L-2011
Page 15
Sumo Dave turned to Mack. “Hatchet’s got a real taste for it now,” he said.
“Aye, I can see that.”
“Not that I blame him,” Sumo Dave said. “I mean, what else has he got, eh?”
“You think he’ll stop?” Mack asked.
Sumo Dave shrugged. “Chester George needs to call a date for Piccadilly soon,” he said. “So we can show people like Hatchet that we don’t need to burn the city down just to be heard anymore.”
Mack started to laugh
‘Eh?” Sumo Dave said. “What’s so funny?”
Mack shook his head. “I just thought of something,” he said.
“Oh yeah?”
Mack nodded. “I was just thinking about that line from The Dark Knight? You know, the Batman film.”
“Yeah? What line?”
“Something that the Joker said. Reminds me of Hatchet.”
“Go on then,” Sumo Dave said.
Mack did his best Heath Ledger as the Joker impersonation:
“Some men aren’t looking for anything logical…some men just want to watch the world burn.”
Sumo Dave smiled and then he turned away, suddenly looking grim.
“Yeah,” he said. “That’s Hatch.”
Chapter 26
Sadie Hobbs: Filthy Rich and Worth It
* * *
(Blog post by Sadie Hobbs - 17th August 2011)
CHOPPITY-CHOP. It’s that time of year again. Out with the old and in with the new.
* * *
Yes, ladies and gentleman - culling season has returned to the Hobbs residence for the year 2011. This is an annual thing that takes place, usually around July or August, when I spend two or three days rifling through all my worldly possessions (and there are a lot of those), sorting the good from the bad, and putting whatever I don’t need into black bin bags and giving them to charity.
* * *
I know, I’m wonderful – it’s all lies what they say about me!!!!
* * *
But OMG - it takes such a long time to do this! Like I said, I have soooo many things to throw away and all for the sake of making room for new things!
* * *
This morning’s job involved going up to the attic and looking through two massive crates of books that had been sitting up there for years. I must admit however, that it was faintly amusing to look back on the literature of my youth. Dusty old books now for the most part. But OMG, did I read some CRAP with a capital ‘C’. Stories about horses and vampires – that about sums it up for my childhood. And yes I was reading about vampires long before Twilight made it cool to do so. And if by chance, Mummy or Daddy could find me a book about horses and vampires, then I was the happiest little girl in the world.
* * *
Easy pleased, that’s me.
* * *
But guess what else I found in the attic today? A box that was absolutely packed with my old school stuff - books and jotters, pens and pencils and even things that I’d once made in arts and craft. I also stumbled upon the ruins of what I think was once a handmade pencil case - bright pink with green dots. I know, I know – it’s probably a good thing I never got past the first round in one of my least successful reality TV ventures: So You Want To Be A Fashion Designer?
* * *
LOL!
* * *
I also found an old Latin phrasebook in the box. This was from my years at boarding school – I went to Downe House in case you’re wondering – it was very exclusive. But God I HATED Latin!!! And as I picked up this decomposing monstrosity I suddenly thought how wonderful it would be to watch it burn in the garden. I could just imagine the look of horror on the face of old Mrs Reddan, my Latin teacher. If only she could see me do it - but I imagine she’s dead now the silly old cow.
* * *
Hope so!
* * *
To my surprise, I found myself browsing through the old textbook, rediscovering old terms and phrases. Given all that’s happened recently, one phrase in particular caught my eye.
* * *
Mobile vulgus – excitable or fickle commoners.
* * *
There were a few squiggles next to this term (God my handwriting was ATROCIOUS!!) But I could just about make out from my younger self that mobile vulgus is where the word ‘mob’ came from. And as I wrote back in the day, it’s also described as a ‘moving, shifting, dangerously directionless force’.
* * *
Does this sound familiar people?
* * *
The lower and illiterate classes are still out there, running riot on the streets of London. The number one reason for this is that the British government has been too soft with the perpetrators of these disturbances. The police are outnumbered and the army – who were brought in to assist the police - are limited in regards to what they can do. So in other words, they can’t just drive a tank through the streets and shoot all the hooligans. Which would solve the problem in a jiffy.
* * *
The feral rats are refusing to crawl back into their little ghettoes. These people (and I use that word hesitantly) are individually weak. They feel important because they have strength in numbers. The Good and Honest Citizens? Don’t make me laugh - they’re a bunch of underwashed, undereducated plebs and oh - you should see the abuse I’m getting on Twitter for saying these things. It’s delicious and I’m enjoying every single second of it so keep it coming – PLEBS!
* * *
We are dealing with the lowest class of people. But let’s be fair – after all a rat can’t help being a rat. Can it?
* * *
What I’m saying is this – it’s up to us, the civilised people, to take charge of this situation. Too many people have forgotten that there is a great chain of being in the universe - a Divine Order that is ordained in nature. Everything in the universe has its specific place and the mobile vulgus have theirs. They are useful at performing certain tasks in society – they work in supermarkets, they sweep the streets, empty bins, and clean our toilets. Good on them. We couldn’t get by without them. But the peasants have always sat at the bottom of the chain of being while the Kings, Queens, Nobles and Merchants are placed above them. This is the natural order of things.
* * *
So why are we letting the peasants do what they want?
* * *
It’s time to do something about this. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Capital punishment must be reinstated in the United Kingdom. It’s a no-brainer! Lynching these hoodlums is the only effective deterrent. And it’d be quick too – the streets would be empty of yobs in a day or two. Isn’t that what everyone wants? For things to go back to normal? String a few peasants up in Hackney, leave them hanging there for a few hours and watch the others run back into their holes.
* * *
That’s the solution.
* * *
NOW - contrary to what you might hear, normal people are NOT appalled at what I say. They ARE appalled that no one else is saying it. Particularly from those who claim to represent us in Parliament.
* * *
This is very important. We cannot let the mobile vulgus come together at Piccadilly Circus.
* * *
COME ON Mr Prime Minister!
* * *
I’ve met you on several occasions and you seem like a nice chap, but it’s about time you grew a backbone. Our political and economic centre is collapsing. And it’s too late for water cannons and rubber bullets – these so called ‘deterrents’ will prove ineffective.
* * *
I’m writing this as a proud citizen of the UK. I demand the return of the death penalty – even if it’s only a temporary return until this infestation problem is fixed. There are many of you out there who agree with me. And I urge you all to get over to Twitter now and get behind the hashtag: #bringbacklynching
* * *
Together we can take back Britain. Let’s do this, if not for ourselves, then for the
sake of our children.
Chapter 27
18th August 2011
* * *
Archie Walker was grinning from ear to ear, as he led the two young visitors across the hallway towards the front door. The grin faded however, as he pulled the door open about an inch and a half, peering warily outside through the narrow gap onto the street.
Mack was standing behind him in the hallway. What did the old man expect to see out there anyway? A horde of masked rioters standing on the front doorstep, tapping baseball bats impatiently off the palm of their hands?
Waiting?
“Thank you for coming,” Archie said to the guests. “It was lovely to meet you both.”
Isabella Walker, standing at her husband’s side, stepped forward. She smiled at the handsome young couple who were currently making their way outside. The visitors stopped on the doorstep and turned around to say goodbye to the Walkers. They were a pair of young professionals - Iain and Sally Burton, and approximately in their late twenties.
“It’s a gorgeous house,” Sally said, running a hand through her long blonde hair. “Such a shame, isn’t it? That you have to go back to Scotland.”
Isabella smiled and nodded. “It’s a real shame.”
Mack loitered in the background like a disgruntled spectre.
“Have there been many viewers so far?” Iain asked. “Apart from us?”
Archie shrugged - a non-committal gesture. “A few,” he said. “Not a great time to be selling, is it? People are, well, nervous with all that’s been going on.”
“Yeah,” Sally said, smiling and nodding sympathetically. “But you’re letting this place go for a real bargain. And things have quietened down, you know – the riots.”
“For now,” Iain said, giving his wife a sharp look.
“We miss Edinburgh anyway,” Isabella said quickly. “My mum’s up there, she’s alone and well, you know how it is.”
Mack almost laughed out loud. Bullshit.
The young couple exchanged a brief glance at one another.
“Well,” Iain said. “We’re definitely interested in the house.” And with that he leaned closer and lowered his voice in an exaggerated whisper. “Very interested.”
Everyone laughed, except Mack.
What a prick.
Sally, who couldn’t stop fidgeting with her hair, flicked a loose strand out of her eyes. “What we’ll do is talk to the estate agent this afternoon,” she said. “And I think after that - you’ll be hearing from us again soon.”
She poked her husband in the ribs.
“Won’t they Iain?”
Iain nodded, a smug grin wrapped around his face. Mack got the feeling that Iain thought he was doing the Walkers a favour by taking the house off their hands. Rather than him and his wife landing the property bargain of the year in Tottenham.
Prick.
Archie Walker seemed happy to play the desperate seller. He thrust an enthusiastic hand at the prospective buyers and grinned manically.
“Excellent,” Archie said. “That’s brilliant news.”
“Wonderful,” Iain said.
Sally looked past the door and smiled at Mack.
Mack smiled back.
“Well,” Isabella said, hurrying things along. “We’ll look forward to hearing from either yourselves or the estate agent.”
They said their goodbyes, but it was only when the Burtons were halfway down Stanmore Road and almost out of sight that Archie finally closed the door – but not without another look around, both to the left and right for rioters.
Archie and Isabella stood behind the closed door, looking at one another. Their eyes beamed with excitement.
“YES!” Archie said, pumping a fist into the air.
Mack’s parents fell into each other’s arms, dancing around the hallway as if they’d just won the lottery.
“Well,” Archie said, unwrapping his hands from around his wife. “Time to break out the champagne. The Walkers are going back to Scotland!”
Isabella smiled, but she was more restrained than her husband. “I’ve got a good feeling about those two,” she said. “But let’s wait until it’s final before we celebrate properly, okay?”
Archie turned towards Mack, the manic grin still lingering on his face.
“You ready for this son?” he said. “Are you ready to go back to Edinburgh?”
Mack looked unimpressed. “You’re giving this house away for peanuts,” he said.
Archie laughed. “And since when did you become the expert? We’re making a loss, aye, but at least we’re getting away from this madness.”
Mack shook his head. “You just heard that woman say the riots were over. If you’re so confident of that, why leave?”
Isabella looked at her son. “You know why Mack.”
Mack stubbornly folded his arms against his chest. “No I don’t.”
Isabella took a step closer.
“Maclean Walker,” she said in that voice. “YOU are the reason we’re leaving London. Just as you were the reason we came to London in the first place. You think we’re going to stay here with all this going on and with your recent track record? Even the slightest hint of trouble will get you locked up.”
“We’re just looking out for you son,” Archie said.
Mack sat down on the bottom stair.
“Where will we stay in Edinburgh?” he said.
Archie smiled. “We’ll stay with your gran until we find our own place,” he said. “It’s no problem. She’d be happy for the company.”
“Gran?” Mack said, feeling nauseous. “So we’re moving back to the exact same area of Edinburgh? To a place where everybody knows what I – what happened?”
Isabella raised a hand. “Mack, listen…”
“Why are you doing this to me?” Mack said. “Rossi’s mates – they’ll be waiting for me up there. They’ll cut me to shreds.”
Isabella threw her hands up in the air.
“What are we trying to do to you?” she said. “Nobody put that knife in your hand Mack, did they?”
Mack said nothing.
Archie Walker stepped forward, putting a hand around his wife’s waist.
“These riots were just bad luck,” he said. “For all of us. Nobody saw this coming. How could we have seen this?”
“You’re going back to Edinburgh Mack,” Isabella said. “Just start dealing with it.”
“It might only be temporary,” Archie said. “When we get back, I’ll ask the company about another transfer somewhere else. Somewhere permanent this time. We could even think about going to continental Europe. Who knows?”
Mack shook his head. He saw the future ahead of him, always the new boy in town, overcoming the same challenges.
No solid ground beneath him.
“I want to stay here,” Mack said. Fuck it - what did he have to lose by speaking the truth. “I want to go to Piccadilly.”
“Well we won’t be around to see Piccadilly,” Archie said. “As soon as this house is sold, we’re out of here.”
“Forget it Mack,” Isabella said firmly.
Mack got to his feet slowly, determined that this conversation was now over. He turned around and started walking upstairs.
His parents weren’t finished with him yet.
“You’ve been out there, haven’t you?” Isabella said. Her voice was flat, eerily calm. “You told us you hadn’t been involved in the riots, but you have, haven’t you?”
He turned around slowly.
“Yes,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
Isabella walked over to the foot of the stairs.
“Why?”
“Look closer,” he said. “Look at what’s happening out there now. Not everyone wants to burn the city down you know. Or steal a flat screen TV. Some people are just pissed off and want their voices heard.”
Isabella forced out a laugh.
“You’re sixteen years old,” she said. “What do you know about anything?”
A glint of anger flickered in Isabella’s eyes.
“Listen to me Mack,” she said. “Until this house is sold and we’re on our way home, you don’t set one foot outside unless it’s with one of us. Do you understand me? You’re grounded.”
But Mack shook his head. “No I’m not. I’m going to Piccadilly.”
Isabella’s voice was calm.
“No. You’re not.”
Archie Walker stepped in quickly.
“Look,” he said. “If those people buy this house it’s only going to take a few days for the deal to go through. You and your mum don’t even have to stay down here until it’s sorted. I can take care of everything. Whatever happens though, we won’t be here for much longer Mack.”
“You can watch Piccadilly in Edinburgh,” Isabella said. “I’ve no problem with that. We’ll even buy it for you on Pay-Per-View.”
Mack frowned. “Pay-Per-View?”
Archie Walker allowed himself a smile. “Aye,” he said. “Apparently your Piccadilly thing - whenever it happens - is going to be broadcast live on SKAM Box Office. Twenty pounds a head.”
Mack was the one grinning from ear to ear now. He couldn’t help it. “Twenty pounds?” he said. “They’re actually charging people to watch it live on TV?”