The Spiral

by Gideon Burrows

  This course aims to teach basic skills, offering opportunities to gain employment in administration and secretarial work in settings such as solicitors, finance, new technologies. With emphasis on good presentation, attention to detail, basic word processing skills and customer relations.

  That was it.

  That was an entire year’s course description, printed alongside a stock image picture of a 20-something girl in a smart suit, in thick ringed black glasses with a pen poised over a notebook.

  No woman around the college looked like that.

  Here it was all tracksuits and scraped back hair. Or else inch-thick makeup, fake tans and animal prints. Megan downloaded the course syllabus, but it was more of the same.

  Lots of words and promises, but between the lines, it was a lack of expectation: just turn up to the courses, get the CV points, then work in a travel agency.

  It was that or do the rounds of Epping and surrounds, asking around in bakers and bathroom shops, tanning salons and pubs - oh please, not pubs - to see if there were any casual shifts going.

  Like with her GCSEs, Megan gritted her teeth and kept turning up every day. The class started 30 strong. By the second month, there were ten left. The course tutors were disinterested, putting in the hours with tired presentations and a monotonous tone in their voice to match.

  There was no homework set, simply sheets every few weeks to take home and indicate - by circling emojis - how you thought the course was going.

  At the end of each term there was a simple test, but the marks came back a mishmash. As if the tutors had picked grades at random in the five minutes before class started.

  “Why don’t you take it easy,” her dad had said. “Cruise through. I’ll offer you a job. Work the phones. I could show you how to do the invoicing. Then some rich guy will whisk you away and you’ll be made.”

  With every word that came out of her dad’s mouth, Megan was determined to work harder. To take the paltry effort the college put in and multiply it ten times.

  While her classmates failed to come in, or sauntered into tutorials 15 minutes late smelling of smoke, Megan was always there early. She took detailed notes, bought extra books, spent time in the cruddy library at lunch times, instead of lounging on the grass outside or shopping for clothes on the High Street.

  Every now and again an uncomfortable thought would spring up as she walked to the college.

  What was she doing this for? NVQs were pass and fail (or was it ‘competent’ or ‘not competent’?). And word was that it was impossible to fail this course.

  Her CV bullet point would look exactly the same size and shape as everyone else’s at the end of the year. In those low times she had to remind herself - even said it out loud to herself sometimes - that it wasn’t about the college, or the CV point. It was about getting the knowledge and skills. The NVQ was a base, something to spring off to do the real learning she needed between times.

  Because while the others would use their crappy qualification to get those local jobs, she was determined to head west and into the City. To start at the bottom, demonstrate her knowledge and skills, then work upwards.

  She’d seen the jobs on the employment websites: legal secretaries, financial secretaries, personal assistants. In the City you could pull in £25k, £30k a year. There were case studies of women who had started off on the front office desk and were now running teams. That’s where Megan was going. At the very least.

  That was where Rachel was going, too. Or at least, that’s what Megan assumed.

  18

  Benny grasped the casing tightly through the suit material and used the screwdriver to scrape away the rubber sheath on one wire.

  He was pleased to see the copper wire beneath was tied around a hole in the metal, rather than soldered onto it. It would give him more wire to work with, and a chance to tie the wire - somehow, God knows how - back onto the casing.

  Tentatively Benny offered the bare wire the tiniest touch with the screwdriver. No spark. He released a short, grateful sigh. He used the tip of the screwdriver to unfold the wire until it was just sitting in the hole it was wound around. With every move, his arms ached more from holding them above his head.

  Benny pocketed the screwdriver and grasped the black rubber casing of the wire. The copper wire slipped out of the hole and the whole staircase went pitch black. The same deepest dark as the night before.

  “Shit,” said Benny.

  “What, what?” It was Megan, shouting into the blackness. In panic.

  “It’s okay. I just hoped the lights were on a shorter circuit. That a few lights would stay on. Megan, the phone.”

  The chamber was suddenly bathed in green light, and Megan held the torch up to the roof. She tried to manoeuvre it so most of the light fell where Benny was working. But everywhere there seemed to be arms and heads casting shadows.

  There was just enough glow for Benny to see where to touch the bare wire back onto the bulb. He held his breath and brought the two together. The bulb came on, along with the lights running in either direction along the roof.

  “Brilliant,” said Giles with genuine encouragement. “Now, dot dot dot, dash dash dash.”

  “Give me a chance.”

  He pulled the wire away again, then touched it back. The lights flashed off, then on again. Then he did it again. Benny’s arms were really hurting now. It felt like the blood had completely drained from them, and it was all he could do to stop them from shaking.

  On-off, on-off. Touch-remove. Touch-remove. He tried to follow the S.O.S. pattern, but it was difficult to judge how long to let the dashes go on for, how short to leave a dot.

  And then Benny could do no more. His arms were aching so much he felt that soon he’d have to drop them. But that would mean losing everything. He’d have to scramble around in the dark to find live wires that could electrocute him.

  Somehow, he had to get the wire tied back onto the fork, and he’d have to move fast because his arms were going into spasms.

  “Megan, I need more light.” She moved again, trying another angle to get the glow up. Suddenly it started to fade.

  “Megan, touch the screen.” Benny’s arms were in pain. What was left of the light swung around to her face.

  “I’m trying to,” she was jamming her fingers onto the screen, but a final dim green hue faded from her face and they were again plunged into darkness. The phone let out a double-beep, the unbearable sound of it switching off.

  “Oh, shit,” said Giles.

  “Benny?” cried Megan.

  “Wait, wait.” He was puffing. Every moment his arms felt they would drop. There was no longer a choice. Benny released the wire and bulb and let his arms fall to his sides.

  “What’s going on,” said Giles, his voice echoing down the chamber.

  “Give me a second.”

  He blew out a deep breath. Massaged his arms, and flexed both of his hands. He reached into his pocket and pushed his arms back up, grasping around blindly for the light again. If he touched the bald wire itself, he still didn’t know if Giles’ jacket sleeve would protect him. Or whether the electricity would blast his shoulder out of its socket.

  The chamber went completely silent. Benny’s breathing stopped all together.

  Then there was a spark. He let out a high cry and fell back.

  The lights came on just in time for the others to see Benny’s leg slip, his ankle twist awkwardly off a step and for him to fall backwards down the stairs. Benny’s back hit the ground hard. His twisted body rumbled down the spiral for two or three steps, grazing his back, before the smacking of his head against the wall eventually broke his trajectory. Benny felt a thick thud across his whole body as his head met tile and an enormous whack echoed around the chamber.

  Benny threw his arms up over his head, clinging tightly to the spot that had hit the wall, letting out a huge cry as he swung around into a sitting position. He rocked his head up and down, swearing under his breath. A deep pain
throbbed at the back of his head and pulsated around his skull and into his face. His vision was blurred, and he saw shoots of light behind his eyes.

  “Ahh, fuck, fuck,” cried Benny, which seemed to help. He felt the tension ease from his body.

  Megan sprang up first, with Giles following behind. She plonked herself next to Benny and put her arms around him, pulling his entire head and arms tightly into her chest.

  “Shit, shit, shit.”

  “Benny, are you okay?” she said.

  He didn’t answer. His brain felt like a dead weight rattling round in a box, and for a moment Benny’s thoughts sprang this way and that; memories and songs; pictures and words. Walls, a woman, a petrol station, Stevie, the spiral staircase, the smell of cigarettes, a cold shower, a building site. All jumbled up, trying to slot themselves back into his mind in proper order.

  His rattling brain bashing around like a bell in a child’s toy. It eventually came to rest.

  “I said are you okay, Benny?” said Megan.

  “Yeah, I think so,” he said. “Bloody hell, that hurt.” He felt the tension easing.

  “Shit, you okay, mate?” said Giles, who’d followed Megan down to where Benny had fallen. He’d just missed Charles, who was now sitting just a few steps up from the others.

  “Just let me look,” Megan said, releasing Benny and pushing her fingers up to where his own were grasping the back of his head. He resisted at first, then slowly released his grip to allow her.

  “There’s no blood,” she said.

  “At least that’s something,” said Benny, who now felt the deep throbbing being replaced by an excruciating ache surrounding his head. He grunted at the stabbing pain as Megan touched around the area at the back.

  “There are no cracks or dents,” she said. She could feel skin pulled taught over his head that was already becoming mushy to her touch, rising into a bruise. “It’s okay, I think.”

  “Well, it doesn’t feel okay, I can tell you that much,” but Benny let out a little laugh to reassure her.

  “Anywhere else hurt?” asked Giles, “You went down pretty hard.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Battered and bruised.” Benny shook different parts of his body, searching for pain. He’d done the same a few times, after taking a beating during recess when he was a new inmate. Until he’d learned how to defend himself.

  Right now, all he could feel was the tight headache in his skull and a dull warmth from his foot, probably from where he’d stretched up to get a good angle on the light.

  “My arms,” Benny said. “I couldn’t hold them up anymore.”

  “You did very well, young man,” said Charles. “I’ve not seen bravery like it.”

  Seen.

  It made them all look at each other briefly, and then turn and look up at the light socket above them. It was the first time Benny realised they could see each other.

  The screwdriver was up there, hanging from the black wire. The copper strands had been wrapped around the tool’s metal shaft and the flat end was jammed tightly through a hole in the bulb contact. Benny shook his head. He’d made the connection again.

  “Christ, that was something Benny,” said Giles. “Is it going to be okay up there?”

  “The connection will be sound,” he replied, still rubbing his head. “But I don’t suggest anyone tries the S.O.S. trick again. It was impossible to make a permanent connection. I don’t think the screwdriver will stick if we pull it out again. I’m certainly not going to try.”

  He watched the three of them nod, though there was the same grief he was feeling written all over their faces.

  The S.O.S. had been their last chance. Who knows if anyone would have picked it up. He’d only been able to keep it up for a minute or two before his arms collapsed. Who knows if there was anyone there to see the signal, anyway. Benny doubted it had even been worth the effort, but surely something was better than nothing.

  Benny knew how to accept his situation. He’d done it before. First, the ironic belief that this is all a mistake, that you’ll be out of here any time now. Just wait for the door knock. Then the fear part: shit, is this really real? I’m stuck here? Then the anger. How stupid, stupid, stupid, I can’t cope with this. Then acceptance. I’m here, and I’m not going anwhere else. Not for a long time. Better get used to it, or go crazy.

  “Are you sure you’re alright?” said Megan, this time with more emphasis. It caused Benny to come out of his darker thoughts.

  Benny saw her eyes flick to Giles’ and then down at his feet, and he followed to where they were looking.

  On his left foot was Benny’s boot, scuffed and dirty, but with leather support running up and over his ankle. But his right foot, no boot this time - he’d used it to hammer the screwdriver - was so bent over to the inside that his ankle seemed to poke outwards. Benny stared at his twisted foot for what felt like a minute. And then his ankle started to hurt.

  Really, really hurt.

  19

  Something was broken, that was for sure.

  Benny had rocked on his backside for five minutes, trying to put pressure on his right leg, before he’d finally allowed Megan to look at his ankle.

  Not that she knew first aid or anything. She wouldn’t know what to do with a broken little finger. But once Benny had seen the awkward angle at which his foot was bent, it quickly became the only sensation he could feel.

  He described the agony: the sensation was pure, pulsating pain. Getting worse and worse for every moment he tried to pretend it wasn’t there. The pulses of agony spread from his ankle, up his calf muscles until it felt like his whole leg, and then even his whole body ached and throbbed from the pain.

  Megan insisted she had a look; she might be able to ease the pressure on his twisted foot. Giles hung around murmuring what he must have thought sounded like positive and reassuring noises, but to Megan his unhelpful loitering made Giles seem to her like an annoying fly that needed to be swatted.

  Thankfully, once he found he was not required or even wanted in the first aid tent, Giles seemed happy to turn his attention elsewhere. He made his way back up past Charles, sat down and lit a cigarette.

  Benny’s foot was turned at an angle. He could keep his leg relatively straight, but his right foot was bent inwards. Megan took a sharp intake of breath as she saw the twist from a different angle.

  “I’m going to take your sock off, Benny.”

  “No, it’s okay. I think its just sprained.” Megan watched him swallow back the pain, and try to twist his leg a little. He cried out as he did so, only able to put the foot back down exactly as it had been.

  Megan shook her head.

  “It’s definitely worse than sprained,” she said with a mix of care and chastisement. Dad would have said to get on with it. Pull your socks up. I can always break the other one, then they’ll match. Ha ha ha.

  “I think we should take a closer look,” said Megan.

  Benny grumbled some more but after a moment, relented by pulling up the shins of his grubby jeans to expose the top of a filthy, thick woollen sock.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to smile. “It’s just, these are work socks. They sweat in these boots.”

  “A sweaty foot is the least of our worries down here,” said Megan smiling. Giles puffed smoke into the air, waving his cigarette around.

  They all looked around them. Benny’s abandoned boot was just the latest of the detritus now scattered around the little curve of the spiral that had too quickly come to feel like ground zero.

  Their space.

  Home?

  The group lingered on the thought a moment too long. Long enough for Megan to register the stink wafting from below them, from another curve in the staircase further down. The family toilet. Giles turned away again, as if searching for an alternative thought.

  Quickly, Megan turned back to Benny’s leg, rolling down the black wool. She started off tentatively, with just the tips of her fingers, but then with more convicti
on. As she eased it down, she couldn’t help but like the way the soft brown hairs on his shins tickled her fingers. With the pads of her fingers, she could feel strong, taut muscles deeper underneath his smooth skin.

  She continued to roll the long woollen sock with one hand, but reached around to cup the back of Benny’s leg with the other. The pretext was of needing a firmer grip to keep removing the sock.

  For the slightest of moments, she felt she was undressing the man, gently, one piece of clothing at a time. She heard Benny’s breathing and when she looked up she saw in his face a smile that was a mix of satisfaction, gratefulness for her tenderness and - maybe she just imagined - the slightest inkling of pleasure.

  If it was, it didn’t last for long. Megan had drawn the sock down as far as the ankle and could see the red swelling at his ankle pulsating above the top edge.

  Forgetting herself for a moment, she attempted to lift Benny’s leg so she could slip the sock off over the swollen heel and leg. But the lifting pressure, immediately so abrupt after the gentle finger massage, caused Benny to flinch. She immediately stopped lifting, jumping away from his leg as if the touch of his skin was red hot.

  “It’s okay,” said Benny, heavily blowing air out of his lungs, “just a shock.”

  Megan connected with his leg once more, wrapping her hand around the back of his calf. She looked up to find Giles, but his attention was concentrated on the roof where Benny had made the electrical connection. She stroked the back of Benny’s leg again, with her palm this time, more forcefully and unmistakably in an attempt at a soothing massage. It was hardly an attempt at foreplay, barely sexual at all, but it was tender.

  Benny’s breathing deepened again. The massage was obviously helping with the pain or, Megan allowed herself to hope, distracting him from it. She looked up and momentarily their eyes connected.

  The man smiled gently and in unmistakable assent. She massaged a little deeper, bringing her other hand around the back of his leg too and deepening her grip, moving and pressing and squeezing his calf muscles firmly.