by Pete Adams
Gail filled the doorway and, with an equally wide smile, invited him and his bike in. ‘I ‘ope it’s not twins, that’ll be difficult.’
Shunting his bike into the hall. ‘Shut-up, Gail, you wouldn’t notice them amongst the ten you already have. Give up the Catholic Church and join me, Church of Egypt.’
Jack laughed but responded to a pronounced, Ahem!
Gail directed Jack's gaze with a nod. ‘D’you know Father O’Brien?’
‘Christ’s Tits, Jesus, sorry, bollocks, feck, did I just say that?’
‘You did, Jack, feck is okay, not sure about the Church of Egypt, or even the breasts of our Lord, but it could mean he will embrace and succour you and your camel,’ the Father smiled warmly; they knew each other.
‘Always the smart arse, Mike, but I’m glad you're here,’ his serious head on.
‘Martin?’
‘He’s right poorly.’
The Father nodded, ‘I’ll say a prayer and light a candle, he’s in Wickham, isn’t he?’
‘How’d you know?’
‘Alfie Herring. Ah Jeeez, Jack, everyone knows Martin’s a Catholic. Alfie has asked for him to be mentioned in a mass.’
Keanu lumbered in, teenage Neanderthal. ‘Huh, Mr Austin.’
‘Keanu,’ Jack acknowledged the lad, ‘not at school?’
‘Half term,’ grunted, Jack understood, was partial to frontier gibberish himself.
Gail berated her son's manners, ‘Cup of tea, Mr Austin?’ Father Mike gave Jack the knowing glance; now that’s how to do it.
‘No, ta, darlin', Alfie said you fancied a chin-wag.’
She cracked her cup on its saucer like it was a lead weight and smacked her lips. ‘I wanta fank yer personal like, getting my Keanu off, Saturday job as well, diamond.’
‘No fanks needed, hold that job down, Keanu, and do what I asked.’
‘Will, promise,’ excellent gibberish.
Gail sat opposite Jack, legs wide awake, tucking into pineapple chunks and Mumbai mix, and spectator Jack felt nauseated. Keanu noticed, ‘Alfie...show yer houses...community centre; d’you...go?’
Jack grabbed at gibberish salvation, ‘Better 'ad, sorry to pebbledash, good to meet you again, Father.’
‘God go with you.’
But Jack was already backing his bike out and bumping into everything, including God as he went with him. ‘Keanu, where am I going?’
Sixteen
‘What d’you expect to find?’ Keanu asked as they walked.
‘Not sure, but make yourself scarce, got that?’ Keanu mumbled a response that Jack assumed was agreement. He could see the community centre in the near distance, a mini, parked on the steep sloping driveway to the car park, gave a quick flash of the headlights. Alice and Nobby in place with a fair view of the frontage of the short terrace of four council houses, set into the steeply sloping landscape. Back garden not covered, but the ground fell steeply away to the rear, difficult for surveillance, also tricky for a quick dash from a nosey copper.
‘Righto, Keanu, bugger off,’ and Jack rubbed the boy’s hair to Keanu’s clear irritation; it made Jack smile. A skinhead Jack recognised from the Mother Ship, sat on the door-step, rolling a joint, spotted Jack and went to red alert. ‘Oi,’ Jack challenged, threw the bike against the privet hedge and loped down the steep garden path and steps, reaching the door as it was closing. ‘Hold up son, a word,’ and Jack jammed his foot to the threshold and screamed as the door slammed, the lad stopped, temporarily taken aback. He could only have been sixteen, tall, skinny, a bony arse sticking out of low-slung, filthy jeans, a stained elastic top to protruding underpants that clung to non-existent hips, a swastika tattooed arse crack. Jack doubted even Hitler would want this filthy tow-rag with black pegs for teeth.
The boy released the door, and as Jack folded to examine his toe, he dodged the thrown punch; the boy ran. Jack sensed the saturation of adrenaline pervade his body as the arse crack disappeared, heading for the kitchen back door. He limped in pursuit only to meet the boy returning who dipped his shoulder and rammed into Jack’s rib cage. As Jack blew and stumbled, his peripheral vision picked up a naked woman with a tiny baby clutched to her breast, deadly still on the kitchen floor. Jack righted himself, Nobby was framed in the street doorway, and it was difficult to tell who was more startled, but Nobby’s, “Oi you,” caused bony to leg it up the stairs.
‘I’ve got him. Nobby, check the front room, in the kitchen a woman and a baby, call an ambulance.’ Jack took the stairs two at a time, turned on the landing, and looked to the front bedroom to see the skinhead climbing out the window. Breathing heavily, Jack lumbered into the room, his eye was immediately drawn to the bed and Biscuit’s bloodied body, the quilt cover black, dried blood, the distinctive ferrous odour. Jack recoiled, but his berserking mist and momentum carried him to the window, clawing at a filthy tee shirt as the skinhead jumped. The drop was not high if you leapt outwards, the front garden rose at a steep slope, and the boy landed and sprawled on the grass. Jack clambered onto the window cill, wriggled his body through the window and launched, expecting to land by the side of the skinhead as he started to rise, but he belly flopped on top, a face full of tattoos and a not too pleasant smell. ‘Oomph!’ and bony Nazi looked like he might sit this out for a bit.
‘Get orf him.’ A bloody-nosed, fat bastard, waving a knife, came from the front door. Nobby must have got one on him, Jack thought as he swayed to avoid a swipe of the blade, and leaning back on bony, landed an upward kick into the fat rib cage, twisted, and with his other leg kicked the knife from fat boy’s hand; one for the toe caps, a passing thought that maybe he should take the boots back to the shop as his toe throbbed.
Fat boy pushed Alice as he made a wobbly exit from the garden, and she rollypollyed down the grass bank. ‘C’mon, Alice, no time for frolicking, cuff bony arse and check on Nobby, I’ve got the fat bastard.’ Jack wasn’t worried; he could catch this overweight lump of lard, likely a few joints to the wind, and he gave a confident ambling chase, reconsidering his tactics only when the bastard bent down behind the privet hedge and popped up with the beat bike. ‘Oi, me bike,’ and Jack gave chase knowing it would be a forlorn hope.
From nowhere, Alice’s mini careened across the road into the bike, spinning fat bastard onto Alice’s bonnet, and we’re not talking Easter, and Jack thought, how come I think these things when I should be focused? But allowed himself a titter while he watched the somersaulting thug-blob bounce off Alice’s car, which was fortunate for him because the mini ploughed on over the bike, stopping eventually halfway into the hedge. Momentarily, all was quiet before a metallic scraping as the driver’s door pushed against the privet, and Keanu squeezed out, face to face with Alice Springs, busy cuffing bony, who was complaining some fat old sod had just broken his back.
‘Nick him, Alice, and see if you can find that fat old sod?’ Jack ordered.
The squad cars had swung sideways to close the road. The obese skinhead was stirring, lifting his face, and Jack could see the job Nobby had begun had been substantially enhanced by the road and pavement. Jack contemplated some additional creative boot work for luck, being superstitious, but for a split second couldn’t remember which foot had the bad toe; the moment passed and probably his luck with it. ‘Cuff him, then come with me,’ he called out as the second squad of uniforms arrived, ‘paramedics in the house as soon as they get here,’ they were arriving as he spoke, ‘kitchen, mother and baby, top, front bedroom, gunshot.’
Jack looked at Alice, looking at Keanu, an expression that said, what have you done to my car? Keanu, gibberish free, answered the look, ‘Sorry, miss, I didn’t know what else to do. Aren’t you Alfie Herring’s whatsername?’
Alice, a tight grimace as she forced her knee down on bony’s back, ‘Niece. You’re one of Mickey Splif’s kids, right?’ Alice and Keanu were having their little chat as Nobby stepped from the house, he had a slash across his shirt sleeve, and blood was dripping from his lower
arm.
‘Keanu, take my handkerchief and wipe your prints off the steering wheel and anything else you touched,’ and just as Jack was about to add get off home, an enormous woman determinedly waddled in and dragged Keanu from the car, clipped his ear, dragged him two more yards, stopped, hugged, clipped his ear again, then dragged him once more. Gail took Jack’s handkerchief from Keanu and threw it on the floor, ‘Where d‘you get that filfy rag?’
‘Gail, go easy on the lad, and that’s Alice’s hanky.’ Jack turned to Nobby, bleeding onto the front step, and before he could cry, ‘Nobby, paramedic. That’s it now, well done, son.’
Nobby looked relieved. ‘House is clear except for the top room at the back, it’s locked, and I think Biscuit’s dead on the bed upstairs.’
Alice dragged bony to the car and looped the cuffs to the steering wheel. ‘Don’t go anywhere, gorgeous,' and shouted after Jack, 'Jane, wait for me.’
‘You talking to me, Ms. Springs, only I thought we had a lovely thing going in C&A’s last night, and within a few minutes, you’re kissing an 'orrible skinhead on the floor of a pub, and now you’re whispering sweet nothings to a tattooed Nazi.’
She looked at him with a familiar, don’t-be-an-idiot look she reserved for men. ‘I was undercover. Still, best not to tell Mandy, eh?’
‘What’s Mandy got to do with it?’
‘Sir, you can be such a tosser, and my handkerchief?’
The paramedics had already entered, one team in the kitchen, another set to go up the stairs. ‘Front room, Barry, back room’s not clear yet.’
‘Gotcha, Jane,’ Barry the paramedic replied.
Climbing the stairs, Alice pushed in front of Jack. ‘Alice, it's bad luck to cross on the stairs.’
She stopped for an instant, then carried on, calling back, 'Protecting the elderly, and I think it’s if you’re going in opposite directions. I grew up in a house like this. There are two rooms at the back, a big bedroom and a box room.’ Standing on the landing, outside the two rear bedroom doors, Jack could sense Biscuit in the other room, and he racked his brain, what else could he have done? He was not a guilt merchant, but he had to think these things through in order to move on. Alice poked her head into the bathroom and heaved; syringes, shooting gear and a lot more. ‘Yep, I lived in a house just like this,’ she said.
Jack thought he liked this girl, but focused on the rear bedrooms, put his ear to door one, turned the handle, locked. Alice put her ear to door two, turned the handle, locked. Jack made finger gestures, and Alice signalled back she didn’t understand. He made all kinds of fiddly idiot gestures, including sticking his fingers up his nose; she folded, smothering her snigger, and as she came back up, Jack kicked the first door in, the second followed. ‘Brilliant boots,’ he said, a token toe feck, then, ‘Oh Christ, Oh dear...’ Jack was known for his exaggerations, but sometimes he was the master of the understatement. He looked instantly devastated, ‘Paramedics, Alice.’
She’d seen and was ahead of him. The paramedics were coming out from seeing Biscuit. Barry confirmed he was dead as they peered into the larger of the back bedrooms. On the floor were three women and two children, naked, the air fetid with the stench of shit, piss, and vomit, a comatose skinhead on the floor. Jack tip-toed into the room, and from behind the door, another skinhead launched himself. Jack straight armed and the man was down; the toe cap made sure he stayed. ‘Didn’t see a thing, Sir,’ Alice said.
‘No, but you have to be impressed.’
‘Looked like he was totally stoned, still won’t say anything,’ and turning in the doorway, she instructed a uniform officer to get both skinheads cuffed as she checked the women and children. Barry was calling in, requesting more ambulances.
‘Alice, have you got your phone?’
‘Yes,’ she was subdued, her eyes beginning to puff.
‘It takes photos, right?’
‘Yes.’ He flicked his head towards the room, ‘Get a couple of snaps then let the paramedics get to work.’ He stepped out as Alice commented "Snaps?" and Jack went into the box room, aptly named as it was floor to ceiling with boxes. Jack opened one, full of flier leaflets, a headline in black on a white surround, red highlights as if blood was dripping off the ends of the letters;
DEFENDERS of ENGLAND
KEEP ENGLAND FOR THE WHITE ENGLISH
Let the streets run with blood
There was more, and not Shakespeare. Inflammatory stuff. Jack pocketed the leaflet; he would read it later, but knew what it would say, and turning to leave, he looked at Alice, ‘What?
‘Listen.’
‘Sorry, darlin’, I’m a bit Mutt and Jeff.’ Then he heard it, faint, a whimper. Jack moved a few boxes and revealed a pair of startled, petrified, emerald eyes in a cherub face. A tiny emaciated, naked girl. Jack thought, six, maybe eight years old. She could not have hidden herself, could never have lifted one of these boxes. Someone had deliberately concealed this girl; to save, or punish? A question for later, the girl’s shock and fear was palpable, had she even blinked?
Jack tried to offer as many comforting words as he could, ‘It’s alright, you’re safe now, I’m a policeman. I’m here to help you, sweet’art.’ She understood. Feck, he had automatically thought they’d stumbled upon people transporting foreigners, Caucasian, European, maybe Romanian, but no, this girl understood him. Shifting more boxes, calling more comfort to the girl, he cleared a space, and on his knees, he approached at her eye level. She had pissed and shit in the corner, was covered in it, how long had she been here? He tried to show no revulsion.
‘Please, mister, don’t hurt me.’ Faint but clear, and definitely English. Jack hummed a tune and intermittently gave more reassuring words. He opened his arms; he saw the strength drain from her emaciated frame as she fell into his embrace. Jack’s mind buzzed, I’m going to cry, what’s happening to me? Was this his midlife crisis? He cuddled the girl, denying his thoughts, a rancid smell, heart in front of his other senses. Little pats and tiny kisses, he continued to hum his tune, gazed back at Alice, dry racking breaths at first, but inevitably his tears came in floods. Slowly he stood, sobbing, crushing the girl in his arms. ‘Are you moy dad?’ whispering in his ear, shallow, moist breath. ‘Dad, I wants to go.’
Alice whispered, ‘Pompey accent.’
Jack nodded, hugged the girl covered in her own waste, opened his jacket and wrapped it around her, tight. She responded to the comfort and snuggled her head into the crook of his neck. He was unsure whether to press his head to her, to offer additional reassurance; he’d not shaved that morning and was cautious of her delicate skin. He chose to go for comfort, and Alice nodded, understood his dilemma and approved his decision. There was a commotion behind, ‘Close your eyes, darlin’. I’m taking you somewhere safe.’
She screwed her eyes, nose, and her mouth at the same time, like they were joined, clutched tight, and Jack’s breathy sobs convulsed his body as he backed out of the room, his left hand over the back of the child’s head so she could not turn and see what lay around her. Jack saw past Alice; paramedics triaging, calling, working, asking, and praying? Shocked but professional, ‘Thank God for those guys, paid a pittance, taken advantage of by the government and even abused by some people, but who do we call in our hour of need, not Big Society volunteers, that’s for feckin’ sure.’
Alice touched his arm, ‘No time for politics, Jack,’ and he walked the landing, carefully watched his feet down the stairs, whispered, ‘Nearly outside, sweet’art. I’m taking you to an ambulance and hospital.’
Faint again, ‘I wants to be wiv you.’
‘You will, darlin’, you will.’ Christ I must stop crying, he said to himself, as he thought, what to do? He started to hum a tune, a beautifully lyrical piece of music, and it was calming the girl. A uniform held the latch of the street door, and placing his lips to the ear of the girl, ‘We’re going outside now, there’s a lot of police, ambulances and noise, but you’re with me, and you’re safe, okay?’ She
managed a nod of her head as she packed down against his chest. He responded, wrapping his jacket tighter, and she sighed; incongruously, she had sweet breath. He exchanged a glance with the constable, the door opened, and they were hit by a cacophony of shouts, blue lights flashing bright in what was now a gathering gloom. He looked to the leaden clouds; rain, any minute. Keep calm, if only for this girl’s sake; God love her. The press and TV observed and recorded him talking to himself and crying as he traversed the path and up the steps.
A robust lady ambulance officer, Australian accent, green fatigues, approached and tried to take the girl who let out a piercing scream: ‘Nooooooooo!’ Jack’s girding of loins and stifling of sobs was lost, get a grip, but he failed. He sobbed into the flashing cameras. The Aussie shielded them as best she could, softness in her face for Jack, wasted on the girl, snuggled into Jack’s chest.
‘Let her stay with me,’ Jack said, then talking to the girl, ‘Shall we get into the ambulance and let the nice lady take a look at you?’
Mew, ‘No.’
Jack looked to the sky; he had to think practically, the girl is the most important thing, and climbed into the ambulance and sat. Gail’s smothering presence dominated his emotions and the cramped ambulance; how on earth did she slip through the cordon, but this wondrous woman will likely amaze right up to her last breath.
