by Vance Huxley
“We belong to your enclave anyway, because that’s what we put on the paperwork when the coupon bus came round.” Callum sniggered, definitely more relaxed. “After all, we saw you putting the border markers in place. How many of the shitheads did you have to kill to make that stick?”
“None. Roller didn’t argue. Tell you what, my people will split up and have a wander round, and explain how we usually do things. That way you can all get the full story. I’ll have a stroll around with your gardener if I can. Our gardener sent a list of what we have seed for, and she wants to know if you have anything she doesn’t.”
By the time Harold had listened to what the house gardens grew, two men were up a ladder stripping tiles from a ruined house. Another two men and a woman were measuring up replacement windows.
“I’ll get a crew on weeding as soon as we’ve finished the party.” Jed the gardener, a short, wiry man in his fifties with skin the colour of old teak, looked as if he’d worked outdoors in the sun all his life. He smiled at Harold’s curious look, sweeping a hand across to indicate the houses. “Once you’ve left and it sinks in, that the arse really is dead and none of the nasty bastards are coming back, we’ll all go a little crazy. I’ve been tempted to nip down the road to check the bodies because there’s a couple I’d like to piss on.” He sighed, then continued in a quieter voice. “It’ll take a while to settle in properly. Do you mind if some of us come to look at your place?”
“Our door is always open. Honestly, we even have a pub. Come and talk to Emmy, our gardener, and have a pint.” Before Harold could finish speaking, five people arrived wanting to know if what these kids were saying was true. It took well over an hour before the residents started to truly relax, but by then Harold could see the beginnings of the party. He left another crossbow and pistol, explaining that if a gun fired someone would come running.
The help wouldn’t actually have to run. Keeping hidden would be good practice for a couple of trainee Riot Squad scouts, so even if the residents were caught by surprise there’d be a rifle already watching over them. Oddly enough, despite all the happiness, when the Orchard Close party drove home most of them were very quiet. Those people, and thousands like them all over the country, had spent four years living like that. Helpless, they spent their lives waiting for some scroat like the dead Hot Rod bosses to decide to make their lives a bit worse.
When Harold tried to explain the estate and what he’d agreed, Sharyn told him to wait until evening. She called in the coven. After listening to Harold, the mainly female group decided to send half a dozen ordinary people, not fighters, to visit every day. That should ease the culture shock, and show the neighbours they would still be working hard but for themselves. “Otherwise someone is going to do something stupid, like going to the border and mooning a Hot Rod. That or they’ll try to get out of the city, or think there’s no law so they can steal from a neighbour. Don’t worry, we’ll sort it.”
“They’ll need a name, like the Annex and the Farm have. That’ll give them an identity.” Kathleen, Frederick the joiner’s wife, glanced upstairs to where the children slept. “We’ll take the schoolkids with us, as a lesson. History, or gardening, or something. Any excuse. Then we’ll ask if any of their kids want lessons.” Harold left them to it, but only went as far as his bedroom to let Mercedes know about the new neighbours.
* * *
The following morning, while Harold tried to work out how to fit training fighters around caring for Mercedes, a smiling Sharyn called him to the front door. An embarrassed-looking Hazel stood on the doorstep. “Hazel? Why are you waiting out here?” Hazel usually knocked but came straight in, because after all she used to live here and was Harold’s honorary niece.
“Because, well, it’s sort of official.” Hazel squirmed a little, working up to something, then blurted it out. “Did you mean it, Uncle Harold? What you said after you told us about the diesel and all that? About giving me away? And can I get dressed here, and Alfie collect me, you know, for the broom thing, and will Daisy be a bridesmaid, and can Sharyn help with my dress, and does Mercedes want to be something, the maid thing maybe, and maybe Eddy and Wills can be page boys?” She finally ran down or ran out of breath, waiting hopefully.
“Yes to all that, I think, but I’ll have to ask…”
“Brilliant! Thank you, Uncle Harold.” Hazel hugged Harold, kissing him on the cheek before turning and running away. He stood bemused as she more or less flew down the road to Betty’s old house, where Harold could see Alfie lurking in the doorway. Apparently either Hazel or Alfie had proposed.
When he turned round, Sharyn’s smiling face was soon joined by Tessa’s, followed by Mercedes but then the questions started. “I don’t know exactly what she’s got in mind, but I think I just agreed to some sort of full-blown wedding-type thing. Hazel wants bridesmaids, a dress, the whole thing.”
“I hope the rest of my boots are here in time.”
“I’ll call the coven. We must have a dress somewhere.”
“Alfie will want to buy a ring. Who has the garter?”
From the happy faces in front of him, Harold’s first reaction had been wrong. He didn’t think this would be a good time, not with houses still boarded up waiting for glass and half the fighters still bandaged. Within the hour Harold conceded he was the only person who thought that, and was pleased he’d kept his big mouth shut. Orchard Close exploded into frantic preparations for Hazel’s wedding.
Sharyn produced a suit for Harold, while Kerry set into adjusting another to fit properly over Alfie’s muscles. Residents were soon resizing or adapting the dance costumes, while Harold’s house filled up with women sewing lace and bunting. Everywhere he went Harold saw happy faces; even the latest refugees succumbed to wedding-fever. Hazel had a permanent grin while Alfie looked stunned, though he’d already been to see Sharyn, buying engagement and wedding rings from the coven stash. The engagement ring already sparkled on Hazel’s finger, flaunted at every opportunity.
By evening Harold half-expected a vicar or a white stretch limo to appear. He’d thought the wedding, or wenching as most called it, would be the usual two lines of friends and the couple jumping the broom. Now he had absolutely no idea what to expect. A Hot Rod car delivered boots, weapons, and several dresses for Mercedes as well as a note from Virginia, Roller’s significant other. “Would we allow Virginia to come to the wedding?” Mercedes waved the scrap of paper. “From what she says about him, she’ll probably want to bring Roller. Can I tell her okay?”
Inviting the Hot Rod gang boss definitely didn’t sound like a good idea, but Harold didn’t want to get it wrong again! “The car is waiting for a reply to that note, so it can wait a bit longer until Hazel and Alfie decide.” Though Harold knew exactly who would be expected to ask. He took the note, heading down the road.
Hazel met him at the door, very happy and giggly, insisting that he inspected the engagement ring. “Just in time, or there’d be a wedding ring in the way. Did you ask about bridesmaids, Uncle Harold?”
“Not my job but there’s about forty volunteers, and the rest of the female population want to be maids of honour. Casper has volunteered as a maid of dishonour, to even up.” Harold held up the note, trying to sound serious. “There might be another, but it’s your choice. Mercedes would like Virginia to come to the wedding.”
Hazel stopped laughing, looking puzzled. “Who is Virginia?”
“Roller’s girl, woman, significant other. Voluntary.” Harold hesitated but Hazel had been stunned into silence. “She wants to bring Roller.”
“I was just going to say that would turn my wedding into a sort of diplomatic thing, like Royal weddings where all the heads of state come, but it isn’t funny.”
Alfie moved up behind Hazel, putting his arms around her. For the first time she didn’t look even slightly embarrassed in front of Harold. “Maybe that’s what Harold wants, luv, sort of a peace meeting? Roller will behave, I’m sure. It depends on you.”
Hazel still hadn’t spoken, so Alfie answered. “That might be best, Harold. We’ll talk about it, and maybe ask around.”
Two hours later Hazel asked if she could speak to Harold and the coven. It was soon clear she’d been talking to the women from the Hot Rods. “Most of the new girls don’t mind if Roller comes, as long as they can wear their weapons. I told them no guns, just blades, in case one of them has a bit too much to drink.” She smiled, a welcome relief for Harold because Hazel had looked very worried when she came in. “I mentioned Roller will be searched so he’ll only have a knife. We talked, me and Alfie, and now it’s up to the coven. As long as having Roller here doesn’t interfere with the wedding, he can come.” Her smile grew into a big grin. “Most of the new girls want to be bridesmaids, which will stuff it to him anyway.”
Once the coven started asking, it was obvious Hazel had decided she just didn’t care who came. She wanted as many people as possible to see the dress, as well as Alfie in a suit. “You can borrow boots if you like? Something borrowed? I’ve even got one pair of stockings left, to go with them. They had a strange effect on ’Arold.” Mercedes smirked as Hazel blushed.
“I’ve got something borrowed, thanks.” Hazel glanced at Harold, then back to Mercedes, and her blush deepened. “What are you wearing?”
“My little black dress, maybe, but I’m a bit worried that even with the bandages I’ll distract your Uncle ’Arold. It might depend on which boots I put on.” As Mercedes and the rest started suggesting various ways to distract their man, or any men, Harold quietly withdrew. Later, Tessa let him know the neighbouring gangs could send people but only some people. Wellie would be the only Geek, but only if he brought a significant other. That would settle a question for Umeko, whether Wellington kept her friend Thien as a girlfriend or a slave. Harold knew that if Thien came into Orchard Close, Umeko would make sure her friend didn’t leave unless she genuinely wanted to.
“The other invites will be GOFS and Barbies, with just one couple from each of the other two. If Spanky has gone back to the Hot Rods before the wedding, Hazel wants her and ET invited.” Sharyn and Tessa were making a list on a mobile phone, working through the GOFS and Barbies with friends among the residents. “We’d better search everyone for booze as well, or this could turn into the sack of Rome. Drunken Barbies and GOFS, and if our latest refugees get squiffy as well? Most of them are still a bit hyper about getting weapons.”
“I’ll need a drink, or several. I’ve just been told I’ve got to marry them, then give a speech! Who thought that was a good idea?” Harold didn’t have a blind idea what sort of ceremony to use because he definitely wasn’t going to parrot some religious spiel. Once in a lifetime was twice too many.
“Pat’s John is a sort of lay preacher so his flock will probably say a prayer, but Hazel doesn’t want religious. She wants you.” Sharyn pointed towards the bedroom door. “Talk to Mercedes. After all, she might want some sort of ceremony as well, once she’s fit enough to throw you over her shoulder and cart you off someplace private.” Harold didn’t even try to answer that; he did as he was told.
* * *
Ski and Beetch were told about the wedding when they turned up at Orchard Close, bringing a small convoy to deliver a welcome surprise. Doc had released another four hobbling wounded, patched up enough to travel and convalesce at home. Ru thought Barbie bed rest must be very special because two of the goodbyes went well beyond patient care. The convoy also delivered medicines and instructions for the invalids, so Dealer must have visited Beth’s.
Once she knew, Beetch promised to deliver the wedding invitation but wanted to know the undress code. “A good few refugees haven’t got much, so they’re scrounging whatever will fit. That includes all but the most outrageous costumes from past dances.” Tessa nodded towards Mercedes. “Mercedes got a few outfits back from the Mansion, so she’s offered them to anyone who can squeeze into them.”
Mercedes nodded enthusiastically. “And boots, but without knives. If they’ll be wearing some of those skirts, the dress code will be anything suitable for a club, disco or rave.”
Ski’s eyes lit up at that, so Harold jumped in quickly. “A legal club, disco or rave, pre-Crash.” Chandra’s public clothes were bad enough, but he’d also seen that knitted dress and what some Barbies wore at home.
After some more discussion about clothes, Beetch started quizzing Mack about the armoured lorry Caddi had created. She wanted to know how much steel plate it carried, and what sort, because from the stories the vehicle seemed bulletproof. Eventually she admitted why the Barbies were so interested. “We parked the tanker in the basement, without the cab part so nobody could drive it away again. That lorry of Caddi’s didn’t have a trailer but it still smashed through three roadblocks on the way out, so we thought ours should have a new job.” The Barbie grinned at Harold. “You’ve got sodding great lumps of steel in the road, buried deep, so nothing can get to your gates. Most gangs leave a path to get their cars inside, with lots of bends to slow vehicles up, but gates won’t stop a slow lorry.
“That’s why we’ve blocked our access completely. Just don’t get ambitious elsewhere because there’s ammo out there that will shoot through everything short of real armour.” Harold made a mental note to dig a deeper trench, both sides of a long heap of earth-covered bricks across the fields. That should strand any vehicles, or at least slow up a big lorry or that Bren carrier, even if someone fitted a bulldozer or snowplough blade. Harold might like the Barbies more than he had previously but it wasn’t complete trust, and he still didn’t know if someone had salvaged that armour.
“It won’t be aimed at you, but we might need it to slow up the Pinkies. They’ve been pushing, not quite starting a fight, which isn’t like them. Ken reckons they are trying to suck us into an attack.” Beetch paused, waiting for Harold to work out why.
“The General?” Harold’s heart sank because the General hadn’t given up. He’d just been reorganising the Pink Panthers. “How certain are you?”
“Enough to block the roads going that way right along the border, and post a strong guard.” Beetch hesitated, almost embarrassed, a really strange look for her. “There’s something else.”
“Yes, Logan can go home with you after the wedding, but I want him back still fit to fight.”
“Really?” Beetch perked up, then slumped again. “You might change your mind in a minute. I’ve come with the wounded to warn you. The thing is, we might not be the General’s real target.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve been asked, point blank, to take part in an attack on you, and the GOFS were asked as well. We both said no, but that might not make a difference. Ken reckons the probes might be pressure, a hint, though the General would probably love us to attack the Pinkies and get carved up.”
Ski had been twitching, wanting to speak, but now she butted in. “The tales about Soldier Boy definitely being a gunsmith, or having one tucked away in here, have gone well past rumour. Some people think that’s the only explanation for the pussies in Orchard Close stuffing Caddi’s lot. There again, not many have seen all that lovely gear Fergi wears.” Ski turned slightly pink, which really was a surprise. “I mean all the weapons her and the Demons and the Riot Squad cart about, and their technique. Er, how they fight.”
This was a complete novelty, a Barbie Girl floundering, apparently about Fergi’s gear and technique. There were several little smiles starting but Patty stepped in, saving Ski from digging the hole any deeper. “Haven’t any of them noticed the lack of new super-weapons? Or how many of our friends Caddi’s men killed or wounded?”
Ski visibly rallied. “No, because S
oldier Boy keeps the weapons all locked away, and yet everyone has one. You lied about casualties, or you lie about how many are left. You should hear it, no two ideas the same. You’ve all got rifles and can shoot the tits off mosquitos, or they’re all automatics but the Army is squared because your girls, well, you know.” Ski only just remembered where she was. “The problem for you is that they all have one conclusion. There’s at least four gangs want to capture the gunsmith, or kill him before he makes Orchard Close strong enough to conquer the city.”
“Sorry Ski, but that’s crazy. It’s just that, well, we’re a couple of hundred people, none of whom have ever been gangsters or even close.” Sharyn shook her head. “Conquer the city? You’ve been making the product too strong.”
That brought a smile from both Beetch and Ski, because the Barbie Girls were famous for the quality of their pot patch. “Yeah, I reckon some of them are using chemicals as well, but you needed the warning. There’s all the old stories as well, about how rich your place is, all the tradespeople, and how many young women there are. There’s gangs that would like to take the place for one of those reasons, let alone all of them and the gunsmith part.”
Beetch added the final helping of doom and gloom. “We’ve been contacted by the Jets, the Pink Panthers and the General, to see if we want to join in. Ken told them all no chance. There were hints other gangs would be joining them. We all know the Ferdinands would love some payback after you spanked them.”
Before anyone could comment, Ski sighed. “We’ll know the worst in three days. The General wants to talk, properly. He’s even willing to give us that sneaky bastard Rhys as a hostage. The GOFS will get Julius, one of his commanders. We assume Wellington will be there as well. Vulcan sent a message. He’ll let you know what’s on offer, but he’s picked his dance partner.” She followed everyone else’s eyes as they all looked at Patty. “Er, cripes! If you pair have kids they’ll take over the whole country.” Patty vehemently denied any chance of rugrats, until the Barbies reluctantly let the subject drop and went home.
