by Greg Hunt
The students had nowhere to go, nowhere to hide or to run to. They stayed put like rabbits in headlights. After all, what was the worst that could happen, a fine, a caution?
Surprised that the police were actually coming to their halls of residence, David and his chums headed back to their respective bedrooms to remove anything incriminating.
The police cars pulled up outside, with the policemen heading directly to the hall reception. The officers had some urgency to their movements and their expressions were grave.
These were not the portly figures of many a Hollywood movie, but some of the cream of the police force, and they were acting purposefully. These vibes were picked up by the students. The police officers were confident in what they were doing, presumably tipped off as to illegal activities within the hall. The students were not used to such brazen tactics by Her Majesty’s law and order.
David and his hall mates busily moved any illegal supplies that they might have had behind cupboards and into the common area lavatory cisterns of the third floor bathroom. David was determined that his extra income would not be cut short just yet. So far he was not known to the local police, except for his extra help as a comparable at identification parades. He was now on a mission to ensure that he appeared on the right side of the law with any spot checks that were imminent.
There was a mumbled discussion with the caretaker of the halls of residence which, despite craning their heads out of the kitchen windows, none of the students could make out. The police unit headed straight to the main staircase. David and his colleagues on the second floor were starting to perspire within their respective rooms. How had the police known that they were buying and selling illegal substances? Who had told them? How were they going to get out of this mess? Who could they blame or confirm as the main culprit?
The police unit went straight up to the second floor landing but did not take the staircase any higher. Heading along the corridor to their right, the first officer stopped outside room 2.24. On the nameplate in badly scrawled dark blue ink were the occupant details: “Richard Gupta,” it read.
The first officer raised his clipped home-counties voice, “Please open your door, this is the police.”
“Just a minute,” was the response from within. After a couple more minutes the police reiterated their instructions but still there was no response from the other side of the bedroom door. A further siren could be heard within a couple of hundred metres and it was bearing down on the hall of residence.
The police unit had radioed down to plain clothes detectives to monitor the halls of residence from the outside. This would ensure that the goods that they had been tipped off about did not leave the building, out of their sight. Despite being on the second floor of this 1970s concrete block, it would not be too difficult for a young athletic student to make his way down to the ground floor using the exposed lintels and concrete beams which made up the exterior elevations of the property.
As Richard Gupta did not open the door, the police unit was forced to utilise their shoulder muscles against the piece of flimsy ply-wood in front of them.
The hinges fell away easily as the first officer used his strength to break through the doorway. The second officer piled into the room on his coattails. The student, appearing completely shocked, was standing adjacent to his wardrobe. Whilst Richard Gupta was detained and asked many searching questions about his recent activities, the remaining two officers starting trawling through his bedroom from top to bottom. In the first instance they found nothing. But they were not going to give up that easily.
Opening his exterior window, piled up on the small window ledge as far away from the bedroom as was possible, were at least twenty small but perfectly formed plants.
The two officers, who had been slightly disappointed from prising their way through every nook and cranny to find nothing, stopped and raised a smile at each other. The tip off had proved correct, both the men knew the memorable shape and style of those plant leaves.
Chapter 45
The bell-ringing tea was in full swing. Mavis was helping out behind the serving hatch of the village hall kitchen. She completed cutting the fifth slice of lemon drizzle cake with her thin plastic, gloved fingers and turned her attention to the next round of tea, which had just been called for.
There was a group of Tower Captains, situated close to the biscuit and sandwich table, discussing the merits of having more than one bell ringing tea a quarter, and the new additions to the district were busily utilising the hand-bells at the stage end of the hall.
Seated on three chairs, staring intently at each other, the Clackett sisters held a hand-bell in each hand. The sisters were in the midst of ringing a quarter peal on the six hand-bells held by the three of them. It was a quarter peal of spliced minor so, as each method was just about to come round, a call was made for the next method, whereupon the three ringers would continue onto yet another memorised pattern, always being sure to ring their bell at the right time whilst keeping the rhythm as steady as possible.
Such was the regular rhythm of their ringing, and the near perfect striking maintained over the full three quarters of an hour of the quarter peal, that the sisters had built up a crowd of local district members. Most of the members had pulled up a hall chair to form a small amphitheatre of spectators taking in the scene and quietly enjoying the spectacle.
At the other end of the hall were tables and chairs arranged for the tea in groups of four or six. These were currently partially filled, but being taken rapidly as ringers trooped in from having rung the bells within the adjacent St. Mary’s tower.
David was helping out with the pre-tea ring and was standing in the ringing chamber calling the district ringers to order. Many of the ringers were still talking to each other and he had to raise his voice to be heard.
“All those who have not rung, please grab hold, let’s ring some Plain Hunt with a half course of Yorkshire Major after that.”
David took the seventh of the ring and took his place next to the Portsmouth Cathedral Tower Captain, who was ringing the tenor.
“We need to talk,” he whispered.
“Not now,” said the Tower Captain. “Let’s go for a stroll after the ringing.” He mumbled so quickly that none of the other ringers in the tower would have noticed that he had even spoken.
The Plain Hunt commenced and was a little lumpy as there were a number of learner ringers all finding their feet within the district ringing community and, whilst confident in their own tower, in unfamiliar surroundings their ringing was hesitant and did not flow.
Scowling and huffing and becoming agitated, for he was having to work harder than many of the ringers, being on the heaviest bell, the Portsmouth Tower Captain called “Rounds” and “Right, that’s enough of that, David, c’mon, we’re going to ring some Yorkshire Major now.”
The Yorkshire Major produced a much higher quality of striking as only the better ringers knew the method. The natural rhythm and sound started to flow, and all who were involved drifted into the concentrated, dream-like state that typifies quality ringing from good bands. There was no shouting, pointing or directing. The ringers got on with it, and perhaps provided the odd nod or wink here and there, but the sound that was being produced was uplifting, joyful and inspiring.
The ringers brought the method to an end, ringing rounds prior to the Portsmouth Tower Captain calling, “Stand.”
The Tower Captain again whispered to David, “Meet you outside in five minutes.” David knew well not to ignore the request.
Chapter 46
In the aftermath of the fire on the freighter, Natalia and the few other passengers had been ushered into the one secure room that had not been affected by smoke: the bridge. Her brothers had not been found.
There was barely enough room for Natalia and her fellow travellers to sit on chairs within this control centre of the ship, let alone lie out and relax or actually go back to sleep.
&nb
sp; It was a clear night, and the awesome Atlantic stars cast their light through the wooden-framed, salt-stained windows. Natalia’s shadow detailed her fetal position pose. For such a formidable character it was a surprising demonstration of vulnerability.
The crew had now put out the fires and the strong odour of burnt wood and metal and plastics was starting to emanate throughout the remains of the passenger compartments. It was also permeating through to the games room area behind the bridge, and to where the remaining passengers were attempting to sleep.
The smell was tinged with other qualities, but few had experienced the mixture or recognized immediately what it was. All they knew was that it was a nauseous smell, and tried in vain to breathe through their mouths and block their nostrils off.
As dawn broke over the freighter, the Captain continued to check on his course for the day. He reviewed the speed in knots, the compass bearing and the weather forecast for the next couple of days. He needed his ship to be escorted into Portsmouth Harbour and for The Islander to have extensive repair work carried out prior to the next stage in her voyage. He also needed to file his report on the fire and detail that Natalia’s brothers were missing, presumed dead, but that no bodies had been recovered.
The ship was now cruising at three-quarters speed and would be on track to reach Portsmouth the following evening. The Captain was confident that no further repair works, apart from those to the passenger compartments, would be required. The engines and the hold had not been affected. Despite her current slumber, Natalia had also immediately asked the question whether the fire had spread to the hold of the ship. The Captain thought it strange at the time. Why should this passenger on his freighter be concerned as to what route the fire had taken?
It was imperative to Natalia that none of the Morales’ stock had suffered from any effects of the fire. Even smoke damage would be a catastrophe. She had quizzed the Captain in detail as to where the fire had spread and where the smoke from the fire would have escaped to.
Fortunately for her and the remnants of her family, the Captain had confirmed that the whole ship was compartmentalised. As soon as the fire had broken out, the hold areas had been shut off and remained clear of fire and smoke. This had allowed Natalia to sleep. She was in no current state to absorb the horrors of the night. Having ascertained that her livelihood was safe, she fell into a deep sleep.
Once dawn had broken, and the sun had fully appeared above the horizon, shining its bright rays through the bridge windows, Natalia properly stirred from her slumber.
She recalled the events of the night and could not quite believe or recall her memories of what had happened. When she could remember enough to make sense of the events, it hit her that her brothers were not sleeping in the bridge with her and her fellow passengers and that they still had not been found.
She rushed so quickly to her feet that she felt light headed. She desperately scanned ahead for the Captain and realised that he was standing just a couple of metres away. She questioned where her brothers were. The Captain indicated that her brothers had still not been found and that the fire had been so intense that there was nothing left of the passenger compartments. She started shaking uncontrollably.
She had to have some air. Dashing out of the bridge door, she again attempted to focus her thoughts on the future. She focused on her life, her aspirations, and her dreams. She would start a new Morales family. Then maybe, someday, these events would prove themselves to be justifiable.
Chapter 47
The Islander was only an hour away from the approach to the Solent, the channel between the Isle of Wight and the mainland. The Captain had requested the standard tug escorts and the two smaller, powerful boats were to be with the freighter in a few minutes.
It was a fresh day with a clean autumnal wind blowing across the decks; enough to fly the flag from the mizzen mast.
Natalia was a mixture of emotion. Externally she was holding her feelings together, she had to, whilst internally her inner turmoil at losing her brothers and the responsibility that now weighed upon her was crushing, like an ever tightening vice. She was determined to lose the noose from around her neck, to shake off the shackles of what had happened, but it would take time as everything had occurred so suddenly.
Bournemouth had fallen into view and the freighter would soon be passing between Hurst Spit, the long sweep of pebbles which make up this intriguing coastal feature lying opposite the dramatic rock splinters of The Needles off the North Western shore of the Isle of Wight.
The crew were preparing the mooring lines and ensuring that the ship was ready for docking and unloading. The forty foot sea-containers were then designed to be removed extremely quickly prior to any loose items within the hold being packaged up and taken to the temporary storage warehouses in the port.
Natalia’s cargo was a mixture of sea containers destined for homes further inland and smaller loose items which would be held in the storage warehouses. There was one particular container it was imperative she see with her own eyes.
Tucked away in the main hold was a non-descript cargo box, with few markings on the outside. It was registered to the port of Lima in Peru and its paperwork indicated that it consisted of a classic car and tribal craftwork. The tribal wares were a mixture of treated leather goods and woollens. The clothing and bedding material was to be distributed onwards across the UK and the classic car was to be low loaded to a specific address. This address was not anywhere within the freighter’s paperwork and the addressee would protect his anonymity. Once the cargo had safely arrived Natalia had her precise instructions to follow. She had memorised the details in order that she could track the vehicle to its ultimate destination.
The freighter continued to make good progress past Fawley power station and the lights of Ryde with its prominent church spire jutting into view in the distance. The clearest landmark at this point was the Millennium Tower, completed four years after the Millennium in the shape of a huge spinnaker sail. The sail rose to an impressive height on the Portsmouth sea front overlooking the historic ships, the dockyard and the entire Southsea seafront.
Within the upper viewing deck of the Millennium Tower sail stood a non-descript middle-aged couple. Their view stretched along the entire Solent, across Gosport to the West and to the Downs of Hampshire. The couple had a wonderful view of the myriad of small craft and, as they were keen to take in all the comings and goings of the boats below them, they both wore high powered binoculars around their necks.
To all the other tourists on the viewing platform, they were just another everyday couple, possibly on holiday and, by their laughing and joking, definitely enjoying themselves.
As The Islander was identified by the lady, she gave a small nod to her companion, who raised a smile in return. Their boat and cargo were on track. Not needing to see anymore, the couple proceeded to the lower viewing deck and, having viewed the Solent, turned their attention to Old Portsmouth and the historic terraced streets beyond.
Chapter 48
David walked with a spring in his step. The ringing at St. Mary’s tower and the tea had gone well. More importantly, he was now aware that he was going to be busy over the next few months and, as a result, would be paid generously. The advance he had received would more than compensate for any hardship or risk that he might face over the coming weeks.
The skip in his walk soon brought him to the junction of Southsea Common and the road back to his hall of residence. With an upswing in his mood he continued onto the tarmacadam path across Southsea Common that led directly to the seafront.
Children were playing football on the grass and there were a couple of families finishing off their lunchtime picnics. The planning and organisation for these family outings was evident. The mothers and fathers had been organised with all the necessary equipment, comprising rugs and hampers with an abundance of plastic cutlery and crockery. Many of the children appeared to be running wild with others attempting to fly ki
tes.
One of the mothers was determined to read her Heat magazine and soak up the latest gossip of the Hollywood stars. Her youngest child was pulling at the edges of the magazine with his pudgy fingers in order to seek her attention. His pulling motion was becoming more and more desperate as she continued to be engrossed by the latest shenanigans of the many young famous people in her magazine. The stars were being featured in fabulous weddings, on their beach holidays, at play on the polo field and sipping champagne whilst at the races. There were some glorious settings and it took her a couple of seconds before she realised that her youngest son had just stepped in the leftover pudding and, in the same motion, ripped the back pages of her magazine.
Nearing the seafront, David gazed across at the imposing war memorial. It always reminded him of the history of the city and of the futility of war, with the high loss of life that resulted from every conflict. He was extremely grateful for his freedom and for not being tied to a particular regime or culture. He wanted to feel the benefits of capitalism and a free society, as to date he had not been able to afford any of life’s luxuries.
Brought up in the various children’s homes, there had been an abundance of clothing but nothing had been new. Toys had been donated, but often they were partly damaged or a few years old.
Having had his advance, it was the first time that he felt comfortable and free. He was ready to go on a shopping spree, to choose an item that he could now afford.
Strolling onto South Parade Pier, past the hustle and bustle of the brightly coloured amusement stalls and the haunted house blaring out its spooky music, David felt the sea air on his face and breathed in the slight smell of salt.
Squinting into the brightness of the far reaching horizon before turning to focus on the outline of the Isle of Wight, David saw the red flanks of the freighter. The freighter gave him goosebumps. Her name had been indistinguishable but the description that he had been passed matched the silhouette lying in the Solent. He stood and gazed at the conveyor of his future small fortune. She was going to allow him to live well and would be passing through the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour within the hour.
