by Fiona Shaw
He saw Jade’s face. He saw her big smile and her lipstick and her white coat.
–Jade worked there every day, he said.
Cathleen sat down on the floor next to him. –They don’t know whether people died yet, she said. –She might be fine.
–Wages of sin, Davie said in a singsong voice. –Live by the sword, die by the sword.
–Zip it, Davie, Swift said.
–I bet she didn’t know anything. I bet she had no idea, Jake said. –She was kind. He got up, and went to the window. Looked out at the darkness. He just wanted to live in a family, live with his dog, find his grandparents. He didn’t want people to die.
–We’ve got blood on our hands, Ollie said.
–No. It’s the Coalition that’s got blood on their hands, Swift said.
–Listen to me, all of you. Father Angus’s voice was gentle, but it held their attention. –Listen to me, not because I’m a priest, but because I’ve been around on this planet longer than anyone else. This is a sermon, but just a short one. You know far more than me about all this anyway. But what I do know is this: this Coalition, they’re threatening innocent people. Innocent English people, innocent Europeans. Millions of them. Their so-called vaccine: it’s a terrible violation, not just of English people’s human rights, but Scottish people’s too, and beyond. They can’t be allowed to succeed. This drone strike, it’s a far, far smaller act of violence to prevent a vastly greater one, and it’s terrible if any single person is killed, but—
–But it’s better than allowing it to continue, Cathleen said. –You’ve done a good thing, all of you. And a brave thing.
–Even though people probably died? Jake said.
–Even though people probably died, she said.
Later, Ollie cooked up a storm for their supper. He made pizza, and little fried rice balls with cheese in the middle. He made a little speech before they ate.
–You come to Italy, he said to them all, –and then my father will cook pasta for you. In Italy, everyone can afford to eat pasta. And he will cook the best arancini for you. The best food in the world. Now eat. And then he shut his eyes and muttered something under his breath.
Jake ate all the food put on his plate. But he felt a hollowness that food couldn’t fill. Everybody else looked serious too, and he guessed they were all feeling the same. Tomorrow they would be split up and they’d all go different ways. Swift and Cass to a hospital in Edinburgh for Cass to start her treatment – Cathleen had an Edinburgh friend for Swift to stay with. Ollie was going to Rome, to be reunited with his father.
Poacher was heading straight back to England. –Plenty more need rescuing. Plenty more to bring over the border, he said as they ate.
–What about the hub police? Father Angus said. –They’ll have your description on their screens. They’ll lock you up for good if they catch you.
But Poacher only shrugged. –It’s what I gotta do, so …
That got Davie drumming, his fingers going so fast against the edge of the table, they were like a blur.
–’S all right, Davie, Jake whispered. –Poacher can look after himself.
–A boy needs a place to return to, Poacher, Cathleen said. –And you can always return here. Always.
–Nice one, Poacher said, grinning. –Might need a bed and a plate o’ beans at the end, and he bumped knuckles with Swift.
Jake caught the look that passed between Cathleen and Father Angus then, but he didn’t know what it meant.
–What about you, Davie? Are you staying in Scotland? It was Father Angus’s question.
But Davie didn’t answer him. He just shut his eyes and turned his head away, and his fingers went on beating.
Jake saw Cathleen raise her eyebrows at Father Angus, and take another bite of pizza. But it was only when she spoke again that he understood what her look had meant.
–Davie, this is up to you and you don’t have to decide right away, because the offer’s there for good. For always. But we want to offer you a home here, she said.
–We? Ollie said.
–It may be, Father Angus said, and he was blushing.
Davie was still drumming, but it was a slower riff now. Ollie caught Jake’s eye and made a questioning gesture, and Jake shrugged. He didn’t know what was happening either. Everyone waited.
–Anyway, Davie, Father Angus said, –whatever you need, we’d be glad if you found it here, made it your home too; and he gave a little nod, as if to say: –There. That clears things up.
Then Davie’s fingers stopped drumming, stopped in the middle of a phrase, and he opened his eyes. He kept his gaze fixed down on the table.
–A proper home? he said.
–Yup. Cathleen’s voice, quiet and firm.
–Here? With you?
–Yup.
Now he looked up. Looked straight at Cathleen, then straight at Father Angus.
–I ain’t … He stopped, shook his head, like it was hard to get the right words. –My own room? he said.
–Yup, Cathleen said, and she held his gaze.
–Ain’t never had a home before. Not a proper one. Nice one, he said. –Prodigal sons an’ all that, eh? And Jake saw Father Angus’s grin out of the corner of his eye.
Cathleen pulled ice cream from her freezer, and Ollie poured hot chocolate sauce over it. Jake dug his spoon in, but he didn’t really want it. It was that hollow feeling; and the ice cream wasn’t going to fill it. Still, tomorrow he was going to Applecross; tomorrow he’d see his grandparents.
But it would just be him. No gang. No Jet.
He got to his feet, went to the back door. He needed some air. He leaned his head out into the night, feeling the cool, salty air on his face. Tears ran down his face.
A few minutes later Father Angus came and joined him. They looked out towards the black sea.
–I don’t know who I belong to any more, Jake said. –Or where.
Poacher disappeared that night, leaving a scrawled note on the kitchen table for them to see in the morning:
Stuff goin off in Inglan cos of us so thers other kids to bring owt now. See ya nex time. Owtwalkers foreva. Gud luk my gang.
Then a helicopter came after breakfast for Swift and Cass and Ollie. It would land in Edinburgh on the roof of the Royal Infirmary. Doctors would take Cass and Swift straight into the hospital, and an official from the Italian Embassy would meet Ollie there and put him on a plane to Italy.
–You’re a very special group of kids, Cathleen said. –Let us know when you’ve arrived safe.
They stood in the hall to say goodbye, the five of them left. Outside, the helicopter blades were already turning. Jake bit his lip. He didn’t know how to do this. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Davie shaking his head.
–It’s time, Swift said, but Davie shook his head harder, and ran up the stairs.
–The lord bless us and keep us, The lord bless us and keep us … he chanted, over and over.
–Davie? Ollie followed him up. Jake could see them through the banisters.
–Give me your hand, Ollie said, and slowly Davie put out his hand. Ollie took it, and on to Davie’s palm he made a circle. –You’re there, he said, and he put a dot in the middle with his fingertip. –In the middle of us. Outwalkers for ever, like Poacher said.
–For ever? Davie said.
–Yeah, Ollie said, then he ran down the stairs, and he held Jake by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. Jake bit his lip again.
–It’s what we do in Italy, my brother, Ollie said, and before Jake could reply, he ran out to the helicopter.
–Stay well, Davie, Swift said, and she put her hand up to salute him, and Davie put his hand up to her.
Swift touched Jake’s shoulder. –Jake, she said, and Jake heard the catch in her voice. –Cass has something for you.
Cass held out Jet’s collar in her tiny, bony hand, and as Jake took it she stroked his thumb with her finger, three small strokes.
–When he’
s back, I’ll bring him to see you, he said, because it was easier to feel brave for Cass than for himself.
Then the helicopter roared, and they were gone.
Now Jake was in a helicopter himself, just him and a bodyguard, strapping themselves in. None of the gang with him, and no Jet. Cathleen and Father Angus waved to him. Father Angus had his arm across her shoulder. The helicopter tore him from the ground and in seconds the land had gone to nothing below: toy fields, toy houses, roads like threads.
–Look! The pilot pointed to the line of the New Wall before the helicopter dipped away north.
Studs had taken a copy of his parents’ disc, then given it back to him. It was back in its hiding place on Jet’s collar. One day Jake would listen to the end. Perhaps it would be easier when he was with his grandparents.
They flew along a velvet-green valley, low enough that Jake could see the blue shimmer in the loch at one end. Scotland was very beautiful. He closed his eyes again and he must have slept this time because next thing he knew was the pilot’s voice in his headphones.
–Five minutes to landing. Fasten seat belts.
The air was colder here, and it smelled different. Across the water were mountains, their tops cut off by clouds. The helicopter seemed to fly almost over the water, hang for a moment, then it landed on a stretch of grass. In front of them, a bay of sand and shingle. The blades slowed and the engine stopped.
The pilot called back. –That their house, d’you reckon?
Jake was running before he knew it. Flying across the sand, scrambling over the shingle, rucksack bumping on his back. Now he was close enough to see the curtains in the windows, close enough to see that the front door was open. Close enough to see that two people sat in the front garden, backs to the wind, backs to him. He stopped. Glanced back. The bodyguard was a long way off. Jake hadn’t felt it before, but now he was nervous, butterflies in his stomach.
What if …
Stepping quietly, he reached the wall that ran around the garden and stood silent, looking over. A man and a woman, grey-haired; a tray on the step with a jug of coffee and two mugs. By their feet, a newspaper, weighted against the wind with a stone. On the front page a picture Jake recognized: the Co-Labs in flames, and above it a headline: ACT OF AGGRESSION, OR ACT OF LIBERATION? DRONE STRIKE DESTROYS ENGLISH CO-LABS.
The woman turned towards the sea, and as she turned, Jake saw her profile, and he saw his mother in her face.
He ran towards the gate, fumbled with the latch, tugged it open. He ran up the path, and a few feet from them, he stopped and stood there.
He had travelled so far for this.
On their faces he saw surprise, and he saw shock.
–Jake, his grandpa said. –It’s Jake!
Forty-seven
In those first days with his grandparents, one thing was ordinary for Jake, and nearly everything else felt very strange.
The ordinary thing was no phones, no pads. –For your safety, his granny said. –We’ve been given instructions. No TV either, for now.
But everything else was strange: living in one house, and eating meals at a table, and brushing his teeth with toothpaste, and going to sleep at night time. It was strange to have clean clothes. It was strange to feel so lonely. His grandparents were kind and they didn’t ask him much. Only what he liked for tea and if his shoes were comfortable.
His granny washed all his clothes. Twice. He still wasn’t allowed in public places, so they didn’t go shopping for new ones; instead, she phoned around the village and found other boys’ clothes for him to wear. Then she pegged his Outwalker clothes on the line at the side of the house for the wind to blow through. The other boys’ clothes fitted fine, but they felt like a borrowed life, and he wore his Outwalker clothes when he could.
Nearly every night Jake would lie in his bed and dream horrible dreams. Of dogs attacking Jet, and of Aliya tied up, and of Martha running towards him but never arriving.
–Bad one again? his grandpa would say sometimes, and he’d sit beside Jake on the bed like Jake’s dad used to.
Every day Jake kept thinking he’d see the gang. See Poacher building a fire on the beach, his hair like crazy snakes, or Swift with Cass in her arms, or Ollie. Once he thought he saw Ollie at the far end of the beach and he ran out, waving his arms. But it was another tall skinny boy with short, dark hair, digging for something.
On the fourth day, somebody phoned with news. Jake’s grandpa took the call.
–What did they say? Who was it? Jake asked.
His grandpa read off from his notes. –No word about Poacher, and no word about Aliya. They’re monitoring all her mother’s statements and her Twitter feed, but she hasn’t mentioned her daughter.
It was good news about Poacher, but not about Aliya. It made Jake’s dream seem more real.
–Ollie is with his father in Rome. He’s sent you a message: ‘Hello, my brother. My father wants to meet you and cook you pasta. Come and stay.’
That made Jake smile. –And Cass?
–Responding well to her treatment. Though she has to live in an isolation tent for now.
–Not even Swift allowed in?
–It’s a special tent. Even the nurses have to stay outside it, his grandpa said.
–Swift carried Cass all the way up England. She loves Cass more than anything in the world, Jake said.
There was no news about Jet. Jake didn’t expect there to be.
On the fifth day he fished his mum’s green cardigan from the bottom of his rucksack and gave it to his granny.
–It isn’t dirty, cos I haven’t worn it. But it’s got holes. Mum always wore it for gardening. Then, in case his granny hadn’t understood, he said it again: –She always wore it.
His granny held the cardigan close. Finally she gave it back to him. –One day I’ll darn the holes, she said.
He understood. It took time to live with losing people.
Everywhere were photos of his mum. From when she was a little girl, right up to him being born. And she was always smiling, like everything was always happy, and everyone was always kind, and there was nothing bad.
–Did they tell you what happened? he said. It was after supper and his granny was standing at the sink.
He couldn’t see her face, but she went very still.
She didn’t answer, so he went on. –What happened was, their car went off the bridge. Into the river. Coming home from work. It was a Thursday. They said it happened very fast. They told me they didn’t suffer any pain.
He wanted his granny to stop standing still. He wanted her to turn around, come and sit beside him.
–Granny? Did you hear me? I said their car went off the bridge, but they didn’t feel any pain. It filled up with water, and they couldn’t get out, and they drowned. But it happened very fast, and they were together, and they didn’t feel any pain. Did you hear me? They didn’t feel anything.
His granny still stood at the sink, still stood with her back to him. He wanted to make her turn, make her feel it, like he’d felt it all this time on his own.
–You haven’t asked me about them, not you or Grandpa. Why haven’t you asked me about them?
He hadn’t seen his grandpa come in, but then he was there, sitting down beside him, and his granny turned and she sat down opposite. She put her arms on the table, still wet from washing up. She had hands like his mum’s, only they were old. Square-ended fingers. ‘Strong hands, and all the better to tickle you with.’ That’s what his mum used to say.
His granny’s hands reached out to him. Somebody was crying; the drops were marking the table in small, dark blots.
–They said not to ask you, his granny said. –They didn’t tell us anything. Just said you’d talk to us when you were ready and not to ask.
Jake stared at his granny’s hands that were the same as his mother’s. He saw them against the car window, pressing and pressing.
–It was an electrical fault that made the car go wrong, he said. –
But they didn’t feel any pain. They didn’t …
He stopped. His throat hurt and his eyes ached. He couldn’t breathe because his nose was blocked.
–They didn’t … he said.
His grandpa’s arm was across his shoulder, and somebody was crying.
Nobody had cried with him for his mum and dad. Not when they were killed, and not since. Not till now. His grandpa fetched a box of tissues and soon there was a heap of scrumpled white on the table. Jake told them all about it, and the more he spoke, the more he remembered. He told them how when he came home that day, there were hubbers in all the rooms, with these blue gloves on their hands, going through everything. All his parents’ things, and then his too. He told them about the trunk and hiding his parents’ things in there: the photo, and the cardigan and the knife. He told them about escaping. They laughed about the Home Academy guard dog and the meat wrapped in toilet paper. His granny clapped her hands when he told them about rescuing Jet.
–You’re a brave boy, she said, but he said that his parents were the bravest on account of the disc.
–You can hear them if you want to. You can hear Mum and Dad. Then you’ll understand about everything. And he took Jet’s collar from his wrist and flipped out the disc.
He went outside before they played it. The sun was bright and he sat down first against the house, the warm stone at his back. But he could still hear the voices from inside. A tree stood in the corner of the garden and it didn’t take him long to be up amongst its branches, snug in a cruck between two of them. He looked out over the bay towards the mountains of Raasay. The light was clear, and he could see a figure on the far hill and a scrap of shadow that was a dog.
This was where he’d wanted to be. This was the place he’d dreamed of, ever since he left the Home Academy. This was where he’d escaped to. Here, with his grandparents. Here, by this sea, looking over to those mountains. But with every bone in him, he wished Jet was here too, and Ollie sitting beside him dreaming about food. He wished for his gang.