Highbridge

by Phil Redmond

  ‘Because he’s at the bottom of the food chain?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Matt agreed. ‘And looks like he’s working out all his inner tensions on that countertop this morning.’ His tone changed as something in his binoculars caught his attention. ‘Now then, what’s Fatty doing now?’

  Luke couldn’t make out the detail on the monitor but Matt relayed how Fatchops was struggling to drag an old fridge from the back room towards the damaged cold drinks cabinet. He then started to pull the cabinet away from the wall to make space for the fridge. And as he did he noticed the damage the 50 cal round had made in the plasterwork.

  ‘He’s found the impact point.’

  Luke leaned on the Barrett but kept an eye on the monitor while listening to Matt’s commentary as Fatchops eased the cabinet forward, to see the hole in its back lined up perfectly with the damage to the wall. They both waited. Tense. It was too early for him to discover what was going on. After a moment or two of fingering the damage, perplexed, wondering whether an exploding bottle of cola could do such damage, he backed away. They relaxed. His body language said it all. What else could it be? Even if he knew what he was looking for he wouldn’t be used to seeing – never mind expect to find – the damage from a 50 Cal. Luke heard the relief in Matt’s voice as he described Fatchops giving the damaged drinks cabinet one last shove to make space for the old fridge.

  ‘Do you think he’s wondering if that’s a design fault and it’s still under warranty?’ Matt asked.

  Luke smiled as he checked the Barrett one more time. It would be another cold shot, but from this distance he could probably just point and shoot. Still, they had already laser-ranged the distance so he was ready. The closer distance reduced the margin. No flight time for people to accidentally step into the shot. This time, almost as soon as Luke squeezed the trigger the target would be destroyed. In one way it was easier. But in another way much more dangerous, as they would be in close proximity. Even with a suppressor the noise would be noticeable.

  Again they were relying on the unfamiliar and unknown. And that there would not be many folk around at the time. However, there was always the chance of a passing smartphone and the chance of getting on the evening news. Unlike the previous night, this time they would have to get the job done and get gone, sharpish. Luke glanced at his watch. 30 minutes.

  ‘We’ve only got half an hour before we have to be back for that stupid enrichment lecture,’ Carol shouted from behind the toilet cubicle door.

  ‘He said he would wait for me until lunchtime,’ Becky countered as she continued her pleading to get Tanya and Carol to go to the chippy.

  ‘Listen to yourself,’ Tanya counter-countered, while looking at her bruised eye in the mirror. ‘If you did you’d realise how pathetic you sound.’

  ‘I only want to find out where he is.’

  ‘God, Becky. How many times. Look at this!’ Tanya pointed to her bruised eye, as Carol emerged from the cubicle. ‘And he was with two other girls last night.’

  ‘He said he was only giving them a lift. But you wouldn’t wait to find out, would you?’

  Tanya turned to Carol. Help me out here.

  Carol tried. ‘But why was he giving them a lift to some greasy chippy?’

  ‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask them.’

  ‘Don’t want to know, you mean,’ Carol fired back. ‘You’ve read Lizzie Peterson’s feed about the parties,’ she made the quotation marks gesture to emphasise the point. ‘The parties where they all get off their heads. He was probably rounding them up for his mates.’

  ‘Lizzie Peterson’s a skank,’ Becky tried to protest. Lamely.

  ‘And?’ Carol asked incredulously. ‘I don’t think it’s her social standing they’re after. They don’t even want her standing.’

  ‘Look,’ Becky was becoming tetchy again. ‘I know you hate him. But you don’t know what he was up to any more than I do. So he might have given a couple of girls a lift to help out his friends. It’s their choice and …’ she turned to Tanya as she saw her about to come back in. ‘They go to that chippy because their parents don’t approve of, well, you know.’

  ‘What? Him salivating over white girls?’ Tanya asked, her exasperation getting the better of her. ‘And he’s probably already engaged to some fat cousin he’s never seen in some village he’s never heard of back home.’

  ‘Don’t be so racist.’

  Carol pushed between them. Sensing Tanya’s impatience would cause Becky to stomp off by herself. ‘C’mon Becks, he’s twenty-five or something, isn’t he? And still worrying about what his parents will say about who he dates?’

  ‘It’s … It’s some kind of religious thing. He doesn’t want to upset them.’

  ‘So who’s being racist, then?’ Carol asked.

  ‘It’s not racism. It’s religion,’ Becky responded as she headed out of the door.

  ‘Oh, so that’s OK then? Selective prejudice,’ Carol called as they followed her out.

  ‘And like religion hasn’t led to people killing each other all over the world?’ Tanya chipped in again.

  ‘All right, all right. I get it,’ Becky fired back. Now getting angry herself. ‘It’s not just because you don’t like him. You don’t understand his culture.’ She strode away from them. But towards the Sixth Form Centre.

  Carol turned to Tanya. ‘Well, at least that stopped her going out.’

  ‘Why can’t she see it, Cags?’

  ‘Now listen to yourself!’

  Carol headed off after Becky, leaving Tanya chewing her lip. She had spent most of her life sidestepping predators, but for Becky this was the first big thing. Why couldn’t it have been that moron in her geography group who kept buying her cupcakes?

  It took a moment for the motor to get going, but it wasn’t long before Byron had to jump aside to avoid the spray of artificial snow heading his way.

  ‘Careful, Sean!’ Byron called as he took a long arc to come up behind the snow machine Sean was trying to position it so that the artificial snow would fall directly in front of the entrance doors. ‘Are you sure it wouldn’t be better over the exit?’

  ‘Byron, the whole point is to get people in the Christmas spirit on the way in. So they will spend more inside.’

  ‘Well who’s going to clean it all up when people traipse it inside?’

  ‘It dissolves, like rain. And most people are like you. They’ll dash through it. But hopefully it will make them smile. Especially if they’ve got kids and are coming to see Santa’s Garden.’

  Byron didn’t look too impressed. He didn’t have kids. ‘If, and it’s a big if, they actually know it’s here. I don’t care what young Ben says about social media, it’s only like being in the pub. If you’re there you can join in the conversation. But if you don’t even know where the pub is, how can you? We need to spend money advertising. Telling the real people. The old people—’

  ‘Older people,’ Sean interrupted.

  ‘The people who can come in here on a wet Tuesday afternoon.’

  ‘They those wet people who traipse in, in their wet and muddy wellies?’

  ‘Touché. And I know it’s one of Sandra’s ideas so it will probably work, but you can tell the staff they will need to clean up.’

  ‘Do you really think so,’ Sean replied with a huge grin, as he nodded over Byron’s shoulder.

  Byron turned and let his shoulders sag as several of the staff were already running in and out of the snow, scooping up handfuls and throwing them at each other.

  ‘I think it’s a primeval thing. And …’ Sean said and then indicated a young lad standing under the snow shower taking pictures on his phone and then putting his thumbs to work, ‘I think Ben’s already got the digital gossiping going.’

  He began to walk away as Byron fired one last shot about doubting that Ben had their customer database in his favourites list before going over to remind everyone that they still had work to do. Which Sean also had to do. He pulled out his own phone
and pressed redial.

  ‘Hi. It’s Sean Nolan for Craig, again. Any chance? OK. Yeah, understand. Fine, no problem.’ He then went on hold and listened to Craig’s latest single, wondering exactly what were the chances of getting Craig Harlow to open Santa’s Garden. Probably two. Slim and fat. But just as he was starting to tap along with the music, he was back on with Craig’s PA. And his mood soared.

  ‘Really? He’s considering it? Great. Yeah, I’ll be here all afternoon. Thanks.’ He was about to ask what the hold music track was but the line clicked off. His face started to beam in a broad smile. Their local pop star was considering opening Santa’s Garden. However, he didn’t get much time to dwell on it as his phone sounded the klaxon alert that meant one of the kids was calling. It was Noah. Speaking at light speed as Sean put the phone to his ear.

  ‘Noah, Noah. Slow down. You’re going too fast.’ Sean was standing surrounded by Singing Santas, once again speaking into his phone, knowing that Noah was extremely upset not just by his voice but by the fact that he had actually called. This was way beyond the power of text. ‘Tell me again, from the beginning.’

  By the time Natasha had talked Joey through everything that had been happening with Tanya and Becky over the past few months, he had gone from thinking they had just wandered into something outside the chippy by accident to worrying that his own daughter was slowly being pulled into another modern horror story of drugs and sex abuse. To be fair to Natasha, she had got it all out in about five minutes but he had kept asking her to go over and over the details, trying to make sure he wasn’t simply reacting to media perceptions and local prejudices. He was not alone in regretting the way Highbridge had changed through an influx of outsiders, or offcomers, as the old locals called them, but he had always parked that as a natural resistance to change. Until it came close to his own. Then it became nothing more and nothing less than a threat.

  ‘So, you reckon Becky’s being groomed by this Egyptian bloke?’ he asked again.

  ‘Tanya certainly does. And as usual she is getting herself involved too much.’

  ‘Wonder where she gets that from?’ he smiled.

  She returned the smile, appreciating that he meant them both, but then it hardened. ‘So, as you came back, you obviously feel something needs to be done too?’

  ‘What? Like asking Luke to go and sort them out?’ He said it facetiously, expecting her to treat it as a throwaway, but was completely caught by her response.

  ‘Well, it wouldn’t be anything he’s not used to. And what’s he doing here? He’s never hung around this long before.’

  Joey now decided to deflect. Worried by where this was going. ‘Do you think he might just want to take a break?’ He then tried to use the same line he had with Hilary Jardine. ‘Spend some time at home? On the anniversary of Janey’s death?’

  Natasha considered this, but shook her head. She knew Luke almost as well as Joey. Not just from personal experience, but from all the tales Joey had told her. And since he had married her sister-in-law. ‘He’s been running ever since Janey. So I don’t see why he’d suddenly decide to settle down. Here.’

  ‘He might,’ Joey offered, still trying to steer her away from where he thought this conversation would inevitably end up.

  ‘Yeah. Like getting you into a fight down the Lion?’

  ‘OK,’ Joey conceded. ‘He might still be a bit messed up, but what I’m more concerned about is why you are suddenly wanting to go to war.’

  ‘I … I dunno, really. Last night. God, if you’d seen them when they first got back. In fact when you see the bruise on Tanya’s face. If you’d been here then, as I said, I’d probably be still trying to bail you out.’

  He got up and squatted next to her, hooking his arm round her shoulders. ‘So? I’m here. As you said. When you need me. But …’ he hesitated before posing the question that would take them over a line. ‘What do you really want me to do?’

  She held his stare for a moment. His eyes had gone cold. She knew he wouldn’t have come back if he wasn’t really concerned. Which meant that no matter what he said, he knew more than he was admitting. Which meant he was ready to do something. He was really asking her permission.

  Her own eyes hardened. ‘You’re already up to something, aren’t you? You and Luke?’

  Joey hesitated. He wasn’t sure how she would react. But she had asked. ‘You don’t need to know.’

  Suddenly she felt cold. Perhaps the shiver people often spoke about going down the spine. Although she had asked the question, she hadn’t really expected that answer. She’d always known who and what Joey was. How he’d changed or, more correctly, held himself in check. For her. So she should have expected something like this. But hearing the words brought it home. It was too easy to constantly say something needed to be done about this, that or the other, but only a few people would have the nerve to actually do anything. She knew he had. But was that what she really wanted? She stood up and walked across to the patio doors to let Roscoe back in, partly to give herself a moment or two to think.

  Joey stood and leaned against the table. Waiting. Watching. As she stood looking out across the garden where the kids had grown up. Where they had had many a BBQ. A happy lifestyle perhaps about to be put in jeopardy.

  ‘How risky will it be?’

  ‘You don’t need to know that either,’ came the matter-of-fact response. In fact, too matter-of-fact.’

  ‘Christ, Joe. It’s not some game or street corner brawl we’re talking about.’

  ‘And what are we talking about, Nat?’

  He was pushing. She knew. He was pushing to get that permission. He didn’t want her involved in the details but he wanted her to be aware of what he might get involved in.

  ‘I … I don’t know, Joe.’ She turned back to face him. ‘Perhaps it’s all … Last night. The way my mum is. That’s where I was before.’

  ‘Is she really getting worse?’

  She nodded. ‘And something else to deal with.’ But then she brought them back to the point. ‘Perhaps all I want is what you’ve just given me. To be back here. With me. Sharing the load?’

  ‘OK. You’ve got that. But …’ He hesitated again. Not sure how far to go. But, as always, he needed to go the extra step. ‘That wasn’t how it sounded on the phone last night. Or before.’

  ‘I wanted them dead last night,’ she admitted. ‘Which is probably why it is best to sleep on these things.’

  ‘And having done that … what do you want to do?’

  Natasha could only chew her lip. The line was right in front of her. Did she really want to cross it?

  Forty-five minutes after taking the call from Noah, Sean was in the Custody Suite standing in front of a custody sergeant who looked younger than Noah and wondering why life did this. One minute he’s on the phone ecstatic because Craig Harlow is considering opening Santa’s Garden, yet without giving him any time to really savour the moment that same phone is informing him that his son has been arrested for public disorder. Fifteen minutes later they were in the garden centre Land Rover heading home with Noah trying to explain to his father why they should sue the police for wrongful arrest, harassment, entrapment and brutality while disrupting a perfectly peaceful protest in the park.

  By the time they reached home, Sean was trying to explain to Noah that the police were not victimising him and his friends but trying to act on behalf of the whole community by preventing him and his co-protesters from coming to any harm.

  It was met with a typical teenage ‘as if’ look. Followed by, ‘And I don’t need the Mark Twain quote about how much I’ll realise how wise you are by the time I leave university.’

  ‘The point, Noah –’ Sean toughened up as he brought the car to a stop outside the house – ‘is that it stays with you for the rest of your life. On a file somewhere. Never mind all this stuff about spent convictions and sealed files. They never delete anything. And you don’t know where you will want to be in the future. And how it might
count against you.’

  ‘Oh right. “Teenage kid arrested for trying to save a children’s playground.” Definitely be on the US Homeland watch list with that one.’ With that parting shot Noah went to get out of the car, but Sean put his hand on his arm. Just enough to stop him.

  ‘No, but “organising protests against the state” might. It depends who writes the report.’

  ‘Yeah, and history is written by the victors, Dad. But our democracy is about controlling the report writers, isn’t it? And the only way we can do that is to make them and everyone else aware of what is going on. Evil prospers when good men remain silent and all that?’ He gathered his stuff ready to bail out, but turned back to face Sean. ‘Er, I think someone in this car once told me that.’

  With that verbal dig he was out and on his way into the house, ignoring the Singing Santa trying to wish him a Merry Christmas, as Sean sat reflecting on hearing his own words thrown back at him. Hire a teenager, he concluded. While they know everything.

  As he got out of the Land Rover, Sandra’s Mercedes SLR 300 swung into the drive and she emerged, still in her tennis gear.

  ‘Have you heard what he’s been up to?’ Sean called, hoping for some support.

  ‘The whole town has,’ she replied, holding up her phone as she swept past to find Noah, which she did at the fridge. ‘I had to leave when we were 5–3 up in the final set for this.’

  ‘Sor-ree. But I didn’t organise the timings. And that’s another thing.’ Noah turned back to his father. ‘Invasion of privacy.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They must have hacked into our accounts or something to get there that fast. We were only there five minutes before the riot squad turned up.’

  ‘You mean this account?’ Sandra offered her phone and then did what everyone does in times of crisis: put the kettle on. ‘I suppose you’ll want to eat now you’re here.’

  As neither responded she took that as consent and started to drag the necessary components out of the fridge.

  Noah had looked at the phone, passed it to his father and flopped on to the bench that wrapped round the kitchen table wall. Deflated. Sean was now looking at the phone and grinning.