Bombmaker

by Claire McFall

  I rang the bell, listening to a series of chimes echo inside. Shortly after, a small, middle-aged woman opened the door. She was dressed neatly in slacks and a blouse nowhere near expensive enough to be the wife of the man who owned this place. She had to be the housekeeper. Good.

  “Hi,” I smiled warmly. “Is Tanya in?”

  She looked at me, eyes raking over my distorted uniform, and her lips pursed.

  “I’m afraid Tanya isn’t feeling very well,” she said, making no move to open the door.

  “Yeah, I know,” I grimaced my sympathy. “I’m a friend of hers from school. I brought round her homework.”

  I held up the rucksack, my excuse for being there.

  “Oh, I see,” she checked her watch. “Isn’t it a little early to have finished school?”

  “I had study last period,” I lied smoothly.

  That seemed to satisfy her. She swung the door open, gestured me in.

  “Tanya’s upstairs in her room,” she said.

  “Thanks,” I hurried past, ran lightly up the stairs. The housekeeper watched me from the doorway. I hoped she wouldn’t be able to see me once I hit the landing, because I had no idea which room was Tanya’s. The first door I tried was a bathroom the next a large, grand room with a king-size bed, the sheets a sensible beige shade of satin: her parent’s room, or a very sumptuous spare. I came up trumps on the third door. The television was on, and watching it from the large wrought-iron bed was a girl with heavy eyes, a red nose and a mountain of screwed-up tissues beside her.

  “Hi Tanya,” I smiled.

  She stared at me. “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m collecting for Zane.”

  Straight to the point. I didn’t have time to be nice.

  “And you had to come here? To my house? When I’m sick?” Her voice rose in volume and pitch with each question.

  Did she think the men peddling her their little white powder cocktails cared about the fact she had a cold?

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I haven’t got any money here.”

  I stared at her. We both knew that was a lie. There was cash in this house. Whether it belonged to her or not was a different thing, but she had access to it.

  “You would be better to pay me,” I said. Pay me, rather than the thug Alexander or Zane would send round if the debt went unsettled.

  The implication of the threat was enough.

  “Wait here,” she huffed, traipsing past me out of the door in a pair of pink silk pyjamas. She was back in less than a minute, stuffing a wad of notes into my hand. I counted it carefully, twice, then handed her back a ten.

  “Thank you so much,” she muttered darkly.

  I didn’t see the housekeeper on my way out of the house, but I had the feeling she was watching me. It didn’t matter. I was out of the place in seconds and I had no plans to come back.

  I grabbed a bus headed for Victoria, knowing I didn’t have enough time to run down King’s Road. I had less than an hour to get all the way across London, and traffic was starting to build.

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” I muttered, bouncing up and down in my seat as the bus snaked its way slowly back towards the centre, back into the Zone. I was the first one off, jumping from the open rear of the vehicle before it had even cruised to a stop; then I ran like hell towards the train station.

  There were a lot more people on the platform this time, and when the train finally came I had to squeeze myself in beside a grandmother with a baby, and a man who looked too young for the office suit and tie he wore. I ignored all three of them, wrapping my hands around the rucksack which now held a good couple of thousand pounds of Alexander’s money, and trying to mentally calculate if there was any way I could hope to make it back to Bancroft Road before Zane’s deadline. I had the phone; I could ring him, but I’d rather avoid that outcome if at all possible.

  “You still at school then?” The boy-man in the suit interrupted my thoughts.

  I looked down at the school uniform, then back up to him. What did he think?

  The grandmother caught the expression on my face and turned away; smiling to herself as she rearranged the swathes of blankets around the baby she was with.

  “Right,” he had the good grace to colour somewhat. “Stupid question.”

  I smiled. It was.

  “It’s just, you look a little old, I mean… mature, to be at school still.”

  “Thanks,” I told him coolly, wishing he’d stop talking to me. I had a quick glance around the carriage, but there weren’t any alternative seats.

  “Do you think you’ll go to university when you’re finished?”

  University? That had seemed a far-off dream before, when I’d been a child. Now, I had more chance of flying to the moon.

  “I doubt it,” I said, not needing to fake the sadness in my voice. I did try to take the edge off my accent, though. Probably unsuccessfully. There were just too many people around, too many listening ears. I didn’t need suspicion following me home.

  “Right,” he grinned. “Me, too. Had it all planned out, but that was before the world went to shit. Bit inconvenient really.” He gave me a friendly, optimistic smile, and I returned the gesture half-heartedly. There was something not quite right about hearing him describe the end of the global economy and the destruction of my life as a ‘bit inconvenient’, but I knew he was trying to make a joke.

  I didn’t joke any more.

  “Are…” he looked shyly at me, “Are you seeing anyone?”

  What a question. Absolutely not, but I definitely wasn’t available either.

  “No. And yes.”

  He looked confused.

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Oh. I just wondered if maybe you wanted to go out sometime. We could talk about how the older generation have ruined the world.”

  He stared at me like a round-eyed puppy, like a little boy. And though I wasn’t particularly interested, I wished with all my heart that I could say yes.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I hedged.

  “Right. Well,” he struggled to keep the embarrassment and disappointment from his face, and I felt both flattered and sorry for him, emotions I hadn’t experienced for a long time. “Maybe I’ll give you my number, just in case you change your mind?”

  There it was again, that eager smile. Ordinary, normal, and something I so rarely saw.

  “Sure, go on.”

  He almost fell over himself he was so keen. Ripping a page out of a diary, he wrote ‘Mark’ and then a mobile phone number. I took it with a smile.

  “Hi, Mark,” I said. “I’m Lizzie.”

  Then I bit my lip, because I knew shouldn’t have given him my real name. But what harm could it do?

  “Well, this is my stop.” I stood up, slinging the rucksack over my shoulder as the train slowed at Whitechapel.

  “Hope I hear from you,” he said.

  I smiled a goodbye, knowing he never would.

  Outside the train station I paused, stared down at the little piece of paper, the line of digits written with blue ink in a loopy hand. Would I remember the number if I ever wanted to call it? Probably not. I sighed, then I scrunched it up and chucked it in the bin.

  “What was that?”

  I jumped, spun round. Zane filled my field of vision, my eyes level with his huge barrel chest.

  “You’re late.”

  I checked my watch. It was ten to four.

  “No, I’m not. It’s not four yet.”

  “And you’re not back yet. What was that?” He gestured with his head down towards the bin.

  I shrugged.

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ll decide if it’s nothing.”

  I considered not telling him, but he’d make a meal out of it. Worse: he’d tell Alexander. Any excuse to drop me in it. And Alexander would have the truth out of me, one way or another.

  “A boy on the train tried to give me his phone number.”

>   “And you took it.” It wasn’t a question.

  I met his stare, determined not to look guilty.

  “I put it in the bin.”

  “After you took it.” He smirked at me, and I knew he had me, because that was how Alexander would see it. Sensing victory, he dropped his gaze to my chest, my bare legs. Leered. “The outfit looks good on you.”

  “Shut up, Zane.” I pushed past him, shoved my hands in the pockets of my cardigan and started walking towards Bancroft Road.

  He caught me up before I’d turned the first corner.

  “Problems?”

  I shrugged, knowing I’d have to explain every detail to Alexander anyway, and not really wanting to do it twice.

  “Lizzie—” His tone was a warning. He wanted a heads up if there was anything Alexander wasn’t going to like.

  “The drop was fine. He said to tell Alexander the package would do him for a month.” Zane sucked in a breath and I realised for the first time I might be the bearer of bad news. Oh well.

  “And the money?”

  “Easy-peasy. One of the girls was off school sick, so I had to go to her house and get it. That’s why I’m so late.”

  “Huh.”

  No compliments. No slap on the back for a job well done. Zane wasn’t like Samuel.

  We walked the rest of the way in silence, arriving at five past four. I gritted my teeth, knowing Alexander would give a pointed look to his watch. Five minutes.

  Zane took the rucksack from me at the door, then he headed to the basement to count it and then bank it in the safe, and I made my way up to the office. I knocked, waited, and heard the low lilt of Alexander call, “Come”.

  As predicted, he raised his arm to check his watch when I opened the door, but halfway through the gesture he caught sight of me, and my outfit, and he burst out laughing.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Well, look at you, Elizabeth,” he grinned, looking me up and down.

  Samuel, sitting on the other sofa, smiled wryly.

  I resisted rolling my eyes with some difficulty.

  “I’m going to change,” I announced, heading for Alexander’s dressing room.

  “No, you’re not.” His words halted me before I’d taken three steps. “I like it. Keep it on.”

  I turned to face him, licking my suddenly dry lips. “If you want.”

  “I do. I’m thirsty, get me a drink. Samuel will take one, too.”

  I looked at Samuel for confirmation. He gave me the briefest of nods, then I marched in the direction of the kitchenette.

  “And Elizabeth,” Alexander called over his shoulder, raising his voice as loud as I had ever heard it. “Get one for yourself, just for making me laugh.”

  I raised my eyebrows at the cupboard full of glasses. He was in a really good mood, it seemed.

  I grabbed three glasses, low, round tumblers, and added ice from the fancy machine on the outside of the giant, American-style fridge. Then I went straight for the whisky: Alexander’s neat, Samuel’s with a splash of water, mine with a generous serving of Coke. Real Coke, one of the advantages of working for Alexander. I loaded them on a tray, took a deep breath, and turned back to face the room. Zane was just sliding his way in the door. Thankful for the chance to linger a minute longer in the kitchen area, I turned back to the array of alcohol and reached for the Vodka. I added ice and nothing else. Zane was another one who liked his drink straight, and large.

  I arrived at the sofa, depositing the tray on the stainless steel and glass coffee table, just as Alexander began cross-examining Zane about my success.

  “Everything there and accounted for?”

  “Every penny.”

  “Good.”

  Alexander nodded, satisfied. Then he looked at me as I went to sit down. Before the back of my legs could touch the soft, cool white leather he reached out, in one of his lightning quick moves, and grabbed hold of my chin. He tilted my face to the side, exposing my left cheek.

  “Go wipe that muck off your face,” he snarled. “I want to look at you, not a mask.”

  He dropped his hold and turned away from me. I stared at the side of his head, my skin stinging like he’d slapped me.

  In the bathroom I gazed at myself. I looked normal. A little orange, perhaps. The make-up wasn’t quite right, too dark as Samuel had said, but I looked just like anybody else. I could walk down the street and not have to hide my face. Sighing, I ran the water until it was warm, then scrubbed at my cheek with soap. I grabbed a towel to dry myself and held it over the lower half of my face as I straightened up to look back into the mirror. Straight, dark eyebrows, wide grey eyes, pale skin. Nothing unusual. Then slowly, hesitantly, I lowered the towel. Just an inch later the upper curve of the tattoo reared its ugly head, like a killer whale arcing out of the waves.

  My face. It was never beautiful, never smooth and perfect and beautiful, but it had been my face. Mine. Now I barely recognised it. The tattoo that was like a barcode; the eyes that were too old, too cold. Only the lips, turned down in sadness, were still me. I sighed. I needed that whisky.

  “Better,” Alexander commented as I returned to the room. He patted the cushion beside him and I took my place. As soon as I sat down he threw an arm around my shoulders, playing distractedly with the school tie still knotted around my neck. I waited for the third degree to begin. Step by step: what had I done; who did I see; who did I talk to; what, exactly, did I say? Every detail of my trip into the outside world to be mused over, analysed. Just to let me know he was watching. He was always watching.

  But he wasn’t interested in me. Not right then. His eyes were fixed on Samuel.

  “I hear what you’re saying,” he said, picking up again on a conversation I’d missed. “But you need to see the bigger picture. We have to focus on our business ventures. The money needs to keep coming in, Samuel. That’s what keeps us moving forward; that’s what keeps us alive. Elizabeth’s little adventure today is proof of that. The police, the GE, the politicians, they keep demanding more, and we have to make sure we can pay, or none of us have a future, and some of us stand to lose our lives.”

  So Zane had given him my message from the GE officer. Yet he didn’t seem angry. Instead his voice was… persuasive. Not a tone I often heard him take. What had I missed? What were he and Samuel arguing about? Zane was no help, his hostile face impassive and calm. I stared down at my drink, at the ice cube slowly rotating as it melted, but my ears were pricked, listening keenly.

  “It’s not about lining our pockets, Alex. This is about more than that, about more than the two of us. We’re supposed to be fighting for something.”

  “And what, exactly, is that?”

  The sudden change, the sudden iciness in Alexander’s voice made me look up. But it was Samuel’s eyes that caught my gaze, and they were fire. Mesmerising fire.

  “For freedom. For the chance to bring our families out of the wilderness. For the resolution of the United Kingdom. Dammit, Alex, you are allowing yourself to be distracted by the money, by the power.”

  I held my breath. Nobody talked to Alexander like that. Nobody.

  “It is my money that keeps you alive, Samuel.” Alexander spat each word at his brother. His fingers were clutched so hard around his glass I feared the delicate crystal would shatter under the pressure.

  Samuel stared at his brother, took two deep breaths.

  “Yes. It is,” he conceded; then he stared hard at Alexander. “But I want more. We need to do more.”

  “We will,” Alexander’s voice was a purr, placating, reassuring. “I promise you we will. But these things take time. You have to be patient. Elizabeth,” he said my name in the same soft tone, but my head jerked round at once. His lips twitched in a mockery of a smile. Caught. I was obviously listening in. Though I was allowed to stay in his presence, I wasn’t supposed to pay attention; not unless he told me to. Still, he let it slide, holding out his glass to me. “I need another drink.”

  I thought about wh
at they’d both said as I made my way slowly back over to the kitchenette, Alexander’s empty glass in hand. Samuel and Alexander called themselves ‘freedom fighters’: the government called them terrorists. They planted bombs, like the one I’d set up at the Home Office Information building, to further their cause, to tell the English National Party, or the ENP, the current ruling power, that the Celt countries would not disappear quietly into the abyss of poverty and disorder, but would keep fighting until the United Kingdom was reformed. Instances like those, though, were few and far between. The majority of the brothers’ work revolved around drug deals and violence. It brought in wads of cash, but did nothing to further the ‘cause’, as Samuel called it. From the sound of it, recent activities were not enough for the youngest of the pair.

  He needed to be careful, though. Alexander could only be pushed so far.

  They’d moved on by the time I returned with Alexander’s second drink.

  “They’re getting greedy,” Zane was saying. “Six months ago the package Lizzie delivered today would have been enough for a season; now it’s a month. In few months more, it may be a week. If they keep upping the price on us, it’s going to become a problem.”

  “We can afford it,” Samuel argued. “And we need their protection.”

  “We do,” Alexander agreed. “And we can. But some of our government friends are starting to take advantage. I don’t like to be taken advantage of.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Zane was leaning forward, his face eager. This conversation was going in a direction he liked. Sending messages, getting payback, involved blood, pain and violence. His favourite things.

  “Alex, let’s not get too ambitious,” Samuel warned. “We don’t want to start a war with government officials.”

  “I thought that was exactly what you wanted!” Alexander shot back.

  “You know what I mean. These are business deals.”

  Alexander considered his brother for a long moment.

  “I’ll think about it,” he said. “But I won’t have these people thinking they can get one up on me. I—” he broke off, looking angrily at the door. “What is it?”