“Yeah. Danny and Simon. Gobby kids – gave the capos some lip. And we didn’t like them much either.” Amit looked uncomfortable. “So on Sunday they both got shoved down the hole. Came up yelling and puking, and next thing you know they’re gone. Back to the mainland. Didn’t you see them get off the boat?”
“No, they’d already been dropped off, somewhere up the coast. But did you warn them too?” Baz wanted to know. “About what was gonna happen?”
Silence.
“No? So that’s what you call looking out for your mates?” Baz couldn’t help making the dig. He felt that it was justified.
“Yeah.” Amit sighed. “I know. Those of us that’ve been here a while, we... we’ve kind of got used to just looking out for each other, I s’pose. Newbies come over on the boat, they take their chances. If they get the treatment and they can’t stand it, well, tough. They get sent back. And at least that means it wasn’t one of us. Some other newbie turns up, and then he gets sent down the hole and... that’s how it goes.” He rubbed his forehead. “But you’re right. This place is such a screw-up. Something’s gotta change.”
Baz picked up the saw again, and his wad of wire wool. Simply for something to hold onto. “Couldn’t we just hide and keep out of their way? Like in the main building? It’s big enough.”
Amit laughed at that. “No. There’s nowhere to hide. You can’t get up to the next floor. There’s only two staircases. One of ’em’s collapsed, and the other’s down in the divers’ bit. You could probably stay out of the way if you kept moving, but then somebody else’d cop it for not telling where you were. We can’t all hide every Sunday. Not till night time, we couldn’t. And you know – I gotta say this, Baz – I think Ray might get it worse than you, anyhow. He’ll probably be first.”
“Oh, great. That’s all right then.”
“Yeah, but I’m serious. See, that Ray...” Amit shook his head. “Steiner’s got it in for him already. And he’ll get him one way or another, so you better warn him.”
Baz began rubbing down the saw again and didn’t say anything for a while. He thought about Steiner’s ugly face, rain dripping from his long freckled chin... bare gingery knees...
And he thought about Ray, out there now, pushing his barrow up and down the hill. No idea of what was going on, or what might happen to him. That seemed almost worse for some reason. God.
“Anything else we should know?” he said. “What about that guy Cookie? What’s with him?”
“Cookie?” Amit shrugged his shoulders. “He’s just a fat slob. We hardly see him. He’s gone in the morning before the rest of us, and he’s down there in the kitchen till night time. Doesn’t usually come back till after dark. Sometimes they lock him in the slob room during the afternoon for a couple of hours if there’s nothing for him to do. He cooks for the divers – cleans up, I s’pose. Don’t know what else he does, but it’s seven days a week. We don’t have anything to do with him.”
“He can’t help being overweight, can he?”
“’Tisn’t just that. He spends more time with the divers than he does with us, so we can’t trust him. Gotta watch what you say around Cookie, case it gets passed on, so it’s best to say nothing.”
“And what about the divers? Are they dangerous as well?” Baz wanted to get as much information now as he could.
“Yeah. They’d dump you in the sea for a bottle of vodka – kill you soon as look at you – but it’s easy enough to keep out of their way. Drinking and Ladies’ Day, that’s all they care about.”
“Huh?”
“Ladies’ Day. That’s what they call it. “Bout once a month they pick up a bunch of women from somewhere on the mainland – trade ’em, you know, pay ’em. They bring ’em over on a Friday night, take ’em back Saturday morning. The girls come here all dressed up, make-up and stuff, but they don’t look so hot next day. Gets a bit rough, I reckon. Preacher John knows about it. He doesn’t join in, though.”
Baz carried on working. He’d learned a lot in the last fifteen minutes – more than enough to be going on with – and he’d have to give it all some thought. But the first thing he needed to do was warn Ray of what was about to happen.
“This saw’s about as good as it’s ever gonna be,” he said. “What do you want me to do next?”
Come supper time the tools were all cleaned, oiled, stacked and logged onto Hutchinson’s clipboard.
“You got those codes, newbie?” Hutchinson said as he walked past Baz. “Yeah? Gimme tomato soup – Somerby’s and Patterson’s.”
“Er, Somerby’s is just CTS. Patterson’s is oh-oh-oh-four, er, stroke thirty-two.” Baz was looking at the broad figure of Hutchinson with new eyes. Trying to imagine being shoved down a sewer by him... and then trying not to imagine...
“OK. Spaghetti. Patterson’s and Costcut.”
“Patterson’s... oh-oh-oh-four... stroke fifteen. Costcut, um, P... twenty-three.”
“That’ll do. Next time you’re on sort room you can learn main brands.” Hutchinson moved on.
Baz looked up at the high dirt-streaked windows and saw the clouds gathering in the darkening skies, as usual. Funny how the weather was so predictable now. It nearly always rained in the evenings. He’d almost forgotten what proper weather was like. How different the seasons used to be. Summer. Winter. Those cold frosty mornings when you could see your breath as you stood waiting for the school bus. The long summer holidays, lying out on the dried-up front lawn, trying to get some last-minute homework done. Mum saying to come inside and put on some sunscreen or you’d be sorry later...
There was a rap on the main fire doors, and Baz could see vague figures through the reinforced glass. It was the jetty crew returning. The left-hand door swung back, and Dyson came in. Then there was some kind of struggle. The remaining figures didn’t seem to be able to get through the gap. Dyson was already turning round, pushing at the second door. Baz couldn’t catch what was going on at first, because Dyson was in the way. But then he saw.
Jubo stumbled awkwardly into the room, along with Enoch – and between them they were more or less carrying Ray. They had his arms slung about their necks, and his feet were dragging on the ground. Jesus. They’d killed him.
Baz immediately stepped forward, a ball of fury rising in his chest, but then Robbie was there – appearing in front of him – one arm stuck out to bar his way.
“Hang on,” Robbie whispered. “Just wait a second.”
Steiner came through the fire doors, shoulders back, arms folded, a relaxed swagger. He looked at Hutchinson for a moment, pale eyebrows raised, then turned towards the sorry figure of Ray. He put one finger up to his chin as if in contemplation, all very theatrical, and made a sucking sound through his teeth.
“Cornflake Kid’s had a busy day,” he said. “Hey, you!” He looked towards Baz. “Come and prop up this useless piece of crap.”
Again Baz felt a moment of restraint from Robbie’s arm and heard his low whisper: ‘Just watch out. Don’t give him any excuse.”
It was good advice, and Baz managed to hold himself in control as he walked down the room.
“All right,” he said to Enoch. “I’ve got him.” Baz put his head under Ray’s arm, shifted his balance and took the weight. “It’s OK, Jubo, I can do it. Leave him to me.”
Enoch and Jubo stepped aside. They both looked exhausted.
Steiner said, “Enoch, you’re not done yet. Get me nine tins and put ’em down by t’ bench. You know the drill by now: three meat, two spaghetti, two beans, two tomatoes.”
Baz saw the questioning look on Hutchinson’s face, and heard Steiner mutter, “Don’t worry, Hutch. I’ve got it sorted.”
Ray’s legs just weren’t working properly at all, and by the time Baz had managed to get him down to the workbench area, the tins were already arranged on the floor. The other boys were gathered round. They’d left a gap so that Baz and Ray could join the circle.
“You first, Gene,” said Steiner. “Go ahead.”
Gene stooped down and took his tin.
“OK.” Steiner looked at Hutchinson. “Enoch’s my top dog today. Who’s yours? I’m guessing it could be Taps, right?”
Steiner held Hutchinson’s eye for another moment, nodding his head slightly.
“Uh... yeah.” Hutchinson seemed to catch on. “You’re right. It’s Taps,” he said.
“OK, then. Top-dogs-ready-go.”
Enoch was sliding across the floor before Taps had even realized that he’d been picked as top dog. Dyson had to give him a shove. “Go on, dummy.”
Taps stumbled forward. He hesitated over the tins, plainly bewildered at finding himself having to make such a decision. Finally he picked one up and stepped back.
“OK. Rest-of-you-ready-go.”
Baz stayed where he was, still propping up Ray, as all around him dived inwards. He hadn’t even bothered to look at the tins or make any sort of plan. There was no point.
Once everyone was back on their feet again, the two inevitable tins of tomatoes were all that remained on the grimy sort-room floor.
“Oh dear.” Steiner was reveling in his triumph. “Bit slow again there, girls. OK, that’s your lot. Get back to t’ slob room.”
Baz turned to Amit. “Pick ours up for us, will you?”
Amit glanced up at Hutchinson, perhaps to see if there might be any objection to this, then said, “Yeah, sure.” His brown face looked a shade paler than usual, lips pressed together in a thin line.
Once the door of the slob room had closed behind them, Amit exploded.
“Right. Sod them, then. I’ve had it with this!” He strode off towards the sink unit, carrying the two tins of tomatoes, along with whatever he’d managed to get for himself. He reached up and grabbed a large saucepan from the shelf above the unit, then banged it down on the cluttered draining board.
Baz waited as Robbie got his shoulder beneath Ray’s other arm, and then between the two of them they managed to get him to his mattress. They laid him on his back, and stood up to take a proper look.
“God, what a state,” said Robbie.
Some of the other boys began to gather round. Ray was deathly white, but not unconscious. His eyes were open now, and he raised a forearm to shield himself from the light. The palms of his hands were torn and bleeding.
Baz was trying to control his anger, trying to think practically. “I’ll get some plasters from under the sink,” he said. “Disinfectant, whatever. Try and patch him up a bit.”
But Amit was still occupying the sink area, banging around with saucepans and can-openers.
“OK – listen.” He walked towards the group of boys, bringing the largest saucepan with him. “If Steiner’s going to keep doing this friggin’ tomato thing then somebody’s gonna end up starving every day. So the only fair way is to stick everything we get into one pot, and share it out between us, yeah? I’ve put my beans in here along with the tomatoes. Everybody else does the same, and we’ll be OK. Come on. Open your tins and sling it all in together.”
“Yeah, good idea, Amit.” Robbie picked at the ring-pull on his tin. “Should have done this before.”
But Robbie was the only one to immediately fall in with Amit’s thinking.
“Whoa, whoa.” Dyson held up a hand. “Who are you to suddenly start telling everyone what to do, Amit? Maybe not everyone wants to go along with this. Like me, for a kick-off. I’m not eating any friggin’ tomatoes – not if I can help it.”
“So you’re gonna stand by and watch other kids starve?”
“Hey, we all take our chances. If it’s me that’s too slow on the night, then it’ll be me that ends up with tomatoes. Simple as that.”
“Too slow?” Amit pointed down at Ray. “That poor bleeder can’t even stand up. What chance did he have tonight?”
“OK, so Steiner’s got it in for him, and that’s tough. But whose fault’s that? You go picking fights with a capo and you get what’s coming to you – tomatoes!”
“So you’re out.” Amit looked disgusted.
“Yeah, I’m out. Good luck with the Bleedin’ Hearts Club.” Dyson walked away towards the sink area and began rummaging through the cutlery drawer.
Amit watched him go, then turned back to the rest of the group. “Friggin’ unbelievable. OK, well, let’s see who’s in. Baz?”
“Well, yeah, it’s fine by me. And Ray’ll be in for sure. I know we got nothing to lose tonight, but I think it’s a good idea anyway.”
“OK, so that’s three of us. Enoch? Jubo? Come on, we might as well just have a vote on it. But if we all stick together, then everyone gets fed the same. No more scrabbling about on the floor and hoping for the best. So who’s in?”
Robbie’s hand was already up. “Yeah, OK. Me.” So now there were four.
But that was it.
Enoch and Jubo looked at each other as if for mutual assurance and then shook their heads. Taps just seemed to have gone blank.
“Dunno ’bout this, man,” said Jubo. “Like Dyson say, it ain’t our fault that Steiner got it in for these guys.”
“Sheesh. You try and make things fair... where’s Gene?” said Amit.
“Gone to the jakes, I think.”
“I think’ – Taps suddenly spoke up – ‘that Dyson’s correct. We must all take our chances. Sometimes you get tomatoes and sometimes you get meat. It all works out in the end. Tonight, for example, I was top dog—”
Amit turned on him, his voice rising with anger. “Top dog? You weren’t top dog, you dozy little retard! Steiner told Hutchinson to pick you because he wanted to make sure that Baz and Ray didn’t get anything decent—”
“Hey. Leave him be, Amit.” Gene appeared from beneath the washroom curtain. “Just because things aren’t going your way, there’s no need to take it out on Taps.”
“Oh, right,” said Amit. “Here comes the big genius. Another one who knows when he’s well off. Tin of meat every night, and never has to graft for it. Don’t need to ask whose side you’ll be on, then.”
“Well, yours, as it happens.” Gene already had his can opened. “There you go. Chicken curry. Bung it in with the rest. Far as I’m concerned it’s fair to share everything out, but what other people do is their business, OK? Let ’em make up their own minds.”
“Huh?” Amit looked astonished. He’d been completely wrong-footed, and all the bluster went out of him. After a few moments he said, “Well... OK, then. Great. Thanks, Gene. And you’re right – I shouldn’t have gone off on one. Sorry, Taps.”
But Taps barely seemed to notice. He was holding his tin of food between both hands and looking down at the lid. CHIL. His forefingers tapped against the tin, first one side, then the other. One-two-three-four-five. One-two-three-four-five...
He wandered back towards his bed.
So the group was split, five for sharing and four against. Spaghetti and chicken curry were added to the tomatoes and beans, and a dubious-looking combination it made. The contents of the saucepan were doled out equally into the five tin cans.
“Bleedin’ hell.” Amit took a spoonful of the mixture and pulled a face. “Whose stupid idea was this?”
“Told you you’d be doing this for me,” Ray murmured. It was the first time he’d spoken. “Christ, it hurts. How does it look?”
“Not good.” Baz knelt beside Ray’s mattress and poured a drop more disinfectant onto the dampened sleeve of a T-shirt. Loose flaps of skin were hanging off Ray’s palms, and beneath that the flesh was raw and pink, like uncooked chicken. “And there’s only a few plasters left. Gene’s got some in the sort room, though. He might be able to get us a couple more tomorrow. OK. Here we go. It’ll sting like hell.”
Ray’s face was screwed up in agony as Baz dabbed at his hands. Baz saw that the wounds matched his own exactly – palms and fingertips – and he felt a shared and renewed pain as the disinfectant soaked into the grubby plasters he’d been wearing since this morning.
“Jesus...” Ray’s breath hissed ou
t of him. “That dickhead Steiner... sheesssh... he was on at me all day... wouldn’t get off my back. Thank God it’s Sunday tomorrow. Ow.”
“Listen.” Baz didn’t want to make things any worse, but he had to put Ray in the picture. “The others told me something today, and it’s scary. Steiner and Hutchinson get legless on Sundays. They drink all afternoon, and then they do this thing where they put you down into a sewer. A drain thing. The others reckon you and me are in for it.”
“What?” Ray tried to lift his head, but couldn’t manage it. He fell back on the blanket again. “Ohhhh, great. That’s all we need.”
“Yeah, and it’s no good trying to hide, ’cos somebody else would just cop it instead.”
“What are we going to do? Get me up, will you?”
Baz put his arm around Ray’s shoulders, levered him into a sitting position, then helped him to wriggle backwards so that he could lean against the wall.
“I’ll tell you what we do. We refuse to work, and then we get sent back. Back to the mainland, I mean. I’ve had enough of this friggin’ place.”
“You know what?” Dyson’s voice interrupted them. He was over by the sink, getting rid of his empty food tin. “I’m beginning to wonder about you two.”
Baz still had his arm about Ray’s shoulders. He self-consciously withdrew it, but ignored Dyson’s remark.
“And it’s hardly gonna bother Isaac if we leave. Can’t see why it would. There’s plenty more kids trying to get here. It’d make no difference to him. Let’s get out.”
Ray shook his head. “Can’t go.”
“Why not? You’ve still got a mum. Someone to—”
“Said I can’t go, all right?” Ray had tears in his eyes, but his mouth was set firm. “I need a pee.”
“Right. I’ll give you a hand.” Baz took hold of Ray’s wrists and pulled him onto his feet. “Come on, then.” He lifted Ray’s arm in order to help him into the washroom.
“It’s OK. I can do it.”
“What? You can hardly stand, let alone walk.”
“I can do it. Stop fussing over me.” Ray disentangled himself and staggered off towards the jakes. He was gone a long while, but Baz resisted the impulse to go and check if he was all right. You could only help people who were willing to be helped. Nevertheless, he went over to the cutlery drawer and found Ray a spoon. It would save him that journey at least.
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