Waking Broken

by Huw Thomas

  ‘A phoenix?’

  ‘Rising from the fire,’ said Cash. ‘After all, if I’m using the autumn colours my palette is going to be a little limited.’ He grinned. ‘And if I’m going to make my bold statement I want to come up with something suitably dramatic. I mean, this won’t be precision draughtsmanship; the best I can hope for is broad strokes of colour. And, once it’s in place I won’t have any control over the colours.’

  ‘So how will it work?’ said Harper. ‘I think I get the general idea but I’m not quite sure about everything. Anyway… you’re talking about planting new trees?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So how long will it take? Surely, you’ve got to wait for the trees to grow. Which means you’re talking, what, decades?’

  Cash nodded. ‘Of course.’ He smiled. ‘And I’ll be damned lucky to see whether the thing works or not. But that’s part of it. It’s the grand gesture, the magnificence of it that appeals. I mean, come on, this isn’t a mere painting we’re talking about. It’s a thousand acres of art. It might not work. But if it does, what then? It’ll be wonderful. Mad, yes but beautiful in its audacity alone.’

  Harper laughed. ‘You’re mad, you know.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Harper kept chuckling. ‘But that’s why you’re so good. I like you, Paul, I really do. It might be crazy but it’s bloody good.’

  Cash clapped him on the shoulder and they stood companionably for several minutes, staring at the proto-canvas below. Harper sighed and closed his eyes, drifting with the peace of the moment.

  ‘So come on,’ Cash’s gentle words pulled him back to earth. ‘What is it that you haven’t been saying?’

  ‘Huh? What do you mean?’

  The artist looked searchingly at Harper. ‘There’s something more. I don’t know if it’s connected with the rest of your story: I’m guessing it is. But there’s something you kept back this morning. Something to do with that bit you glossed over? About what happened to you last night?’

  28. You Will, You Won’t

  Thursday, 5.52pm:

  Rebecca was sitting staring into space when the doorbell jolted her back to reality. She swung her legs off the fat sofa that had been home for the last few hours and made her way into the hall. The damp weather was making the door stick again and she wrenched it open.

  ‘Tony?’

  ‘Hi, sorry I’m late. Pile-up on the roundabout outside the new IMAX. Fucking nightmare getting round it.’

  She stepped to one side automatically. ‘Late?’

  ‘Yeah. Said I’d be here five-thirty.’

  Rebecca’s cousin slouched wearily into the hall and made his way towards her kitchen. ‘You got anything to drink?’

  She followed him looking confused. ‘What do you mean “here by five-thirty”? I wasn’t expecting you.’

  ‘No?’ He shrugged. ‘It was your mate I spoke to. She asked me to come round, said you and her wanted a chat about something. I presumed she wants to twist my arm about some arsehole client she wants to get into the paper. Anyway, I’m here now. You going to offer me a drink or what?’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘Er, sure. What would you like, cup of tea?’

  ‘Oh piss off. I don’t want fucking ‘tea’. I’ve been drinking coffee all day. What I need is a beer or a glass of wine. Or several, I’ve had another nightmare day.’

  ‘Which do you want?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t fucking know. Alcohol. Whatever comes out of the fridge first. I take it you have got some booze in?’

  Rebecca nodded, trying not to smile. She had seen her cousin in this kind of mood enough times not to take it too seriously. He spent all day roaring along on testosterone, making everyone else’s life a misery as he and the other news desk staff tried to out macho each other. At the end of a long day it took him a while to snap out of the pose and revert to being a normal human being. She had known him long enough to realise it was all front; deep down he was more insecure than most of his juniors and ranted to cover his own anxieties.

  She slid a bottle of Grolsch out of the fridge and handed it to Tony. ‘There, that’ll help take the edge off. Bottle opener’s in the drawer behind you.’

  He nodded. ‘Cheers.’

  Rebecca shook her head. ‘No offence but I still have no idea why you’re here. I saw Sarah at lunchtime and she didn’t mention anything to me. I hope you’re not here on some wild goose chase.’

  ‘So the fuck do I,’ he said. ‘I was supposed to be meeting a mate for a beer before I went home but she said it was important.’

  Rebecca tipped her head towards the lounge. ‘Well, you might as well make yourself comfortable while you drink your beer. I’ll give her a ring on her mobile; see what she’s got to say.’

  She dialled the number but got no reply. Rebecca raised her eyebrows at her cousin, now sprawled across the same sofa where she had been sitting earlier, tie ripped open and dangling across his chest. ‘Well, your guess is as good as mine. She’s not answering but that might be because she’s on her way over.’

  Tony belched loudly. ‘You know how much I care?’

  Rebecca scowled. ‘You’re a slob, Tony Wright.’

  He sat up, put his beer bottle down and ran both hands through his hair. ‘Yeah, whatever.’ He sighed. ‘At the moment, I couldn’t give a toss what anyone thinks. I’m so glad to get out of that place but, you know what makes it worse?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Knowing I’ve got to go back and cope with the same shit tomorrow.’

  Rebecca looked surprised. ‘I though you liked your job.’

  ‘I do, or I did anyway.’ He shrugged. ‘Take no notice: I’m not trying to take it out on you. It’s just been a bitch of a day. I’ve got a paper to put together, all the other departments yelling at me but no fucking reporters to do the job. One’s off sick, one’s gone AWOL, another’s on holiday and I’ve got one on a go-slow because I made him cancel his holiday. But I only did that because we’re so short! I mean, for fuck’s sake, we’ve got five editions to fill and I’ve got three reporters to cover the whole city. It’s ridiculous: we’re shovelling all kinds of crap in to fill space because we’ve got no one to write proper news stories.’

  Rebecca was about to answer when the doorbell rang again. She returned to the hall and tugged the door open to find Sarah and Brendan Teague standing outside. Rebecca stood still for a moment, a chill running through her emotions. She glanced at Brendan then gave a long stare at Sarah, who returned the look defiantly.

  Brendan had a quizzical expression. ‘What’s up, Rebecca?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She gave Sarah a pointed look. ‘What did she tell you?’

  He looked confused. ‘That you and Danny had something you need to ask me.’

  Rebecca laughed humourlessly. ‘Sounds like you’ve been stitched up the same way you stitched me up when you got me to go to The White Lion a couple of nights ago.’ She smiled at Brendan. ‘But don’t worry; I think I’m being stitched up by my friend along with you.’

  She stepped aside and ushered them in. ‘Well come on, now you’re here, come and join the inquisition.’

  Sarah followed Brendan quickly, avoiding Rebecca’s eye.

  ‘Sarah Young!’

  She stopped in the corridor mid-stride.

  ‘In here, you.’ Rebecca guided her friend firmly past the lounge and into the kitchen. She steered Sarah into a corner and stood in front of her. ‘Now, what the hell are you up to?’

  A couple of red spots appeared on Sarah’s cheeks but otherwise she betrayed no outward sign of embarrassment. ‘What am I up to? I’m trying to make sure you don’t get into something that you’re going to regret?’

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Rebecca was trying to keep her voice low but the anger still came through. ‘And who gave you that job?’

  The red spots grew a little. ‘I did,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m your friend and I’m worried. What’s going on is just too weird. You met this guy a couple of days ago and, to
me… well, he seems borderline psycho at best. Then I find out you’re wandering off on country walks with him and you come back looking all lovey-dovey.’ She grabbed Rebecca’s hands. ‘I’m worried about you. I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into. And I thought that one way to sort this out… maybe he is a nice guy, if a little confused… would be to check him out a bit more. Find out a few more facts, what kind of person he really is.’

  Rebecca scowled but she continued to let Sarah hold her hands. ‘And I’m not a big enough girl to work these things out for myself?’

  ‘Too right.’ Sarah cracked an impish smile. ‘I know you’re not a big girl really, however much you pretend. And, anyway, we all need someone to watch our back. It’s a mad world out there. I know from my own extensive research into the subject, and bitter experience, how easy it is to get sucked into believing what you want to believe when it comes to blokes.’

  She sighed and looked at Rebecca imploringly. “Listen: not all the men out there are lambs and I don’t want the big bad wolf snacking on my girlfriend.’

  Rebecca could not help smiling. ‘Okay, I appreciate the support but I wish you’d asked. I can manage, honestly.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘We’ll see.’ She slipped her hands out of Rebecca. ‘Any chance of a cup of tea… or a glass of wine?’

  Rebecca nodded and turned to the cupboard. As she did so, Sarah made a swift break for it, heading towards the lounge. Rebecca moved to intercept her but was too slow. ‘Weasel!’ She hissed at her friend’s back.

  Using the time to mentally prepare herself, Rebecca gathered up a bottle of wine, glasses, opener and a couple more bottles of beer. She smiled as she entered the lounge and set her wares down on the floor.

  ‘Well, as we’re all here, we might as well be comfortable,’ she said with bright sardonicism. ‘A beer for you, Brendan?’

  The photographer looked awkward. ‘Er , please, that would be grand.’

  ‘So what’s this about then?’ said Tony.

  ‘It’s Sarah, she…’

  ‘Daniel Harper,’ interrupted Sarah. ‘That’s what it’s about.’

  ‘Harper?’ Tony looked surprised. ‘What’s he got to do with anything?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Rebecca, glaring icy daggers at her friend. ‘Sarah’s got some strange ideas…’

  ‘Your cousin,’ said Sarah, ignoring the death threats being beamed at her. ‘She and Harper have been spending a bit of time together. She seems to be thinking of getting involved with him and I wanted to make sure she understands what kind of bloke he is.’

  ‘Harper?’ Tony looked at Rebecca. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’s your type.’ He opened a fresh bottle of Grolsch and turned to Sarah. ‘So what do you want from me: a fucking reference? Is that how you girls work these days, get the blokes vetted before you decide whether to shag ’em or not?’

  Sarah grimaced. ‘Not normally, no but this isn’t a very normal situation.’

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’ Tony looked askance at Rebecca. ‘Hasn’t knocked you up, has he?’

  ‘No!’ she replied angrily. ‘It’s nothing like that and, anyway… Sarah’s blowing everything way out of proportion.’

  Sarah snorted derisively. ‘Yeah, sure, he’s just acting like your average guy.’ She turned to Tony. ‘I’m not even going to try to explain the whole thing but what do you reckon about him? What sort of a man is he?’

  29. Demarcation

  Thursday, 6.03pm:

  With a conjuror’s flourish, John Harrison unfurled the map. He swept his hand across the rolled-up paper and pinned it in place with a pot of pens and some folders.

  ‘Here you go.’

  He stepped back and glanced at his audience. He had convened the meeting. Like him, the four others in the room had a variety of interests: some public knowledge, some not. They had worked together behind the scenes on a number of past occasions and all knew this current project’s potential could outstrip anything previous. There was substantial profit to be made. Unfortunately, at the moment they were stymied: the seed money was there, waiting to be spent, but the deal eluded them.

  As he caught their eyes in turn, the three men and one woman each nodded at Harrison; he had their attention, now they wanted the explanation.

  The map showed a section of the city centre. Harrison gestured at an area highlighted in red. ‘That’s it: the old Vauxhall showroom and the rest of the block. Now, on Monday night when I asked Isaiah Van Hulle about the site, he said he didn’t know anything about the place. Told me his company wasn’t interested in commercial property.’

  The woman in the group looked unhappy. She was in her mid-forties, her dark hair pulled tight back from her face into an unadorned ponytail. A slim gold chain was the only jewellery she wore; there were no rings on her fingers. She had an expression to match the severity of her look. ‘Wasn’t that risky, asking him directly? None of us want our names connected with the site; you most of all considering the role you’re supposed to be playing with the planning committee.’

  Harrison shrugged. ‘Sure, it was a bit of a gamble but I don’t think there was any real risk involved. Anyway, I wanted to see if I could draw him out. He’s a strange fish; you can never quite tell how he’s going to react. And I don’t reckon he could have read much into what I said. I just told him I knew someone who was interested in the place. If it had been true his company didn’t deal with commercial property, he wouldn’t have cared one way or the other.’

  The councillor smiled at the others. They were in an office belonging to another member of Harrison’s party. The nondescript, borrowed room was safe territory: somewhere their meeting was unlikely to be noticed.

  ‘Now, as we know, at least one party has registered an interest in the property previously. The agents didn’t seem to be proceeding but they weren’t exactly making an effort to market the place either and we had no idea who we were up against. I tried nosing around the usual suspects to find our mystery buyer but without any joy. That’s when I wondered about Van Hulle. It was a bit of a long shot but I reckon it’s hit the target.’

  Harrison shrugged. ‘And even if it’s not him directly, someone’s taken the bait. I’ve got someone in Van Hulle’s office who passes on information. I know that the morning after I spoke to him, first thing, Van Hulle’s secretary was talking to the firm handling the sale. Now, I don’t know what was said but I doubt it was just a social call. Next thing, though, the agents are asking for final offers on the place and it’s full speed ahead on a sale.’ He looked around the room. ‘Personally, I reckon Van Hulle is the one pulling the strings.’

  The woman frowned. ‘But can you be sure it was him that expressed the interest? How can we be sure he didn’t just decide to inquire about the place after you mentioned it to him and then decided it looked a good possibility?’

  Harrison laughed. ‘Hey! Come on, you know what Van Hulle’s like. He’s not exactly the impetuous type, is he? He wouldn’t have made a snap decision like that; he must have at least known about the place already.’

  The city councillor gave a sly grin. ‘And I realise he doesn’t like me but I doubt even Van Hulle would try and buy a building simply to annoy me. He wants the building himself. The question is, why?’

  ‘So tell us,’ said one of the other men. ‘What’s the Dutch bible-basher up to?’

  Harrison pulled a face. ‘Well, I can’t say for sure but, apart from what my informant’s been telling me, I’ve made a few other inquiries over the past couple of days. I wouldn’t claim to know the exact plan but it’s starting to make a bit more sense and I’ve got a theory why he might be after it.’

  He picked up a ruler and gestured at the map: a suited strategist showing how the enemy was deploying his forces. ‘Over here we’ve got the Barber Estate. The place is bad news: full of the lowest forms of life. No one with any sense wants to live in it. And those who can choose don’t want to live next to it either. But all along the old Buckland Ro
ad we’ve got that massive social housing project of Van Hulle’s. Very worthy, I’m sure, lots of nice neat flats and new terraces: the kind of places lots of young families are going to want to live.’

  Harrison’s ruler drew a rough triangle over the map.

  ‘Now, that leaves this area, Bath Street, Wilson Road and all those old Victorian houses. Sandwiched between the city centre, the railway and what used to be Buckland Road: all a bit run-down now but ripe for a bit of gentrification if you could persuade people to live there. And I reckon that’s where Van Hulle’s master plan comes in. I think he’s hoping to use his social housing to create a kind of buffer zone between the Barber Estate and this area here.’

  He jabbed at the triangle. ‘If it works, I reckon you’ll soon see property prices rising here.’

  The oldest of the three other men shook his head. ‘But how would that work? Social housing is like council housing, isn’t it? You’ll still get all the dropouts and problem tenants. It’ll be just as bad as the Barber Estate within a year or so.’

  Harrison grinned. ‘Ah, but the beauty is that it doesn’t work like that anymore. The people who run the housing might be a private company. It’s much easier for them to pick tenants. And to get rid of the ones they don’t want.’ He shrugged. ‘And even if it does go downhill in the long run, it will change the tenor of the area for a few years at least. And, if Buckland Road gets cleaned up, Bath Street and the rest of that area is suddenly going to appear much more attractive.’

  The woman nodded, looking thoughtful. ‘So, the old showroom site, you think he sees that as a long-term move?’

  Harrison nodded. ‘That’s right. Which is why, before I spoke to him the other night, nothing much was happening. He wanted the site but, with no other buyers as competition, he was in no hurry to move.’ He grinned. ‘Can’t say I blame him. After all, no point spending your money until you have to in this game.’

  The older man frowned. ‘But that makes it sound as if talking to him was a bad move then.’