Thursday

by David Ridgway

  Alice turned on her heel. She stopped at the door and turned back. Michael was still looking at her with his mouth agape. “And you can stop looking at me in that gormless manner. Call me as soon as you get into the shower, so I can deal with your clothes,” she instructed.

  Slowly, Michael stood up and shuffled towards the private bathroom. He was now thinking about Alice’s major rant. She’s right, of course. There’s a fortune to be made here. After going to the lavatory, he stripped to his underwear, went to his office door and called Alice.

  “I’ve got another suit here,” he advised her. “And a clean shirt and socks. I think I’ll just send this to the cleaners, rather than you do anything with it.”

  “Good idea,” she replied. As she looked at him, she wondered whether his assertive self was returning. “I’ll warm up the croissants.”

  “Bring yours in here as well,” he suggested. “We can have breakfast together and discuss how best to implement your plan.”

  “I suppose that’s the real meaning of a ‘breakfast meeting’!” she quipped as, once again, she left his office.

  Michael shaved and showered before dressing in his clean clothes. He already felt better, even on top of his world, as he emerged from the bathroom. He walked to the window and looked out over the city. Although it was still murky, the sun seemed to be trying to burn off the mist. Between the office blocks, he could see the Shard, on the south bank near London Bridge station. He was oblivious of the catastrophic devastation at the station, on the roads throughout Southwark and in the Underground network. He could only glimpse the river Thames itself and as he looked first west and then east, he could see no evidence of flooding.

  Alice arrived with the warmed croissants, butter and jam plus piping hot, fresh coffee. She had also brought her notebook.

  As the sun slowly burnt its way through the mist, it was only now that the appalling devastation of Waterloo station could be evaluated. The pillars holding up the roadway were severely compromised and the road itself had collapsed in a number of places. The shops on the ground floor were all flooded with the stock completely ruined. All those people inside at the time of the inundation were either crushed to death or drowned.

  Inside the station itself, because the main concourse is built above ground level, the major problem was in dealing with the enormous crowd of people which, during the long hours of the night, was gently but specifically marshalled into two distinct groups – the deeply traumatised and the rest.

  Before the arrival of the military and the creation of a tented medical facility on Clapham Common, Milton and Pamela recruited some of the more able bodied people, to maintain order and to assist those who were obviously unable to cope. In this way, they were able to continue with the important work of trying to save people from the water or trapped in the entrance to the Underground. A fleet of vehicles, taxis, buses and army trucks was already transferring large numbers of these people to Clapham Common for registration and assistance back to their homes.

  As order was slowly restored, all the self-imposed responsibilities slowly lifted from Milton’s shoulders. With the dawning of the day, he realised how tired he was, especially when Pamela pulled him to one side and suggested that they should go home.

  “There’s nothing left for us to do here,” she said. “There’s really no more that you can do.”

  “I know,” Milton replied. “But it would feel like we’re running away.”

  “No one could have done more than you, Milton. There is no one on this station who could deny that your actions have saved lives – many lives.”

  “I only did what anyone else would do,” he muttered. His head sagged forward until his chin was on his chest. His shoulders slumped forward. After a moment’s reflection he said, “Actually, I’m rather concerned as to what we might find at home.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t get it out of my mind. You know. When we watched that colossal wave come towards the station. You remember, when we were above the pedestrian bridge? Well, we didn’t really watch what happened after it passed the station because we went straight down to the main concourse to help the survivors.”

  “What do you think happened?”

  “The surge from the river was so high it was carrying all those sea containers, big buses, trucks and so on. We already know that extensive damage has been done to the houses and buildings between here and London Bridge. But that wave extended much further south and will have swamped the housing estates southwards to Kennington and Walworth. If the containers and other debris were swept through those areas as well, then they’ll have knocked down houses, maybe even tower blocks. The roads will be blocked and I suspect that looters will be out on the streets.”

  “Oh Milton. That sounds awful,” Pamela replied. “Really depressing. I think it’ll be best if we get off as quickly as possible to check it out. After all, if what you say is correct, my place will be affected as well.”

  Milton turned to the army lieutenant who was now coordinating the work in the station to tell him that he was leaving. The officer nodded his agreement, recognising how close Milton was to the point of exhaustion. Pamela took him by the arm and led him away.

  Outside the day was still misty and damp, with the sun breaking through intermittently. As they walked southwards towards Kennington, all around them they could see the damage caused by the flood. They were not surprised to encounter some very large pools of water, as though the drains in the roads were blocked. All the roads were still wet and muddy. At first, they noticed odd vehicles abandoned in weird places – cars in front gardens, trucks on their sides blocking road junctions, containers embedded in buildings. As they looked more closely, they realised that some houses were completely missing, as though a giant hand had malevolently scooped them up and swept them away. At first, Milton couldn’t understand why there was no rubble, until he realised that the flood had been so intense and so powerful that all the broken bricks and tiles had simply been washed away.

  As they approached Milton’s street, their footsteps slowed as though they were reluctant to discover what awaited them. Finally they reached his corner and turned towards his home. Much to their surprise, the street appeared to be unscathed. As they looked down the road, the sun was finally burning away the last of the morning mist. They could see the neat terraces on both sides, which encouraged them to walk a little faster. Reaching the garden gate at the front of his house, Milton suddenly stopped and pulled Pamela closer to him, preventing her from walking up the short path to the door.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “Hang on a sec,” he said. “I think I saw something move in my front room. Just stay here while I check.”

  He walked up to his front door and, very carefully, inserted the Yale key. After turning the key round to disengage the deadlock, he twisted it a further quarter turn, releasing the lock. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door and burst into the house. In the hallway, he was confronted by a young, dark man, who was obviously not expecting anyone to arrive through the front door, at just that moment. Frozen to the spot, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He was carrying Milton’s television screen. The momentum of bursting through the door, carried Milton right up to the intruder. He wrapped his arms round the lad, before clamping his hand over his mouth. Close on his heels, Pamela relieved the youngster of the screen. Milton propelled the lad back into the front room.

  “How many of you are in my house?” he whispered into the young lad’s ear. Tears began to well up in his eyes and he shook his head, refusing to answer. They heard movement in the bedroom above them, just before someone from the kitchen, in a stage whisper, said, “Hurry up! We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Milton shook the lad and whispered, “Two others?” The lad nodded. Pamela took the boy’s right arm and twisted it up his back, as Milton went to the door and carefully looked around the door jamb, down the passage past the dining room, towards
the kitchen. Just as he saw a second man leaving through the back door into the garden, Milton noticed a pair of legs wearing dark jeans and trainers start to come down the stairs. He ducked back into the sitting room and hid behind the door, until the owner of the legs had passed the doorway. Through the crack between the door and the door jamb, he could see that this second lad was carrying the music centre from his bedroom.

  After glancing quickly at Pamela, to confirm that she had the first lad secure, Milton went after the second and caught him as he entered the kitchen. He put his left arm round the lad’s body, pinning his arms, and clamped his right hand over the boy’s mouth.

  “What the fuck are you doing in my house, you little bastard?” Milton whispered in his ear. The surprise was so great that the boy’s bladder was overwhelmed and he peed himself as he was roughly dragged back to the front room. “Put my music centre down gently on that armchair.” The boy did as instructed, realising that his friend was already restrained by Pamela. Milton ushered the boy behind the sofa and pushed him until he was bent over the back. He then twisted one arm up his back, indicating to Pamela that, from the front of the sofa, she should take hold of the arm. As soon as the boy was secure, Milton relieved Pamela of the other lad and took him to the rear of the settee where he was similarly restrained. Pamela was now able to control both lads without too much difficulty for, as each tried to squirm free, all she needed to do was to pull the hand of the twisted arm further up the back, creating considerable pain in either lad’s shoulder.

  “If they struggle, pull harder and hurt them,” he instructed quietly.

  He left the room and darted down the passage to the kitchen. Somewhat bizarrely, the third lad was still on the terrace, sucking on his e cigarette as he surveyed the garden. Milton could see that the gate to the track at the back of the houses was open. With complete malice aforethought, Milton jabbed the boy hard in the kidneys. He went down, face first onto the wet lawn, as though pole axed. As he writhed on the ground, Milton looked closer, realising that the boy was son of one of his neighbours.

  “Good morning, Randy.” The lad twisted his head and looked up.

  “That really hurt,” he whined.

  “Not as much as what I’ve got in store for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see. Now get up.”

  “I can’t. I think you’ve broken my back.”

  “Unlikely.” Milton chuckled grimly. “And if you don’t get up, I’ll carry you inside and that could really hurt.”

  “OK, OK.”

  The boy got onto his knees and, as he started to rise, he tried to make a run for the garden gate, not realising that Milton had already moved to cut off that escape route. He stuck out a leg and the boy went tumbling down once more.

  “Now,” said Milton. “That was just silly and has made me really angry.” He grabbed the boy by his hair and pulled him upright. Instead of marching him straight inside, he undid the boy’s jeans and pulled them down to his ankles, seriously restricting further movement. Slowly, Milton made the boy shuffle to his shed. He produced the key and the boy unlocked the padlock, before opening the door.

  “On the shelf at the back you’ll see a ball of thick cord. Pass it to me.”

  The boy shuffled into the shed and found the ball. He passed it over his shoulder to Milton.

  “I’m now going to show you what happens to little shits like you, who take advantage of innocent people like me and decide to loot and rob. Prison is too good for you but, I promise you, what I have in mind will stay with you for the rest of your miserable lives. Pull your trousers up.”

  They entered the house and found Pamela still holding the other two boys, over the sofa. While they were still restrained, Milton took the cord and tied it to the left wrist of the third boy. He twisted the boy’s left arm up his back and then passed the cord over his left shoulder, across his throat and back across his right shoulder, before twisting up his right arm. He then tied the cord to his right wrist. As the arms tired and the boy tried to relieve the pain in his shoulders, the cord tightened over the throat. He made the boy sit in one of the armchairs, before repeating the process with the other two.

  He then took a permanent marker pen and wrote on the forehead of each boy, ‘Looter’.

  “Right. That’ll do. Now, I want you all to stand in a line against the wall.” As they moved across the floor, Milton took out his iPhone and photographed them. “That’s going straight onto as much social media as I can find. You see, with this flood, the police won’t have the time or the resources to come and arrest you. So, instead, I have arrested you, charged you, found you guilty and sentenced you to public humiliation. Now, I’m going to tie you to that tree outside Randy’s house, so your family, your friends and your neighbours will all see what you’ve been up to. I don’t know who these two boys are, but I reckon they will also live locally. It’ll be interesting to see how quickly or how slowly the local people will release you.”

  With that, he pulled them to the front door and, with Pamela bringing up the rear, they were marched outside, down the road to the appropriate tree. Milton made sure that they had their backs to the tree before looping some more cord over their hands and around the tree. After making sure that each was secured by the hands one to the other and that they were able to sit or stand, he cut the cords around the neck of each boy. He then photographed them again, standing in the sunshine and in their own humiliation.

  As they walked back to his house, Pamela mentioned that the house was really wet, throughout the whole of the ground floor.

  “I noticed that as well. It seems that the water almost came to the top of the internal doors.”

  “I suppose every house will be the same.”

  “Bound to be. The sadness is that the TV screen those boys were nicking is probably ruined anyway, so taking it would have been a bit pointless.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Pamela replied.

  As they re-entered the front door, the smell of damp carpets hit them. Milton went to the kitchen. He tried the gas cooker which, to his surprise, not only worked but, once alight, started to warm up the room. He went out of the back door and, after closing the rear gate, he stood on the terrace, looking up and down the rows of gardens. To his left, back towards Kennington, he noticed a large shape some seven or eight gardens away. He went back inside, where he found Pamela already cleaning the kitchen. Without saying a word, he walked through and up the stairs, to the back bedroom.

  Leaning out of the window, he could now see that an upturned lorry had been swept down the track between the two rows of houses, those on his street and the next on the adjacent street. It had demolished all the garden fences for the first ten or twelve houses, before coming to rest against a big horse chestnut tree. That’ll take some shifting, Milton thought to himself.

  David woke before dawn. Although it was past three in the morning before he finally got to his bed, the events of the previous day continued to prey on his mind and he had slept only fitfully. He was in a bedroom with two of the crew from the tourist ship that had been swept onto the Embankment. There was one double bed and a single, which was left for David.

  He quietly slipped out of bed. By the door to the bedroom, he noticed a neat pile of clean clothing which had been washed and ironed by Beryl during the night. He extracted his own and took them to the bathroom, where he indulged in a long, hot shower, before drying himself and dressing. As the steamy water cascaded over his head, he could feel the intense pressure of the previous evening being washed away. Afterwards, he felt so much better that he decided to go down to the dining room to check out the possibilities of breakfast. He was halfway down the stairs when he suddenly thought about Jackie. He doubled back and climbed the extra flight to the floor where the girls were accommodated.

  He stopped and listened at the door to their bedroom. Hearing nothing amiss, he quietly opened the door and peeped inside. The room was at the front of the hotel
and a streetlight was shining through a gap in the curtain. In the gloom, he could make out that Jackie, the Bulgarian girl Ivelina and the woman police officer were all in the same bed. Jackie was on the side nearest the window and furthest away from the door, with the Bulgarian girl in the middle. He tiptoed round the bed towards Jackie, who was lying on her back. He knelt by the bed and gently shook her bare shoulder.

  “Jackie?” he whispered. “Are you awake?”

  He watched Jackie’s eyes open slowly and then, when she saw David there, her arms came from under the covers and encircled his neck. She kissed him long and hard on the lips, as though she would never let him go.

  “I am now,” she whispered.

  “You are what?” asked WPC Liz Drury.

  “Oh!” Jackie jumped. “David’s just come in to see if I’m awake.”

  Liz sat up, the thin duvet dropping to her waist, revealing her pretty breasts. “Good morning, David.” She made no attempt to cover herself. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not really,” he replied, hoping that he sounded really casual. “I was sharing a room with two other guys, who obviously know each other really well.” Jackie noticed that he couldn’t take his eyes off Liz’s breasts, so she sat up as well, swinging her legs out from under the duvet. David now realised that she was completely naked.

  “I’m off to the bathroom,” she announced before standing up and walking across the room.

  “Don’t take too long.”

  “You can come in when you hear the shower,” Jackie said over her shoulder from the bathroom door.

  “Thanks.” Liz got out of bed and stretched. As she lifted her arms, David watched her breasts lift and flatten, before returning to their normal shape. “Do you know what the time is?”

  “Yes. It’s just coming up to seven o’clock,” David replied.

  Despite himself, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest and the butterflies fluttering around his groin. Liz picked up a dressing gown and slipped it over her shoulders, before sorting out the washed and pressed clothes that had been left on a chest of drawers next to the bedroom door. “I wonder how soon breakfast will be.”