage curry.

  After fifteen minutes or so of going over and over the fact that there was no one else in the shop, no one else in the street except for those stupid girls looking for Husani, and no other damage anywhere, they had all concluded that perhaps it was just a bottle exploding. Especially as they had retrieved one of the soggy labels to discover it was from the fake batch they had bought in from India.

  Any further investigation was abandoned when the bearded one came through from the house with one of the young girls who was obviously wondering what Mercedes was doing. Immediately he lost interest in Fatchops’s sensory powers or where the drinks came from, and went back to the real reason he had turned up tonight, but not before he reached over and picked up a few special forks that had avoided being deep-fat fried. He then waved for the bearded one to help Fatchops clear up, as he led the young girl back inside. Maybe she could help him out of his sticky Pradas.

  All this was still being watched by Matt through a small night-spotting monocular as Luke finally gathered everything together.

  ‘Looks like they bought it,’ Matt said as he set up a huge commercial firework rocket and tube. ‘We could have done with a few of these when we got caught in that goat
market ambush.’

  ‘They’re probably banned under some goat protection convention,’ Luke responded as he started off down the hill. After a moment or two to allow him to get a safe distance away, Matt did one last 360 with the night scope. All seemed clear so he lit the long fuse of the rocket and a couple of other ground-based fireworks before, as the instructions said, retreating to a safe distance, going the opposite way to Luke. Up the hill. By the time the rocket roared and soared skyward to explode with a sonic boom and brilliant starburst that would be heard and seen all over Highbridge, Luke was on his way down the hill, silhouetted against the Golden Rain that was spewing out behind him.

  Now, if anyone had seen the Barrett’s muzzle flash and bothered to climb up to investigate they would leave thinking it was ‘just kids’ messing about with fireworks. Like the initial reaction in the chippy. They would assume what they were already expecting. Job done. Get gone.

  ‘Quiet, Roscoe,’ Natasha soothed as she stroked his head, stepping out once again on to the patio. ‘It’s only a firework.’

  She waited, as did Roscoe, head up, ears primed, but after a few minutes both assumed that was it. They then turned and looked back into the kitchen, now a scene of typical teenage occupation. Natasha had managed to talk Tanya’s friends into staying put, so Tanya was handing out the hot chocolate. Carol was fighting someone in a distant multi-room, probably Ross, for control of the Sky EPG while Becky was thumbing her way through her phone menus. Natasha and Roscoe exchanged looks. Neither really wanted to go back but both thought they should.

  ‘So, excitement over for the night then, boy?’ Natasha asked as she stepped back inside and went to make herself a cup of tea, while Roscoe headed for the treats cupboard. He had, after all, warned them of the firework. However, as no one was paying attention he went and flopped back into his basket. Natasha realised she was unlikely to get much more out of her daughter as she was now preoccupied, reconnected to her digital universe, so she turned her attention to Carol, still trying to get control of the Sky Box. She stepped across, took the remote and pressed 204. There was no counter entry. ‘If they see that, they know I am looking for something to watch.’