Num8ers

by Rachel Ward

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Listen, I’ve got to go out for a bit, like I said, do a bit of business, and then when I get back, we’ll get going.”

  “But—” I started to object, but Spider wasn’t having it.

  “We’re gonna need money, aren’t we? You get a bit of food together while I’m out, yeah?”

  “OK, but what if they pick you up now?”

  “I’ll be fine.” He put a jacket on over his hoodie and crammed a beanie over his unruly hair. “There, don’t worry, Jem. Safe.” He formed a fist and held it out to me, and I did the same. Our knuckles touched. “Safe, Jem. I’ll be back soon.” He sloped out the front door.

  All this time, Val had been watching us and hadn’t said a word. Now she got up from the chair.

  “You’d be alright here, you know. They’ve got nothing on you. You didn’t do nothing.”

  I shrugged. They’d been heavy enough about the knife — this was something completely different.

  “I’m not going to stop you, don’t worry. You’ll have to do what you think best. Look,” she said, making for the door, “if you are going, you’ll need some different clothes. Let me have a look in my room. You go through cupboards in the kitchen, take what you want.” I went through to the kitchen and started opening cupboard doors randomly. There was hardly anything there — a few cans of peas, some beans, a box of instant mashed potatoes. I took out a packet of crackers.

  “Did you find the chocolate biscuits? I’ve got a box of chocolate biscuits somewhere,” Val said, coming into the room with an armful of clothes. “Here,” she said, handing them to me, “try some of these.”

  I took them back into the sitting room and sorted through, thinking that I’d rather die than wear them. She’s small, like me, so we were OK size-wise, but — obviously — they all stank to high heaven of smoke and, to be honest, they were gross.

  “What you making that face for? Not good enough for you?” She’d caught me. “Look, you’ll need a couple of T-shirts, and you’re going to need something warm. It’s dropping cold at night now. This sweater,” she rummaged vigorously in the heap and pulled out a big pink thing with a huge roll neck, “and a coat, or something. Here.” She threw a mint-green padded parka and some gloves in my direction.

  “I’ll…I’ll try them upstairs.” I stumbled up and found the bathroom, dumped the clothes on the side of the bath, and slid the bolt across to lock the door. I used the toilet, and then sat there for ages, just breathing, trying to get my head around what had happened, what was still happening. It was like things were slipping and sliding around me, and I was trying to catch up, hold everything together.

  After a while, I stood up and wriggled out of my hoodie. I’d have to try Val’s things, anyway. I put them on and faced the mirror. I looked like me in someone’s grandma’s clothes. It was horrific. But I was going to have to do something, wasn’t I? The filth who’d picked me up the other day would soon realize it was me they were looking for, even if Karen didn’t ring them up, which I was pretty sure she would. They’d have a description then, wouldn’t they? Even a photo. Karen had taken a couple of me with the twins when I’d first got there. They would be looking for a small, skinny girl, with long, mousy hair.

  I opened the cabinet on the bathroom wall above the sink. Among the painkillers, hemorrhoid cream, and indigestion tablets were some nail scissors. Without thinking twice, I took them out and started hacking at my hair. The scissors were crap, and I could only cut through if I pulled the strands really tight. As I snipped away, I was left with handfuls of hair. I let them fall to the floor. Halfway through, I looked in the mirror. God, I looked bad. What the hell had I done? It was no good, though; now that I’d started, I’d have to see it through. I didn’t look in the mirror again until I’d gone all the way ’round.

  Have you ever seen that film The English Patient? Bloody boring, if you ask me. Karen made me watch it at her house once; it went on for hours and she cried her eyes out at the end, silly cow. Anyway, one of the characters, the nurse, cut her hair off, ended up looking absolutely brilliant. She just cut it, ran her fingers through it, and there she was, like a model. Just like me. Except that I looked seriously bad. There was no way I could even go out of the house, let alone run away, looking like this. I looked at the bundles of hair lying on the floor with a sick feeling in my stomach. Was there any way to stick it back?

  Val knocked on the door. “You alright in there? Jem, you alright?”

  I slid the bolt back and opened the door.

  “Sweet Jesus!” Yeah, it was as bad as I thought it was. “It’s alright. It’s not that bad,” she said quickly, trying to undo the damage, but we both knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. It was tragic. “I think it’s going to have to all come off, love. I’ve got some old clippers somewhere. Let me look under the sink.”

  She sat me on one of the stools in the middle of the kitchen. I felt like a jarhead, wincing as the clippers buzzed in my ear.

  “Sit still, love. I can’t do it if you move about.”

  Eventually she stood back and admired her work. “There, that’s better.” I put my hand up to my head. It had all gone. You could feel the shape of my skull. “Not too short, love, you’ve still got a good inch. Go and look.”

  I went back up to the bathroom, stood outside the door for a bit while I got up the courage to look. The girl in the mirror stared back at me. She was a stranger. I was used to seeing my face curtained by my hair, half-hidden, but now my features were laid bare — eyes, eyebrows, nose, mouth, ears, jawline. I looked about ten, a ten-year-old boy. I scowled, and the person in the mirror scowled back. He might be small, but you wouldn’t mess with him. I was fierce. Intense eyes, strong cheekbones, and you could see the jaw muscles through the side of my face. It might feel like my protective layer had been stripped away, but this was a pretty powerful look. I guessed I could live with it. I ran my hands through, starting to enjoy the feel of the newly cut ends.

  When I walked into the front room, Spider was back. His jaw literally dropped, I swear it did. “Fucking hell, I’ve only been gone half an hour, what’ve you done?” He walked around me, examining me from every angle. “Oh, my God,” he was laughing. “You look way cool!” He reached out and touched my hair.

  “Get off!” I wasn’t public property. He jumped back, holding both his hands up in defense.

  “OK, OK.” He was still laughing, then he sobered up. “Listen, we need to get going. Sooner the better.”

  “Where you going, son?” Val asked.

  Spider shuffled his feet, looking down at the carpet. “It’s better if you don’t know, Nan….”

  “Alright, but you’ll ring me, won’t you? Let me know you’re OK?”

  “Yeah, I’ll try.”

  Val had put some stuff together in a bag: food, a sleeping bag, a blanket. I went upstairs to fetch my “real” clothes, and put them in a shopping bag Val had found for me. We stood around awkwardly for a minute, then Spider coughed. “Come on, time to go.” He reached down and hugged his nan. She held him close. I tried not to think that this was probably the last time they’d see each other.

  Spider picked up the bags and moved toward the front door. Val caught my arm. “Take good care of him, Jem.” Those hazel eyes looked deep into mine. I swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything. I couldn’t promise anything, could I? “Keep him safe.” I looked away, and straight off she dug her fingernails into my arm. “Do you know something? Do you know something about Terry?”

  I gasped; she was starting to hurt me.

  “No,” I lied.

  “Look at me, Jem. Do you know something?”

  I pressed my lips together, shook my head.

  “Oh, Christ,” she murmured, her pupils widening in alarm. “Just do your best, Jem.”

  She let go of my arm and we walked into the hall. Spider had opened the door a crack and was peering out.

  “OK,” he said, “I think it’s clear. Let’s go!” He
darted out to a red car parked halfway on the sidewalk, clicked open the trunk, and chucked in the bags.

  “What the…? Is this yours?” I stuttered.

  He looked up and grinned. “It is now. Get in, quick.” He was looking up and down the road, twitching like mad.

  Val fumbled in her pocket and brought out a fiver. “Here,” she said, trying to give it to Spider, “take this.”

  He smiled and closed her hand around it. “Nah, don’t worry, Nan, I got money.”

  “I don’t care, Terry. This is mine. It’s all I’ve got. I want you to have it. Take it.” She shoved it into his pocket.

  “What you gonna live on?” Even in such a hurry, he had time to think about her.

  “Don’t worry, I get my Disability money tomorrow. I’ll be fine. You have it. Get some chips or something.”

  “Cheers, Nan.” He bent to hug her again. Her eyes closed as she held him one last time. “I’ll be in touch. See you soon, yeah?”

  “Yeah, alright, son.”

  We got in the car, and Spider reached beneath the steering wheel with both hands and rummaged around until the car spluttered into life. As we drove off, I looked behind. Val was standing on the pavement, just watching, hand half-raised. Her voice echoed in my head: “Do your best, Jem.” I wanted to tell Spider to stop the car there and then. I wanted to get out and run, and just keep running until I had a heart attack or someone caught me and none of it was in my hands anymore. Deep down inside I knew there was nothing I could do to keep Spider safe — his time was coming, and it was days rather than weeks now.

  “Stick the radio on. Find some music.” His voice broke into my thoughts.

  I looked across at him. He was fizzing with energy, loving the buzz of it all — running away, driving through London. If he’d been a dog, he’d have had the window down now, with his head out and his ears flapping in the breeze. I flicked through the radio stations. It was all rubbish, so I opened the glove compartment, looking for CDs. There was a pretty tragic selection: the Bee Gees, Elton John, Dire Straits. There was all sorts of other crap in there, too — receipts, an old hairbrush, some papers. I fished out one bit of paper, just a boring bill. I was about to chuck it on the floor when something caught my eye. At the top, it was addressed to Mr. J. P. McNulty, 24 Crescent Drive, Finsbury Park, London.

  “Oh, my God, Spider. This is the Nutter’s car! Have you completely lost it?”

  His eyes were shining. “Couldn’t resist. Neat, eh?”

  “You been up the school?”

  “Yeah, just sneaked in. They were all in last period. Didn’t take long — you might as well not lock an Astra.”

  “He’ll have reported it stolen by now. They’ll all be looking for it.”

  “Yeah, I thought about that. Guess we should avoid the motorways — all those cop cars and security cameras. Give us a bit longer before we ditch it and get the next one.”

  I was impressed — he had thought about it. He kept glancing up into the rearview mirror. Every time he did it, the car swerved a bit.

  “What you doing?”

  “Just checking we’re not being followed.”

  “We’d hear the sirens, wouldn’t we?”

  “It’s not just jam sandwiches, Jem, there’s unmarked cars, too. There’s all sorts…”

  “Where are we heading, anyway?” I hadn’t questioned this before, I’d just let Spider take charge — he seemed to know what he was doing.

  “I don’t think it’s worth trying to get out of the country. They’ll be watching all the ports. We just need to keep moving ‘til we find somewhere we can lie low for a bit. I thought we’d head west — might end up at the seaside.”

  It dawned on me: His BEST DAY EVER. “Weston-something-or-other?”

  He smiled. “Yeah. We could aim for there, anyway.”

  “Where the hell is it?” I admit it, my knowledge of geography is nil.

  “Out west. Head for Bristol and keep going. I might buy a map book when we stop for gas. Not that I can read a map, but how difficult can it be?”

  “You got some money, then?”

  “Oh, yeah, I got plenty of money.” He put his hand up to his jacket. “We got the cash, the wheels, we’re on our way!” And he let out a ridiculous whooping noise, then laughed like a maniac.

  And just for a moment, I forgot the bomb, and the police, and the fact that I was in a stolen car with a guy whose pockets were full of dodgy money. It seemed like, after waiting for fifteen years, my life had finally begun. I was in a real-life adventure, and I was enjoying the ride.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The road out of London was like something out of a science fiction film. We went up on a kind of ramp, drove through blocks of space-age office buildings fifty feet up in the air. It was all concrete and glass and sky. We were part of a stream of cars spewing out of the city. As I watched the taillights stretching out ahead, I thought about how each of those cars contained someone with their own story. People on their way back from work, glad to be heading away from the bomb and the mayhem, back to their two-point-four kids in the suburbs. None of their stories could be anything like ours, could they? Two kids on the run from the police in a stolen car. I was living out a dream: Spider and I were movie stars; it was exciting, dangerous, too cool to be true.

  Spider pulled out to overtake a van. Out of nowhere there was a blaring horn, something was right on top of us in the outside lane.

  “Shit!” Spider yanked the wheel and we veered back over. The car in the outside lane drew level with us, the driver making gestures and shouting as he eyeballed Spider.

  “Up yours, mate!” Spider responded. The other bloke was going mad.

  “Just leave it, Spider. Don’t look at him. For God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, or we’ll crash!” Spider was driving wildly, his steering completely random. Eventually, the other guy accelerated away, still going nuts, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Just calm down.”

  “Yeah, I know, but he was a complete wanker. Winding me up, man.”

  “I think we should get off this road, find somewhere quieter.”

  “Yeah, we’ll take the next exit.” He was still agitated, but at least he had both hands on the wheel now.

  Before long there was a sign showing an exit coming up. We moved over into the slip road, and the brakes squealed as Spider tried to slow down to take the bend as it curved ’round. A sign flashed up showing a traffic circle ahead, but we were going too fast to see what it said. We joined the flow, but then we didn’t know what to do. We hurtled ’round, looking at the exit signs: “Hounslow…Slough…Harrow…Christ, where do we go?” We did the full circuit, felt like we’d never get off, before plunging down one exit with car horns going off at us left, right, and center. We carried on, the traffic nose to tail.

  “Did anyone follow us, Jem? Did anyone else go all the way ’round like us?”

  “How would I know?”

  “You need to look in the mirrors! It’s not frigging brain surgery!” There was sweat beading on his forehead. I knew he was stressed, but he was being a tit.

  “Shut up!” I yelled. “All I can see is lights. They’re all the same! How the fuck would I know if we’re being followed?”

  He wiped his hand over his forehead and into his hair. “Where are we?”

  “I dunno, just keep going. There’ll be more signs soon.”

  “I don’t think the signs help much. We need a map.”

  “Won’t help me, I haven’t got a clue about maps.”

  “Well, we’ll just have to learn. God, I need a break.” Spider turned off onto a side road and pulled over. He switched off the engine and stretched out as far as he could in his seat, then rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled hard through his fingers. “Shit! That’s hard, man.”

  “Driving?”

  “Yeah, there’s so much to think about; everything’s coming at you from all sides. Whoa
.”

  He wiped more sweat away from his forehead with his sleeve, put his head back, and closed his eyes.

  “Spider,” I said slowly, “you have driven before, haven’t you?”

  “Sure I have,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I had a go in Spencer’s car down by the warehouses.”

  “But I thought you’d done this tons of times, nicked cars and all that…?”

  “I have, Jem, but I was always the starter. They never let me drive.”

  I looked at him sharply. “I don’t believe you…you’re a head case! We’ve just driven through one of the busiest cities in the world, and you’ve only driven a car once before. Oh, my God….” I found myself laughing, relief teetering on the edge of hysteria.

  He opened his eyes now. “What? What you laughing at? I got us here, didn’t I?”

  I paused for breath. “I’m not laughing at you. Honest, I’m not.” He looked so offended, I put a comforting hand on his arm. “You did get us here. You were awesome. You were awesome, Spider. Here, let’s have a look in the bag your nan got ready. Have a snack.”

  He got out, went ’round to the trunk, fetched the bag, and slung it onto my lap. I fished into it. It was pretty pitiful — crackers, chocolate biscuits, some cans, but no can opener. There was a pack of cigarettes, at least, and something heavy at the bottom. I reached farther in and put my hand around the neck of a bottle. I drew it out. Spider’s face brightened up.

  “No way, man,” I said, putting the vodka back in the bag. “I don’t think this would help right now.”

  “I am thirsty, though. Anything else to drink in there?”

  I rummaged about. “Nah.”

  “Slim pickings,” Spider said, and snorted with laughter.

  “What?”

  “It’s just something you say, isn’t it, when you haven’t got nothing? It’s just funny.”

  For some reason, those words tickled him and he started laughing flat out. It was infectious. I didn’t even really know what he was going on about, but I started laughing, too. We sat there like a pair of idiots, helpless for a while.