There was something about the man that Jack recognised. Somehow he knew they were going to follow him. He knew it was the right thing to do. He knew it would change their lives for the better.
“Mi, what are you thinking?” Jack said.
“You have to trust me. I need you to trust me,” the youth said.
“The One Eyed Dog?” Mia asked.
“Thirty minutes,” he said, nodding.
“OK,” Mia said.
He stood up, picked up his bag, pulled his hoodie further over his face and stood facing the doors, waiting for the train to stop.
Sixteen
The plan, the plan, the plan, the plan. By the time Ashley had dragged, then hobbled, and finally walked his broken body, and his wounded pride, to his front door, he felt pretty much normal again. Apart from the hideous pain in his neck. He rubbed it. He flinched and fell into the door, crippled in agony. The pain seared through him, like needles pushed under his fingernails. He pushed his hands against the door to steady himself, he squeezed his eyes shut, and breathed deeply through his mouth. Finally, the shooting sensations subsided. He ran a finger lightly over his neck; he could actually feel the indent where Marc’s hands had been. Wow, he thought, he had really blown it this time. ‘What on Earth was I thinking by saying something like that to Marc?’ He kept going over and over the scenario with Marc in his mind, all the moments before he blacked out. It annoyed him even more. There was absolutely nothing he could do about that now. Nothing at all.
He stared at the door handle. The thought of going inside was filling him with dread, but staying outside was filling him with dread too; these two were really making him feel like the subordinate he was. He gulped down his swollen pride. He needed their favour.
“Thanks, bud,” he said turning around and looking up at Dwayne. He tried to give him the most pathetic wounded mutt look he could conjure up. “Thanks, Lise,” he added slowly turning his now hanging, woeful, head to face her. He smiled pitifully.
“Don’t worry mate,” Dwayne said, putting his hand on Ashley’s shoulder, gripping it firmly, and looking down into his eyes. “I’ll put in a good word for yo’.”
“Well… if you think it’ll help,” Ashley replied looking away from Dwayne all bashful and embarrassed.
“Naaa,” Dwayne laughed, letting go of Ashley’s shoulder and rubbing his hands together, “but I’ll do me best. I know yo’ didn’t mean it. Marc’ll come round, eventually. He knows like I know, we need’s yo’ Gash. You’s the ideas man.”
Ashley couldn’t hold back a genuine smirk. Dwayne had succeeded in flattering him, making him feel a bit better, albeit, fleetingly.
“You knows it,” Dwayne winked. “See yo’ later homes.” He fist pumped Ashley’s fist and put his arm round Elise.
“See yo’, Gash,” Elise said, before leaning forward, tiptoeing, and kissing him on the cheek. “You need to start thinking straight bud.” She tapped the side of his head with her index finger. “Yo’ needs to think about all of us, not just you, alright.”
“Yeah… I know,” Ashley forced out, then smiled widely to hide his clenched teeth. He touched the kiss mark on his face. “See ya.”
His face dropped as soon as they turned. He watched them walk away arm in arm, Dwayne’s hand was snaking down to touch her arse. She didn’t move it away. Ashley knew what was next. It was so obvious. He rolled his eyes and shook the thought away. He turned and looked at the other high rises. It was even more depressing than it had been this morning. He closed his eyes and breathed in the hot, muggy evening air.
‘I need to get the Hell out of here’, he whispered to himself. ‘I need to go now’. He opened his eyes and glanced up and into the distance. The Sun was beginning to set. It was disappearing behind one of the tower-blocks. It was time to decide what he was going to do, once and for all. He had no doubt that he was going to do it, but how? Was he really brave enough do it alone? He had to be. Absolutely. He slammed open the front door and began stomping down the hallway. He smelt tobacco smoke, he sighed, gritted his teeth, and wished he hadn’t been so loud.
“Who the fucks that?” came the drunken call from the living room.
Ashley began tiptoeing towards his bedroom.
“Ashley, I know it’s you.”
A puff of smoke came out of the living room doorway. He stood perfectly still. If he didn’t move or make a sound, perhaps the tele would distract her, as usual. She turned the volume down. He winced.
“Ashley fuckin’ come here.”
He grimaced, held his breath, and tentatively stepped forward. He stood in the doorway, holding onto the frame. She was sat smoking the cheapest rolling tobacco available. It was in a yellow stained white paper packet and was probably crawling with chemicals and worse, so much worse. Where did it all go wrong? He shuddered. To top it off, she was sipping from a glass of moonshine and water. Her taste-buds were entirely non-existent these days. She smiled at him with her blackened tooth smile.
“Come and sit dayn.”
She slapped the old moth-eaten sofa seat beside her. A cloud of dust flew into the air. His lip curled. He would never end up like her, would he? No fucking way! The endless flow of men he used to call ‘Dad’ flashed across his mind. He often wondered which one was his real Father. Hopefully not the wife beaters. Everything was such a mess, not least her memory, she had no idea. Now old and lonely, she had her alcohol and her drugs to block out the worse of her miserable reality. All their realities.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demanded slurring her words. “Sit dayn.”
If there was ever any doubt in his head about doing the plan, it was annihilated in this moment.
“Nay.” She slapped the sofa again.
Resistance was futile. She was on one now. He slowly fell forwards into the room while holding onto the door-frame. He hung onto it, suspending himself forwards into the room for a moment. She looked up at him and rolled her eyes. He let go of the door frame with one arm and swung in, then let go completely. He skulked around the sofa beside her, and slowly lowered himself down to sit as far away from her as he could possibly get. But, even at a slight distance, there was no escaping the smells which clung to her, the cacophony of stale body odour, moonshine, and tobacco. Her breath was the worse. She leaned her skeletal body, with its yellowy, leathery skin, towards him. Her wrinkles seemed to be multiplying day on day. He pulled away repulsed.
“What happened to yer neck?” she asked, tugging at the collar of his hoodie.
“Get off.” He ripped her arm off of him and threw it away.
“Calm dayn, have some drink.” She leaned over to her side table and filled the clean glass she always kept there for visitors. “There you go.” She shoved it into his hand, a bit spilt over the side.
He closed his eyes, sucked his lips in and held them between his teeth. He held his breath and counted to five in his head. She tutted. He opened his eyes and looked at the cloudy liquid in the glass. It was not at all tempting. He turned the glass round and round in his hand, clockwise, then anti-clockwise, he watched the liquid splash about, the cloudiness, and bittiness, spinning and spinning, almost tipping over the edge. He lifted it to his nose, he winced, wow, exactly like methylated spirit. Yum.
“Have a sip, son, you’ll feel better, it’ll take the edge off.”
“The edge off what…?”
“The edge off your high bloody horse, that’s what. You know what I mean.”
He lifted the glass to his lips, held his breath again, then downed the whole lot in one foul tidal-wave. It burned all the way down to his stomach. He gasped for air and thumped his chest.
“Be careful. You don’t want to go blind.” She sipped her drink.
“That’s what you think,” he muttered.
The alcohol started working its way into his veins and circulating up to his brain. She was actually right, for once. He did feel a tiny bit better. The plan was becoming more of a reality. Perhaps she did have a part
to play.
“Pour me another,” he said shoving the glass into her hand.
She did as commanded and handed him a full glass.
“What happened to yer neck?” she asked again.
“That arsehole Marc, that’s what’s happened to my neck,” he spat angrily.
She started cackling to herself. He couldn’t believe it. For a while he just watched her hunched over body going up and down to the beat of her own laugh. His mouth hung open.
“You’re always so dramatic Ashley,” she said finally noticing his gaping mouth. “Oh you two will never learn, will ya?” She slapped his thigh playfully.
He grimaced and looked away from her in disgust. He sipped his drink. She was still cackling. She sucked on a roll up. A cloud of putrid smoke passed before his eyes.
“What’s so funny?” he snapped.
“You and him’s been fighting since you was both tots. You’ll be alright. Never you mind about him,” she said waving it off. “He loves you.”
“Is that all you can say? He almost killed me.”
“But he didn’t, did he? You’ll be fine. A Mother knows.”
“What do you know?”
“More than you think ya cunt.” She sucked down more tobacco.
Ashley was fighting the sensation to grab her by her scrawny neck, see how she’d like it. She’d probably break in two. He enjoyed that thought. But what was the point? She was suffering enough already. Just look at her. She was pathetic. He sipped his drink and stared at the muted tele. She shimmied towards him and put her arm over his shoulder and attempted to pull him closer. The B.O, the B.O. Her touch brought him out in hives. His face wrinkled in repulsion. He wriggled and writhed out of her loathsome grasp. She let him go.
“You need to relax,” she said rolling back into her groove. “You’re going to do yourself an injury. I can see why Marc went crazy on your arse.”
Ashley was livid. He was shaking so fast, it was almost imperceptible. He gritted his teeth. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm, he told himself over and over. He sipped his moonshine.
“Get a grip, my boy. Everything’s going to be OK.”
This time Ashley laughed out loud and long. She laughed too. As if…? What a moron, he thought.
“That’s better,” she said. “You don’t know what a difference it makes to see you smiling.”
“Whatever.”
“You know I loves you right.” She leaned towards him and kissed his forehead. He snapped away, his nose wrinkled.
What was the right thing to say here? What could he say that would allow him to leave the quickest?
“Yes Mum, I know you love me. OK”
“And you know I have your best interests at heart.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“OK,” he huffed, “you have my best interests at heart.”
“You need to make up with Marc.”
“God Mum,” he scowled. “Why do you love Marc so much?”
“I don’t love Marc, but I know you need him. He’s strong. The gangs strong when you’re together, you need them. I’d hate to think of you out there all alone when I’m gone. You need to protect your sisters too. The gang can do that.”
Silence followed. He hated Marc. Why was everyone so stupid? Stay calm, he thought. Say what she wants to hear.
“I’m going to make up with Marc alright. We just had a little disagreement that’s all.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now fuck off and stop drinking all me moonshine,” she cackled.
They finished their drinks. She turned the volume up on the tele. Finally, his cue to leave.
Back in his room, he sat down on the bed and glared at his reflection in the dusty mirror. The Sun was almost completely gone. Then the electric died. He could hear his Mother screaming obscenities at the now blank TV. He lit some candles. He needed to think. He lay down on the bed and thought for a long time. The plan was running through his mind over and over. He truly believed he had thought of every possible scenario. It was easy, once he was up there, there wasn’t really that much to it. Not really. The calls he’d taped were absolutely undeniable. It was possible, so possible. There was nothing more to go over. He was exhausting himself visualising the same scene. He knew the area well. He had staked out the flats. He knew what he was up against. He knew where all the entrances and exits were. He knew all the paths and getaway routes. He knew the best time to do it. He had weapons, masks, gloves, a get-away car, and he had the codes. Everything was in place. It was calling him, willing him. But, could he do it alone? Yes, he could. He was becoming more confident that he could do it on his own. It was easy after all. Why bother splitting the money? It could all be his. All he needed was the guts to go out and do it. All he needed was the courage, the confidence, the cool, and tonnes of it. He was sure it was possible. It was possible. He knew it. He lay down staring up at the ceiling in the candle-light. They were creating inspired images on the wall in the flickering lights. His eyes felt heavy. He set his alarm, and then closed his eyes.
The alarm sounded.
“Shit, shit, shit.”
He jumped up and ran into the living room. His Mother was snoring. Drool was dripping onto her chest and pooling. He cringed and fought the urge to run away. He stepped into the room and poured himself a quarter of a glass of neat moonshine. He downed it and almost collapsed at the rancid taste and volume. He poured another half glass. Then quarter filled an old plastic bottle, which he shoved into his pocket. In the kitchen, he made a strong coffee in the biggest mug they had and poured the moonshine from the glass into the coffee cup.
He sat on the edge of his bed and drank some of the coffee and moonshine mix. He retched at every sip.
“Now or never, now or never, now or never, now, now, now.”
He stood up, finished his homemade coffee liqueur with a grimace, then grabbed his bag, pulled his hoodie over his head, and left the flat for what he hoped would be the last time.
Seventeen
The doorbell rang. Sadie froze. Who was it? Oh yeah, it was the brats from over the road. Her parents were babysitting for the Meades tonight. Her Mother had taken great pleasure in explaining to her, only yesterday, that the Meades were off to visit some posh acquaintances at the Millennial Compound.
“The Millennial Compound, Sadie,” her Mother had said. “If we play our cards right, maybe we’ll be invited there as well one day.” The glee was profound.
What a joke, Sadie thought. She didn’t want to go to some other uptight compound. This one was bad enough.
Her parents answered the front door. Sadie listened silently at the top of the stairs. She heard the Meade’s little boy run into the living room and start chatting wildly to her brother. It was a chance for the kids to indulge in the gross sweets her parents bought for the occasion, and they could stay up late too, what a treat! She could hear the boys laughing and joking. Soon he would know the truth about their parents. The liars. She listened to the adults. They were acting like everything was normal, as usual.
“Yep that’s absolutely fine,” her Mother was saying.
“You’re a Godsend Helen, thank you so much.”
“No, it’s our pleasure, anything at all. As long as you remember us when you move to the Millennial compound.” Helen replied in an annoyingly jovial tone.
Sadie rolled her eyes.
“Of course, Hel,” Mrs Meade said. “How could I forget you.”
The baby started crying.
Sadie crept back into her bedroom. She hated them all. They were all pretending like everything was supposed to be this way. But things were most definitely not supposed to be this way. And she was definitely not OK, and after tonight they never would be normal for any of them again either. Haha, she thought, fuck the Millennial Compound… and everyone in it. She gritted her teeth at the thought of it all. She felt like her heart was about to implode, and nobody cared, nobody saw, n
obody could possibly understand. She was alone, trapped, and ready to break free from her chains. Tears started rolling down her cheeks again. She furiously wiped them away. She would not succumb to useless emotions. Calm down Sadie, Calm down. She needed anger for the fight.
She heard the front door close, and her parents walk off down the hallway into the living room. It was now or never. She ran to her Father’s office and broke into the desk. She had become something of an expert at doing this over the past few weeks. She stuffed her bag with more cigarettes, some of the marijuana, and cash. Then snuck into her parent's bedroom. She needed some of her Mother’s old clothes which she kept hidden in an old cardboard box at the back of the wardrobe. Sadie had discovered them when she was little. Her Mother had told her off and warned her never to tell anyone about them. There was real fear in her Mother’s eyes, Sadie was compelled to stay silent about her find. The clothes were so colourful. Everything worn in the compounds was ultra conservative, ultra-grey, ultra-inoffensive. It was one of the laws, to cover up, to not send out the wrong message. Minds were fragile and needed to be kept in check, they said. The compounds were meant to be a beacon, a step away from the mad liberality of the past, a past which almost destroyed the world, in more ways than one. For some reason, school assemblies flashed across her mind. How all the children would sit cross-legged every morning and repeat the slogans they were forced to memorise:
We are an improvement on the past.
We will not fall into corruption like our predecessors.
We will work hard.
We will be an asset to the compound.
We will protect the compound from our enemies.
We will protect the compound from the outside.
We will protect the compound for our families.
We will do what is necessary to keep the compounds safe.
The compound is everything.
We love the compound.
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