by Fiona Shaw
–You OK? Martha said.
Poacher nodded. –But the other fella’s not feeling so good. We ain’t stayin’ fer dessert.
They hid in the shop. Crouched down behind the postcard racks and the trays of toys and sweets, silent, waiting. They were invisible, if anyone looked through the glass. As long as no one opened the door. The girl was crouched beside Jake, her breath still coming in gasps. He didn’t dare move his head, so he could only see her foot. She was wearing black trainers, classy ones. The kind you saw in the adverts, but never got in the shops in his home town.
–Ssh. Swift’s quick command.
Jake listened. Heavy footsteps coming closer. Someone running down the corridor. He looked at the ground, like he’d be less visible that way. He could feel the fear in the gang. It was like a heat behind the eyes, like dizziness. The footsteps reached the door. Stopped. They could hear the man’s ragged breath. Jake stared at the floor, hand on Jet’s muzzle, not moving. Then the footsteps again, moving away, getting fainter.
Another minute, no one moving, no one making a sound, and still everything was quiet. Only the distant thump of the meet music.
Swift went to the door, looked through the glass; inched the door open, checked the corridor.
–It’s clear.
Jake felt relief flood through him and he leaned back against the merchandise trays. He watched Martha pull on a MailRail cap, which made her look like a little kid. He watched Davie fill his pockets with packets of Love Hearts.
–Love with all yer heart, Davie murmured. –It’s in the good book; and he winked at Jake.
Swift nodded to the girl. –It’s clear, she said again. –You can go.
Jake watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. She was sitting quite still, one hand in a pocket, the other fiddling with something on her clothes, one of the weird bits of crisp packet or something, since it made a rustling noise.
–What if I don’t want to? the girl said.
Jake looked round. You didn’t speak against Swift unless you were Poacher. Ollie had his mouth open, and even Davie was staring at her, but the girl was pouting.
–Go, Swift said again. –Back to your Catchpitters.
–They’re not mine, the girl said. –They don’t want to know.
–They’re stoned, Poacher said. –Free mandy. Free pills. That’s why they don’t wanna know.
–But don’t you want to know why there are free pills? And that man. I have to stop—
–No, Swift said, interrupting her. –Poacher did the right thing, pulling that guy off you. But that’s it. Job done. We don’t want you with us and we don’t wanna know about the info.
–But it’s important. If I can’t rescue them, there are going to be others. The Coalition— the girl said.
–Not interested. Swift chopped her off. –What’s interesting to us is getting out of here, and that’s got a whole lot more difficult since Poacher punched our guide in the face. You with us is going to make it even riskier. For starters, you’re chipped …
–I’m not, the girl said.
Swift went on as if she hadn’t heard her … –so we leave this room and then you’re on your own.
–I’m not chipped, the girl said.
Poacher snorted. –Yeah, right. And this ain’t England.
–Everyone’s got a chip, Martha said. –Even the King.
–Uh-uh, the girl said. –That’s what they tell you. If you get born high enough – Royal Family, Coalition minister: they don’t chip your children. Anyway, I’m not, and I don’t want your help.
The girl’s voice was new to Jake. She spoke like they did when his mum put the radio on. Maybe it was how they spoke in London, or maybe she was just very posh. She was clean too. Cleanest person he’d seen down here so far.
But if she was very posh and very clean, what was she doing down here?
–You ain’t complained about getting my help so far, Poacher said. –That blond Surfer had hold of yer good an’ proper till I punched him.
–He’s not a Surfer, the girl said. His name is Noel, actually. She shuddered. –He works for my mother.
Jake wondered who on earth this girl’s mother was, but Swift didn’t seem to care.
–Whatever, she said. One thing we know now is he’s as much a Surfer as you’re a Catchpitter.
–I am a Catchpitter. They inducted me and everything. I’ve done four catchpits. Only Piccadilly Circus left to do and I’ll be a full gang member …
Jake heard Davie snort behind him.
–Jake, Poacher said. –Check her neck.
The girl looked like she was going to protest, but Jake parted her hair and gently pushed her head forward. Her hair smelled nice. Lemony. He stared. It should be just there, on the left. Everybody in England had one, a little scar there, a tiny white line on the skin of your neck where they’d slipped in the chip. Every single body. They told you that at school: everybody, even the Royals, even the Prime Minister, because everybody needs to be looked after equally.
But her neck was smooth. No scar, no nothing.
He put his fingers to it, felt for the telltale hard edge of plastic below the skin. Nothing. It was freaky. He pulled away, and the girl tossed her hair back, as if to say, Get your hands off me now.
–No chip, Jake said.
Davie gave a low whistle. –No cuts or tattoos. Biblical. Freaky.
Jake saw Poacher and Swift exchange looks.
–Have you thought about how you’re getting out of here? the girl said.
–We had a plan till you happened. And it’s none of your business, Swift said, putting her arm around Cass as if the girl might be dangerous to be near. –So git.
–Because Noel will have those stairs guarded. The girl went on as if Swift hadn’t spoken, nodding towards the green emergency exit sign in the corner. –And every other rat-run near here. She was talking fast, urgently. –He’ll have brought in the troops, everybody, cos—
–So we’ll git the lift, Poacher said, interrupting her. –Scan hub won’t see us. Ollie? Go an’ press the button. And Ollie was getting up when the girl spoke again.
–I wouldn’t, if I were you. They’ll have someone waiting at the top, he’ll see the lift button light up, and boom! She made a sound like a little explosion. –They’ve got you.
There was a silence, as if nobody knew what to do or say. Jake had never seen Poacher or Swift like this: like they didn’t know what had happened and didn’t know what to do next.
Then Poacher sighed, like he was giving up something. –What’s the rat-runs? he said.
–So, the girl said, as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask, –the rat-runs are your paths and passages. They know about them all, and mostly they’ll leave you alone in them. That way, they know where you are, after all. Look, I don’t mean to be facetious. The truth is, we could help each other now. I need to get out too. I have to stop Noel somehow.
–Who’s ‘They’? Poacher said.
–The Office of Covert Surveillance, the girl said. –Part of the Home Office. You know, the government. The Coalition. Of course, they didn’t know that I was down here, not till just now, and that will change things, somewhat. Because that man – she gave a little shudder here and Jake didn’t know if it was acted or real – now he’s seen me, he will do everything to get me back to my mother. Otherwise it won’t only be his job that’s on the line.
–So it’s you they’re hunting now, not us, Swift said.
Jake shut his eyes against the man falling in his mind, the thud he made at the bottom, the stink of broken perfumes. He saw the ticker tape feed spooling round the walls of the Tube station: ‘police close in … police close in …’
–The Coalition doesn’t know, doesn’t care about us, Swift went on, –but if you’re telling us the truth, then it makes you dangerous to be near.
–Maybe, the girl said, –but they’ll still have all the exits covered, and anyone coming up is going to get arrested, check
ed by the hub police. Even people that aren’t important. The girl looked down at her hands – was she checking her nails? – and Jake noticed that they were painted purple.
Martha was frowning, forehead furrowed like someone older. –So why don’t you go back to your mother? she said. –Since you’ve got one. More than most of us down here has got.
–Because I can’t, the girl said in a hard voice. –She’s … But she stopped herself. She turned to Swift. –Let’s do a deal. You let me stay with you until we’re all out of London and I’ll get us all out of here. I’m in a hurry too.
–Don’t listen to her. Let the hubbers pick her up, Martha said immediately. –If she’s so important, they won’t hurt her.
The girl turned her back on Martha. –Deal? she said again to Swift. –Then we can go our separate ways. Believe you me, I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I could think of an alternative. But you seem to need to get out of these tunnels, and I have to get out of London.
Jake listened to the girl in amazement. She spoke like a grown-up, and not just any grown-up. She spoke like, he didn’t know, like the Home Academy Headteacher, or someone on the TV going on about Coalition stuff.
Swift and Poacher swapped glances again, and Poacher glanced over at Davie, at Jake. –That Surfer dishing out mandy, he was the one was gonna git us outta here, wasn’t he? he said.
They both nodded.
Poacher turned back to the girl. –Deal then, he said. –Gimme yer rucksack. I gotta check it.
The girl passed it to him, and he rummaged through.
–Few bits o’ clothes, notebook, he said and he handed it back. –Now gimme yer mobile.
–I’ve already turned it off … the girl said.
–Give it to me. Poacher held out his hand.
–And I can take out the card, the girl said, but Poacher shook his head.
–Give it. Gotta keep us all safe as we can.
Reluctantly the girl took her mobile from her pocket. –Be careful with it. It’s got very important information on it. Evidence. Important for everyone, I mean. For you, and for all of them, in the meet, and you have to listen to me …
Poacher nodded. –Yup, he said, unclipping his penknife, and flipping the card out of the back of the mobile, he cut it in two.
The girl gasped. –You can’t do that! I need to tell people … You need …
Placing the mobile on the floor, Poacher stamped down hard. Jake heard the crunch of split plastic and the girl’s cry of anger. Picking up the mobile pieces, Poacher dropped them in the bin behind the desk. He pushed one half of the card beneath the bouncy balls, and the other half under the Love Hearts.
–That was mine. My evidence. I need it, the girl said. –You don’t understand how important—
But Poacher shook his head, interrupted her. –Ain’t got time fer important right now. We gotta git outta here smartish, so you gotta change yer gear, cos he’s looking fer a Catchpitter. They all will be. An’ he’s looking fer long hair. Poacher nodded to Jake. –You’re near enough same height. Give her yer spares. Stash her gear in yer rucksack, hers ain’t big enough. Martha, cut her hair.
–Not my hair! the girl said. –I’ll change my clothes, but not my hair. I’ll put it up. You’ve got no right. You can’t!
But Martha had already taken out her scissors, and before the girl had even finished protesting, she’d cut fast across the shiny black.
Jake heard the girl’s gasp, watched her put her hand to her head. She looked much younger with her hair cut. Poacher passed her an old beanie from his rucksack.
–Case yer wanna cover it, he said.
The girl took it from him as if it was dirty, which it probably was, but she put it on. She hid behind a stand of pencils and pens while she put on Jake’s spares.
Davie gave out little packets of Love Hearts while the girl got changed. –Gotta love yer neighbour, he said. –Eat my heart.
‘Be real’, Jake’s first one said, and when he put it in his mouth, it reminded him of car journeys and his mum and dad talking in the front.
Davie gave an orange Love Heart to Swift. –‘I’m sorry’, she read out.
Once the girl was changed, Martha gave her a paper bag she’d taken from behind the till. –It’s got your hair in it, she said, and the girl took it and Jake saw her bite her lip.
–That Surfer fella’ll be back pretty smartish, when he doesn’t find us up there, Swift said. –So how do we get out, posh girl?
Twenty-nine
The girl led the gang through a door signed ‘MailRail Museum’, each of them clicking through a turnstile, onto a narrow platform. But it wasn’t like an ordinary Tube platform. It was narrow and there were no vending machines, no adverts. Just a sign on the wall that read:
And the train, a little way down the platform, wasn’t like an ordinary Tube train either. The carriages were more like wagons, and they were low and narrow with MailRail painted on the sides, and there were benches to sit on, with barely room for two people to each wagon, and little doors, and seat belts, like in a car. At the front was the engine with a dashboard of buttons and switches.
–Used to be for the post, the girl said. –It’s been a tourist ride since before we were born. But they revamped it recently. I went on it with my mother, the first day it re-opened.
–That’s how we escape? Martha said, and the girl nodded.
–I sat in the engine and got to start it. I can do it again.
–Where’s it go to? Poacher said.
–I don’t know, the girl said, –but it’ll get us away from here.
–Everyone in then, Poacher said. –Quick.
The girl climbed into the engine space and the gang scrambled into the wagons behind, Swift and Cass just behind the engine, then Ollie, then Jake, with Poacher, Davie and Martha in the back three.
–Let’s go, Poacher said.
Jake gripped the side. He looked ahead to the tunnel. It looked barely high and barely wide enough for the train. The girl’s hands were moving over the dashboard, but nothing happened. Again and again he saw her press a large green button on one side, but still nothing. Come on, he thought. It was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
Poacher leaned forward. –Get it moving. His voice was low, but Jake could hear his impatience.
–I’m trying to, the girl said. –Last time I just pressed this button. She sounded bewildered, amazed that something wasn’t going her way. –I pressed it, and the engine started, the roof came up and over, and the driver pulled this lever and …
–Listen! That was Swift. Jake listened, and there was the tickety-tick click of the turnstile, once, then again, and again.
There were running footsteps. Jake froze with fear. But it was Davie – he was out of his seat, out of his wagon and running down the platform. Yanking open the driver’s door, he shoved the girl over. Jake could see his hands moving over the dashboard, almost as if they could read it.
The gang waited, breath held, and in the quiet Jake heard voices from the direction of the passage and coming this way. Come on! he willed Davie.
–Done it! Davie’s voice seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
–What about the roof? the girl said.
–Ain’t got time to find the button. Just gotta keep our heads down, Davie said. –It’s two-hand control to start the engine. Just gotta sort out a couple of other bits. When I say so, press the green button, he told the girl. –Not until. And the girl nodded.
The voices were getting louder. Jet gave out a low growl. Jake kept his eyes fixed on Davie’s back. Come on! he willed again.
–Gotcha! There was no mistaking that voice.
Jake couldn’t help himself, and pulling his hood up to shield his face, he turned back to see. At the top of the platform stood the blond Surfer, blood on his face from Poacher’s punch, and two hubbers: a man and a woman. The man wore a baseball cap with a big ‘H’ on it. The woman Jake recognized. She was the one who’d shoved her baton under Jak
e’s chin on the escalator. The one with the hard eyes and the scar. They were all holding Tasers. There was a moment’s pause, long enough for Jake to see the triumph on the blond Surfer’s face, and then all three were running towards the train, towards the rear wagon.
That’s where Martha’s sitting, Jake thought. Martha was tough, but she wasn’t a fighter. Jake had seen how she held a knife. His heart beat hard as he watched the one in the cap, the fastest of them, reach the train, and he clenched his fists in terror. –Come on, Davie! he almost shouted.
–Go! Poacher yelled.
Davie’s shout burst out. –Now!
And the train lurched forward. But the hubber had grabbed the wagon edge, his black-gloved hands reaching towards Martha.
Jake put a hand to his face. He could hardly bear to watch. –Come on! Come on! The sounds came out through clenched teeth. Through his fingers, Jake saw Poacher reaching over his seat, but the tunnel was too low for him to climb back; and he saw Martha lift her rucksack up in both hands, lift it above her head, her face fierce below the MailRail cap. The train was moving forwards now, faster and faster, accelerating, throwing Jake against his seat belt.
From the front came the girl’s voice: –Heads down! Heads down! Because any second now and the train would be into a tunnel, and as anyone could see, there was no room between the train and the tunnel roof.
Jake snatched another look back, in time to see Martha bring her rucksack down with full force on the man’s head.
–Yes! he hissed, fist clenched, willing her to be strong against this man who would destroy them. He pictured Martha, that day they’d gone stealing together: fierce, and wise, and deadly, if she had to be. He held her in his mind’s eye as if that could protect her now.
He heard Swift’s voice, and Poacher’s, shouting for her too. But they were too far from her to help, and now the man reared up again, roaring with rage, his arms round the rucksack, and he was pulling Martha up with him as the train reached the tunnel, the two of them standing up together in the rear wagon, arms locked around Martha’s rucksack in a terrible embrace.