by Bob Summer
I laughed so hard I worried hysteria might set in. Joe was after me to dish out the rollicking of a lifetime, the Law were chasing me down for all sorts of reasons, creepy Crawly was doing … something - God knows what - and I was about to try and sneak into a place teeming with International Security Specialists. All with an easty who couldn’t bring himself to be even a little bit rude to Gavin. I had to be insane. The way the boys frowned and glanced at each other confirmed it.
‘I think she’s finally lost it.’
‘You could be right.’
I gathered myself and coughed. ‘I’m fine.’
Half way up the hill out of Shepton, we found a viewing point where tourists could sit and look out over the ocean. We sat on a bench and watched the main road out of town. A red van appeared first. It drove out of sight as the road swerved behind a hill and I counted twenty-seven seconds before it reappeared further along at an untidy copse. Then it vanished for another fifty-three seconds before passing the viewing station. The second vehicle out was a blue car. Twenty-eight seconds and it reappeared.
‘Here comes the truck,’ said Gavin. ‘He’s much slower than the cars.’
‘You need to wait for the blue car to pass … fifty seconds.’ I counted. Sixty … seventy …
Stuart wiped his top lip. ‘In about another twenty seconds he’ll be here.’
‘… eighty. The blue car must have turned off. ‘Do it now,’ I said.
All the arguing stopped and we looked at each other, wide-eyed terrified. I felt so wired like I could fly, win battles single-handed, feed the world, take command of the universe. This would be the stupidest but most fantastic thing any of us were ever likely to do.
Gavin drove the jeep to the middle of the road, cut the engine and climbed out to lift the bonnet. Stuart and I ducked into the hedge behind brambles and nettles. Logic told me it should hurt but I didn’t feel a thing. My nerves were stretched so taught they felt guaranteed to snap.
The truck arrived, trundled to a halt and the driver stepped out. ‘What’s up, mate?’
There flashed a moment when I almost didn’t do it, a moment where I wanted to turn and run. It wasn’t my sister in there. And what would I do with Fran’s baby when I got her? I couldn’t look after her and I didn’t want to give her back to Carl. And what about planning? We hadn’t planned anything. It was all happening too fast. But then Stuart’s arm stiffened beside me and when he stepped up I did too. As we reached the back of the truck he scooped his hands together to give me a leg up.
‘Don’t be daft,’ I whispered. ‘I beat you to the top of the cliff, remember?’ I entwined my fingers for a step. ‘Get in.’ He shook his head, mouth open, a look that yelled, Do me a favour. He put one hand on the back of the truck and leapt in as quiet as a cat. I clattered after him and we lay snucked up against the front section, behind the driver’s cab, under the duvet cover. ‘Holy frosties, what are we doing?’ I whispered.
‘Shhh.’
‘I really need to pee.’
He put his finger over my lips. I wanted to bite it. Definitely insane. There were a few shouts and then a clear, ‘Cheers mate,’ and the driver restarted the engine. The truck meandered into a slow rolling rattle along the narrow lanes, jerking through its gears. I wanted to jump out. We hadn’t thought it through at all.
My voice shook when I asked, ‘Are you sure about this?’ I really, really wanted to make a run for it. ‘Stuart?’ The truck stopped at the gates. Now or never. The driver keyed in the number and the truck inched forward, over a bump and through the gates. Too late. Shit, shit, shit. Perhaps shit was an acceptable part of BBC speak. When they were really, really nervous. Besides, I’m pretty sure any pledge to my mum would be null and void if I died. I wondered if seventeen was too young for a heart attack. Stuart’s mouth nestled against my forehead, his nose in my hair, his breathing rapid and hot. The truck stopped but the engine kept running. Steps crunched in gravel.
‘Did you get me my sausage sandwich?’
‘Yep. Ten quid.’
‘Park up around the back and I’ll meet you out front. We can eat in the sunshine.’
A short, rocky trundle and the engine stopped, the cab door opened, slammed, a few footsteps, and then silence.
Stuart moved his hand. I squeaked.
‘He’s gone,’ said Stuart.
‘I know but … eee.’
‘They’re at lunch. Come on.’ He peeled back the duvet.
We leapt out of the van and crouched behind the wheel to scan for any movement in the Manor house. Behind us the grass opened out flat and clean. I felt enormous. Huge. Nobody could fail to see us.
The back of the Manor had fewer windows than the front and appeared to be a lot less grand. The walls were a dirty grey and old-fashioned air conditioning units, drainpipes and rusty brackets from satellite dishes made it look ugly and derelict. Only one door, but several sash windows, all with blinds drawn, one of them open. When Stuart ran, doubled over like in an old war movie, I followed, but I didn’t like the sneaking about. An idiot on crack would know we didn’t belong there the way we were behaving. ‘We need to stand up,’ I said. ‘Act normal, confident, look like we have a right to be here.’
Stuart put his ear to the open window before peeping through the slats. ‘All clear, you go first.’
Great.
We were in a bathroom, very convenient. As soon as I saw the loo my bladder almost popped. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Okay.’ He put his ear to the door. I jigged. ‘Go on then. I won’t look.’
‘No I know, but …’ He stood with his back to me. It was a natural function; everybody did it, better than peeing my pants. I tried to be quiet, aimed at the side of the pan, and prayed I didn’t fart.
Stuart did that whispery-shouty thing. ‘Finished?’
I flushed. Pipes rattled and hummed. It sounded like the ships were coming in. Stuart glared. ‘I can’t stop it now,’ I said.
He beckoned me over to the door. ‘You go out first.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re better at this stuff than me. Experienced remember?’
I had said that but it seemed a very long time ago. ‘Only in Basley.’
‘We can’t stay locked in here.’
He was right. We’d got so far. All we needed to do was find Gemma and get the hell out. If it looked an okay kind of place, I might even leave the others there until Joe could sort it out. The drugs mightn’t even work. I opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. I strolled down the passage like I was bored of living there, but we met no one. I pumped myself up, determined to get the adrenaline flowing. My voice came over all lofty arrogant. ‘Let’s take the stairs.’ Bring it on, Mr Crawly Crawlsfeld. Hell, nobody would be daft enough to challenge me. Get in. Easy. Yowza yay.
Stuart gripped my arm. ‘Somebody’s coming.’
Hey, it would all work out. ‘Relax and look chilled.’
Trotting down the stairs towards us were two women dressed in suits with groomed hair and pasted faces. ‘Good afternoon,’ I said, in the poshest and deepest BBC ever.
‘Good afternoon,’ they tweeted back. They tip-tapped on and we rounded the bend onto the next flight.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Stuart. ‘What a rush. I see why you do it now.’
‘It’s just my job, Stuart, just my job.’ Very, and without a doubt, certifiably bonkers.
There were three floors and we went right to the top. We pushed through into the corridor but, unlike the one downstairs, it had carpets, soft lights and the general ambience of a hotel.
‘Let’s listen at a few doors,’ said Stuart. ‘Gemma never stops talking, if she’s in any of these rooms, we’ll hear her.’ I took the left, he took the right.
Stuart moved faster than me. ‘Hey, Atty. Look here.’ A door to an office had been left open. ‘Shall we take a quick look? We might find something.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. A list of pat
ients. Like in a hospital.’
I stepped in and shuffled a few bits of paper on top of a desk. They all had the pony and go-kart pics and Sapton Manor in fancy lettering spread across the header.
Stuart scuttled in after me. ‘Quick hide, somebody’s coming.’ Before I could stop him he dunked down behind a leather sofa onto his hands and knees.
‘Oh, hello,’ said a short round man with comb-over hair.
I couldn’t keep my eyes from staring at his huge bulbous nose. It bulged all knobbly and was covered in the spidery threads of the typical alcoholic.
‘Are you looking for me?’ he said.
I smiled. ‘I’ve been told you might know which room little Gemma is in.’
He frowned. ‘Gemma?’
‘It’s her birthday, seventh I think it is.’
He squinted and looked at me more closely.
‘Ah,’ I tried to look apologetic. ‘I’ve confused you, I’m so dreadfully sorry. I must have wandered into the wrong room. Mr Crawlsfeld, I’m supposed to speak to.’
His face relaxed and he smiled. ‘Not just the wrong room I’m afraid, wrong floor.’ He reached out his arm to guide me into the corridor. ‘Floor below, room 15.’
‘Ah, thank you so very much. So sorry to have inconvenienced you.’
‘No problem.’ And he shut the door.
Chapter 22
I stood in the corridor and looked at the door for several moments before a woman’s voice said, ‘Are you lost?’
‘No, no. I’m fine thank you.’ I walked to the end of the corridor, back into the stair tower and panicked. Shit, shit, SHIT.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ The stupid cow had followed me.
‘Fire.’
‘What?’
‘We need to empty the rooms. There’s a fire.’
‘May I see your pass?’ She wore her pic pinned to her breast in a plastic wallet.
I slapped my hand to my chest. ‘Oh dash it. Wherever might that have gone? I must have left it in the office.’
‘Really.’ She stared hard. ‘I’ll come back with you, help you look.’ She glanced at a camera high up on the wall.
‘Oh please do. Four eyes are always so much better than two, don’t you find?’
She adjusted her pink framed glasses on the bridge of her nose.
‘Um, I didn’t mean. I meant …’ I gestured at my face then hers, ‘…you’ve got two and I’ve got two, that makes …’ Oh shititty shit.
‘Four. Yes, I know.’ She stepped aside. ‘After you.’
In the corridor I kept my eyes on the carpet and patted my chest and pocket in an it-was-here-a-minute-ago fashion, but inside everything disintegrated into panic mode – blood cascading, thoughts collapsing to mush, sweat pumping out of every follicle, the full shamboozle.
The woman overtook me and rapped sharply on the squidgy-nosed alcoholic’s door. It opened. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Your guest appears to have lost her pass. Did she leave it in here?’
I looked at the ceiling and screwed up my mouth in what I hoped was a hapless but lovable little-girl-lost look. ‘Doh. Dropped it somewhere.’
‘She’s here to see Crawlsfeld,’ Alcoholic-nose said to the woman. Then he turned to me. ‘I’ll give him a ring, tell him to come and get you. Might be best. Though he hasn’t been about much lately.’ He headed back in the room to his desk and picked up the phone. As he pushed in a number he said, ‘What was your name again?’
The woman crossed her arms and tilted her head, school ma’am style. ‘And apparently,’ she said, ‘there might be a fire.’
I laughed. ‘No. Flyer. As in leaflet. I read a flyer saying the rooms needed emptying. Didn’t you get it?’
‘Strangely enough, no.’
I tilted my head in a bemused fashion. ‘Oh dear.’ There was no sight nor sound of Stuart.
Alcoholic replaced the phone. ‘I’m not getting an answer, didn’t think so. He’s been a little selective with his company since he got back from that Basley place.’
I thanked the last flying duck for that but tried out my disappointed isn’t-that-a-dreadful-nuisance look.
He checked his watch. ‘Maybe he’s on lunch. I could do with a bite myself.’ He ran his thumbs around his waistband. ‘I’ll walk you down.’ He picked a set of keys up off the desk and bounced them in his hand. ‘Thank you, Sharon. I’ll take it from here.’
We all three stepped into the corridor and the office door was locked, the keys placed securely in Alcoholic’s hip pocket. Sharon wandered away.
‘Thanks for your help, Sharon.’ I called after her.
My tone didn’t get lost on Alcoholic. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She can be a little officious at times. Only started last week, she’s still a bit keen.’
‘It’s no problem. I think I might take a walk in the grounds while I wait for Mr Crawlsfeld to finish his lunch. It’s such a beautiful day.’
‘Good idea. I’ll walk you to the door and security can issue you with a new pass.’
‘That won’t be necessary, I can find my own way.’
‘It’s no bother.’
‘I’d rather not put you to any more trouble.’
‘It’ll be my pleasure.’
‘Thank you.’
Polite people are a proper pain in my rack.
I had three flights of stairs to come up with a plan. I needed to get the keys and then lose the helpful leech. Anything would be worth a go. Aim at the weak spot, Atty. ‘Is there anywhere we can get a drink?’
He raised his eyebrows as he opened the door at the top of the stairs. ‘A drink?’
‘Yeah, you know.’ I sniffed and glanced around. ‘To take the edge off.’
‘Sapton Manor is a dry zone. That should have been explained to you at your induction.’
‘Yes it was, of course.’ I tilted my head and gave him a sideways look. ‘But, is it really?’ Then I treated him to a slow wink.
He licked his lips and swallowed. ‘Yes. Really.’
We passed the first floor. The cameras winked at me from every corner. I would have to run for it. Batter the office door down to get Stuart out. Find Gemma, get past security, climb the wall. A line of sweat ran down the back of my neck. We’d never make it.
‘Of course,’ said Alcoholic. ‘I keep a little something aside for special occasions.’ He smirked at me and my guts hurled towards my throat. Uh oh, he actually fancied his chances.
I supressed a heave and came over all simpering call-girl. ‘There are ways of making every moment special.’ I wiggled my eyebrows. Oh the cheese.
‘I’m sure there is.’ He looked at my chest, then my lips.
We reached the ground floor. I’d met enough old fools to recognise a lonely old wino, desperate for a bit of attention. After all, West Basley is full of them. All I needed to do was share a little snifter, it’s not like I didn’t fancy a drop to settle my nerves in any case, then, with a little flattery and ego stroking, I would sweet-talk him into taking me back to his office and figure the rest out from there.
He hooked my arm through his elbow and led me down a narrow, empty corridor. I didn’t expect him to flaunt me or our illegal drink in public, but I’d have preferred somewhere closer to some people. He led me away from the offices and down into the silent cool air of a little-used corridor lined with tatty doors. The only sound was his panting and my heart racing like a greyhound on speed.
Alcoholic dropped my arm to put his weight to a door. He grunted and shoved with both hands and a knee. ‘Sticks sometimes,’ he said. ‘Nearly there now.’ Behind the door wormed a tiny passage. The pink of bare plaster walls and a grey concrete floor gave the impression it had only just been built. The chill of the air on my face felt like I might be about to enter a fridge. ‘Where is this?’ I asked.
‘It’s okay. Nearly there.’ He smacked his lips. ‘You’ll love what I’ve got for you.’
I put my hand on the door jamb. It looked pretty isolated and away from any cameras.
Yeah, course he would. My instincts yelled loud and clear and they weren’t happy.
‘Come on, have a drink with me. It’s down here, not far.’ He looked away while he searched his pockets for something.
I considered doing it right then - left punch to his right temple, right knee in the nuts, followed by a right fist up and under his ribcage while I fished the keys from his pocket with my left. I glanced behind me. The corridor might be empty but cameras sat high near the ceiling. There were a lot of stairs and corridors between me and Stuart, no time to cover them all. I stepped through the door. ‘Lead on. I’m very thirsty.’
‘Good girl.’
His footsteps slapped noisily as we headed down the passage and my stomach started to rotate. He might be older, but so was Joe. He might look flabby under that suit, but so did many a muscleman. People were often different to how they looked on first glance. I considered dropping back a step so I could catch him from behind - a fist just behind his ear followed by a jab to his kidney.
He opened a door to our right and twisted at the waist to push me into a walk-in cupboard - all in one fast and easy motion. Not only was he quicker than he looked but his fingers were more solid, bonier, stronger.
‘We’ve not got long,’ he said yanking at his belt. ‘I’m not as stupid as you think. Do as I say and I might help you get out of here alive.’
There were wide shelves on three of the walls leaving precious little floor space. Boxes protruded at various heights and I stumbled and skidded on plastic bags strewn across the floor. I’d left it too late. I was trapped, squashed against shelves which left me no room to move. My arms were pinned between boxes and bags and all sorts of general junk.
Alcoholic dropped his trousers to his ankles. His shirt hung long, creased and greasy, the hem almost skimming his pale, knobbly knees and shiny nylon socks. His left hand groped for my belt, he leaned in, the open pores on his face glistened with oily sweat and he panted hot whisky breath so strong I tasted it. I turned away and closed my mouth. ‘Don’t be shy, we need to hurry, the cameras …’ He pressed me against a shelf and it dug into my spine. I worked my arms in front of me so they were between us. There was no room to swing so I had little option other than to grab. I groped at his left hand and found his thumb, yanked and twisted it so hard my wrist cricked. His right hand tried to prise my fingers open. I pulled harder, gritting my teeth and looking him dead in the eye. He roared and pulled his head back but I read his mind and ducked so when he butted, my forehead connected with the fat veiny nose. His blood, warm and sticky, splattered across both of our faces. He grunted and we both grimaced.
