Numbers

by Rachel Ward

  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.

  When we stopped, it was like all the energy had gone out of us; we’d laughed it away. It was silent in the car. Reality was seeping in, like when you drink something really cold and can feel it making its way down your throat and inside you. Doubts about the whole thing were crowding in on me. We didn’t know where we were going, we’d got nothing useful with us, everyone would be looking for us. I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but I couldn’t help myself.

  “Maybe we should go back,” I said. “They might be easier on us if we went back and gave ourselves up.”

  Spider shook his head. “I ain’t never going back. I can’t, Jem.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t? Alright, yeah, it’ll be bad for a bit. They’ll question us about earlier on, and we’ve taken the car now, but what’s the worst they can do? Lock us up?”

  “No, Jem, not the police — though they will lock me up this time, they’ve been waiting for an excuse. But it’s not them. Look.” And he reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a brown envelope, a big one, folded over, and handed it to me.

  “What’s this?”

  “Have a look.” I unfolded the end and peered in. There were bills inside, a dense wedge of notes. I put my hand in and pulled them out. I had honestly never seen or held so much money in my life.

  “That’s our future, Jem. Well, the next few weeks, anyway.”

  I held the wad in one hand and flicked through the other end with my thumb, like you’d flick through a book. There must have been hundreds of used fivers and tenners. Thousands of pounds. “What have you done, robbed a bank?”

  He chewed on a hangnail, looked at me without answering.

  “What have you done, Spider?” I asked quietly.

  He looked down, ran his hands through his hair. “I didn’t make my last drop-off.”

  “It’s Baz’s money? You robbed Baz? Oh, my God, Spider, they’ll kill you!”

  He was back to chewing the edge of his finger. “Not if they don’t find me. That’s why I can’t go back. It’s you and me now, Jem. We’ve got to do this. We’ve got to find somewhere new. Start again.”

  I closed my eyes. There really was no going back. I felt a hand on my shoulder.

  “You alright?” I didn’t answer, didn’t know what to say. “I could drop you off somewhere, if you like. I can’t go back, but you can. You could go back, Jem.”

  I let his words sink in. He really meant it — he’d go on without me. But what did I have to go back to? The police, the foster system, Karen? I opened my eyes, and he was staring right at me, really looking at me. How many people in my life saw anything more than an odd, quiet little kid in a hoodie? How many people had really bothered with me? Spider was different: He was funny, crazy, restless, reckless. He was alright.

  “No,” I said. “It’s OK. I’ll stay for the ride. Wouldn’t mind having a look at Weston-Super-Wotsit.”

  He grinned and nodded. “Let’s carry on down this road, find a petrol station and get some proper food, buy a map, make a plan.”

  “OK,” I said, “let’s do it.”

  We did a U-turn in our side road and joined the main drag again. After about ten minutes, we found a gas station and drew up beside one of the self-service pumps. After a bit of messing about, Spider found the catch to unlock the cap to the tank, and took care of business. We both went into the shop, and I used the toilet while Spider gathered armfuls of stuff — Coke, potato chips, candy bars, some sandwiches. Enough to keep us going for a few days. People were looking at us a bit funny. Shit, I thought, they’d remember two kids loaded down with stuff.

  The queue was achingly slow.

  The guy behind the counter had the radio on. The music cut to a news report. “London is reeling after a massive blast ripped apart the London Eye…seven dead and many more injured…police are looking for two youths: one black and very tall, the other shorter and slightly built.”

  My skin was prickling all over. I felt like there was a big neon sign over my head, an arrow pointing down: HERE THEY ARE. I knew Spider had heard it, too. He was looking down, shuffling from foot to foot, and chewing at his lip. I was waiting for someone to say something, to grab one of us. It was agony. Every part of me wanted to dump the stuff and take off, but I fought it. Stay cool, stay cool. We inched forward. The news finished and the music came back on as we reached the register. The guy didn’t even look at us, just asked for the pump number and scanned the stuff. Spider paid in cash and we ducked out.

  As we made for the door, I spotted a camera high up in the corner. Just for a second I looked straight at it, and it looked back at me, an unblinking eye. That’s it, I thought. They’ve got a picture of me now. In Val’s stupid mint parka, with my new short hair. Before I got back in the car, I took off the vile coat and chucked it on the backseat. Spider was already starting the engine.

  “OK, let’s go. Here, you look at the map, see if you can work out where we are.” He plonked a big map book on my lap.

  I started to protest, but he cut in. “Jem, we’ve got to get out of here. This is life or death. I need you to do this.”

  I flicked through the pages until I found a big map of the south of England. I concentrated hard, trying to see a pattern in the web of lines on the map, then found London, and looked to the left. I felt a twinge of triumph when I spotted Bristol. There were loads of roads between the two, we just needed to find one of them.

  “Just drive until we find a sign, Spider. I’ll be able to tell when there’s a sign.”

  And so, haltingly, we found our way out of the city, stopping every now and then to check, turning ’round when we’d gone wrong. All the time I was listening out for sirens, checking in the sideview mirror for cars behind. When I finally figured out where we were on the map, I held my finger there, moving it along as we traveled.

  In Basingstoke, we pulled off the main road and found a quiet street. Spider got out and took a leak, and then we had a sort of picnic in the car: sandwiches, chips, Coke.

  “I guess we should ditch this car. It’s too hot. Every pig in the country’s going to be looking for it,” Spider said through a mouthful of food, little bits of potato chips spraying all around him.

  I felt a twinge of regret. “I kind of like it.”

  “Yeah, I know, but they’ll pick us up tonight or tomorrow unless we switch. Why don’t we find somewhere really quiet and get some kip, then swap cars early in the morning. I’m done in.”

  We drove around until we found a country lane, without streetlights. We pulled into a sort of rest stop, turned off the engine, and killed the lights. It was pitch-black, unnatural.

  “I don’t like this, Spider. It’s too bloody dark. Let’s find somewhere with some streetlights. This is too weird.”

  “No, man. If it’s light, people will see. We won’t last five minutes. You won’t notice the difference when you’ve got your eyes shut. Look, climb in the back and lie down. You’ll be alright there.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere — I’ll kip here.” His long limbs only just fit into the front; his head was brushing the ceiling.

  “No, I’m alright here,” I said. “I can tip the seat back. You get in the back, bit more space for you.”

  So much for old-fashioned gallantry. He agreed straightaway and got out of the driver’s door and into the back. He leaned over and rummaged behind the seat, then passed a blanket over to me.

  I wrapped it ’round my shoulders and wriggled down, trying to make myself comfortable. I closed my eyes, but all I could s
ee were the images from the TV: the space where the pod used to be on the Eye, bits of blue parka, a shredded straw bag. I could see the queue again, those faces looking at me. I opened my eyes, but there was no relief, nothing to focus on, just the wretched blackness of a country lane. The darkness was so dense, there could be anything out there. There could be a bloody great bloke with a knife just a few feet from the car, and we wouldn’t see him until he loomed up to the windows, pressed his hands and face against the glass, grotesquely distorted, yanked open the doors, and…

  “You awake, Spider?”

  “Yeah.” I could hear him shifting around. “I’m so knackered, but I can’t sleep. My brain won’t switch off, it’s like I’m wired.”