by Mark Tilbury
Big Issue handed the picture back to Ben. ‘I ain’t seen her. When did she go missing?’
Ben tucked the picture back in his pocket. ‘Two years ago.’
‘Kids vanish all the time. The street just sucks them up. Paedophiles and pimps everywhere.’
Maddie hooked her thumbs in the side of her bright red dungarees. ‘She may have run off with a busker. A guy called Marcus.’
‘Name don’t ring any bells. Thousands of kids end up with some twat who offers them the world and then takes them straight to Hell.’
Ben sighed. ‘That’s reassuring.’
‘That’s the way it is.’
Ben turned to Maddie. ‘Come on, let’s go.’
Maddie ignored him. ‘She’s nineteen. You have a think about that.’
‘I lost three toes in Afghanistan and got discharged from the army without so much as a thank you. You think about that.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Serve your country, and what do you get? Treated like shit.’
Maddie touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’ve seen people with arms and legs blown off. No one gives a tin-shit. Welcome to the world.’
Maddie and Ben started to walk away.
Big Issue called after them. ‘There is this one guy. I don’t know his name. He comes in a few days a week. Usually on a Wednesday and Friday. Sometimes more. He’s young. Good-looking, I suppose, if you like that sort of thing. Wears a shitty looking pinstripe suit and a straw hat.’
Maddie turned around. ‘And he busks?’
‘Busks. Deals. Yaps to all the girlies. Fancies himself. A right regular arsehole.’
Maddie smiled a smile to open hearts. It caused a knot in Ben’s stomach. ‘Where does he busk?’
Big Issue pointed across the street towards Boots. ‘Over there, sometimes. Sometimes he stands outside the Methodist church.’
Maddie nodded. ‘Thanks so much for that. What’s your name?’
‘I’ve got many names, love. Most of ’em ain’t very nice. But you can call me Gary.’
Maddie shook Gary’s hand. ‘I’m Maddie. This is Ben. Have you got a mobile, Gary?’
‘Yeah. But I ain’t got no credit.’
‘If I give you some money for credit, could you give me a ring the next time you see this busker?’
‘I suppose.’
Maddie plucked a Big Issue out of Gary’s hand and wrote her mobile number on the back. She handed it back to him.
Gary grinned. ‘I hope you’re going to pay for the Big Issue.’
Maddie turned to Ben. ‘Give him twenty pounds.’
‘What for?’
‘Ten for his phone, and ten for the magazine.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing, skinflint. It’s my sister that’s missing.’
‘Do the right thing, dude,’ Gary said. ‘You might need help one day.’
Ben fished his wallet out and handed over the cash. Anyone with half a brain knew the money would end up in an off-licence till.
Maddie smiled. ‘There. That didn’t hurt too much, did it?’
More than you’ll ever know, Ben thought.
Maddie turned back to Gary. ‘We’ll be kicking around in Oxford for the rest of the day. Would you call us if you see him?’
Gary promised that he would.
Ben thought the promise might as well be written in steam.
‘After today, it’ll take us about an hour to get here. So call us straight away,’ Maddie said.
Gary nodded. ‘Okay.’
As they walked away, Maddie turned to Ben. ‘That’s a start.’
‘He won’t call.’
‘He might.’
‘Twenty quid’s a lot of money to pin to a donkey with might for a tail.’
Maddie ignored him. ‘Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.’
Ben wasn’t. His stomach was too knotted to be hungry. They went to McDonald’s, where he spent most of the time lost in thought and twirling cold fries between his fingers.
Maddie finished her meal and wiped her mouth with a serviette. ‘Let’s give it until four. If we’ve heard nothing by then, we’ll head off home.’
‘I suppose.’
‘At least Gary can keep an eye out for him.’
‘If he doesn’t spend the money on booze.’
‘We’ll just have to trust him, won’t we? Come on, let’s do another sweep of the streets and then sit down by the Methodist church Gary mentioned.’
Ben thought if Gary had mentioned a busker in a hot-air balloon, Maddie would have spent the rest of the day looking up at the sky.
By the time they sat down outside the Methodist church an hour later, Ben’s feet felt as if they’d been fed through a shredder. ‘What time’s the next bus home?’
‘Twenty past four or ten to five.’
He glanced at his watch. Another two hours. ‘Even if we do find this busker, and I manage to join this stupid cult, it will be way too late for my dad. I mean, it’s Tuesday now. He already sounded as if he was at death’s door on Friday night.’
Maddie smiled. The patient smile of a parent with an inattentive child. ‘You have to keep believing, ben.’
‘In what? Miracles?’
‘Believing things will turn out all right.’
‘And what am I supposed to say to this busker? Hey, mate, do you belong to a cult?’
‘Just chat to him. See how the land lies. Convince him you’re searching for answers. Tell him you hate modern living. Play it by ear.’
Ben’s stomach churned. ‘I’m no good at pretending.’
Maddie took his hand. ‘You have to trust yourself, Ben. Take one step at a time.’
‘And then trip myself up.’
Maddie let go of his hand. ‘If you’re so worried about it, why don’t we do it together?’
‘Do what?’
‘Join the cult.’
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that.’
‘You’re not asking. I’m offering.’
‘What about my mother? Who will look after her?’
‘We’ll think of something.’
‘Like what?’
‘I could get my dad to ask Rhonda.’
‘Rhonda doesn’t even know my mum.’
‘Rhonda’s got a big personality. She’d cope. Trust me.’
‘My mother has two modes: nervous and hysterical.’
‘Your mother’s bearing up well, considering.’
‘That’s more to do with happy pills than anything else.’
‘If you don’t want me to help, then fine,’ Maddie said. ‘I won’t force you. It was just an idea.’
‘And what about your dad? How’s he going to feel if you put your neck on the line?’
‘He’ll understand.’
Ben stamped his foot to shoo away a pigeon that was paying close attention to his trainers. ‘I don’t know. Maybe we should just go home.’
Maddie plucked a strand of hair off her forehead. ‘And then what?’
Ben didn’t have a clue. Infiltrating the cult was a marvellous idea if this was a movie and he was an all-action hero. He stood more chance of flying to the moon on a broomstick.
Maddie’s phone beeped. Private number. She answered it. ‘Gary?’
Ben groaned. What did he want? More money? A date with Maddie? A medal?
Maddie smiled. ‘Thanks, Gary. Take care.’ She turned to Ben. ‘Come on, let’s go. The busker’s outside Marks and Sparks.’
Ben’s stomach tightened. ‘Shouldn’t we work out what to say first?’
‘No. We don’t want to sound like we’ve got a script. It’s better to just go with the flow.’
‘Like a drowning man in a river?’
‘Very funny.’
The busker was singing All You Need is Love. Badly. A few girls stood around him. He had the bluest eyes Ben had ever seen. Deeper blue than Pastor Tom’s, but with the same sparkle. There was a straw ha
t perched on his head. His skin was either tanned or unwashed.
‘He looks like a gypsy,’ Ben said.
‘Nothing wrong with gypsies. Have you got any change?’
Ben fished out a few coins and handed them over. Maddie stepped forward and threw the money into a small plastic bowl. She turned back towards Ben. ‘Your generosity knows no bounds.’
‘I’ve already shelled out twenty quid.’
The busker finished his song to a smattering of applause from the girls. He bowed and smiled at Maddie.
Maddie smiled back. ‘That was cool.’
He tuned his guitar. ‘Thanks.’
Ben imagined John Lennon spinning in his grave.
‘Do you do requests?’
‘Depends.’
‘On what?’
Busker tweaked a string and raised the guitar up close to his ear. ‘Whether I know it or not.’
Maddie twirled her ponytail. ‘Living on a Prayer? Bon Jovi?’
‘Don’t know it.’
‘Girls Just Wanna have Fun?’
Busker grinned. ‘Is that right? I could do Pretty Woman if you like.’
Ben almost groaned out loud.
Maddie put her hands on her hips. ‘I’m Maddie.’
Busker seemed deep in contemplation for a few moments. And then: ‘I’m Marcus. What’s Maddie short for? Madam?’
Maddie smiled and moved a few steps closer. ‘Cheeky! It’s short for Madeline.’
Ben gawked at Marcus as if the man had just revealed himself as Jesus Christ Himself.
‘You should learn to play the mandolin, Madeline.’
Maddie smiled. ‘So what do you do, Marcus? Are you a student?’
‘Do I look like a parasite?’
‘I take it you don’t like students, then?’
Marcus strummed his guitar with a single downward sweep of his hand. ‘Have you seen this city?’
‘Nice buildings.’
‘Inhabited by rats.’
Maddie wiggled her hips and sang the chorus of We Built This City.
‘Do you want to join my band?’
‘I thought you were a one-man-band?’
‘There’s always room to expand. Especially with a pretty girl.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boyfriend?’
‘This is Ben.’
Marcus looked at Ben as if he was trying to read his mind. ‘Do you sing? Or are you the dancing bear?’
Ben tried to look nonchalant. The man was a charmer. A magnet for girls like Emily Hunt.
Maddie asked Marcus if he was from Oxford.
‘Nope. You?’
‘No. We’re hiking across the country. Trying to get out of the rat race.’
‘Good for you.’
Maddie hooked her thumbs in the side of her dungarees. ‘I had a job in a bakery. Up at four every morning. Too knackered to think most of the time. I jacked it in after Christmas. Me and Ben just hit the road.’
‘Where’s all your stuff?’
Maddie frowned. ‘Stuff?’
‘Clothes? Belongings? Sausages and beans to cook on the campfire?’
Maddie took a deep breath. ‘Our backpacks got stolen in Newbury. Cleaned us out, more or less. We’ve been sleeping rough.’
‘That’s tough.’
‘You can’t trust anyone these days. If I could get my hands on them….’
‘What are you going to do?’
Maddie shrugged. ‘Go home, I suppose. Back to living with mummy and daddy. To be honest, I’d rather drink ditch water.’
‘Don’t get on with your folks, then?’
‘You could say that.’
‘Let me guess: middle class. Dinner parties. Designer furniture.’
Maddie laughed. ‘You don’t know them, do you?’
‘I don’t need to. There are thousands of them all across the country. I suppose they think you’re wasting your life, wasting your education, and wasting their precious time trying to induct you into their hall of shame.’
‘Wow. You must have second sight.’
‘Nah. Just see things clearer than most.’
‘They want me to be a teacher.’
‘A propagandist of the capitalist state?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
Marcus strummed an A-minor chord a few times. He then accompanied it with a reasonable rendition of John Lennon’s Working Class Hero. At the end of the song, Maddie clapped. A little too enthusiastically for Ben’s liking.
‘That was good,’ Maddie said.
‘The best songs always tell the truth. The similarities between Lennon and Jesus Christ are startling. Both were outspoken and controversial. Both driven by a need to heal people. Both wanted peace. And both were murdered in their prime.’
Ben thought the comparison was ridiculous. ‘Lennon was a bit before my time.’
Marcus looked at him as if he’d just threatened violence. ‘Jesus was a bit before my time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn from his teachings.’
‘I’m not suggesting we can’t learn—’
Marcus flapped a hand as if swatting a fly. He looked at Maddie. ‘So what do your parents do? When they’re not entertaining guests with caviar and lobster, that is.’
‘My dad’s a headmaster at a private school. My mum works for a charity.’
‘I bet she goes to Africa once every few years to feel their pain and suffering.’
‘She does work with Oxfam.’
Marcus turned to Ben. ‘What about you, Ben? What are you running away from?’
‘I’m not running away from anything. I don’t get on with my old man.’
‘Bit of a control freak?’
Ben noticed both of his front teeth were chipped and yellowed. It put a welcome dent in the guy’s good looks. ‘You could say that.’
‘And what does he do to justify his existence?’
Ben rummaged in his imagination for an answer. ‘He works in a bank.’
Marcus snorted. ‘Don’t get me started on bankers. They’re nothing short of legalised criminals.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Ben lied.
Marcus launched into a scathing attack on everything from bankers’ bonuses to the IMF. ‘Still, I suppose he’s all right to tap for a few quid?’
Ben shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
‘What bank does he work for?’
‘Barclays.’
Maddie jumped in and rescued Ben. ‘Do you know if there’s anywhere we can stay?’
Marcus didn’t.
‘We’re not fussy, are we, Ben?’
‘No.’ Just stupid and way out of our depth.
‘What do you do when you’re not busking, Marcus?’ Maddie asked.
‘I give my life to the Lord.’
‘Seriously?’
Marcus clenched his plectrum between those stained teeth. ‘Seriously.’
‘You don’t look like a vicar.’
‘You don’t have to belong to a corrupt organisation like the church to give yourself to the Lord.’
Maddie tapped her chest. ‘It’s what’s on the inside that counts, right?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Follow your heart.’
Marcus put down his guitar and took a pouch of tobacco from his crumpled jacket pocket. He rolled a cigarette. ‘I’m not promising anything, because it’s not up to me, but I belong to a religious group. We’re called The Sons and Daughters of Salvation.’
‘Wow,’ Maddie said. ‘That’s a grand title.’
Marcus grinned. ‘It is a bit of a mouthful. I could ask if they need an extra pair of hands. We give our lives to the Lord. That doesn’t mean to say we spend all our time down on our knees worshipping the sun. Quite the opposite. We oppose convention.’
‘Do you have any particular faith?’
‘No. We believe in the truth. I can’t explain what we do in a few short sentences. It’s a lifestyle
based around God’s will. Do you believe in God, Maddie?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about you, Ben?’
Ben nodded. He was afraid to open his mouth in case the truth came jumping out and scuppered their plan.
Marcus turned back to Maddie. ‘Would you be willing to put your trust in the Lord?’
‘Yes.’
‘Like I said, it’s not up to me. I’ll have a word with the boss. If you meet me back here tomorrow at three, I’ll let you know what he says.’
‘Are you sure?’ Maddie said. ‘We don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘It’s cool.’
As they walked away, Maddie reached out and grabbed Ben’s hand. ‘That went better than I thought it would.’
Ben didn’t answer. He couldn’t help thinking he’d just looked into a vast black hole and glimpsed the spectre of his own death.
9
By the time Ben and Maddie arrived at the Pentecostal church, Anne had returned home. Pastor Tom was sweeping the hall, jacket unbuttoned, trilby jammed on his head. ‘How’d it go?’
‘Good,’ Maddie said.
Ben asked how his mother was.
Tom leaned the broom up against a chair. ‘She’s bearing up, son. It did her good to come and help. Took her mind off things for a while. So what happened in Oxford?’
Maddie recounted the day’s events, including the cover story she’d given Marcus relating to her background. ‘So we’re going back tomorrow to see what his boss has to say.’
‘You’re both going back tomorrow?’ Tom said. ‘I thought you was taking care of Ben’s mother?’
‘Ben can’t do this on his own. You could ask Rhonda to help out with Ben’s mum?’ Maddie said.
‘Rhonda’s already helping out here. What am I supposed to do, split the poor woman in two?’
Maddie laughed. ‘Jesus fed the five thousand with a loaf of bread.’
‘Five loaves and two fish,’ Tom corrected. ‘And just in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not Jesus.’
‘Anne would love Rhonda.’
‘I’m not sure, Madeline. It’s a big ask.’
‘Rhonda won’t mind. She’s so sweet on you she gains weight just looking at you.’
‘You’ve got too much of an imagination, young lady. Anyway, I need all the help I can get. If I lose both you and Rhonda, how am I supposed to get the church hall painted out? And I wanted to sort out the garden. I can’t do it all on my own.’
