by Terry Tyler
Friday morning I'm on watch. It's good to be away from everyone, even though it's starting to rain. I'm with John and Eric Foster. Nobody leaves or arrives.
"It's usually like this," John tells me, "but it's got to be done."
I can see that the barricade will be totally ineffective if anyone really wants to get past. Or simply if there are more than three of them, and they're armed.
"You're preaching to the choir, mate," says John. "Marcus thinks all we have to do is explain to anyone 'undesirable' that they can't come in, and they'll say, 'Okay, then', and go away. Wanker he is."
"Why's he in charge?"
John shrugs. "He was here first, but it's time for a change. Doesn't know his arse from his elbow, that one. Trouble is, the group he came with all think he's the dog's bollocks." He hands me his rifle to hold and lights a cigarette, with some difficulty. "There are rumblings. A few saying he's not up to the task."
Eric's got the right idea. He says, "Fuck this for a game of soldiers", gets into one of the vehicles, and takes a nap.
My shift finishes at two pm; the tide's coming in.
"That's it until tonight," John says. "Marcus says the sea makes its own defence."
I laugh. "He's not heard of boats, then. Didn’t stop the Vikings."
"You're not the first person to say that. Never mind growing tomatoes, this place needs proper defences. What do you say we get some like minds together and have an unofficial meeting?"
Back in the village, I call on Vicky. This time, she's miraculously recovered from whatever was bad enough to keep her in bed all day yesterday, and has gone out.
I've had enough.
"Where?" I ask Lottie. "Tell me where she is, or I'm going out looking for her." Poor kid, she can tell I mean business. Big grinning Heath gets heavy.
"She's down by the boats."
"Good girl." I turn, lifting my hand in a wave.
In case you're wondering, it helps with the depression. The smiling, I mean. The permanent good mood. Fake it till you make it, and all that. It does actually work, but I'm not a robot.
I find her sitting on a bench looking across the water. She sees me. There's pain in her eyes. I stand in front of her, blocking her view. "Why are you avoiding me?"
"I'm sorry." She looks so pretty. She hasn't been ill, there's no sign of a cold. Her hair's in raggedy waves, blown about by the wind. I love it like that. I like how the blonde has grown out, too. She hates it, talks about cutting it off, but I think it looks good. Sarah was the same—she had a cock-eyed view of what made her attractive. Too much make-up, too much suntan, too much of everything.
Never mind that now.
I sit down, and take her hand.
"Talk to me." She doesn't answer, so I ask again, and she shuts her eyes.
"Heath, I'm so sorry, and there's no way to say this gently, so I won't try. It's Dex—we're going to try again."
For a moment I can't process what she's said. I knew that this wasn't completely beyond the realms of possibility, but I didn't think it would actually happen. I thought if I voiced the fear to myself, pictured it, I'd be safe. It's something I've done since Sarah died. I never want to experience a shock like that, ever again. I used to do it if Jax was late home. Imagine the worst case scenario. Get ready for it. Five minutes later, he'd walk through the door.
My gran used to take her umbrella with her everywhere so that it wouldn't rain.
We all have these secret rituals. This time, mine doesn't work.
And I feel like I've been kicked in the guts.
"Why?" I ask, slowly and carefully.
She looks down. "He's not happy with Naomi. He never has been. He's only stayed with her because he thought he had to. He still loves me and—"
"You still love him."
"I don't know. I just know that I need to give it a go."
I drop her hand. I'm not only gutted, I'm furious. "Why would you do that? He cheated on you, he left you alone with no explanation—"
"I know, I know, I know all that. But I was with him for six years, and we were so happy—"
I stand up. "So happy he got another woman pregnant. Jesus, talk about kidding yourself."
She jerks her head up. I never normally talk to her so sharply. Might as well carry on, now. Nothing to lose.
"What about us? You have a chance of something good, that you want, I know you do, but you'll chuck it all up for some bloke who left you high and dry and is about to do the same to his pregnant girlfriend? Wise fucking choice!"
I know I'm upsetting her but I can't stop.
"I know it sounds stupid."
"Just a bit." I fold my arms, turn my back on her, look out onto the water. "I was so looking forward to being here with you, I've held off, given you space to get over this fucking idiot, and God knows you took long enough about it—"
"I was so confused, I—"
"—the way you acted, the day before we left, I know you felt the same as I did—how can you just switch that off?"
"I haven't." She comes to stand beside me. "That's what I mean. Everything that's been building between us, over the last few months, it's real, but—I can't explain, it's our history together, he knows me—"
"Yeah, he knows you'll put up with anything. That's what he knows." I'm being cruel because I'm hurt and angry. I thought this was a new start, together, us, with Lottie and Jax; I was going to stop taking the happy pills, because if I really was happy I wouldn't need them.
I look at her beautiful face and I want to kiss her, but I can't risk the rejection. "Nothing more to say, then, is there?" And I walk away.
That's when I know. I'm in love with her. It's too late to rein it in.
I want to get drunk, badly. Normally I take it slow because it doesn't mix with the meds, and I can get appallingly drunk frighteningly quickly, but right now I don't care.
I go to the Hudson. Luke's sitting at the bar with Stefan and Gareth, and they're drinking Scotch. They're talking about those they have lost, they welcome me with open arms and an open bottle, and I join the ranks of the lonely, blotting out pain with its contents. Like in Eyam; there was so much of that. I tell the others we pulled together in a spirit of remarkable stoicism, but that's not quite the truth. It was bloody awful, mostly, all that grief and despair. Suicides, too.
As I drink I think of Sarah, and the guilt comes hurtling back, big, black clouds swallowing up what was left of Smiling Heath, kicking him in the balls and telling him he was stupid to think he deserved to find happiness.
Somewhere along the line I fall off the stool, and Stefan drags me home; I see Jax as I stumble in and he laughs, thinking I've just been on a bender. I throw up in the toilet before I remember that toilets don't flush any more, and clearing it up makes me throw up all over again.
It's shit. I'm shit. I hate myself.
Chapter Six
Lottie
February
So, Mum and Dex. I'm gutted she's blown Heath out, but I'm not giving her a hard time about it, because you can't give people grief like you used to, and I get why she's chosen to go back with him. Just. Although I still hate him for cheating on her. Naomi sounds like a right nutter. I saw her the other day. She's got a really stupid haircut.
Dex came to see me on my own and apologised about everything. I let him know how pissed off I was, but it's hard to vent at someone who seems genuinely sorry. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, I can't help feeling that he knew exactly which buttons to press to get Mum back. She'd told him about Heath, so he had to act fast, didn't he?
Naomi's staying in their cottage, with her BFFs, Suzanne and Myra, next door. Dex is in a little house on his own at the top of Markyate Road called Village View.
Ozzy's shagging Myra, so he's down there most of the time. He tried his luck with this totally hot girl called Ruby first—she's got a black pixie cut and wears a black stetson—but she wasn't having any, so he moved on to the next on his list.
Heath's ta
ken it badly. Jax said he's been getting drunk, which isn't like him. He's still dead friendly, all smiles, but it seems a bit forced, you know? Also, 'cause of what's happened he doesn't come round our house, so what with Rowan busy at the hotel and Ozzy elsewhere, our group's seriously split.
I said to Phil that it was a shame, and he said wise things about the ever-turning cycle of life, but it's still sad.
Jax says that Heath hasn't been this bad since his mum died, but when I asked him how she died he went all funny, and wouldn't answer. I kept prodding, and he went into this big rant about people minding their own business, so I let it drop.
Do you know what? I think all this love stuff, it's total bilge. Mostly it just cocks your life up. I haven't had a boyfriend since Alfie chucked me a year ago, and I was gutted for about three weeks, it was cack. I couldn't enjoy any of the stuff I normally liked, I was horrible to Mum, and the retards got their claws out all over MyLife. I really loved him but it wasn't worth it for the shit afterwards. Like, you're happy for a few weeks, but the happier you are, the worse it is when it ends. It's like you have to pay for the happiness. I let my guard down when I met Joel in Jarrow, too; he was the fittest boy I'd ever seen, ever, and look how he turned out!
I like it here. Even though it means going to 'school' a few afternoons a week. Our teacher is called Heather. She's okay. We learn English literature and history, mostly. I think we should be learning practical stuff, but Mum and Dex both say that academic education is important, or our culture and language will die out. I get that, but I'd rather be learning to drive and grow crops. Sean and Janek have found a crossbow and are going hunting, and Will knows a bit about sailing, so I could learn that, too; how cool would it be to go out fishing?
It's hard to care about the English Civil War when there's all this going on.
Dex says it's all cyclical and what's happened in the past is relevant to our lives now. I do understand. Trouble is, I don't care.
There are five of us in the senior class: Laksha is fifteen, she's Indian and dead quiet. Her family got the vaccination (her dad's a doctor and her mum’s a nurse) but fled Leicester when it got scary. Her mum and dad are worried about Naomi's baby, 'cause they're going to have to deliver it without the full kit.
Then there's Christian, who is seventeen and a total dick. He's here with his dad, Richard, also a dick. Then Jax and me—and I have a new BF! Avery is only just fifteen but she's a real laugh. She fancies Christian. Ew! She's here with her (vaccinated) family; her dad was a builder and her mum's a cook, and she's got a little brother. We've been out exploring—I was gagging to take a look at the castle, but we had to be supervised by Marcus to make sure we didn't hurl ourselves off the walls or spray paint 'Marcus Willmott fucks sheep' on the ancient stonework.
Mostly, though, we visit this geologist guy called Neil who lets us drink vodka and smoke his weed, but says not to tell anyone.
"Especially not that fella with the dreadlocks," he said. "I shared a spliff with him down by the boats the other day, and ever since then he keeps hassling me. I've told him I've run out."
"We used to live with him," I said. "He's cool, but he talks shite."
"Couldn't have put it better myself," Neil said. "So not a word, okay?"
As if!
Dex and some others are having secret meetings. They think Marcus isn't up to running the community. Ozzy says they could overthrow him in a revolutionary coup.
Mum stays at Dex's house some nights; she says it's so they can 'get to know each other again'. What she really means is 'shag without anyone else being able to hear'. Still wish she was with Heath. Kara told Phil that Naomi is very down in the dumps, but, as Kara said, 'she did rather force Dex's hand'.
I hate Naomi. But Mum and Dex are super lovey-dovey, so everything's aces again.
Neil the geologist has asked Avery to go round and see him on her own. I know why. Avery's dead fit, with long blonde hair and massive boobs, and looks older than fifteen. I said she shouldn't go. Neil's about thirty, I think, pretty old, anyway. He's fit, but he shouldn't be sniffing round a girl of her age. I don't know whether to tell Mum. Thing is, she'd tell Avery's mum and dad, and they'd go round to see Neil, and it'd come out about him giving us stuff he shouldn't, and would end up being a Big Thing. Then Avery would fall out with me, and—no, it's best I don't say anything. She says she's crazy about him. Well, okay. I mean, I first had sex when I was fifteen. Thing was, Alfie was the same age as me, not a grown man.
I dunno. It doesn't feel right, but maybe everything's different now. Laksha told me that in Pakistan girls as young as twelve get forced into marriage with old men.
Avery says, "Age is just a number" but I reckon she's got that off Neil. He would say that, wouldn't he, if he's trying to get into her knickers?
I tried talking to Kara; I asked her what she thought about young girls going out with older men. She thought I was asking for me, it was really funny.
"No, it's not me!" I said, and I've never seen anyone look so relieved. "It's just that, um, Laksha was telling me about how in other countries you can get married when you're twelve, but in this country they call men paedos if they have sex with someone under sixteen, don't they? But what if the girl wants to do it, too?"
She thought for a long time before replying, then she said, "Those laws were established to prevent girls—and boys—getting into something they can't handle, even if they think they can, at first. I know some girls as young as thirteen and fourteen are quite mature, but just because they're ready physically, they may not be so, emotionally."
That made sense. I think Avery's ready emotionally. She's been round there a few times now, and says they're in love. It's a bit creepy, though. 'Specially as I've found out he's thirty-eight. Like, nearly forty.
Well, that didn't take long. It's all come out. Thankfully not through me, and I'm acting like I didn't know anything. Avery told her parents she was out exploring with me, but her mum came to the hotel to get some food and I was there with flour up to my elbows making bread. Then Rowan totally let the cat out of the bag by saying she'd seen her walking up towards the school.
Neil lives in this little courtyard next to the school.
Mr and Mrs Lincoln—they're called Paul and Davina—knew it wasn't a school day, and they already had their suspicions, so they stalked off to Neil's house, and Mr Lincoln kicked the door in and caught them in bed.
Avery says her dad punched Neil in the face and had to be dragged off by her mum before he killed him. Then he marched round to see Marcus to demand that something was done, and Marcus hummed and hahed and said he would deal with it, but didn't do anything.
I'm keeping out of it.
She had to sit through a big lecture, and Neil has told her they'd better keep their distance for a while but will see each other again soon, when it's all died down.
She says, "Age is just a number. We love each other and they can't keep us apart."
Not so sure about that; at the weekly meeting two days later, it blows up, big time.
Marcus is waffling on about how successfully the barricade is being manned, and Heath says they don't know if it's successful or not, because no one's tried to get past it apart from this one new biker who travels on and off the island most days, and acts like it's Heath's fault when he can't cross because the tide's in.
Marcus suggests Heath supply him with a copy of the tide tables and a watch, then asks if there is any other business, which is when Avery's dad stands up in full vent mode.
"Yes, there is. I want to talk about the pervert who ain't been punished 'cause he's one of your buddies. You know who I'm talking about, you know what he's done, and I'm still waiting for you to do something about it. You're the boss round here, so fucking act, before I take matters into my own hands."
A few people whisper, "Who does he mean?" and scan the room to see who's missing.
Paul stands there giving Marcus evils, and then he turns to us all and says, "I'm talkin
g about Neil, and I'll tell you what he's done. I caught him in bed with my fifteen-year-old daughter—and that's after he's systematically groomed her for several weeks by plying her with drink and drugs."
Everyone gasps and stares accusingly at Marcus, who rubs his hands together then holds them up, like he's trying to calm the situation down.
"Please, a moment, ladies and gentlemen; Paul, of course I am most concerned about this situation, but while I'm deliberating on the best course of action we must try not to let emotions run high, and, to be frank, I don't think this is a subject for public discussion. I have spoken to the person in question, but you must appreciate that this is a delicate matter. He's a valued, contributing member of the community—"
"It's not a fucking delicate matter at all! The best course of action? Looks like you think that's doing bugger all! He's taken advantage of her, sexually abused her—"
"Well, as I said, I have discussed the situation with him at some length and, from what I gather, the activity was consensual." Marcus is pinkly smug, like he thinks the word 'consensual' makes all the diff. He's got spittle in the corners of his mouth. Ick.
"Consensual?" yells Davina. "How dare you! She was only fifteen two months ago—she's still a child!"
Gasps of horror buzz around the room. I get that it sounds really bad, but, to be honest, Avery's a bit of a slag. She told me she first had sex when she was thirteen, and back where they used to live she did it with three different boys. Marcus starts to look scared, but then Christian's dad, Richard, who is one of his homeboys, stands up beside him.
"We have to remember that these are not normal times," he says, patting Marcus on the shoulder. "In some cultures, girls marry at Avery's age." Richard is like Marcus but worse, because he thinks he knows everything. Same as Christian.