The Future of London Box Set

by Mark Gillespie

  Charlie smiled. “Yeah.”

  The boy unscrewed the lid and there was a brief hissing noise as the gas escaped from inside. Tipping the bottle back, Charlie poured the dark, sugary liquid down his throat, drinking it down fast like his life depended on it. When he was done, the boy put a hand over his mouth, as if battling the urge to burp.

  “You want something to eat Charlie?” Barboza asked. “Help yourself.”

  Charlie looked down at the half-devoured feast that was scattered on the floor. His eyes scanned the meat, sandwiches and various snacks that had been brought in for Walker and Barboza. After some deliberation, he leaned over and picked up a bag of salt and vinegar crisps off the blankets. He tore open the bag and threw the potato snacks into his mouth, like he hadn’t eaten for days.

  The boy crunched on the crisps loudly. Walker grimaced.

  “What have you been drawing?” Barboza said, pointing to the paper in his hand. “Something nice?”

  Charlie shrugged, all the while shovelling crisps into his mouth.

  “Can I look?” Barboza asked.

  Charlie stared at her for a moment, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to share his artwork with the two visitors. But slowly, he reached an arm out towards Barboza, offering her the paper in his hands.

  Barboza took the two pieces of paper and looked carefully at both drawings.

  “Wow,” she said. “These are great Charlie. Look Walker.”

  She passed them over to Walker, who glanced at both images quickly. It was nothing special. It was a typical child’s drawing – a mess of squiggly lines and bad colouring in. Both pictures featured – as far as Walker could tell – two people standing side by side, one a giant and the other a midget. They were standing on what looked like a sea of long, green grass underneath a giant orangey-yellow orb that was spitting out heat like it was rain falling from a cloud.

  He handed the drawings back to Barboza.

  “Great,” he said.

  “Is this you?” Barboza asked Charlie, pointing to the smaller of the two figures.

  “Yeah,” Charlie said. “Can I have one of the sandwiches?”

  “Sure honey,” Barboza said.

  Charlie reached over and grabbed the nearest sandwich off the plate. He tore into the crumbly white bread and the cheesy filling, and to Walker’s horror, the boy’s lips made a horrendous smacking sound as he ate. Walker had always hated that noise.

  “So if you’re the little person,” Barboza asked. “Who’s the big one?”

  The boy slowed his chewing down. And thank God, the lip smacking noises stopped with it.

  “It’s my Mum,” Charlie said, looking at the drawing.

  “Oh,” Barboza said. “Do you mean Carol?”

  Charlie shook his head. “Nah.”

  “It’s your real mum?”

  Charlie reached over and grabbed the two pieces of paper out of Barboza’s hand. He put them down at his side, face down so that the drawings were hidden.

  “Are you okay?” Barboza asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “Is it something to do with your mum?” Barboza said. “You can tell us Charlie – we’re your friends.”

  The little boy looked up. Once more, he stole a nervous glance at Walker.

  “Charlie?” Barboza said. “Did something bad happen to your real mum? Is that why you ended up here in Station?”

  “I suppose so,” the boy said, mumbling quietly. “She never showed up.”

  Barboza moved closer to the boy, pushing herself further along the pile of bedding until their arms were almost touching.

  “What does that mean?” Barboza said. “She never showed up for what?”

  “She told me to wait at the station,” Charlie said, looking at Barboza. The boy spoke quietly now, almost in a whisper. Walker had to lean forward in order to hear what he was saying.

  “Said she’d be back to get me but she never showed up,” Charlie said. “Told me to wait at the station.”

  “What station?” Barboza said.

  “Old Street Station,” he said.

  “You were supposed to meet her?” Barboza said. “When was this?”

  “Couple of years ago,” Charlie said. “We were staying in a flat up there – it’s not far from here. One day, we were going out to pick up our Drop Parcel – to get our food bag and...”

  The little boy’s face darkened.

  “It’s okay Charlie,” Barboza said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”

  “There was a rogue on the street,” Charlie said. “A madman – that’s what Mum called them before we knew that other people called them rogues. It came after us, screaming and hissing. Mum tried to run away with me in her arms – she had to drop the parcel ’cos she couldn’t carry that and me at the same time. So she dropped the parcel, but I was too heavy anyway. She put me down and then she screamed at me.”

  “She screamed at you?” Barboza said. “Why?”

  Charlie nodded. “She was screaming at me, telling me to go to Old Street,” he said. “The station. Said she’d come back and meet me there later. I was crying because I didn’t want to leave her with that monster chasing her. But she was yelling and screaming, like she was angry with me. She ran off, making a lot of noise, so that the rogue went after her and not me.”

  “And what did you do?” Barboza said.

  “I did what she told me to,” Charlie said. “I went to Old Street and I waited until it got dark but she didn’t come back.”

  Walker and Barboza exchanged a quick glance, as if neither one of them were quite sure of what to say.

  “You know Charlie,” Barboza said. “Just because she didn’t get back to Old Street…it doesn’t mean that she’s dead.”

  “She’s dead,” Charlie said. “The rogue got her.”

  Barboza slid an arm around the boy’s back.

  “No,” she said. “You mustn’t give up hope Charlie. That’s all we’ve got after all isn’t it? Hope. We’ve met quite a few rogues in our time and they’re pretty stupid you know? And they can’t run very fast either because they’re in such bad physical shape. Was your mum a good runner Charlie?”

  Charlie nodded. “Yeah. She was.”

  “Well then,” Barboza said. “I’d say there’s a good chance that your mum got away from that rogue. Yeah? Wouldn’t you agree Walker? Don’t you think that there’s a good chance that Charlie’s mum got away?”

  Walker glared at Barboza. He could fell the boy’s eyes upon him, probing him for some further assurance of hope.

  “Maybe,” Walker said.

  “Then why didn’t she meet me?” Charlie said. “I was there at the station. Why didn’t she show up?”

  Barboza looked at Walker. Walker shook his head at her, trying to let her know that it was dangerous to feed the boy false hope. And that it was cruel too.

  But Barboza didn’t seem to understand.

  “There could be lots of reasons she didn’t make it,” Barboza said. “She might have gotten delayed. I don’t know – maybe she fell and bumped her head. Amnesia? I don’t know Charlie but all I’m trying to say is that the rogue might not have got to her. You know? It’s not an absolute certainty that things ended up that way.”

  Walker saw hope in the boy’s eyes, flickering like candlelight in the dark. It was painful. Yes, some madman had probably devoured her and it was a terrible thing.

  But it was the truth.

  “Who knows Charlie?” Barboza said. “Just don’t look so sad, please.”

  “But if she’s not dead,” Charlie said. “Then she’s out there with the bad men tonight. Isn’t she? What if she’s alive? What if she’s out there looking for me with the bad men running about?”

  Walker heard panic leaking into the boy’s voice.

  “Shouldn’t you be in school or something?” he said to Charlie.

  Charlie looked at Walker, wide-eyed, like he’d just snapped out of a daydream.


  “It’s finished for the day,” Charlie said. “I’m going to meet Carol and then we’re going for a walk around the block. We do it every day and we have to to get out early today because of the bad men. Do you want to come with us?”

  Walker shook his head.

  “Nah,” he said. “We’ve done enough walking for one day. Off you go mate. Take the Coke and takes some food with you if you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Aye, on you go.”

  Charlie knelt down and scooped up the half-empty bottle of Coke. Then he gathered a few items from the leftover trays of food on the floor. He jumped back to his feet and Walker noticed that the boy’s step was lighter now.

  Just before he ran off, Charlie turned around and gave them both a quick wave. Then he hurried out the entrance, back into the concourse.

  Walker looked at Barboza, shaking his head.

  “What the hell were you thinking?” Walker said. “His mum’s dead. What’s the point in giving him false hope like that? He’s probably spent the last couple of years trying to come to terms with it and you’ve just set him back.”

  “I know,” Barboza said. She looked pissed off with herself. “It just spiralled out of control. I didn’t even see it happening until it was too late. I couldn’t help it – I’m just sick of all this death and sorrow Walker. I just wanted to say something to make him feel better. To make a little boy smile, you know? Is it really that bad? So he thinks there’s a chance that the rogue didn’t kill his mum. Who wants that image in their head when it comes to their mother and how she died?”

  “Sometimes it’s better to say nothing,” Walker said. “That way he’ll accept the hard truth early.”

  “And is that what you did Walker?” Barboza said. “Accepted the hard truth early on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Barboza looked at him.

  “Nine years you stayed in Stanmore Road,” she said. “Nine years living in that house alone, waiting for them to come back. All that time passed and you still didn’t give up hope that they might be alive somewhere. Yeah? And despite everything, you still haven’t given up hope. Deep down, you think there’s a chance that your parents are still alive and you’re clinging to that. Is it so bad that little Charlie’s got something to cling to now?”

  Chapter 10

  Walker’s eyelids felt heavy.

  He found himself sinking deeper into the pile of warm blankets. And yet a part of his mind resisted the need for sleep. Here he was, trapped by circumstances beyond his control, surrounded by people that he knew nothing about.

  What would happen if he closed their eyes? Sleep? Something else?

  But he was losing the fight. He was tired and it didn’t help that Barboza had already drifted off beside him. She was lying a few feet away in a crumpled heap on top of the blankets, curled up into a tight ball, her head submerged in a dirty white pillow.

  Walker’s eyes shut slowly, regardless of his concern. He kept his fingers wrapped around the handle of the axe as his back slid down the wall. His head landed on one of the battered pillows and it felt like warm and gentle fingers running down his cheek.

  Then everything went black.

  When he opened his eyes, somebody was screaming.

  Panic flooded his mind. He reached for the handle of the axe, which his fingers had let go of at some point while he was asleep. As soon as he grabbed the axe, he jumped off the makeshift bed. But for a moment he had no idea where he was. He was in a strange place, acting on instinct. His head was swimming and all the pieces hadn’t come back together yet.

  He was in Liverpool Street Station.

  A woman was screaming – she was somewhere out there on the concourse. It sounded like it was coming from the front entrance of Station, the one near Bishopsgate. Why was she screaming? What was happening? There didn’t seem to be anything unusual going on outside the little shop space that they were staying in.

  Barboza was standing at the entrance, looking further along the concourse.

  “What’s happening?” Walker asked. His voice sounded thick and groggy, like an old punch-drunk prizefighter.

  “Dunno,” she said, not taking her eyes off the concourse. “There’s a crowd gathering down at the front of the station. Somebody’s hysterical but I can’t see who it is.”

  Walker glanced up at the arched windows. He squinted his eyes as sunlight poured into the station through the elegant windowpanes. So it was still daylight outside, but then again it was summer and the days were long.

  “How long were we asleep?” Walker asked.

  “Not that long,” she said. “It’s late afternoon or early evening at most.

  “Aye,” Walker said. “It’s not as warm as it was.”

  “I think we should go down there,” she said. “Whatever’s going on, maybe we can help.”

  Walker shook his head. “It’s none of our business Barboza,” he said. “We’re just passing through, remember?”

  “Yeah I remember,” Barboza said. “But they’ve given us a place to stay for the night. They’ve also given us food and drink. I think we ought to show a little concern.”

  But Walker had already dropped back down onto the blankets.

  “Or we’d just be getting in the way,” he said.

  But Barboza didn’t move. Walker looked at her, shaking his head. He felt a genuine concern for Barboza and her prospects inside the M25. She had a sensitive heart and somewhere down the road it was going to choke the life out of her. Or rather the city would be the one doing the choking and her heart wouldn’t be able to stand up to it. She’d already blown her cover as an actress because she couldn’t stand to deceive Walker. Now she was telling him that defending her life against the soldiers that morning was murder. Bullshit. Walker considered it an act of self-preservation.

  Walker looked at her. She was wearing clean clothes now, which had been provided for her after their arrival at Station. That meant at least she’d been able to get rid of the bloodstain on the other t-shirt. Now she was dressed in a simple white t-shirt and a pair of tattered, bell-bottom blue jeans that fit perfectly. Her long black hair was bone dry and hung loose over her back.

  “Get up Walker,” she said. “Oh shit, you need to get over here. Fast.”

  Walker heard the panic in her voice. He threw the blankets off and rushed back to his feet.

  “What?” he said. “What’s going on?”

  “Look,” Barboza said, pointing towards the stairs near the station entrance.

  Walker looked down the concourse. A large group of people – perhaps fifty or sixty were huddled close together. Elsewhere, the other Bedlamites were nearby, standing at shop fronts or further back on the pathway. Like Walker and Barboza, they were all watching the drama unfolding before their eyes with some concern. Walker noticed too that there were more people in Station now than when they’d first arrived – like it had been filling up while he’d slept.

  “What is it?” Walker said. “What’s everyone looking at down there?”

  “It’s Carol,” Barboza said. Her voice was shaking. “Don’t you see Carol? She’s standing in the middle of that crowd down there. She’s the one who’s been crying.”

  Walker saw Michael King, standing in the thick of the crowd. He had an arm around Carol, who was standing next to him. She had her face buried in her hands, like she’d just been given the worst news of her life. Michael King was talking to the people in the crowd, trying to deal with the situation – whatever it was. Fat Joseph was there too, doing likewise. It was hard to hear anything that was being said clearly. It was just a bunch of loud voices, all talking over one another.

  Barboza grabbed hold of Walker’s arm and dragged him towards the concourse.

  “What are you doing?” Walker said.

  “We’re going down there,” she said.

  He didn’t resist.

  “Charlie’s foster mum is crying her eyes out,” Barboza said. “Do you see Charlie
anywhere? They were going out for a walk, remember?”

  They hurried by a flock of onlookers, none of who paid them any attention as they moved towards the front of the station. Walker saw the large group of people down there getting bigger and he had the feeling that he was walking towards the scene of a tragedy. Like he was closing in on the site of a plane crash, one still freshly ablaze.

  They hovered on the outskirts of the large crowd. It was hard to breathe because the air was still a little muggy in the station. But Barboza wasn’t satisfied waiting there on the fringes of the crowd. Walker groaned as he watched her squeezing her way through the crowds, battling towards the centre. She no longer seemed to care whether he was following her or not.

  Walker groaned. Then he started squeezing his way through the crowd too, working towards the eye of the storm.

  Michael King still had an arm locked around Carol’s shoulder. Walker took a closer look at the woman who’d been introduced to them earlier as Charlie’s guardian. Her eyes were sore and red and it looked like she’d been crying for a long time. Michael King whispered something into her ear. Walker saw Carol shake her head, her chest rising and falling as she took quick, shallow gulps of air.

  “What is it?” Barboza asked. She was yelling through the crowd, as if demanding to be heard above all the others. “Has something happened to Charlie?”

  Carol looked at Barboza and then buried her face in her hands again. Michael King pulled her close, allowing her to rest her head on his neck.

  “It’s okay,” he said to Carol. “It’s okay.”

  “What’s happened?” Barboza said. “Please tell me.”

  “It’s Charlie,” Michael King said looking at Barboza. As the Bedlamite spoke, Walker came up slowly behind them, creeping through the crowd and stopping only when he was standing next to Barboza.

  “What about Charlie?” Barboza asked.

  The crowd around them quietened a little, as if curious to find out why the two visitors were so concerned about the situation.

  “He’s run off somewhere,” Michael King said.

  Barboza gasped. “Run off?” she said. “Why? Where?”