by Terry Tyler
He stays over at our house that night, and later, in bed, we talk about joining with the bikers.
"We need them," Dex says. "What worries me most is invasion from outside. The sight of John, Paul and Eric dangling shotguns is not going to deter anyone. That's if they don't arrive by boat, which is a whole other problem. We need the Hadrian. They look menacing, and they're not scared to fight."
I agree, but I wonder how some of our group will feel about it. Doesn't bother me, but those nice little families (who my daughter calls 'the straights') like the Willmotts, the Fosters, Louise over the road, who previously led such sheltered lives—they're going to feel intimidated.
"No, it'll be a good thing," Dex says, when I voice this. "It'll break down prejudice. Take Wedge. He might look like a right bruiser, but he's interested in Viking history, for Christ's sake. He doesn't only take the Lindisfarne mead from the museum shop, he takes books. Okay, he's a bit rough around the edges, but he's a decent guy, as far as I can see."
Aha. I get it. I've got this one nailed, even though Dex will never know. He's not self-aware enough to see it, but I can. Wedge is his pet biker. His mascot. Look at me, I may be a fifty-year-old academic, but see how hip and worldly I am, how I relate to folk from all backgrounds! Which is what these trips out to that Club Trop place are about. And the alleged connection with Ozzy.
I expect twenty years ago he was proud of his gay and black friends, too.
"What about this Kaiser bloke? He's the boss, isn't he?"
Dex smiles. "I think bike clubs refer to it as their 'president'."
I can't resist it. "Or Jarl, perhaps."
He rolls on top of me and laughs, doing a silly biting thing on my shoulder. "It's a good a name as any. I only started it off as a joke, but it seems to have caught on!"
No you didn't, and no, it hasn't. "Tell you what. I'll arrange a meet with Kai. You can come." He smiles. "You'll see they're not scary at all when you get to know them."
Er, I never thought they were. Talk about patronising. Big teacher Dex showing me the way forward. How come this never used to irritate me like it does now?
We meet in 'their' pub, the Pilgrim and Staff. It's clearly an event; as we approach across the field I see two of them standing outside, assuming fearsome stances, like this Kaiser is an underworld crime boss. I clutch Dex's arm in mock terror, and make jokes about Tommy in Goodfellas going off to be 'made', never to return; he ignores me.
Inside, a tall, thin chap with dark hair guards the door (he's called Parks), while the Kaiser and Bette wait for us on a sofa by a low table. Bottles of lager are lined up.
I smile at Bette, and she gives me a tentative half-smile back. I notice she's sploshed bleach onto her dark roots; I'm sure Dex approves. She's wearing too much black mascara, and thick, black kohl lines. The Kaiser has the most unusual colouring; I've never seen true platinum blond hair on an adult before. He has smooth, pale skin, his eyes such a distinct shade of blue that they look like contacts. He doesn't look Nordic, though, like Travis, but—oh yes, that's what it is. He's the terrifying SS officer in a 1960s Second World War film. You are aware of the punishment for harbouring an enemy of the Reich, Fräulein? He's slim, skinny, even, but it's his quiet aura that makes me nervous, for all my mockery. Bette is curled up next to him; her hand stretches out along the back of the sofa and fiddles with his hair.
We make the introductions, and the Kaiser leans forward and shakes my hand.
"Kai," he says, about which I am relieved. I wasn't sure how I was supposed to address him. When he smiles he doesn't look so frightening. His voice isn't broad Geordie, either, not like Bette's. Less I, Daniel Blake, more Ant and Dec. I remark on this.
"It's 'cause he's from Jarra, pet," says Bette. She smiles. "They talk posh down Jarra. I'm from Gateshead."
"So what you're saying," Kai says, interrupting Dex's over-ingratiating monologue about how we need their muscle, "is that if we help defend this place, we get to share your supplies. And your pub. That right?"
"Yes. Though it'd be good if some of you take a turn on the supply runs, too. For petrol, at least."
Kai sits back. "Don't know about that, man. We have our own way of doing things. We'll do our bit by taking a turn on the watch. That'll earn us bait, right?"
"Yes. But then there's the farm, and fishing. We could always do with some help there."
Bette's still twiddling with Kai's hair; he gives no indication that he's either comforted or irritated by it. "Cleary and Mac'd like to go fishing, wouldn't they, babe?"
"Aye, they would." Kai leans forward, cracks open another four bottles, and hands them round. I've hardly started my first one, yet. "Thing is," he says, "farming and fishing don't mean nowt if you can't defend the place. Your men aren't up to the job; mine are." He sits back. "I'll talk to my lads. Sort something out. Send 'em over to see you."
I can see that this is as far as he's prepared to go right now, and touch Dex's arm to stop him pressing for more. Happily, he catches on.
"Okay. And we want to get rid of this territory business. It'd be nice if our group felt free to explore the whole island. One or two have expressed the desire for access to the church."
Kai sniffs. "Long as it works both ways. Like I said, we want to be able to use your pub, 'cause we're running out."
"You'll be most welcome." I wish Dex didn't seem so eager. I predict that they'll take the Hudson over, but I'm not saying anything. We sit back and engage in small talk about general survival tactics, and then Dex and I take our leave.
On the way out, the men who were keeping watch nod to us. I assume the fact that they didn't hear shouting or glass breaking means we are to be trusted.
We explore the churchyard, and I see two new graves marked by little trees. Must be those who died in quarantine. Dex steers me towards the museum shop. Someone's left lanterns in the doorway with a box of matches to light them, and in the gloom within, he ferrets out a pile of mock tapestries, made for the tourists.
"For the castle walls," he says, and smiles at me. "I thought you'd like that; they'll make it look more authentically medieval!"
He's on a high, grinning all over his face as we walk on, through the old priory and up towards The Heugh.
"This is so brilliant," he says, as we look out towards the strange, lonely St Cuthbert’s Isle, eerie in the damp afternoon. "It's the new civilisation. Visiting neighbouring tribes, striking up deals. Like the Norsemen and the Saxons; the Vikings weren't just marauders, they would sit down with the Saxon kings and hammer out trading agreements, settlement borders. I love it!"
His enthusiasm makes me feel a sudden affection for him; we kiss. We walk down the slope and out past the piles of lobster pots by the water's edge, where he stops, smiles, and breathes in the air.
"This is our home, now. We've taken it, it's ours, and we can defend it. Just like our ancestors—they saw the land they wanted, they settled, and let no one take it from them."
I'm just about to reply when I notice, out of the corner of my eye, Naomi and Suzanne heading home, with Phoenix in the sling. I feel bad; I know Dex hasn't been down to see her for at least a week. She spends most of her time in her house, we never see her, and there's always so much going on that I tend to forget about her.
"Dex," I say, pulling at his arm and shaking him from his reverie, "Naomi's over there. D'you think it would be nice if you went over to say hello?"
"Sure." He's still got this high, slightly manic look in his eyes. "I'll have to bring Phoenix up to the castle, when he's a bit bigger. He's my son; I've got to start feeling it, not just saying it."
"You're right, you have." I'm glad about this. No child should grow up thinking their father isn't interested in them.
He plants a kiss on my cheek. "See you later." And he runs off, calling to Naomi.
I walk towards home, and as I'm walking, something occurs to me. I wonder if Dex's friendship with Wedge means that he's sharing his stock of pharmaceuticals.
<
br /> His personality has changed. Then again, I must seem different, too. But this self-importance, it's not like him. Or was I so besotted before that I didn't see it?
I can't work it out. I don't know much about drugs and how they affect people, having no experience other than smoking the very occasional spliff. Oh, for Google. I'll have to make do with Ozzy.
Later, I'm in the kitchen washing out smalls in a bowl of cold rainwater (deep joy), when Kara comes in and starts fidgeting about.
I know her so well now that I don't even have to look at her to know that she's got some information to impart.
"Just say it."
She stops fidgeting. "Say what?"
"Whatever you're deciding how to tell me. It can't be as bad as 'Dex is screwing Naomi', so you may as well come out with it." A wave of nausea hits me, and I turn round. "It's not about Lottie, is it?
She puts her hand on my shoulder. "No, no, no. Don't worry. It's just something I thought you might be interested in."
That nausea won't go away. I stare at the meagre suds in the water. "Okay. Shoot."
She looks me straight in the eye. "I think Heath is shagging that Aria girl."
Ouch. "Really? I thought they were just friends."
Kara shrugs. "Yeah, I thought so too, but the other day they came back from a run together, just the two of them, and—well, you get that vibe off people, don't you? You know, the little looks. And I turned round suddenly and caught her giving him a sly grope in the crotch."
I feel sick. "Poor Travis."
"Uh-huh. Still, not our problem. Right, I'm just nipping up to Rowan's to check if she's got crabs." We both laugh, and she winks at me. "Let's hope Heath's done similar, right?"
I finish washing and peg the items out on the line without noticing what I'm doing. I'm too churned up.
Poor Travis. Who on earth would cheat on that lovely man? But you never know what goes on between two people.
The thought of Heath screwing Aria makes me feel ill with jealousy. Perhaps it's serious. Perhaps they're in love.
He must have got over me, then.
Oh well.
Quit griping. You made your choice. You've got back what you wanted.
But it isn't like before. It doesn't feel the same. Things that I used to think of as 'just Dex' now make me want to clout him.
Mum used to say that relationships don't stay good all by themselves, you have to work at them. I didn't know what she meant. Aside from Lottie's dad, Dex was my first long relationship, and we were in love. I did everything I could to make him happy because if he was happy, I was too. But sometime over the past nine months I've got used to being just me, not Dex's quiet girlfriend. I can't go back.
Dex talked about discovering parts of himself that he didn't know existed. Well, I've found some, too, even if it's only confidence in my opinions.
I get what Mum meant, now.
Love's a weird thing; it takes up residence in your head and heart, unbidden. It can outstay its welcome long after you need it gone, and disappear overnight when you so badly want to keep feeling it. And it changes all the time. It's not one emotion. It sits centre stage amongst its companions: insecurity, lust, fear of being alone, your self-image, gratitude, nostalgia—I could go on. The way you love changes as you change within yourself, too; I see that now, because how I felt (feel?) about Heath was nothing like the way I feel for Dex.
My love for Dex is intense, stormy, juddering, the good jarring against the frustrating, constantly. Heath was like waking up and opening the windows on an early summer morning.
I look up at the sky, and the rows of mine and Lottie's underwear blowing in the north-easterly breeze, and I shiver. I'm not a wimp. I escaped from armed guards. I've survived being held at knifepoint, potential rape, and seeing my friends die. I can do this. I can use my newfound strength to work through this hard time with Dex and get us back to where we used to be, but a better version of that, because we're more equal now.
The trouble is, I'm not sure Dex wants us to be equal.
Kai talks to his people, and it's agreed: they will help with the defence of the place, taking turns on the barricades, in exchange for a share in supplies. Wyatt and Zoot will join the farming crew, and Cleary and Mac the fishing. This is good, everyone agrees. Less popular is the amalgamation of the territories.
Dex explains all at the weekly meeting.
"Well, I hope they're not going to take over our pub," grumbles Paul Lincoln. "I don't want my wife and kids having to listen to a load of swearing. And will there be a smoking ban?"
"Da-ad," Avery says, "it doesn't matter. We can go in the garden. It's summer, isn't it?"
Paul folds his arms. "It's for them to go in the garden, not us." He looks around. "They made that ban back in 2007 for a reason. It's 'cause it's a disgusting habit. Have we survived bat fever, just to die from bloody passive smoking? There ain't no vaccination for that!" He nods, lips in a thin line, pleased with himself; I suspect this is an observation he has made more than once. "And we don't want their bikes cluttering up Markyate Road. It's narrow enough down there as it is."
"Well, perhaps we can address those issues at future meetings, as they come up, rather than pre-empt problems." Dex exhibits great patience; I notice that glazed look in his eyes. "I think it's more likely that they'll stay in their own neck of the woods, to be honest. You're missing the point, which is that we're breaking down barriers. Try to see the positive, Paul. For one thing, it means that the priory ruins are no longer within their territory, but available to all." He smiles. "And to celebrate this joining of the clans, Kai has invited us there for a bonfire party on Saturday night—everyone welcome!"
I have a weird feeling all day about this celebration of togetherness with the bikers. I think it's because everyone I've bumped into since the meeting has had something to say about the situation, most of it negative.
On Friday afternoon I'm at the hotel when Kara, Gareth, Aria and Paul return from a supply run.
"Dunno if this is any good or not," says Gareth, as he dumps a sack of muesli on the floor. "Sell-by date was March, but it should be okay, shouldn't it? We found this shop what sold all sorts of health food type gubbins, but most of it had been attacked by vermin. This was on the top shelf; see, it's intact."
"Seems fine," says Rowan, crouching down and inspecting the bag, dipping in to taste a bit and bite into a nut. "Vicky, can you get some of the small freezer bags? We can divide it up into two-helping portions, and put it on the early consumption shelves."
Yes, sir. I argue with Dex, but not with Rowan.
Gareth is grinning. "I wasn't sure them bikers was going to let us through, on the way back; they was brandishing them rifles like they meant it!"
"Bloody thugs," Paul grumbles, dumping bags of dried fruit, nuts and banana chips onto Rowan's 'goods in' counter. "You spend your life working hard so's you can buy a house in a decent neighbourhood and bring your kids up right, then a few bats start spreading a disease around and you end up living side by side with yobbos like that."
"We need what they can do, Paul," Rowan says. "We each have different skills to bring to the table." I'm just about to applaud this new, broadminded attitude, when she adds, "You're not expected to socialise with them; they're just the muscle, that's all."
"I am expected to, though, aren't I?" says Paul. "This blinking bonfire party thing. I've done everything I could to keep scum away from my family, and now it's on my bloody doorstep."
Aria's just come in with a bag load; she laughs out loud. "For fuck's sake, Paul! What do you think this is, a residential estate in the suburbs? In case you haven't noticed, that's all gone. Whatever stupid job you put yourself through, day in, day out, so that you could buy your little fucking box in a cul-de-sac where there were no nasty rough people, that's gone, too. We're all the same now."
"Hear, hear," I say. "It might broaden your outlook, Paul."
"We're not all the same." Rowan doesn't look at Aria
as she takes the tins out of her holdall. "But we can co-exist."
"Okay, not exactly the same," Aria says, "but how about looking at it from the other side? I've spent my life avoiding smug fucking sheep who are too brain-dead to do anything except toe the line and say 'yes sir', and think they're better than me 'cause they go to fucking Ikea and have two-point-four whining kids, but now I have to live with them, too, which is just as hard for me as it is for you to walk down the road and see someone wearing a leather jacket."
Gareth and I give her a round of applause; I can see why Heath likes her. Aside from her undeniable beauty, of course.
I think of them together, and a flash of pain shoots through my gut.
Why? Why?
Paul's still grumbling about Parks and Jez giving him 'funny looks' when they let him through the barricade, and saying he definitely won't be going to the bonfire on Saturday night.
"I wouldn't put it past them to sacrifice a goat, or summat. Well, they're all bloody pagans, aren't they?"
I've had enough. "Paul, you don't have to live here. None of us do. We're here because there's nowhere else, or if there is, we don't know about it. Get to know one or two of them; you might even like them. We need to make the most of what we have, and be thankful that we're among the lucky few still alive."
He doesn't like that. "You're wrong, love. I'm not alive 'cause I'm lucky, I'm alive 'cause my family were among those chosen to receive the vaccine—so whatever Missy over there thinks," he stabs his finger in Aria's direction several times, "it means the people who know what's what thought the lives of me and my family was worth protecting. Unlike them what stole the vaccinations meant for honest, hardworking taxpayers." He folds his arms. "And I'm here on this island because Marcus told us it was a safe place to be—which it was, until someone decided we've got to share it with a load of hoodlums."
How well I remember all those theories about vaccination selection. If only he knew; I see before me, a worker bee.