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This Little Piggy

Page 21

by Bea Davenport


  Another young girl turned back to Clare and gave her a hard thump that landed on the side of her face and made her fall back down to the ground again, clutching her head. She lay there, pain pounding through her whole body, no longer trying to fight tears. The agony in her head washed over her, wave after blackening wave.

  ten

  Slowly, Clare became aware of someone calling her name. “Clare. Clare!”

  She blinked repeatedly, unable to focus properly, and raised her head, groaning. Amy was standing over her with tears running down her little face. In her hands, she was clutching as many pieces of torn paper as she’d been able to find. “I’ve got some of them back for you,” she said. “The fucking bastards.”

  Clare gathered her thoughts together enough to say, “Amy!”

  “I’m sorry, Clare,” Amy said, in a tone that suggested she was the one doing the telling-off. “But that’s what they are.”

  Clare pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself down, screwing up her face and moaning involuntarily. Everything throbbed.

  “Look,” Amy said. “Here’s your friend.”

  Finn was running towards her. He came to a stop and Clare thought she saw him visibly blanch. “There’s an ambulance on the edge of the estate, but the crews have been told not to come in. Let’s get you there. Can you walk?”

  “Of course I can.” That wasn’t quite true. Her legs felt reluctant to move and there was a searing pain across the side of her head. “And I don’t need an ambulance, I just want to get home.”

  Finn took her arm. “What the hell happened?”

  Clare took a step forward and wobbled. She clutched at Finn. “Hang on. I just feel a bit sick.”

  “Have you… does your back feel okay?”

  Clare closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “Nothing feels okay. How’s George Armstrong?”

  “In good hands. Never mind him. I think we should get the paramedics to check you over.”

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve got a few bruises, that’s all.” Clare shivered, although the night air was warm. She tried to suppress the urge to vomit. “And I feel like a prat.”

  “This isn’t your fault.” Finn put his arm around Clare, and she gave him a small smile.

  “Though you probably shouldn’t’ve got your book out when you did,” Amy chipped in. “You should’ve waited till they couldn’t see you.”

  Finn stared down at her. “What’s your part in all this?”

  Amy shrugged. “I was watching, that’s all. If you want to get the bastards I know where they went.”

  Finn followed the direction of Amy’s eyes.

  “Hey,” Clare said. “I’d just like to go home, if that’s okay. I don’t want anyone getting anyone else, you hear me?”

  Amy made a disgusted puhh sound. “Want these?” She held out the crumpled, torn shreds of paper.

  “Go on then. Thanks for picking them up.” Clare stuffed them into her pockets. “I take it your mum’s out again?”

  Amy thought for a moment. “No, it’s okay. She’s in the house.”

  “So how come she’s letting you wander around at…” Clare looked at her watch and squinted, her eyes taking a while to focus. “Around half-one in the morning?”

  “She’s asleep.”

  “She’s asleep? Through the power going down and the fires and all this racket out here?”

  Amy nodded. “Yep.”

  Finn coughed. “I think we should get out of here, Clare. Think about yourself right now.”

  Clare squinted at Amy. “Promise me? Promise you’re not on your own in that flat?”

  Amy shook her head. “Uh-uhh. I’m fine.”

  Clare didn’t entirely believe Amy, but she was too wracked with pain to argue. “Go to bed then. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, I promise.”

  Clare looked around. The place was still in darkness but there were fewer people around. The trouble seemed to be damping itself down.

  They started to move slowly forward again, Clare hobbling and gritting her teeth.

  “Hang on,” said Finn, stopping. He scooped his arms under Clare’s legs and round her shoulders and lifted her up. Clare made wincing noises. “You don’t have to do this, I can walk.”

  Finn strode forward. “It’s like carrying a little bird,” he said. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  Clare tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, grimacing at the way every movement caused fresh agony. “What I want to know is where the police were? Not a sign of them anywhere.”

  “They’re around, but they’re on the edge of the estate,” said Finn, pausing for a moment to hoist Clare a little closer to him. “The main roads into Sweetmeadows have been blocked off. I spoke to one of the lads and he said it was orders from on high, not to actually go into the estate. For their own safety.”

  “Never mind anyone else’s safety,” Clare grumbled.

  “To be fair, you were warned not to go in and you took no notice. Not that I’m taking the pigs’ side,” Finn said, quickly, as Clare gave him a sharp look. “Plus, they’re short of manpower. It’s their own fault, because they’ve shipped a load of officers off to earn the big money on picket duty down in Yorkshire. So they were caught on the hop when this all kicked off. It took them an hour or so to get some extra officers together.”

  Clare tried to breathe slowly, to calm the pains shooting across her head and body. It had no effect. “Meanwhile the place is going up in flames and there are old men having asthma attacks who can’t get an ambulance. And families with kids and no electricity in their flats. That shop is the only one that’s actually on the estate, and it’s been torn apart. If the police aren’t supposed to move in when all that’s going on, I don’t know what they’re there for.”

  Finn stopped walking. Clare spotted two paramedics walking towards her.

  “Hey. How are you doing?” one of them said.

  “I’m fine. A bit sore, that’s all.” Finn lowered her gently to the ground and, as she placed her feet on the pavement, she clutched at him for balance. Her head swam.

  The young woman paramedic took her arm. “Can you walk over here to our ambulance? We’d just like to give you a quick once-over. I’m Jill, by the way.”

  “Hi, Jill. I really don’t need a once-over,” Clare argued, but she let herself be lifted into the back of the ambulance. Jill examined her bruises and gently felt the side of her jaw. Clare cringed as more spasms bolted through her head. She touched the tender skin on her face and checked her fingers to see if she was bleeding. Jill shone a small light into Clare’s eyes, which started to water.

  “I’d be happier if you spent the night in hospital. You’re badly bruised and you’ve hit your head, so I’d feel more comfortable if someone was observing you for the next few hours.”

  “I’d feel more comfortable if I could just go home and have a shower and get into my own bed.”

  Jill ignored this. “Are you coming with her?” she asked Finn, easing Clare down onto a stretcher and propping her head and shoulders up. Finn nodded.

  “I get no say in this, obviously.” Clare watched as the ambulance doors were closed. She felt too weak, sore and exhausted to put up a real fight.

  Tuesday 31st July

  The sound of a trolley clattering with tea cups woke Clare with a painful jolt. When she’d worked out where she was, rather slowly, she closed her eyes again with a moan. Everything still ached, or at least that was how it felt, on every part of her body. A nurse leaned over her and asked, in a whisper, whether she wanted a cup of tea. Clare nodded, wondering why the nurse had bothered to lower her voice when the trolley made enough noise to wake everyone along the whole corridor.

  Clare asked the time and was told it was just after eight in the morning. “Damn. I’d better get to work,” she said, slowly pulling back her sheet. She had a vague memory of being helped into the hospital nightgown and hoped that by that point Finn had gone home.

  “I don’t think s
o,” said the nurse, holding up a hand. “The doctor needs to see you before you go.”

  “I can’t wait very long then,” Clare said, sitting back with her tea, hoping her head would stop spinning if she lay still for a moment. “I’ll be in trouble if I’m late for work.”

  The nurse gave Clare a long look. “I’ve seen you before,” she said. “Recently. Am I right?”

  Guilt made Clare’s skin prickle. She hadn’t recognised the nurse, but it was possible that she’d been on duty two months ago, when Clare had to be admitted as an emergency.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  The nurse frowned and looked at Clare closely. “I’m sure I am,” she said. “I don’t get faces wrong. I’m sure you came in…”

  “It wasn’t me,” Clare said quickly. “I just have one of those faces, everyone thinks they’ve seen me before from somewhere. Common, I think they call it.”

  The nurse laughed. “Well, you should know whether or not you’ve been in hospital recently. But you shouldn’t be fretting about work. I can call someone for you and tell them you’re here.”

  Clare shook her head. “No need. I’m fine to go to work, really.”

  “You don’t look fine to me.” It was Joe’s voice.

  “What the hell are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”

  “Bob Seaton told me. You went out to Sweetmeadows last night, in spite of people telling you not to do it, and you got beaten up by a bunch of toe-rags who thought you were about to dob them in to the police. Well done, Clare. That’s a prime piece of fuckwittedness, even for you.”

  “That’s a warped version of what actually happened. Nurse, is he even allowed in at this time of the morning?”

  Noisily, Joe scraped a plastic chair to the side of the bed. “Yes, I am, because I called the ward sister and asked if I could drop in before work. I’m quite ready to believe that I don’t know the whole story. Does the name Amy Hedley feature in it, by any chance?”

  “Not in the way you think. I went out to do a news story on the mini-riot that was going on. Amy had nothing to do with that. She only turned up at the end. She tried to rescue the pages from my notebook, bless her.”

  “I’m told you’re lucky that you didn’t get a broken jaw. Or even a brain injury.”

  “Really.” Clare folded her bruised arms and glared at Joe. “You know, I could do without this kind of bedside manner.”

  “And I gather the boyfriend was with you. Fat lot of use he was, the big tough miner. Letting you get beaten up by a bunch of kids.”

  “Actually, Finn was taking George Armstrong to hospital. He had a serious asthma attack and Finn probably saved his life. Get your facts right before you write the headlines.”

  “You’re not expected at work, by the way. I spoke to Catt this morning, as soon as I found out.”

  “Throwing a party, is she?”

  “Don’t be like that. If nothing else, this is going to make you have some time off. Every cloud and all that.”

  “That’s not the way I see it.”

  Joe put a morning paper on the bedside table. “I thought you’d rather have this than flowers.”

  Clare gave him a weak smile. “I would. Thanks. Hey, what did Seaton say about this young lad dying in the police cells?”

  “They’re saying he managed to hang himself with something. They’re not telling us what he used. But he was only seventeen. Seaton says the team interviewed him about Jamie Donnelly and he got very distressed, so they put him in the cell to calm down. When they next went to check on him, he was dead. Of course, he shouldn’t have been left with anything that meant he could do himself harm. There’s another inquiry hanging over Seaton’s head. He looks like a man with the world on his shoulders.”

  “And do they really think this Craig lad killed baby Jamie? Why would he do that?”

  “Seaton says he could have been off his head on some sort of drugs. But he’s going to have trouble making that stick.”

  “It fits with Amy’s story, that’s for sure. But it just doesn’t seem like enough of a reason. What did he say about all the trouble on the estate?”

  “It was a policy. Contain the trouble, don’t confront it. So they decided to let it burn itself out, literally. Risky, I think. Questions are being asked.”

  “Yes, by me, apart from anyone else.”

  Joe stood up. “I have to go, but I’ll call later to see how you are. Try to stop thinking about work. If they do let you out, I can come and give you a lift home.”

  “That won’t be necessary, thanks.”

  As soon as she was sure Joe had gone, Clare slipped out of bed and hobbled slowly along the corridor to the payphone. She called the paper and sweet-talked the receptionist into accepting the charges, then asked to be put straight through to a copytaker. She dictated the story of the night before, with Seaton’s comments added on, courtesy of Joe.

  “If you wouldn’t mind just dashing all that along to the sub-editor, so they can get it in the first edition, that’d be great,” Clare said, crossing her fingers. The copytaker said she would and Clare hoped that, with luck, the sub would just lay the piece out for that day’s paper, without it having to be okayed first by Dave Bell or Sharon Catt.

  Later the doctor told Clare that they wanted to X-ray her jaw to be absolutely certain that there were no fractures. “We can’t do that until mid-afternoon, I’m afraid. So if I were you I should settle down with a magazine and try to rest. Don’t worry, it really looks like you’ve got away with it. But we just want to be sure we’re not missing anything.”

  Clare dozed for a while, but only minutes after she woke up she felt she would go mad with boredom. Just after two, Finn arrived, with some roses wrapped in paper.

  “You shouldn’t have bought flowers,” Clare said. “They’re a waste of money.”

  “They’re from my mother’s garden,” Finn said, sheepishly. “She said you’d like them anyway.”

  “I like them better, then.”

  Finn gave Clare a light kiss on the top of her head. “How’re you doing?”

  “I just want to get out. Hey, you could drive me back?”

  “Not until we’re happy,” said the nurse’s voice behind her. “You know, I was sure that you were here before and the reason I remember it is because you discharged yourself. Against advice. Are you sure…”

  “Really, that wasn’t me. It must’ve been my evil twin.”

  The nurse laughed. “If you insist.” She turned to Finn. “Don’t take her anywhere until the doctor says she can go.”

  Behind the nurse’s back, Clare made a stabbing motion with her hands.

  “I feel responsible for last night,” Finn said. “I shouldn’t have left you on Sweetmeadows on your own, not when things were so tense. It could have been so much worse.”

  “Stop beating yourself up, it was my decision.” Clare squeezed his hand.

  “My mother’s the one doing the beating-up now. She actually cuffed me across the head when I told her what happened. Called me an idiot for not looking after you.”

  “I like your mum, so much.”

  Finn grinned. “Call me when you can escape. Promise?”

  Clare nodded.

  Finn turned to go, then fished in his pocket. “Oh,” he said, as an afterthought. “You dropped these.” He put Clare’s keys on the bedside table.

  After the X-ray, Clare decided not to wait for the results. She was heading down the corridor away from the ward when she spotted Dave Bell walking towards her. She swore under her breath and tried to duck into a side ward, but it was too late. He’d seen her. He waved a rolled-up copy of the Post at her.

  “I should hit you with this,” he said. “What do you think you’re playing at?”

  Clare widened her eyes. “What?”

  “I had no idea you’d written this story about last night’s riots, or whatever you want to call them. And nor had anyone else, until we opened the first edition.”


  “I sent something over to the copytakers. Didn’t they show it to you?”

  “No, because you told them to take it straight for subbing. You’re a sneaky cow.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the copy. It’s great, as always. You write better with concussion than most of the reporters do when they’re fully compos mentis. That’s not the point, as well you know.”

  “I haven’t got concussion. Look at me, I’m fine. I’m being set free.”

  “Remember the conversation we had yesterday? And that was before you hit your head. I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to take a break.”

  “But…”

  Dave brandished the rolled-up newspaper again. “Go home, Clare. Don’t come back for at least a week. That’s an order.”

  Clare went out into the hospital car park and for a few moments wondered why she couldn’t remember where she’d left her car. Then, cursing, she recalled being brought here by ambulance and that she hadn’t asked anyone to give her a lift home. She hailed a taxi.

  Inside her front door was an official-looking letter, a folded-up piece of notepaper and a small, crumpled paper bag. Inside the bag were some grubby-looking sweets: a slightly squashed Anglo Bubbly gum and a candy banana with a distinct thumbprint on it. The folded paper was a makeshift card from Amy. It had a drawing of what was clearly meant to be Clare lying on the ground next to an ambulance and it said Get Well Soon! Come Back! Love Amy!!! in multicoloured felt-tip pen across the front. Inside there was a message written in Amy’s attempt at Teeline. It read: ‘Git well son. There is a fat man going round pretending do be a reporter. I’ve telled no one to tack to him. Amy.’

  Clare couldn’t help giggling. She enjoyed imagining Chris Barber trying to persuade people on Sweetmeadows to talk to him, his sports car parked up somewhere out of sight of the local kids, wondering why he was getting what Joe liked to call the bum’s rush. She sniffed at the bubble gum, its synthetic, chemo-sugary smell coming through the wrapper on to her fingers. She remembered how, to a child of Amy’s age, sweets were such important currency. Giving someone one of your sweets, with nothing like-for-like in return, was a big deal.

 

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