‘But this is …’ I held the note up towards Pav.
‘Our life in Little Town,’ he said.
‘No, I mean, it’s dangerous. Maybe you could give it to someone in a position of authority?’ I said.
Pav laughed, scrunched up his face and rubbed his ribs. ‘You funny guy, Charlie. Yes, let’s take to police here,’ he said sarcastically.
‘Do you think this was Max and Bones?’ I said, holding aloft the note.
‘I not know; could be.’
‘I don’t think so, Pav. Too advanced for those two.’ I laughed, trying to lighten the mood. Pav kept it gloomy. ‘I mean, the level of words in it is way too advanced and the spelling is spot on, so probably not them,’ I said. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Maybe The Big Man. Maybe Norman. Everybody hate people like us, so could be anyone. Could be Old Country patrol.’ Pav’s eyes fixed on mine.
‘It wasn’t me, Pav. Do you think it was me?’
‘No.’
‘Jeez, for a minute I thought that you thought that …’
‘You good guy, Charlie. I know you.’
‘I don’t think it was The Big Man; he likes you.’
Pav shook his head and sniggered.
‘He hate all things Old Country.’
I was going to say Not true but thought better of it.
‘Want me to hang on to it?’ I said, holding the note up. ‘I could do some detective work, try to see who did it.’
‘What is point?’
‘Well …’ I didn’t really have a point.
‘I want get hell out of Little Town, so no point.’
‘Get out? Where?’
‘I not yet know.’
‘But out of Little Town is dangerous, Pav.’
‘For you. Not me. This place dangerous for me.’
‘What about your mum and dad?’
‘They stay here; they say same as you.’
‘What about … ?’ It was on the tip of my tongue to say something about his sister, how I’d seen her, how she could maybe help him, make all their lives a lot better here, but Pav beat me to it.
‘They want stay for my sister. They think she can help them in Little Town.’
‘Have they been talking to her?’
‘No, but Mum want to find her. They speak about all time. All day. Sister. Sister. Sister. My nut is done, Charlie.’
‘And you? Do you want to meet with her again?’
‘I say she still bastard like she was in Old Country. I want go different place. Far away from here.’
Pav stared at the floor, ran his hands through his growing, unwashed hair, put them over his face like he was trying to hold in a huge sneeze. They stayed on his face for ages. His shoulders went up and down. His knees shook. He sniffed loudly. Then this huge howl came. Just one. His shoulders began to move quicker. Galloping pace. If you didn’t know better you’d have thought he was suffering a shivering spell. I didn’t know what to do. If I should sit next to him, put my arm around his shaking bones, pull him close and tightly hug the life out of him. I didn’t know what the hell’s fire to do. I froze. I did nothing. I didn’t even have a hanky in my pocket. Once more I read the note that he’d given me. I folded up the squares and put it back in my pocket. Then I took the bull by the horns.
‘It’ll be OK, Pav.’
‘No, it not.’ He sounded like a baby.
‘Come on, little man. It will get better soon, you’ll see.’
‘I no see.’
I put one hand on his back. His sniffs were louder, harder.
‘Everything will blow over. Give it a week or so.’
‘I want leave, Charlie. I hate here.’
‘Life’s slowly getting better; the school will be rebuilt soon and some of the shops are reopening, so there’ll be food. Proper food.’
‘No more school. No more Little Town. I go now.’
My thoughts shifted to Pav’s mum. Was she listening? Did she know her son was in bits? Was this normal behaviour? Everyday stuff? Was Pav having some sort of breakdown? What does someone having a breakdown even look like?
‘It’ll be OK, Pav. Honestly. If we stick together it’ll be OK,’ I said.
‘It never be OK here.’
‘I’ll look after you, Pav. Promise I will.’
Pav looked up at me. His baby blue blinders were surrounded by an explosion of red spiderwebs. I felt a wave of guilt wash over me for knowing what I knew. Knowing what I was capable of doing. Knowing that The Big Man really did have me by the short and curlies.
‘No!’ He was deadly serious.
‘No?’
‘You need look after you, Charlie. This is dodgy place.’
‘But we’re mates,’ I said.
‘You must to forget me.’
‘Don’t be …’ I was about to say stupid, but I stopped myself, knowing how much Pav hated to be called stupid. And that’s one thing he wasn’t.
‘I serious, Charlie. Forget all.’
‘Don’t talk like that, Pav.’
‘It what I want.’
‘What about school?’
‘I say before. I no go there again.’
‘What about the shed, our shed; can we keep going there?’
‘You go, Charlie. I leave.’
‘But you can’t just leave.’
‘I can to leave.’ Pav thudded himself in the chest. Each word got its own beat.
I stood up, removed the note yet again and held it out.
‘What about this? Want me to see if anyone knows anything?’
‘You keep. I no care.’
Pav smiled. He held out his hand for me to take it. Our hands met. Both our hands were so clammy that they slipped as we went up and down two times.
‘Good to meet, Charlie. You top guy, no numpty or dickhead person.’
‘Erm … thanks, Pav,’ I said.
He shouted something in his lingo and before you could say See you later the door was swung open and his mum was waiting to escort me out. It was like I had been in a dream as I headed for the front door. A bad dream. Was I really saying goodbye to Pav?
When I went into my room I sat on the bed and played the bad dream over and over in my mind. But it wasn’t a dream because I still had Pav’s note buried deep in my pocket. I read it another time. Unbelievable. I never wanted to read that note again, those awful threats. I needed to erase it from my memory. Tell no one about its contents, and I mean NO ONE. The Big Man’s note was in my other pocket. I didn’t need to read that again either.
I’d give Pav a few days before seeing if he’d settled down any. My thinking was that once all the bruises had disappeared he would. I was glad I didn’t mention anything about The Big Man’s plan. That might have sent him over the edge. He’d have joined me in peeking over it, at the least.
The following day, Wednesday, I awoke from a rubbish sleep and wished I’d told Pav everything. Grassed. Ratted. Squealed. I think Pav could have done something to help me; he was the only chance left.
I didn’t want to get out of bed, but school awaited me. I couldn’t face it. I hated taking days off, but really, I couldn’t face it.
29
New Sun
‘Good God in heaven, Charlie.’ Mercy Lewis’s mouth nearly hit the deck of the bus. Her hand rose up to the gap she’d left. ‘Don’t tell me that was Max and Bones as well?’
Mum didn’t let me stay at home on the Wednesday – and, as much as I didn’t have the stomach for it, it was back to school. By the Wednesday morning the shiner had gone down a bit, yet it was still eye-catching.
‘No, Mercy, it wasn’t Max and Bones.’
‘Did someone smack you?’
‘No.’
‘It looks as if someone smacked you, Charlie.’
‘No one smacked me, Mercy. I slipped in my shed and fell into a table. No big deal,’ I said.
‘You slipped in your shed?’
‘Crazy, isn’t it?’
‘Who slips in a shed?’ I could tell t
hat she wasn’t buying it.
‘Well, me for a start. Totally stupid thing to do, eh?’
‘Very.’
‘Is it really noticeable?’ I asked.
‘Is that a trick question, Charlie?’
‘No, I was just –’
‘How’s Pav?’
I was glad of the deflection. But I couldn’t tell her the truth – that Pav was broken and desperate to escape our horrible town.
‘Still majorly peed off about what happened to him.’
‘I’d say he is.’
‘And he’s still a bit battered and bruised.’
‘Poor thing,’ she said.
‘I can’t believe those two eejits got away with it.’
‘Don’t worry, Mercy. They didn’t,’ I said.
This was a case of the tongue wagging before the brain engaged. Of course Mercy picked up on my big-mouth moment.
‘What do you mean?’ She sat herself upright in her seat. ‘Has something happened to them? Did they get suspended or anything like that? I haven’t seen them in school.’
‘No … I mean … they probably won’t get away with it. I think Pav’s parents have been on to the school and they’ve said that they’re going to do something about it,’ I lied.
‘I bet the school’ll probably side with Max and Bones,’ Mercy said.
‘You think?’
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know. Is it?’
‘Two reasons why …’
‘Which are?’
‘One, Pav is Old Country, and two, his mum and dad are Old Country,’ Mercy said.
I looked at the rubble outside the window. ‘Yeah, you might be right.’
‘People here are beginning to really hate Old Country folk, Charlie.’
‘You think?’ I said.
‘Haven’t you noticed?’
‘It’s hard not to notice, Mercy.’
‘And what about you?’ she asked.
‘What about me?’
‘Do you hate them?’
‘Old Country people?’
‘Yes. Do you hate them, Charlie?’
It was an important question. A vital one. I thought hard about it. In the depths of my innards I had good cause to hate them. Mum and Dad had good cause too. Even Max and Bones had cause. The blasted buildings that surrounded us had their cause too. Time to play the cards close to my chest.
‘Do you hate them, Mercy?’ I asked.
‘Ah, I see what you’re doing, Charlie Law. Answering a question with a question. Very clever. Very clever indeed.’
‘Well, do you?’ I asked.
Mercy turned away to gaze out of her window. Thinking time.
‘It’s complicated, Charlie. But the short answer is, no, I don’t. I think it’s counterproductive to hate. It blurs the real issues and distorts an understanding of the possibility of progress.’ Last year Mercy was in the school debating team. She was its youngest member. Always a straight-A student. Some of us needed to scrap like dogs to get As, but for others, like Mercy Lewis, it was a breeze.
‘Which are?’ I asked.
‘Which are what?’
‘The real issues?’
‘Well, people have got to ask themselves if the life they had under the Regime was better for them than the one they could have in the future under Old Country rule. Say, in five years’ time.’
‘Look around you, Mercy. What do you think?’
‘Yes, Charlie, but one day all this rubble will be swept away to reveal some kind of future. What future did we have under the old Regime? Tell me that, eh?’
‘You call this a future?’ I said, pointing out at the piles of brick hills.
‘Sometimes you have to take major steps backwards in order to take a giant leap forward.’
‘This is a leap forward for you, Mercy? This is progress?’
Mercy placed her bag on her lap, slapped her two hands on it and shook her head as if she was disappointed in me.
‘Charlie,’ she said, in her teacher voice. This was a girl destined for a job that required tons of speaking.
‘Mercy.’
‘What are we doing?’
‘When?’
‘Now, what are we doing now?’
‘Erm … talking?’
‘Exactly, Charlie.’
‘And?’
‘And what are we talking about?’
‘Life. Old Country haters. Pav. Max and Bones. I don’t know. You tell me, Mercy. What are we talking about?’
‘We’re talking about politics.’
‘Oh, is that what you call it?’
‘We’re basically talking about understanding our life, our surroundings, our environment.’ She indicated towards the world outside the window. ‘And what our place in all this means to us.’
‘Are we?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘OK, I’ll take your word for it then.’
She slapped her two hands down on the bag.
‘And where are we?’ she said.
‘Eh, hello, we’re on the school bus. At least I think we are.’
‘Right. So here we are on the school bus, which is a public place, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And we’re having a chat about politics and other stuff, agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ I said.
‘Let me ask you something then, Charlie,’ she said.
‘Go ahead, Mercy.’
‘Could we ever do that under the old Regime?’ I tightened my lips. ‘Think about it, could we? It was only a few months ago. Could we sit on a bus and chat openly about how good or bad life was?’
‘I guess not, no.’
‘No guessing required. We categorically couldn’t.’
‘OK, we couldn’t then.’
‘And why was that?’
‘Too dangerous, maybe,’ I said.
‘Far too dangerous, Charlie. Far too dangerous. For you. For your parents. For people who knew you. Everyone was scared out of their wits to open their mouth in case someone’s lugs heard something they didn’t like and ran off to blabber it to the Regime or their Rascal lackeys. We spent our time in silence or looking over our shoulders.’
‘I know, Mercy. I was there.’
‘Yes, you were there, you experienced it. You lived it.’
‘Don’t remind me.’
‘But now look at us sitting here chatting about things we actually decided to chat about. It’s great, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, terrific,’ I said.
Sorry, Mercy, but I don’t remember ever getting a black eye from the Regime or any Rascal, or being gubbed in the stomach for the deadly crime of WALKING. I don’t remember that bit at all. She didn’t need to know any of this.
‘So there you have it.’ Mercy rested her hands on her bag like she was a hotshot lawyer (she probably would be one day … maybe we could be partners). Case closed.
‘There you have what?’ I said.
‘Progress.’
‘Progress?’
‘We are the embodiment of Little Town’s progression in action, Charlie.’
For the rest of the journey I thought about what Mercy had said. I tried to see her point of view, I really did. It seemed like she was beginning to enjoy our new Old Country existence. Maybe I was down to shoot the wrong person? Erin F would’ve had a fit if she’d been part of this chat.
When the bus pulled into school Mercy turned to me and said, ‘Have a nice day, Charlie, and do tell Pav that I said hello and that I’m thinking about him.’
‘Will do, Mercy. Will do.’
‘I really am, you know,’ she said, then disappeared into the crowd.
Ever since Pav got done for, it seemed that folk were dropping off the face of the earth.
Pav had holed himself up and hadn’t returned to school. And after our chat the day of The Big Man’s plan, I doubted he would ever return.
Erin F hadn’t been to school for almost a week.
To say I was worried was an understatement. My body shuddered at the thought of her being face down in a ditch somewhere. I couldn’t get her out of my mind. What’s new?
Max and Bones hadn’t been to school since using Pav as a human trampoline. I didn’t want to think about how Norman or The Big Man had sorted them.
Then Norman hadn’t surfaced for days. I really feared for Norman. The Big Man now considered him to be a rat. I feared big time for him.
30
Guns
Time gathered apace. Everything sped up, pushing me towards the day. D-Day. I didn’t know what the D in D-Day meant though. My D meant death. My D-Day was next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! The words reverberated around my head.
I couldn’t think about much else. All I could do was plan, imagine, visualise and persuade myself that this was for the best. At times I’d catch a glimpse of my bruised face and be convinced that this was the right thing to do. That if I could just eliminate a rank, a captain, then they’d get the message that Little Town wouldn’t be taking this occupation lying down. Old Country couldn’t throw their weight around willy-nilly without there being consequences. Punishment.
I had to do it.
All I needed to do was make friends with the thing. Get better acquainted.
On the Thursday evening I went to the shed, making sure no one was on my tail or watching me. I took it out of its hiding place and carefully removed the bullets – one by one. I held it outstretched for as long as I could. Twenty-two seconds. My arm ached. I sat back in one of the chairs for a breather and thought about my next move, how I’d do it. I held it up again, looked through the aimer. Aimed. Licked my lips. Squeezed the trigger. You have to pull really hard. It’s definitely not like the movies where it’s all bang-bang-bang stuff. You’d need a finger of granite to do that. I’d have to practise the routine of aim, squeeze and fire. It needed to be rapid. Lightning speed. No hovering about to admire the work afterwards.
There in the shed I tried out a few technical moves. I bent down behind one of the chairs, jumped up: pulled the trigger. I walked three paces, swivelled sharply: pulled the trigger. I lay face down, dived up: pulled the trigger. It became more comfortable, less heavy. I practised standing up, kneeling down and lying in the sniper position. The Big Man suggested kneeling down; it’d be easier to make a sprint for it.
After I replaced the bullets and fed it under the floorboards I didn’t want to touch it again. My mouth became dry.
The Bombs That Brought Us Together Page 19