The Future of London: (L-2011, Mr Apocalypse, Ghosts of London)
Page 19
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Sadie turns to the camera:
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SADIE HOBBS: Hello and welcome to Sadie Hobbs: I’m a Celebrity Riot Hunter! This is the only show out there GUARANTEED to exterminate the pests who’ve been taking the ‘Great’ out of Great Britain.
* * *
Sadie turns around and pushes open the small gate. She starts walking up the path towards the door, turning back to the camera as she does so.
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SADIE HOBBS: This show is all about YOU – the great people of Britain. I’m here to recruit you to join my march to Piccadilly in September. Okay let’s start recruiting shall we?
* * *
She knocks on the door.
* * *
A few seconds later, a young woman in her mid thirties answers the door. What is immediately apparent to the viewer is how similar in appearance she is to Sadie, albeit a slightly younger version. Her blonde hair is also crimped and her skin glows the same shade of deep orange. Upon seeing Sadie at the door, she clasps a hand over her mouth.
* * *
WOMAN: OOOH MA GAWWD!! Sadie Hobbs! I’ve just been watching you on the telly! I didn’t realise that was my street you were on. I didn’t even realise that was my house you were standing outside – or my pink and white car! OOOH MA GAWWD! What am I like?
* * *
SADIE HOBBS: (Beaming) Hello my dear, what’s your name?
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WOMAN: SADIE HOBBS! No that’s not my name, that’s your name. I just can’t believe it! You’re my hero, standing on my doorstep. I LOVE YOU!
* * *
The woman throws her arms around Sadie.
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SADIE HOBBS: Woah there! Easy tiger.
* * *
WOMAN: Ooh! I’ve read everything you’ve ever written. I love your blog. You’re like the best writer ever that’s ever written anything. PHIL, PHIL – Sadie Hobbs is at the door! I think you’re one of them geniuses! You’re a genius aren’t you?
* * *
Sadie wriggles free of the woman’s grip.
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SADIE HOBBS: Okay darling, calm down. I just need a quick answer. Are you #teamSadie or #teamwhatshisname? Can I count on YOU to join me on my march to Piccadilly in September?
* * *
The woman walks forward slowly, like a zombie chasing brains.
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WOMAN: I’ll do whatever you want me to do. ANYTHING!
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SADIE HOBBS: (Turns to cameraman) Okay, we’ll take that as a yes. Time to go. Let’s get the hell out of here Mike.
* * *
Sadie turns around, runs down the driveway past the pink and white Mini, pulls open the gate and takes off down the street. Mike, the cameraman, chases after her and judging by the sound of heavy breathing, is on the verge of collapsing with exhaustion. Eventually Sadie stops running at the end of the street. Mike catches up with her and the shaky camera footage shows her looking back in the direction they just came, making sure they’re not being followed.
* * *
SADIE HOBBS: Phew! That was close. The perils of live TV.
* * *
She checks back up the street one more time.
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SADIE HOBBS: Okay. Well it’s not just me recruiting. I have people all over the country knocking on doors right at this very minute. Let’s go to one of my minions now. Kumiko is in Birmingham – hello Kumiko!
* * *
Sadie fidgets with the earpiece in her right ear.
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SADIE: Kumiko! CAN-YOU-HEAR-ME?
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KUMIKO: I-can-hear-you-Sadie.
* * *
The camera cuts to a small-statured Asian woman, no more than five feet tall. Like Sadie, she’s wearing a pest exterminator outfit with a ‘RIOT HUNTER’ badge on the front.
* * *
Kumiko speaks in clipped English, smiling pleasantly at the camera as she stands outside a row of terraced houses in a pleasant looking suburb in Birmingham.
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SADIE: Kumiko? You’re about to knock on somebody’s door aren’t you?
* * *
KUMIKO: Yes-try-one-more.
* * *
Kumiko - followed by the cameraman - walks up the driveway of the nearest house. She rings the doorbell and waits.
* * *
A black man, approximately in his mid-fifties, opens the door. He’s wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and a white vest. The man stares at Kumiko for a moment, taking in her exterminator outfit with a raised eyebrow. Then he notices the camera.
* * *
MAN: Yes? Can I help you?
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KUMIKO: Sir. You-on-Sadie Hobbs-show. She-want-to-know-if-you-come-down-to-Piccadilly-to-chase-evil-Chester-George-away?
* * *
The man, speaking with a strong West Indian accent, looks at Kumiko thoughtfully.
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MAN: I’ll be there.
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KUMIKO: (Smiling) That-is-wonderful.
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MAN: Hold on little lady. I’m going down to Piccadilly alright. But I’m going there to stand with Chester George and the Good and Honest Citizens.
* * *
Kumiko tilts her head, like a bewildered puppy.
* * *
KUMIKO: Sir?
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MAN: The Good and Honest Citizens. My brothers and sisters.
* * *
KUMIKO: (On the brink of tears) But-why? Why-you-destroy-this-beautiful-country?
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MAN: Do you really want to know why?
* * *
Kumiko fidgets with her earpiece, as if receiving instructions.
* * *
KUMIKO: Somebody-say-no-in-my-ear.
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MAN: (Ignoring her) There are many reasons.
* * *
Kumiko throws a panicky look to the camera.
* * *
MAN: Something happened just yesterday in fact. I’d like to share that with the camera.
* * *
KUMIKO: Oh-dear.
* * *
MAN: I was looking after my grandson for my daughter. We had a full day planned together – a day of watching DVDs and just enjoying each other’s company. You understand? My grandson loves sweets - and so do I - so we decided to go to the supermarket and get some treats to eat while watching films together.
* * *
KUMIKO: (Still fidgeting with her earpiece) So-sorry-sir-I’m-getting-word-that-we-have-to-go-back-to-Sadie.
* * *
The man is undeterred.
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MAN: If you cut me off now, you will only make things worse. Do you understand?
* * *
KUMIKO: Uh…
* * *
MAN: (Directly to camera) Do you understand?
* * *
Kumiko nods while receiving instructions in her ear.
* * *
KUMIKO: Ok-we-have-time. Tell-your-story-sir.
* * *
MAN: (Nods) So my grandson and I are walking down the street making our way to the local supermarket. And then a car drove past us, very slowly. I looked inside the car and there’s a middle-class looking white guy at the wheel. Nice suit, all that. And I couldn’t help but notice the way he looked at me. The way that he looked at me. He leaned forward in his seat and he actually sneered at me. He sneered at me as I was walking down the street with my grandson.
* * *
Kumiko nods.
* * *
MAN: Now I’m not being paranoid. It was a look I’d seen before. Many times. I used to live in London and I’ve seen it on the faces of the police officers who used to do stop and searches on my friends and me. It was a look that said - you don’t matter. And I was so angry yesterday. I wanted to walk right up to this guy’s car and pound on the windscreen with my fists. Had my grandson not been there, maybe I would have.
<
br /> * * *
At this point, the camera cuts back to Sadie Hobbs in Chelsea. She’s looking at the camera and shaking her head disdainfully.
* * *
SADIE HOBBS: MOAN, MOAN, MOAN! They’re all the same, aren’t they? Looks like you drew the short straw Kumiko. Sorry about that love. Right let’s get back to talking to some normal people, shall we?
Chapter 36
August 26th 2011
* * *
“Hello. Tottenham can you hear me?”
The amplified voice came out of nowhere.
For a moment, everyone on the second floor of the Christ Apostolic Church looked at one another, as if to make sure they’d heard it too.
Mack got to his feet, throwing his blanket aside. He hurried over to the large second-floor window. Footsteps crept up from behind, gathering around him.
“Who the fuck’s that?” Tegz asked. “Are they speaking to us?”
Mack pushed the tip of his nose onto the cold glass. It was almost dark outside, but to the left there was a dazzling white light outside Tottenham Police Station, as if a spotlight was being shone from an upper floor window down onto the street.
A woman was standing on top of a police van, clutching a megaphone. The spotlight was directed at her, but it also illuminated a small battalion of riot police and soldiers encircling the van.
The Good and Honest Citizens were moving forward for a closer look at the person who had summoned them, like moths drawn to a light.
Mack tried to get a better look at the woman on the van. She was perhaps anywhere between thirty to forty years old. He was shocked at her pale skin, translucent and ghost-like, but guessed that the spotlight had something to do with that. Still, her whiteness contrasted everything else - the dark coat, her shoulder length black hair – everything was black but that gleaming face, which now looked down upon thousands of people.
“Tottenham, can you hear me?” she said.
Her voice wavered, as if unsure of itself.
“I recognise that voice,” someone said behind Mack. The speaker was a nineteen-year-old student called Simon, who’d dropped everything in his hometown of Manchester to travel down to Piccadilly. “She’s been on TV before,” he said.
“Who is she then?” Sumo Dave said, standing at Mack’s side.
Simon shook his head. “Don’t know mate. But I know that voice. I do.”
“Hello Tottenham,” said the woman on the police van. “My name is Marie Coggins.”
Simon rapped his fist against the glass. “Fuckin’ hell!” he said. “Coggins. I knew it. The old war hero bloke who got - ”
“My father was Richard Coggins,” Marie said to the assembled crowd. “And as some of you may know, he was murdered recently in the riots.”
Tegz slipped away from the huddle of people at the window. Mack turned around and saw him climb back into his sleeping bag, where he pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, stretching it as far as it would go.
Mack scanned the room for Hatchet. He found him standing on the other side of Sumo Dave, watching events unfold outside. His eyes were blank, and he might as well have been watching an insect crawling over the floor.
“I know a lot of people here have grievances,” Marie said to the crowd.
She pressed the megaphone tight to her lips.
“Maybe you haven’t got a job. Maybe you don’t have money and feel like you’ve got nothing to lose by taking part in the riots or the occupation. I know what it’s like – we’ve all struggled in some way or another with the realities of life. I know. But what I’ve gone through in the past with money or whatever - it was nothing compared to what I’m going through now. None of that means anything. Losing Dad – that means something.”
Marie paused for a moment.
Sumo Dave gave a snort of disgust. “Bloody old bill put her up to this,” he said. “They’ve dragged that poor girl here on a mission to beg us all to go home.”
“Aye,” Mack said.
Outside, Marie brought the megaphone back to her lips.
“But what’s happening here tonight,” she said. “And what’s happening across other areas of London – it isn’t going to fix our problems. Not mine. Not yours.”
Sumo Dave walked away from the window and sat down on his sleeping bag. He picked up the cheese and tomato sandwich he’d been eating and pointed towards the street.
“Load of bollocks,” he called out, biting into the sandwich. “Push their guilt buttons love, that’s what the old bill said to her. Poor cow. Exploitation, that’s what they call that.”
“Well I didn’t kill her dad, did I?” Simon said. “And neither did anyone here so we’ve got nothing to feel guilty about, have we?”
Mack looked over at Hatchet. Their eyes met briefly.
On the High Road, Marie Coggins continued to address the crowd. Her voice sounded more assertive now and she raised a clenched fist into the air as she spoke.
“My dad loved this city,” she said. “And I can tell you this - it broke his heart to see London destroying itself. He was a World War Two veteran and he told me that he couldn’t believe we survived the Blitz only for this to happen. That’s why he was out there on the street that night. He went to Croydon, the most dangerous place in London at that time. An eighty-seven year old man wanted to talk to the rioters. To make them see sense.”
Marie stopped suddenly.
“I’m sorry,” she said, rubbing a hand over her eye.
Hatchet turned away from the window. He was looking at his phone now, chuckling at something on the Internet.
“My dad was a good man,” Marie continued. “He didn’t deserve to be bludgeoned to death for trying to help people. He was a war hero, a husband, and a wonderful father.”
Mack shuddered. He thought back to that terrible night in Croydon. He heard the muffled cries of the policeman being dragged down the alley. He saw the blood on Hatchet’s hand, and felt the warmth of Rossi’s on his own.
Too much had happened.
Stepping back from the window, he turned around.
Hatchet was staring at him from the other side of the room. A black heat in his doll’s eyes, pointed at Mack.
The Richard Coggins thing only made it worse. Mack knew. And Hatchet knew that Mack knew.
Mack looked away, turning back to the window. The thought of staying under the same roof as Hatchet until Piccadilly was unnerving.
But it was either that or go home.
Outside, Marie Coggins continued to address the crowd.
“Nothing will bring my Dad back,” she said, resting a hand over her heart. “But there is something we can all do to honour his memory. All of us, right here tonight. To protect our own families.”
“Here it comes,” Sumo Dave said. “Money shot.”
“We can stop this now,” Marie said. “No one else has to lose their father. But if Piccadilly goes ahead, who knows how many more fathers and mothers, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, will die?”
“Yeah,” Sumo Dave said. “And how many of ’em will die if we don’t go ahead, eh?”
“I urge you,” Marie said, a clenched fist held aloft. “PLEASE. Just go home. Go home to your family and let’s start rebuilding this city - together. Together we can work out why this has happened. Grievances will not be forgotten, I understand. But go home. Please. On behalf of my dad and my entire family - thank you very much for listening.”
A small round of applause broke out, applauding at least her bravery, if not her request.
Two policemen stretched their arms up towards her, helping Marie climb down from the van. As she descended onto solid ground, the bright spotlight from the station dimmed, softening the edges of the night once more.
“WAKE UP YOU LAZY BASTARDS!”
Tegz was running from bed to bed, shaking people out of their slumber. Shining the light of his phone in their eyes for good measure.
“You’ve gotta see this,�
�� he said.
Mack sat up on his makeshift bed of two woollen blankets. It was still dark outside, but for the faint glow of the streetlights.
“Piss off Tegz!” somebody said.
“We’re trying to sleep mate,” somebody else said.
“Fuck off Tegz!” That was Sumo Dave. “Pack that shit in!”
But Tegz wouldn’t quit. He ran along the edges of the scattered beds again, this time kicking people on the legs until they moved.