Lindisfarne (Project Renova Book 2)

by Terry Tyler

  "Over here!"

  Wedge sees the shock on Cleary's face, the fear, in the split second before he remembers to look pleased to see him.

  "The fuck?" He walks towards him, hands in pockets. "What y'doing here, man?"

  Wedge allows Cleary to clap his arms around him and slap him on the back. He stinks. Hair heavy with grease, the reek of fags, beer, stale sweat, a faint waft of piss. Wedge doesn't smell like that. He keeps toiletries in his saddlebags, and shaves his head every few days to keep it smooth and shiny. Gotta stay clean, even if it's only with fucking wet wipes. Matter of pride. He cleans his teeth every day, or uses mouthwash. When his clothes get dirty, he finds new ones. Just 'cause you're a man of the road doesn't mean you have to stink like a friggin' toilet. Not even now.

  "Saw Boyd. Said you were all here."

  Cleary stands back. "What happened, then, y'break out?"

  "Aye." Wedge thinks about Lachlan, the screw who let him out, currently a rotting corpse on a door mat. He grins to himself. "Wasn't hard. So how come you lot're still alive, then?"

  Cleary sniffs, and wipes his nose on the back of his hand. "Turned over one o' them units. Up Jesmond, like. Jez pulled a knife on the nurses, he wanted to take the lot, but there was bairns in the queue, so me an' Parksy, we said, let's just take some for w' own use." He sniffs again. "Stu's dead, he was one of the first. And Mick. Went round t' give him his shot, and he was already ill."

  "Yeah?"

  "Aye. He was moaning in agony an' his room stunk o’ shite, so Jez put a bullet in him. Put him out of his misery. Wrapped the body in bin liners and hoyed it in the garden for 'em to collect." He stares at the ground, kicks at stones. "Everyone was dying, man. I saw me mam go, and our Leanne, early on. So, you get yourself one of them vaccinations, did you?"

  "No. Jus' didn't catch it."

  Cleary opens his eyes wide. "Howay, man, never! Y' jammy bastard! You must be the only one." Another sniff. Nervous. "You been home?"

  "Aye. Bit of a shock."

  "Oh aye?" Cleary edges back. "Why's that, like?"

  Wedge doesn't say anything for a moment; he stares into Cleary's eyes, enjoying his expression as it flits from wary to sheer panic. "Why do you think?"

  He shuffles from foot to foot. "Dunno."

  "Aye, y' do."

  Cleary looks up at him, and Wedge can see the fear on his face. "'Cause of Bette, like."

  The sound of her name sparks off that rage inside him, and he leaps forward, dragging Cleary over to the wall, grasping him under the chin and throwing him up against it.

  "What you fucking doing? I haven't done nowt!" Cleary kicks out at Wedge, but the bigger man doesn't even feel the slamming of boot on shin, and Cleary splutters as he grips his neck more tightly.

  "Where are they? They in there?"

  "No! Get y' hands off us!"

  Wedge releases his grip and places an arm on either side of Cleary's head, palms flat against the wall; when Cleary bobs down to escape, Wedge punches him in the stomach. "I said, where are they?"

  "They're not here!" Cleary gasps, doubled over, choking.

  Wedge stands up, dusting his hands together. Bloke's a mess. Not worth his energy. "Aye, y' said. So where are they?"

  "Wales. Went yesterday. He's looking for his sister."

  "Who is?"

  "You know. Him."

  "Say his name."

  "Eh?"

  "Say his name. Jus' want to be sure I'm going t' be ripping the guts outta the right person."

  Cleary swallows, so hard that Wedge can see the passage of his Adam's apple.

  "Well, it's Kai, like. The Kaiser."

  "Hodgson."

  "Aye. Hodgson."

  Wedge pulls a soft pack of Marlboro out of his top pocket and lights one, narrowing his eyes against the smoke as he tucks them back. "When they back?"

  "Don't know. Weeks, could be. He doesn't know where Jodie is. Doesn't even know if she's alive. She says to him, 'fore the phones went, that they were going to try 'n score some o' them vaccines, but she's not turned up here. Bette said that he's gotta be, like, prepared for—"

  "Don't say her name. Not when y' talking 'bout him."

  Cleary steps back, holding up his hands. "Right. So, y' coming in for a drink? See the lads?"

  "Nah." No fucking way. Too soon. He needs to find out where their loyalties lie before he does owt, 'cause anyone who doesn't welcome him back is going the same way as Hodgson. He points behind him. "White house down there, on the green, with a bench outside. You'll come round in the morning, soon as y' up, and see if I need owt, right? And you don't tell nobody I'm here yet. None of 'em. You hear that?"

  Cleary puts his hands up again. "No, no, course I won't. I mean, aye, course I do, did."

  He looks round, nervous. "I'd better go back, or they'll think I'm having a shite out here."

  "The morning," Wedge says, and strides off without looking back. By the time he's walked back to the shed where his bike's locked up, it's getting dark. Good. He can find something to light a fire with, and, come nightfall, check out that place with signs for Lindisfarne mead. Could do with some of that. Might have a look around and see what else is going down. Get his bearings. Then he can sit back and plan what he's going to do when the happy couple return.

  He isn't sure what it's going to be yet, but he knows one thing: they're going to wish they'd stayed in frigging Wales.

  Chapter Four

  Vicky

  It's funny how quickly you get used to new circumstances.

  Already, I look back on our old life as one of ridiculous, pampered luxury. Setting fires, boiling water, waste disposal, it's all become such a part of my day that I wonder how on earth I used to spend my time.

  What's harder to get used to, though, is the danger. I can't stop thinking about the break in, the night before we left. What if it had been just me and Lottie? Would they have hurt us? The only way to survive now is to get tough. Kara understood this from the off. She knew she had to attack in the Cuthbert Centre, or I suspect having sex with smelly Tom would have been only the beginning. And many of the men there were army, police, who we should have been able to turn to for help.

  This life brings out the bad in people more often than it brings out the good, I fear.

  But, although I've been deep in thought about all this stuff lately, I won't pretend it's why I've been hiding away for the three days since we got here. The others have been exploring; Kara's even been out on a supply run. While I stay safely behind our front door.

  Yes, I'm avoiding bumping into Dex.

  I'm so churned up about him being here, and for that reason I'm glad Heath is in quarantine. I need to deal with it alone; you can't expect a new love to help you coast the fall-out from the last.

  Whether Dex made his choice out of love or duty, he's made it; that, I can handle, but seeing him is going to be hard.

  The evening before we left, Heath and I actually managed to find ten minutes alone by volunteering for the washing up, and he told me he'd wanted to start something with me for ages. I felt so happy. We both did. Do. I wish we'd started earlier. The beginning of a new relationship is lovely, but as fragile as a butterfly’s wing. One wrong move, one slight doubt, and it could fail to cement. Because he's not here, I feel as though it could flutter out of my grasp.

  Churn, churn, goes my stomach.

  I don't think I really believed Dex would be here. But he is, he lives with his pregnant girlfriend, and when Heath comes back we'll be together. That's the end of it.

  Marcus holds a weekly meeting here, in the Lindisfarne mead shop; they've shipped all the booze and overpriced shortbread biscuits to the hotel stores, and filled the place with chairs out of the empty houses. The meetings are a chance to discuss concerns, suggest ways in which we can move forward. Everyone we've met so far (Marcus and wife, Audrey, their friend, Richard, and a couple of teachers called Steve and Rachael) talk in self-help book speak. You don't call round for a chat with some
one, you connect with them. All problems are challenges, of course, but learning new skills for the new world is empowering. Phil said he'd like to get involved with the farming, and was told to reach out to Richard.

  Phil said, "Couldn't I just talk to him?"

  Lottie says they're 'super-pukey retards'.

  Anyway, today is Monday and the meeting is on Thursday; we nine new arrivals are to be formally introduced. Heath, Jax and Ozzy will be out of quarantine on Wednesday night. I assume Dex and Naomi will be there. Oh dear, I hope I don't totally lose it, and accidentally punch a pregnant woman in the chops.

  It's getting dark, and I'm hungry. I've been sitting at my bedroom window gazing at the castle, mulling over stuff until my brain hurts for long enough, and it's my turn to make dinner.

  As I walk downstairs, the thunk of the letterbox makes me jump.

  There's an envelope on the doormat. I take the lantern from the shelf by the door, and examine it.

  It's addressed to me.

  In Dex's handwriting.

  Fuck.

  Six months ago I sat at home in Shipden reading another letter from Dex, not knowing it would be my last contact with him.

  I fall back onto the bottom stair and rip open the envelope.

  Dear Vicky

  Can we talk? Would 11 tomorrow morning be okay? Go to Pinkham's Coffee House, it's warm. Shouldn't be anyone there that time in the morning, but if there is, go to the church. I know that's in biker territory but don't worry, Marcus only says we can't go there because he's scared of them. They're harmless.

  I'll wait for half an hour. If you don't come, I'll try again.

  I miss you.

  D x

  I read it about six times. Especially the last three words.

  In the living room, I find Kara and Lottie sitting by the fire.

  "Dex wants to see me," I say, holding out the letter.

  "Fuck," says Kara.

  "F-crikey," says Lottie.

  It's a cold, damp, miserable day, and I put on the black parka I nicked from New Look on the day Joel's dad held a knife to my throat, and a black woolly bobble hat. Lottie pulls out tendrils of my hair around my face because she says it makes me look pretty, but I say no to make-up. Why should I bother?

  "Because it makes you feel good," Lottie says. "And it shows you haven't allowed his total craptitude to turn you into a snivelling wreck."

  Kara laughs. "Are you sure you're Vicky's daughter, and not mine?"

  I meet them halfway with a line of kohl under each eye and some lipstick, which I tell myself is to protect my lips from the weather.

  The café is through an archway in a stone wall. I stand outside, feeling sick. Dex is in there. Oh, Jesus.

  I push open the door, and the first thing that hits me is the heavenly smell of coffee. And it's warm.

  Dex stands behind the counter, stirring the contents of a jug on a little stove.

  Dex.

  He turns as I walk in, and looks up, and for a moment we just stare.

  He's wearing a dark blue pull-on hat. That's new; he never wore hats when we walked along the beach in Shipden. His hair is longer than I've ever seen it. Like in the old photos he had of himself, from back in the 1990s.

  He wears a heavy duty weatherproof coat; it's strange seeing him in clothes I don't know.

  I register all this in the second before our eyes meet, before he smiles at me, and the flood of emotion this breaks open in my heart destroys me. It's completely unexpected. My eyes mist up. I can't help it. The sensation almost makes my legs fold up under me, and when he comes towards me I don't stop him, I allow him to take me in his arms, I hold him, as tightly as he holds me.

  "I'm sorry," he says, leaning back to look at me. "I'm so, so sorry."

  I'm lost.

  I was going to be so cool, so distant—

  I'm trying to cling on to the picture of Heath in my mind, but it's floating away from me.

  I hear Dex say something about coffee, and he propels me towards a big, deep, sofa in front of a wood burner; he pulls off his hat and coat, I do the same and he takes me into his arms, kisses me, warm lips on mine, and it's so good, just to feel this again, like coming home, and for a moment my whole world slips back into place.

  Just in time, reality taps me on the shoulder.

  That was then. It's not now.

  He does this with Naomi. He was kissing Naomi like this, and more, when I was at home waiting for him.

  When the world went to Hell, he left me alone.

  I push him away. Right away. "Sorry for what?"

  "For the mistakes I've made. Vicky—" He tries to take my hand in his, but I don't let him. I spring up, and go to sit in the chair opposite him. So he can't touch me, so I can't weaken.

  "I expected you to be angry. I deserve it."

  "And that makes it alright, does it? Have you got any idea what Lottie and I went through? No, of course you haven't, because you didn't even phone up to find out."

  "I wanted to, I know you've had a lot to deal with, I—"

  "Crap. You haven't got a clue."

  And I let him have it, I spare no detail about last summer. I tell him about losing contact with my mum and dad, about Claire and Tony, about Lawrie and Gemma, and when I mention them his face crumbles.

  "Lawrie? Really?" He weeps, and that moves me, but I don't let him see. He wipes his eyes and clutches the back of the sofa for support when he stands up to fetch the coffee, but I wonder if that's for effect.

  No, I'm being unkind. Of all our friends, he was closest to Lawrie.

  But I need him to hear it, all of it. I tell him about the dead kids on the beach, Mia's friends gunned down in the churchyard, about Tracy wailing over her injured son on that night we escaped, the trucks forcing people to leave for refugee camps like something out of Nazi Germany, everything. And he just stands and listens, without interrupting.

  When he does speak, I can't believe my ears.

  "But you got through it," he says, handing me coffee. "And now you're here. It's changed you, I can tell. Made you stronger."

  What? Who does he think he is? Big wise teacher Dex, giving his promising pupil a B+?

  "Made me stronger?" I only just stop myself chucking the coffee back at him. "How dare you? We're not here to discuss how the last six months have affected my psyche! Our whole life collapsed, and you were too worried about your own skin even to phone! You were supposed to be in love with me, with me, but you were fucking this woman behind my back—and you were so sly about it, weren't you? Making out like she was so tedious—remember? The humour bypass?"

  His mouth turns up at one corner. "I wasn't lying about that."

  My throat is dry with all that yelling. I pick up the coffee; it tastes marvellous. It's got milk in it. Just those little pots you get in hotels, but at least it's milk. "Well, more fool you. So how far along is she? When's your baby due?"

  "In about six weeks. We think; there's no way of knowing."

  "Excuse me if I don't congratulate you."

  We're silent for a moment.

  "I'm so sorry," he says, eventually. "I've totally messed up, I know. I was actually working out how to end it, on the day she told me she was pregnant."

  I laugh. "Does she know that? So, you're stuck with a woman you don't love. Or has that changed?"

  He leans towards me, reaches for me, but I sit further back. "Vicky. Please listen. I know I did wrong, and I really, really am so sorry, if only I could go back and not have done such a stupid, stupid thing—"

  "Well, you can't."

  "Will you just listen to me? Please? If you don't want anything to do with me afterwards, I'll understand, but I need to tell you."

  I shut my eyes. "Okay."

  He sits back. "There aren't any excuses for what I did when we were so good together, so I won't make any," he says. "It was just, I suppose, because Unicorn—well, when I was with them, it was the only time I could relax. Talk to people who knew what I knew. Som
etimes it felt like we were the only sane people in the world, who could actually see what was happening." I open my mouth and he puts up his hand to stop me butting in. "I know about Project Renova—Scott came to see us the day after you got here. So much bigger than anyone suspected—"

  "Stop changing the subject."

  "Sorry." He stares ahead. "Look I know my sense of isolation was my own fault, because I should have told you more, but you ridiculed everything I did say—"

  "Not everything. And if I remember rightly, I asked you to tell me more and you wouldn't."

  "I didn't think it was safe. And I didn't think you could handle it."

  "That's all history now. You were fucking another woman behind my back, and you abandoned us. There's nothing you can say that makes that okay."

  "I know, and I get that, I really do. But I couldn't talk to you, so I talked to them, and it turned out that Naomi was—well, you know, in love with me." He looks embarrassed, but maybe just a tiny bit proud. "She initiated it, but I'll admit, I allowed it to happen. I was a twat who wanted his ego stroking. I didn't love her, I love you. I felt so guilty that it wasn't worth it, anyway."

  "Don't believe you. It must have been, or you would have only done it once."

  He shuts his eyes. "I can't control what you believe. All I can do is keep telling you the truth."

  "So she got pregnant on purpose."

  "She says not."

  "It's the oldest trick in the book."

  He gives a big sigh, exhaling. "I know, I know. But once everything happened, I couldn't leave her. I didn't get in touch with you because I didn't know what the fuck to say. I chickened out. And Jeff's place was the best option. It was off the grid, and we had food, warmth, power, safety." He looks up at the ceiling. "After everything collapsed I used to go out and drive around; I couldn't stand being cooped up with just the two of them. Naomi was so clingy, and Jeff clucked around her like a mother hen, because he hadn't got anything else to do." He laughs. "He spent years preparing for the collapse of civilisation, looking forward to it, even, and there was nothing left to plan for. I knew we had to move forward to the next stage, make a new life, and we'd already talked about coming here, so—"