While they bantered with one another across the table, Alia searched her jacket pockets for a reassuring touch of the tablets. She quickly found the smooth plastic bottle but it was tangled within a scrap of folded paper. Curiously she took it out and saw that it was the note from John.
“What’s that?” Ryan said as she unfolded the paper.
“It’s a love letter.” She smiled fondly, remembering John’s face when he’d given it to her.
“A love letter? From who?”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re still my number one man. This one’s a little young for me.”
She handed Ryan the note and they read over it together. Alia had been touched by the soft words that must have taken so long to write. Each letter was perfectly formed and yet still so obviously written by a child.
“What does he mean here?” Ryan asked after he’d had time to read it. “About running from the gunnermen?”
“Haven’t I told you? I was in a shootout.”
Ryan listened attentively while she described meeting John at her new school. She went on to tell him about the day in the Trade District. In this telling of the story, Alia said the tablets were for her mother, but everything else was the truth. When the story was finished Ryan stared back with a stunned expression on his face.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah, I mean I can’t believe he did that. This John.” Ryan scanned the bottom of the letter to check the name again.
“You’re not mad, are you?”
“About the love letter?” Ryan frowned, folding the piece of paper and passing it back. “No I’m not. In fact I think you should write back to him.”
“Okay, I’m not sure you know how this boyfriend thing’s supposed to work.”
“Very funny. I don’t mean like that. I just mean he sounds like a decent kid. Probably deserves to be told in person, don’t you think?”
Alia gave a grumbling sigh. “I hate stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know, all that letting you down gently stuff. I never know what to say.”
“Get away. You girls are given lessons in it. It’s not you, it’s me… I need space to be my own person…I’m moving to Aftland and you’ll never see me again.”
That made her laugh and she took another mouthful of beer and leaned her head against his shoulder. They shifted to face the stage where Amaline had set up a furious pace on the fiddle. A dozen or so girls were already dancing in the space between the tables.
Alia couldn’t remember a happier time in her life. If anyone had told her a year ago that she would be laughing and joking with a group of workers, she would never have believed them. She thought of her father then and what the workers had done to him. A familiar flash of anger seized her but Alia forced it from her mind. She would not let that govern her mood tonight. Not when everything was going so well. Ryan’s arm was around her shoulder and she reached up to lace her fingers into his. It was the last clear images she had of the night.
Hours later the Braziers emptied its punters onto the cobbled square at the front of the bar. Everyone was reeling drunk and a carnival atmosphere was upon them. When Ryan and Alia eventually stepped into the cold air she pirouetted in a circle around him. In truth, he was finding it hard to keep from stumbling as he walked but was determined not to show it to Alia.
He saw that Lexi had finally given in and paired off with Marlo. He couldn’t imagine two people less well suited, but Lexi seemed happy enough as the big lad scooped her onto one shoulder and ran down the street with her. She shrieked with laughter as he invited people to smack her on the backside.
Ryan caught sight of Gordi too, leaning against the wall of the pub. She had her arms wrapped around a dark-haired worker and they were illuminated by one of the blue gas flames beside them. Oblivious to the tawdry cheer that erupted from those nearby, she allowed his hands to roam beneath her skirt as they kissed.
Somewhere amongst the crowds, a group of voices took up the chorus to a song Amaline had been playing. It was a catchy song with bawdy lyrics about a young girl who seduced her factory boss and then stole all his money. More voices joined in and soon the refrain was reaching far into the night while people stumbled home.
That was when the strobing red lights of a patrol vehicle bounced between the buildings. A jeer erupted from some people in the crowd, but most seemed to instinctively quicken their pace across the cobbles. A large van stopped sharply at the end of the street and the side door slid open. Five gunnermen leapt out with their batons drawn and shoved anyone within striking range to clear an area around the van. Their sergeant stepped forwards. He was tall and rangy with a shaved head and sour face.
“This area is now under curfew,” he bellowed. “Go home or come with us. Your choice.”
The revellers were momentarily subdued, staring mutely at the newcomers with a mix of resentment and incomprehension on their faces. From deep within the crowd a bottle sailed overhead and smashed against the van, showering broken glass and beer over the rear two gunnermen.
Their sergeant struck out immediately, driving a wedge into the crowd as he swung the long-handled baton. The cries of more sirens wailed up and down, drawing steadily closer. Ryan saw the driver of the van giving a series of updates into a radio before jumping onto the street and levelling his rifle.
Chapter 36
Two patrol cars arrived next, flooding the railyards in flashing red light. Ryan felt instantly sobered, realising this was a battle with no purpose and no chance of winning. It was simply sport for the gunnermen to show who was in control.
He gripped Alia’s wrist and together they ran deeper into the railyards, away from the fighting. They slowed and he pulled her into a doorway so that they could catch their breath while he checked that no one was following.
“Bastards,” Ryan hissed, hawking a mouthful of spit into the road. “Are you okay?”
But Alia didn’t answer and he found her staring vacantly at the wall.
“Alia?”
“Yes?”
Something in her voice wasn’t right though. She slurred the word and as Ryan stepped closer he saw that her eyes were swimming in and out of focus. Both pupils were the size of iron coins and despite the run, she was barely out of breath.
“What’s the matter Alia?” He thought she hadn’t heard, but eventually she gave a slow shake of her head.
“I’m fine,” she repeated in the same low drawl.
He knew they’d drunk a lot tonight, but she’d seemed okay when they were inside. Besides, this wasn’t like any drunk he’d ever seen. Especially for it to happen so quickly. He checked his surroundings and judged that they weren’t more than a mile or so from Alia’s house.
“Come on,” he said and pulled her arm around his shoulder so he could support her weight. Her legs were leaden and she stumbled as they walked, at times leaning entirely upon him and almost dragging them both into the gutter.
“Try and walk,” he grumbled, struggling to keep upright.
Alia gave some incoherent reply, but all he could make out was the word home.
“It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll get you home.”
She straightened up at that, locking her body rigid.
“No,” she said sternly. “No.”
“Alia? What’s the matter?” He pulled her forwards “We need to get you back. You need to sober up.”
Alia’s strength drained like water and she suddenly emitted a heartfelt sob. Ryan had no idea what caused it, but he had to get her off the street. It would only lead to more trouble if a patrol found them now.
Once he had got his bearing from the main road, it took almost an hour to retrace the journey that had taken just twenty minutes at the start of the night. It was a relief when they reached the familiar metal skip at the end of her path. He sat Alia on the low wall at the end of her drive and took a few moments to rest. Somewhere in the distance a gunnerman siren flared up. Ryan in
stinctively tensed, trying to discern its direction of travel. Satisfied it was moving away from them, he returned to Alia and lifted her face with both hands.
“Alia? Where’s your key?”
She seemed more alert than before and managed to focus her eyes upon him. The sobs from before had long since gone, but Ryan felt his heart pang when he saw the melancholy expression that had settled upon her face. With a deep shuddering breath she pulled a loop of string from around her neck. It had a key attached and she passed it to Ryan.
“Please,” she slurred.
“Please what?”
But she said nothing more and when he took the key her head sank to her chest.
As he unlocked the door a wave of foul smells smashed into him. It was the unmistakeable stench of human waste. Ryan guessed that the sewage pipes had backed up and held his breath as he guided Alia into the hallway. She took off her coat and draped it over the banister, but if she noticed the smell, she said nothing. Ryan led her into the dingy front room and cleared a pile of dirty clothes and crockery from the sofa so that she could sit down.
“It’s cold in here,” Ryan said. His breath was frosting as he spoke. “Do you want your jacket?”
“Just go,” she murmured.
“What?”
“Just go. I don’t want you here.”
Ryan frowned. “I’m trying to help you.”
Her eyes seemed to clear and she held him with a venomous look. “I don’t want your help,” she shouted. “Just leave me alone.”
Ryan looked around him. At the house, the mess and then the angry drunken girl in front of him.
“You know what? I’ve got enough of my own shit to deal with without worrying about yours.”
“Just get out,” Alia yelled again.
Ryan went into the hallway but realised he still had her key in his hand. He stuffed it into her jacket pocket, intending to throw the whole lot at her before storming out. As he did so, his fingers unexpectedly closed around a small bottle. He stepped closer to the window to read the label.
“What have you got?” Alia said sharply from the lounge. “Give me my jacket now.”
“Opiates?” Ryan murmured, reading the label. He’d heard enough from his mum to know that they were highly addictive and highly illegal. It suddenly became clear why her moods fluxed from deliriously happy to sombre and morose in the drawing of a breath.
“Why’ve you got these?” he said, returning to the lounge with the bottle in his hand.
“Give them back, I need them.”
“Is this what you’ve been taking tonight? With everything you’ve been drinking?”
Alia snatched them out of his hand and stomped back to the sofa.
“I just need them.”
“What? Because of this?” He gestured at the house. It was bad, but there were thousands of people living in exactly the same conditions or worse. They just had to get on with life. The difference was, they’d never lived a life of power and privilege like she had growing up. Once more Ryan pictured her magnificent house in Old Straybeck. A house that only a handful of people would have been admitted to, never mind been able to own.
He tossed the bottle on the floor and was about to give some clever parting line when a tremendous crash sounded from upstairs. It was followed by a long wailing sound, like a baby’s cry, but deeper.
“What’s that?” Ryan had assumed they were alone in the house.
“Just leave,” Alia cried. She barged past him and bounced off the doorframe before sliding up the stairs with her shoulder propped against the wall.
Ryan could have left then. Probably should have done. But there was still some part of him drawn to this sad and mixed up girl. Cautiously he followed her up the stairs placing one sleeve over his nose to block out the awful smell that was growing stronger with each step. The wailing had now become a high-pitched keening, like that of a trapped animal. Ryan crept onto the landing and followed the sound to one of the bedrooms. “Alia,” he whispered, pushing the door open and creeping inside.
He could not have imagined a more awful sight than what met him on the other-side. Alia was kneeling beside the bed trying to restrain the man who was laying there. He was emaciated and his night clothes were soiled and stinking. Although his legs were unmoving, he thrashed violently from side to side with his arms and body.
“Just let me help you,” Alia was pleading as she hoisted him into a sitting position.
He lashed out, slapping her across the cheek, making Alia fall backwards. As she lost her grip on the man, he dropped to the wooden floorboards and his head cracked with loud thump. He set up an even louder wailing and Alia covered her ears, retreating to the corner of the room. Ryan rushed forwards and held her in his arms.
“You told me he was dead,” he whispered, like it could make a difference.
Alia began to fight against him, but her strength quickly failed. “All you do is look for reasons to hate your father. It’s just not fair.”
Looking down at the pitiful sight before him, Ryan had to agree.
He tried to settle her in the other bedroom but found Alia’s mother lying on the bed unconscious. Ryan checked that she was alive, but nothing more and then shut the door while he took Alia back onto the sofa.
“I’ll be down soon. You stay here.”
Then he returned to her father’s room and cleaned him up as best as he could. When that was done, he lifted him onto the bed and found fresh pyjamas to dress him in. Within minutes, his hollow eyes had closed tight and his breathing, although shallow and rasping, found a steady rhythm. Ryan doubted if he was even aware of what had happened.
In the lounge, he knelt beside Alia and put his jacket around her shoulders. It was a small gesture but it was at least something he could do. She opened her eyes and for the first time he understood the perpetual look of sadness that resided there. He stroked her face with one hand.
“How long has it been like this?”
“Forever.” She sighed. “It’s true what I told you though, about the riot in the factory. When the seveners cut him down he should have died. They got him to a hospital though and they promised mum they’d fix him as long as she kept paying.
I don’t blame Mum. She’d never worked and had no clue how to manage the money. It took just over a year, but one way or another it went. Once that happened, the hospital put dad in asylum care.”
Ryan shook his head. Even The Cathedral would be kinder than that.
“By the end of the first week, Mum used the last of her money to buy him out and get him home.” She looked around the lounge in disgust. “Home.”
“Who looks after your dad?”
“At first we paid for a nurse to come in every day. She changed the dressings and…cleaned him. After that, Mum tried to do it, but you’ve seen what all this has done to her.”
“And now?”
Alia laughed although there was no humour to it.
“Now it’s just me. Just me and my tablets.”
“I’m sorry.”
Neither of them spoke for a long time. Eventually Alia rolled her head to face him.
“If you want to end this…between us…I understand.”
Ryan shook his head. “I don’t want to do that.”
Fresh tears came to her eyes although this time they were accompanied by a smile. She shuffled back on the sofa and Ryan crawled up alongside her so that they could hold each other.
“We’ll work this out,” he whispered and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”
Chapter 37
John had been miserable all morning at school. Now he was ghosting through the corridors, bouncing shoulders with the older kids. He had no appetite but like an automaton he trudged towards the dinner hall with his head down. After all, it might be the only food he ate for the rest of the day.
John lined up and tried his best to ignore Danny Saunders. They had fallen out a few days ago and now he had turned the rest of the class against
him. He heard his voice carry from the front of the queue and everyone started laughing. John scowled but knew that it wasn’t even the real reason he felt so miserable.
Ryan was still missing and hadn’t been home in two nights. He had left without any clothes or money and John felt certain that he’d been picked up by the gunnermen. As awful as that was, he was ashamed to admit that it was only half the problem. Yesterday he had given Alia the letter and the anxiety around that was ever present in his mind. She had tried to talk to him at the time, but John had mumbled something barely articulate and practically run in the other direction while she unfolded the sheet of paper.
Without intending to, he had spent morning break patrolling the places where she usually sat. A strange mix of excitement and fear seized him each time he caught an imagined glimpse of her. It was a slow and steady torture. Finally he had given up. Either Alia wasn’t at school or, worse still, she was avoiding him.
The dinner line shuffled forwards and John could smell boiled vegetables and rice, the staple diet at Straybeck Central. He caught himself staring at Danny Saunders and his new gang once more. He felt a twist of envy in his stomach and stepped out of line, suddenly wanting to be anywhere else but there. Immediately he collided with Alia, catching his forehead against her mouth. She stumbled backwards, clutching her lip and swearing.
“Oh God, Alia, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
She dabbed at her lip but it wasn’t bleeding. “I’m fine. Just bit my tongue.”
She looked anything but fine though. Her eyes were sunken and hollow, ringed by dark circles. Her skin was bone-white and even her posture was stooped as though she were too weak to stay upright.
“You look awful,” John said. Then immediately wished he could drag the words back into his mouth.
“Thanks,” Alia said. “Just what I was hoping for.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. I do look awful. I’m not well today.” She moved away from the lunch line and John followed. “I only came in to speak to you.”
Straybeck Rising: Calloway Blood: Book one (Calloway Blood 1) Page 22
