The one thing Charles hadn’t turned out onto the step was a small canister of heart pills. Statins, the doctor had called them. A low dose to be used when he felt twinges in his chest. He already knew he was the weakest link in the group, and they did too. But he didn’t want them to know just how weak he was.
He’d been having painful twinges in his chest for the last few years. Felicity had nagged him about it, but only when they’d come more regularly had Charles bothered the doctor. The GP had done all the checks: stethoscope, ECG, bloods, asked Charles intrusive questions about his diet, his drinking, what exercise he took.
Doctor Stubbs had scribbled a prescription and handed it over. Just some heavy duty aspirin to take regularly.
“Take these,” the doctor pointed to the scribbled word simvastatin on the form, “any time the pain gets bad. Just to calm things down a little.”
“Only one at a time, though,” he warned. “We don’t want to calm things down too much.” Doctor Stubbs had smiled as he shook Charles’ hand and led him back out to the waiting room.
Felicity had insisted Charles kept a plastic canister of the statins in his jacket pocket because he wore it almost every day. But in more recent months, he was forgetting to pack his pills. Sometimes forgot to take the aspirin too.
Felicity was what Charles called a ‘good woman’. She’d worked as a typist for a local conveyancing firm pretty much since the kids had grown up. Just to fill the day, really. And when the company had modernised and Felicity found herself a little out of date, well, she happily walked away, living off their savings and Charles’ teacher’s salary. She found little groups to join, odd bits of charity and committee work.
When the doctor gave Charles his pills, she drew up a little exercise plan for him. She kept a record of his medication. She would have his aspirin on a little saucer each morning, next to his round of brown toast and a cup of tea - not too strong. She’d kiss him on the way out, check his cannister of statins, then head for one of her meetings.
In fact, she said she was busier than when she had the job. She certainly seemed happier than at the solicitors’. Her Soroptimist meetings, her house plants, the village committees. She was an ‘upstanding member of local society’ Charles would joke. She had a Queen-like sense of duty, the need to set a good example.
She was a great cook, too. Always baking, fussing over cookies for this fete or that. Every month she’d have an ‘at home’ with a group of other women from her various social circles. She’d spend days before, cleaning and preening, cooking and setting the dining room table. The one they only used on special occasions. When the kids used to come home for a big family Christmas.
Most days she’d have a meal on the kitchen table for when he got home. Or at least in the oven if she was out at the village hall. She looked after him and always asked him about how school had gone. How his pupils were getting on.
She’d even asked him how his out-of-school research project was going. She called it his hobby, but she meant it affectionately. The European expansion into Latin America and Africa in the 17th century wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea. But nor was flower arranging, sifting through donated junk or village litter picks.
Felicity knew that.
Obviously, she didn’t know what the pupils said about him at school. And he never had time to explain.
Word gets around a small village like theirs. Particularly when your wife goes to every class, committee and council shindig in the Parish.
Felicity left within a week. Not a word of disapproval or upset. She just disappeared while he was out at the library. One bag was missing from the cupboard, along with a handful of dresses. Her house keys were sitting there on the kitchen table. His dinner was warming in the oven. A single bed time statin was waiting on his dinner plate.
9
“Noise,” said Benny.
The three others looked up at him.
“Sound,” he said. “Travels way faster than us, and way further.”
“What you getting at?” said Giles.
“We need to send a sound. Up and down the staircase.”
“Dead right,” said Giles. He took off his shoes, slipped his hands into them, and weakly began beating the walls.
Bang, bang, bang.
“Help, help,” he shouted. “Come on, you lot.”
Benny took a moment to unlace his steel toe capped boots. Megan took her shoes from where they lay on the step.
“Is anyone there?” she shouted.
All three of them banged their shoes around the tiles, the steps.
“Wait,” said Benny. “The rail.”
The three began pounding the iron rail with their shoes, Giles and Megan shouting out for help. The frantic hammering of the rail formed itself into a rhythm.
Bash-bash-bash.
Bash-bash-bash.
Then quiet, while they listened to only a slight echo up and down the chamber, the listening for any response.
Bash-bash-bash.
Bash-bash-bash.
Charles just shook his head.
“What, Charles?” said Giles. “It’s not like you’re doing anything.”
They all stopped banging and shouting for a moment.
“It’s like this,” Charles said. He tapped his knees with both hands.
Slap-slap-slap, (pause) slap (pause) slap (pause) slap (pause), slap-slap-slap.
“S.O.S?” said Giles.
Megan smiled.
“You’re a genius Charles.”
All four began in earnest this time. Smacking the soles of their shoes against the rail in an S.O.S. rhythm.
The sound was loud, but it didn’t resonate very far up or down the rail.
After three minutes, they’d all given up.
“We should do it every hour, for five minutes at a time,” Charles said. “That’s what I was trained to do, at least. It’s supposed to make it more noticeable from other noises.”
“Every hour? I don’t intend to be down here for many more minutes. This is crazy,” said Giles. He paced up and down the few steps that surrounded him, patting the walls, pulling at the metal rail.
Benny looked closely at the man who’d just spoken. His hands were jittery. Could he see the odd twitch in Giles’ neck?
Something wasn’t quite right. And Benny had a good idea what it was.
Slowly, Giles calmed and sat down. Except for Megan, they put their shoes back on. Charles pulled out his notebook and made notes.
“What’s in the notebook, Charlie Boy?” Giles called down to the grey-haired man.
“Don’t call him that,” said Megan. “It’s Charles, isn’t it?”
“It’s okay,” said the man below her. “I’ve been called much worse. They called me Charlie Boy in the Navy actually, that and other stuff.”
“Is that what the book you’re writing is about Charles? A memoir?” said Megan.
“Oh, gosh no. I’ve nothing in my life to be proud of. No, it’s just notes, you know, my little interests. It’s my private work. It’s all I have, really.”
“But you are writing a book?”
“Aren’t we all?” he asked.
Megan smiled.
“It’s about the 17th century trade routes. British Colonies, the Portuguese. Just technical stuff. I like the names of the ships. The captains. The big routes. When you’re my age, you can only look back. I like to look back a long time.”
“All very well, Charlie Boy,” said Giles. “Tell us about the Navy. I bet you saw some action.”
Everyone knew what Giles was implying.
Charles sighed.
“I was an in-betweener, really,” he said. “Too young to serve in the Second World War. So I just sat around in the sea, going this way or that, not quite knowing why we were out there. When all the high technology came in, the nukes, the cold war, I was turfed out for the new kids. Got into teaching.”
“I reckon you were a great history teacher,” said Megan.
; Charles shook his head and sighed.
“Anyway, looks like you’re pretty comfortable down here.” It was Benny who spoke this time. “First thing I noticed about you once this got real. No panic. You don’t mind being deep? Small spaces?”
“Submarines,” Charles said simply.
“I knew it,” said Benny. “Tell me about small spaces. I can see it written all over your face. Hell, you almost look comfortable.”
“Three months at sea at a time. Swapping bunks. Living under each other’s feet. That’s what fascinates me about the trade links way back then. How did they get so many…” he looked up at Benny, hesitated, “goods on board those ships. How those journeys changed the world.”
Benny looked puzzled for a second. Then he got the implication.
“Ah, got you Charles,” he said. “Slaves.”
“It’s just an interest. History. I promise you.”
“It’s cool, man,” said Benny. “I’m from Hackney. My mum too, though originally from Nigeria. We all got a lot to learn about the past. Me especially. Don’t know what my ancients did for me all those years ago. I haven’t paid them back, neither. But I’m trying Charles. I’m trying.”
“Fascinating,” said Giles. Benny picked up the sarcasm.
“Oh, yeah? What’s your story, white boy?”
“Nothing, sorry.”
“Ah, well, you shut up or put up when this old man is telling his story. He knows more than any of us. Probably seen shit you and I ain’t never dreamed about. You got to learn to respect your elders.”
Megan spoke up: “Go on, Charles.”
“We went all over the world in those subs. Africa, the Caribbean, Latin America. The Pacific. All below the radar. Then Russia and China. Secret missions. Met all kinds of folk. Some guys down in the subs with me were from Lagos. They had a right to serve after the war. Good men, all of them.”
He looked up at Benny. He smiled in return.
“So, I guess I know some useful stuff. From history, and from the services. Rationing. Being cold. Getting along when your shipmates are being difficult. Obeying orders.”
There was a moment of silence. A few smiles.
“When to fight,” Charles said, more seriously. “And when to give up.”
Charles shook his head and stared at the ground.
“Taking your punishment,” he said.
“Man, do I know that,” said Benny. “These hard walls will give you that feeling any day of the week.”
10
The S.O.S. banging continued on the hour, every hour, for the next three hours. Each time, the group replaced their shoes, shook their heads, and continued to wait.
At least it gave them structure, thought Megan. A marking of time passing. Soon, though, it would be past what they might normally call bed time. Would they carry on with the S.O.S. through the night?
Night. At least there was light here. Outside, it was dark by now. She thought of her bedroom at her Dad’s house, miles away from here. Her bedside lamp would be on. She’d be curled up in her pyjamas. Comfortable. Safe.
Charles had fallen asleep. He was still wheezing. He’d taken off his blazer, wrapped it up into a ball, and was sitting against the wall. His head lolled forward onto his chest.
He still smelled from earlier. Or maybe it was just the stench from the toilet area rising. How long had it been? 11 hours? Megan looked at her phone. It had been 14 hours since she’d started down the spiral and she felt like she didn’t know up from down any more.
She tried to swallow, but her throat was so dry. The only thing she could feel was the cold floor she sat on, and the pins and needles running up her spine and down the backs of her legs. All she could smell was what wafted up from what they’d all had to do a hundred steps down. She wished Giles would light up to mask the stench.
Were they even sitting near the surface? If they were 50 metres down, the rescue team could probably drill down. You’d see that kind of thing on the news every now and again.
Weren’t those Chilean miners under for 40 days? Megan shuddered. She couldn’t stand another hour in this place, let alone 40 days. She tried to remember the news footage. Those miners were getting food sent down to them through a tube. Her stomach ached.
Would rescue teams even be able to get to them? Maybe they were a couple of hundred metres down. Would they be able to dig that deep at all? Did anyone even know they were missing?
After the interview this morning, she’d planned to go for lunch by herself, then recover with a glass of wine in front of the TV. She’d send a few texts to say how it had gone. But she would not answer the phone. Didn’t want to pull the interview apart and speculate.
That meant only Dad would miss her tonight. Probably only when he sat down to watch The Apprentice once he got back from the pub and noticed she was missing. He wouldn’t ask about the interview. He’d fall asleep with a can of beer, assuming he’d forgotten some appointment she’d had.
Even tomorrow, the guys at work would only wonder why she hadn’t come in today. They’d just get her answerphone when they called. It’s not like they’d send out a search party or call 999.
And even if they did, the emergency services would not start drilling holes in London streets on the off chance she might be buried far down below.
Buried alive. She felt sick with the idea. Deep terrifying memories from being trapped in the bin welled upside her like bile.
I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going to die down a big hole and no one’s ever going to find me. We can’t just sit here. There has to be something we’ve missed. We’ve got to do something before we die.
She felt her cheeks burning up and her stomach retch. But there was no longer anything down there to come up. She struggled with the urge to spring up and holler and shout and bang her fists on the wall. To kick out.
The bin. She felt panic creeping up from her stomach again, threatening to release a scream, to let her body go into wave after wave of terror as she had done all those years ago. Megan crunched her fingers so tightly into a fist, she felt her nails cutting into her palms. The pain felt good. It calmed her.
She was determined that would not happen here. She may still need sleep with a chink of light always visible, but she’d learned to control her emotions. Knowing they were merely imagined physical urges.
She took some deep breaths, pushed the sickening feeling away, and tried to stare down the stairs in front of her.
Charles. She wished she could curl over and sleep like him. She felt a mix of jealousy and anger that he’d managed to drift off. She’d love to just close her eyes and shut the nightmare out. The dim light of the staircase could lull her to sleep. Then, she’d wake up again fresh. In her bed at home with her interview still before her. She’d definitely go for one of the old skirts this time. Take the bus and get there an hour early. If only she’d been less fussy this morning.
“I’m never using the Tube again in my life,” she said out loud.
Benny smiled and shook his head.
“You might not get a chance,” said Giles with an awkward smile. She felt her cheeks burn up again.
“Jesus, will you just shut up,” said Benny.
Then the lights went out.
“Oh God, oh God,” Megan began screaming. “Oh God, not this.”
Her sobs echoed around the chamber. They bounced off the wall. Giles heard her kicking the walls with the soles of her shoes, sending a dull echo up and down the staircase.
Giles looked up around him. Nothing. He could see nothing. He waved his hands in front of his face. He closed his eyes and opened them. There was no difference. It wasn’t just dark. It was pitch black. A darkness he’d never experienced before. Not the tiniest bit of light anywhere.
And now Megan was screaming, etching the sound like a weevil into his brain. He knew their problems had just got a thousand times worse.
“Calm down, Megan. Calm down.” It was Benny, speaking in a soothing voice.
“I can’t, we’re going to die here. Oh, God. I can’t see anything.” She was blubbering now. He heard her hammering on the floor with her feet and hands. “We need help. We need help.”
A green glow appeared behind Giles. Then an orange light waved around the staircase. Benny had turned on his phone torch and was looking around. It hovered on Megan. Giles saw she was rocking on her step, grasping her hands together and into her chest, as if they were a reassuring toy she needed to grasp close.
“Megan, take a breath.” She looked up at Benny, and Giles saw the orange light reflected in her eyes. They were puffed up and streaming with tears. She started taking deeper breaths.
The light turned away from Megan and onto Charles. He was awake now, and blinking into the torch, a look of puzzlement on his face. A look that quickly turned to fear as he realised what was happening.
He mumbled, reaching for his glasses. As if that would do any good. He coughed. “Hello?”
“It’s okay, Charles, we’re all still here,” said Benny. “We just lost the lights.”
The glow spun around as he shone the light up the steps and Giles looked in the direction it was pointed. Then as the light swung back round towards him, he saw momentarily the spooky face of Benny in the glow. Giles did a double take, as if he’d seen a ghost.
Benny turned the light again, this time pointing it to the ceiling. It reflected a dim orange hue off the roof and walls, and back down onto Megan and Charles.
Giles reached into his pocket and pulled out his own phone, touched the screen and the orange-white light reflected onto his own face. He was looking for the button which would turn on his torch.
“What you doing, man?” Benny said.
“Same as you, giving us some light.”
“Turn it off.” Giles could hear the anger in Benny’s voice. “I’ve barely any battery left on mine. If yours goes too, we’ll have nothing.”
Megan spoke through her sobbing, “Mine went hours ago.”
The Spiral Page 6
