by Bob Summer
‘Everybody is greedy for something, Atty.’
‘Okay, the greed-iest. In fact, if we just flash a little of your cash about, chances are a ticket guy will find us.’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘If I don’t find a way to get us tickets I’ll leave you alone. I’ll go back with Gavin and leave you do it your way. Deal?’
‘It’s not that I don’t want you with me...’
‘Good.’ I stood up. ‘Come on, let’s get on with it.’
And so we trawled the stalls outside the station, picking up items and bartering. We never showed too much cash at any one table, but each time Stuart took a wad out, it was from a different pocket. To any individual trader, he might look flush, but not so much to risk getting arrested or a beating for trying to steal off him. We let everybody know we wanted tickets. A tout would find us, I felt certain of it.
When we paused to touch and try on some seriously costly scarves I spotted, for the second time, a bloke in a hood shifting in and out the crowd. As he lit a cigarette I noted he was too old for his clothes, must have been around the late thirties mark and still wearing baggie combats and a tog-hood. When we made eye contact he overcooked the deal by raising his chin before walking away. Talk about amateur. I crouched to re-tie my boots and check for any suspect types lurking nearby. None appeared obvious. Apart from Gavin, of course. I stood and lowered my voice to Stuart. ‘I think we’ve got our man already.’
He swung his head round to gawp in all directions.
‘Don’t.’ I grabbed his arm and checked my tone. ‘Try and be a little more subtle, eh?’
‘Yeah, course, sorry. Who?’
‘The guy in the hood, walking up ahead over there.’
‘What makes you think …’
‘Trust me, okay? We haven’t got time to stop and chat about it.’
We followed the hood and Gavin followed us. Like we’d left the romantic thriller and slipped into an old political farce. As the hood dodged into a dowdy looking back-street pub I considered whether we should stop off for a violin case.
Stuart hesitated. ‘The last time one of us went in a pub things didn’t turn out too great.’
‘I survived.’
‘But even so.’ He stopped and looked at the boarded windows and patched up door. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘No. But that guy in there’s either got tickets or a twitch.’
Stuart fidgeted.
‘Got any other ideas, Stuart?’
‘Suppose not.’
‘Then let’s do this.’ I pushed at the heavy door and stepped inside.
Before my eyes had finished adjusting to the gloom I scanned the bar looking for our mark. He stood alone at the end of the bar, his back to us. But, in fairness, I could hardly mistake him as there were no other customers. The only other person present was the barman who was younger than the typical and only glanced at us, ‘You got ID?’ before looking back to his phone.
‘Not stopping,’ I said and headed straight for the hood.
Up close I reassessed his age. Maybe late twenties but weathered and likely lemondropped into early wrinkleville. His cheekbones stood out sharp and pale, probably because his face had caved in where his teeth had either fallen out or been knocked out. There is no such thing as a pretty junkie. ‘You know where we can get tickets for a train north?’
He looked at my chest. ‘Of course.’ He closed his eyes in a slow blink. When he opened them he was looking back at my face. ‘How do you want to pay?’
Stuart stepped up to my shoulder. ‘Cash.’
One of the hood’s eyebrows twitched. ‘Friend of yours?’
Stuart nudged me sideways. ‘I’m the friend with the means to pay. Cash is the only thing on offer here.’
The eyes drifted down, past my chest to my feet and all the way back up. I fought the urge to squirm as my skin crinkled up with revulsion.
Stuart grabbed at my arm. ‘Let’s go. He’s got nothing for us.’
‘How much?’ The bloke leaned on the bar in an effort to look casual but the angle of his feet, flat on the floor, suggested he felt anything but.
‘Depends.’ Stuart paused to swap his backpack from one shoulder to another. ‘We need to go today.’
‘Tonight is the soonest I can get you out. But it will cost. A couple of hundred each.’
Woah. Bargain. I squeezed Stuart’s arm hoping to transmit the importance of not showing any excitement. The last thing we needed to do was hint we would pay more.
Stuart snorted. ‘You sure know how to have a laugh.’
Easties might not know much, but I should have known they’d know how to close a deal.
The guy smiled and shrugged. All nonchalant smuggery. ‘Then don’t go.’ He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his ID. ‘If you change your mind. I’ll be at the Jermaine Street entrance after ten.’
The ID looked authentic enough. It had a chip and a watermark across his grey face and liver spot eyes. Charlie Davies. Stuart stared at it before turning and walking away grabbing my arm as he passed, encouraging me more than pushing me out of the door.
Outside he asked, ‘What do you think?’
‘We still haven’t got any tickets.’
‘I know,’ he said, ‘but would you recognise a ticket if you saw one?’
Good point. ‘I got the man though, yeah?’
‘Yeah, Atty.’ The roll of his eyes was obvious in his tone. ‘You got the man.’ But he smiled.
We spent the afternoon hanging out in the park trying not to draw attention to ourselves and staying out in the open where Gavin couldn’t move in too close. Stuart lay down and turned his face to the sun.
I couldn’t keep it in any more. ‘Gavin showed me a leaflet with a picture of my dad on it.’ Silence. He made out he cared, understood, but then just lay there like a lump of lard. ‘Say something,’ I said.
‘Well, in what context? What did the leaflet say?’
‘It was one of those political pamphlet things. An article about how great the world would be if we all united and got ruled from central London.’ I waved my hand. ‘You know the sort of thing. The photo of the reporter who wrote it, it was my dad.’ Only as I spoke did I realise the photo might simply be wrong, but I kept talking, hoping to make sense of it all in my own head. ‘It was definitely him, and he looks older than when I last saw him so it might be right.’ I showed him the picture, smoothing out the page where I’d screwed it up.
‘Where did Gavin get it from?’
‘A newsstand so he said.’
Silence. Then, ‘Would he lie about something like that? You know, doctor something to lure you home?’
‘Gavin wouldn’t have the noggin to think something like that up. And we haven’t all got access to fancy digi gear, you know?’
‘Who else would make it up?’
‘Well that’s just it,’ I said. ‘There’s no reason why anybody would.’
‘It might be a mistake. You know, photos next to each other on a database somewhere, maybe he looks enough like the writer for the leaflet guy to get it wrong. We’ve all got our doubles out there.’
I shrugged. ‘Anyway, that’s what we were talking about, Gavin and me, not about you or Gemma, or where she might or might not be.’
‘Ooof.’
I looked at him lying there with his eyes closed, topping up his tan. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? “Ooof”.’
‘You’re trying to guilt-trip me for thinking everything is about Gemma. Well, I know it isn’t, at least not always, but for now, for me, it is. If you can’t make finding Gemma top priority too, at least for the moment, then it might be best you go back with Gavin and sort out this business with your dad and whatever it is that’s going on between you. Sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be.’ His eyes were open and looking at me in that way that made me feel like he could read every thought I’d ever had, ‘When I get Gemma back, I’ll help you figure it out, but not now.’ He trie
d to soften his words by reaching across and running his finger up my arm. A shiver rippled up to my neck. I shook him away. ‘I’ll come and find you later,’ he said. ‘When life’s back to normal.’ The air around us hung heavy and serious. His eyes flicked back and forth across my face and everything went quiet. ‘You’re a …’
‘A what?’
The mood shifted and he lay back and turned his face away. ‘Nothing.’
‘No, come on. Let’s get this atmosphere cleaned up. What am I?’
‘A … distraction.’
I thought of Joe, You’re a liability, Atty. A small twinge of panic niggled at my gut. ‘You came to me for help, don’t forget. What’s changed?’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.’
‘Eh? I can look after myself, you know? Nothing’s changed. In fact, it’s even more important I find Gemma and bring her home. I need to sort this mess out. Prove to Joe and everybody else, including my dad, I can be a good resistance soldier. Make a difference.’ Anger and determination put a crack in my voice. Stuart was behaving like I’d served my purpose already. Maybe he thought I wasn’t worth the cost of that second ticket after all. Or that I was more vulnerable because I was a girl. I gave Stuart a hard look, determined not to whine. ‘Without me you wouldn’t have got this far. Or have the promise of a ticket. We had a deal. I’m coming with you.’
The hard look I threw at him bounced off and hit me in the face. He was staring at me deadly serious. ‘Okay. But Gemma first then your dad, yeah? That order.’
I nodded. ‘Definitely. Gemma it is. Who’s Dad? I don’t know a dad.’
He didn’t smile. Not falling for my cheeriness for a second. ‘We’ll find him, Atty. I’ll help you. Promise. But when we do, make sure you listen to his reasons for going off the way he did, eh? No biting his head off without giving him chance to explain himself.’
‘Why do you think I would?’ I feigned affront, desperate to switch the mood to something more comfy. ‘I’m a reasonable person. I’m not aggressive or mean. I’m fair. That business with Carl was a one off.’ I flapped my hand and put my nose in the air.
‘Mm.’ At last he relaxed, even gave a little smirk. ‘You killed the fish.’
‘That was an accident. Besides, they were fish.’
‘And you didn’t half put the frighteners on that Gavin chap.’
‘Not hard was it?’ I laughed.
‘It’s not funny.’ But he grinned. ‘He’s still out there.’ He sat up, leaned on his elbow and looked somewhere into the distance. ‘Behind that tree.’
‘Okay, not roll-on-floor hilarious, but it’s funny enough. Gavin is a nuisance, nothing more. He’s got no money so won’t be able to get on the train. Ignore him.’
‘Fair enough.’ Stuart lay down again but reached for my hand.
‘We’ll sort it all out, you’ll see,’ I said. Not sure if I was convincing myself or him.
‘Course we will. Course we will.’
I think he might have actually believed it. Unless he was playing me. Either that or the innocence of the rich embedded itself deeper than I’d thought. Always possible, in his easty world: things did have a way of working out for the best. I was more used to things turning bad. And the potential for bad looked immense. But the feel of his hand in mine felt good and, well, maybe we’d get lucky.
Chapter 16
I woke cold and stiff from lying on the hard ground. The sky had clouded over and the sun hovered just above the roofs of the houses skirting the park. Only a few dog walkers wandered the trails and they kept their heads down, hands deep in their pockets. Stuart slept on and I pondered about how far from home we were about to travel. The familiar tingling sensation as the adrenaline raced the blood to my head set me on a natural high. Surprising I’d slept at all.
‘Time we made a move,’ said Stuart. ‘We should eat something before we go to the station. Those cargo trains take hours.’ His waking so quietly was beginning to freak me out. I eased to my feet and tested putting weight on my gippy leg. He frowned. ‘You okay?’
‘Yep, pretty good. That stuff you put on it worked.’
He shrugged and turned away. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain.’
Another thing about being on a job and the adrenaline kick and belly flutters and all that other stuff, is it makes me lack patience with stupid comments. ‘We’re about to go jump a dodgy train ride and you want to make idle chit-chat about the weather?’
‘No.’ He swung the backpack over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go eat.’
At dusk a different breed of hawker comes out to line the streets and shout at passers-by. They reach out and grab at peoples’ clothes. ‘Here, love. Look what I got, suit you it will.’
Stuart remained polite as ever. ‘Thank you. Not today.’ And he put his arm around the small of my back, his fingers hot through my shirt. He leaned in close. ‘Just keep walking.’ His breath tickling my cheek.
We went to a proper restaurant and sat at a table in the window.
‘Gosh, posh nosh what.’ I grinned.
‘Yeah, well. It’s what we over-privileged nob-heads like to eat.’
‘Ouch.’ I made a show of flinching. ‘Those were Gavin’s words not mine.’
‘So, you’ve never thought of the likes of me as being over-privileged or a nob-head?’ He stared at me, eyebrows raised.
Not sure if it might have been the dim lights but I couldn’t figure out whether he was joking or not. He didn’t smile but neither did he look angry. ‘Well, I might have said something like that at some point but I didn’t know you then. Don’t tell me, you’ve always looked at us westy kids with nothing but respect and admiration.’
‘I’ve been trying not to look at you.’
‘Yeah, that would be right.’ I fidgeted under his gaze. ‘You’re staring now all right.’
‘Only because you’re so damn sexy. It’s hard not to.’
I laughed - it came out a bit like a hoot. I mean, what the…? I picked up the menu. Talk about awkward.
‘When I look at you,’ he said, ‘I want to touch you, sniff your hair, breathe you in.’
A cool breeze sucked up the hair on the back of my neck and tugged at it gently. It tickled like drying sand and I fought the urge to swipe at it, brush it off. ‘Stop it, Stuart. Be serious.’
‘I am. You wanted to clear the air and that’s what I’m doing. Get everything out in the open. And I have to confess, my intentions for you are not all to do with project Gemma. I have other plans for you too. When Gemma is safe at home, obviously.’
My head felt bulky and exposed. I lifted the menu right up high in front of my face so he couldn’t see me. I’d been called tough and cool and snazzy and kooky … but sexy? Never. I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Behave yourself.’
I realised my error almost immediately. At some point I was going to have to put the menu down and the longer I left it up, the more awkward it would be, but I wanted the stupid tickle, blush, and smile thing to go away first. So girly and so, so embarrassing. Stuart sat in silence waiting. I lowered the menu a fraction but kept my eyes on the list. And then I peeped. His eyes were twinkly and nerve-twanging cute.
‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I’ve been struggling to keep my hands off you since that day you spoke to Crawlsfeld in the park.’ I looked at his hands resting loosely on the table. Sheesh, I imagined them tickling their way down my belly. My face burned.
The waiter appeared at the table. ‘May I take your order, madam?’
I almost jumped up and kissed him. ‘Um, yes please. Just a green salad.’ My stomach fizzed. It wasn’t like my guts didn’t have enough to cope with already - no way would I be able to eat.
Stuart sat back and after a brief scan of the menu ordered a steak with a gluttonous variety of side portions. ‘Need to keep my strength up,’ he said as the waiter wandered away.
‘Yes,’ I said adjusting my cutlery and flapping the napkin onto my lap. ‘Do you think that Charlie bloke is g
enuine? And can he get us on the train okay?’
Stuart sighed theatrically. ‘I’m trying to tell you I find you irresistible and you want to make idle chit-chat about some dodgy twit in a questionable outfit.’
I straightened the napkin and brushed at my lap. ‘It’s important we concentrate on the job.’
He took a massive breath and sat up straight, hands flat on table. ‘Okay. Can we trust him? Will we make it onto the right train? No idea. We’re just going to have to take a chance. Nobody ever got anywhere without taking a few risks in life.’
He needn’t have given up quite so easily.
The salad tasted of nothing and I pushed it around my plate.
‘I’ve ordered way too much, said Stuart. ‘Here,’ he emptied the dish of chips and onion rings onto my plate, ‘help me out a little.’
It smelled gorgeous and my mouth watered. I didn’t get my thunder thighs and cankles by shying away from food. Besides, I was doing him a favour. He said so.
Stuart paid for the meal and we left the restaurant just after nine. The few people left on the streets were walking with a lot more purpose and it wasn’t all down to that threat of rain. Stop and search in Craffid stepped up a pace when it got dark and turned frequent and harsh. If Stuart and I got picked up they might contact the Basley Law and then we’d be in several different flavours of poop.
Jermaine Street was more of a wide grubby alley than a street. Skips, wheelie bins and crates full of empty boxes and assorted junk lined the urine-damp mulch which made up the pathway down the centre. The rats and homeless huddled side by side trying to keep warm and occasionally feeding off each other. We live in the recycling age after all, nothing dead is wasted. The smell of rotting meat and sour veg made my throat close. I’d have to be skeletal hungry to appreciate what went free in the city. I stood as close to Stuart as possible without actually touching him. ‘Can you see Charlie?’ I asked.
He shook his head. ‘I can’t see any security either.’ He reached and squeezed my hand. ‘Always look for the positives.’ His palm felt rough and warm and soft and strong and gentle.
