From the outside, the block was like the ones I’d seen. There were the usual damp-stained walls and broken, boarded-over windows, and the usual knot of dirty, red-eyed kids round the doorway. It was when I got through the doorway things started to get heavy.
I mentioned a smell before – the one that was strong in some places and faint in others. Well, that was the first things that hit me, and I do mean hit. I was in a dim lobby with a cement floor and rough plaster walls that were covered with graffiti. In front of me was a flight of cement stairs and an elevator. I could tell by just looking at it the elevator hadn’t worked in a long, long time. The floor felt sticky under my shoes and there were puddles and piles of trash in corners. I nearly gagged on the smell. The kids, squealing and chattering, had come in after me. Their voices echoed in the bleak lobby and they plucked at my clothes.
‘Daz,’ I asked. ‘Does Daz live here?’ A small boy jerked his head toward the stairs, ‘free up.’
‘Thanks.’
The half-landing windows were boarded up so the stairway was dark and I kept stepping on squashy things I couldn’t see. There seemed to be four apartments on the first floor, but only one had a door, so maybe the others were unoccupied. On the next floor two apartments had doors. A fierce-sounding dog threw itself against the inside of one just as I was passing.
All of the third-floor apartments had doors. I stopped by one that had the number eleven painted on it, and knocked. Some of the kids had followed me up. They stood on the stairs, watching me through rusty iron rails. I heard footsteps, and a voice, suspicious, called, ‘Yeah?’ I knew that voice.
‘It’s me, Daz. Zoe.’ A bolt scraped, the door flew open and we were in each other’s arms.
We were in a little hallway that had the same cement floor as the landing outside, only cleaner. Not clean, but cleaner. The walls had once been yellow, but damp must’ve got in, and now the paint was curled and blistered and flakes of it lay on the floor. There was a smell like toadstools. Four doors led off this hallway, one in front of me and three on my left. The one straight ahead was open and led to a kitchen. When Daz closed the outer door the only light came from there.
Daz took my hand and led me to the last door on the left. As he opened it he called out, ‘Hey, Mam, look – we got a visitor.’ The forced cheerfulness was transparent and I felt like I was walking into an ogre’s lair.
Scattered across the floor were bits and pieces of matting and threadbare carpet. Apart from these the room contained only an iron stove whose chimney went out through a window, and two chairs, one each side of the stove. The chairs were saggy, colourless armchairs and in one of them sat a woman who might have been made to match. With a son like Daz she couldn’t have been much more than forty-five, but she looked at least seventy. She was wearing a lumpy green cardigan over a black, turtleneck sweater and a long grey skirt with a ragged hem. Her thin legs were bare except for blue ankle socks and her feet were encased in what looked like a man’s broken boots. Grey hair hung in greasy rat-rails to her shoulders. White bony fingers gripped the armrests of her chair and she gazed at her son with lustreless eyes.
‘Visitor? What you on about, our Daz? Who is it?’
‘I’m Zoe, Mrs -.’ I broke off. I didn’t know her name. I’d run away from home to be with someone whose name I didn’t even know.
Daz said, ‘This is Zoe, Mam. She’s a – she’s from Silverdale. She’ll be staying here awhile.’
‘Staying?’ The woman leaned forward. ‘A Subby lass, staying here? Have you gone barmy, lad? D’you want to get us both topped? How’d she get out of Silverdale anyway?’
‘Under a trashtruck,’ I said. ‘I rode out under a trash truck.’
‘Aye, and what you done, that’s what I’d like to know. What they want you for in Silverdale, eh?’
‘Nothing. I haven’t done anything, Mrs-. I ran away to be with Daz.’
‘Daz? What’s our Daz got to do with you?’ She looked at her son.
‘Only one reason Subbies run. They done something, see? DS wants ’em. She stays here, place’ll be crawling with lornorders ‘fore you can turn round. Get her out of here, son. Get rid of her.’
Daz looked from me to her. ‘I can’t, Mam. Where’s she supposed to go – out on the street? Anyway, I love her.’
‘Love?’ The woman laughed wheezily. ‘You telling me you fell for a Subby girl after what they did to our Del? Forgot, did you?’
He shook his head. ‘No, Mam. I didn’t forget. I’ve never forgotten our Del, have I? Wanted to join Dred and get ’em back, only you weren’t that keen, were you?’
‘Huh! Wouldn’t have you now, though, would they? Subby-lover they’d call you, and they’d be right. Anyway she can’t stay here. I want no raids on this house, we’ve trouble enough.’
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking this old lady’s hospitality stinks, but she was right. They execute Chippies who harbour fugitives or kidnap people, and I’d come here thoughtlessly, expecting to be taken in. I realised now what I’d done, and if there’d been anywhere else for me to go – anywhere at all – I’d have walked out, but there wasn’t. Death was waiting outside, and so I had to stand there while Daz and his mother fought over me.
In the end they compromised. The old lady said that since it was dark now I’d better stay till morning. Daz winked at me. I guess he thought his mother would relent tomorrow and everything would be fine. I wasn’t so sure.
With that and missing my family, I’d have spent a lousy night if they’d put me in a feather bed. A damp mattress on the floor and a coat to cover me left me no chance. My feet were like chilled mutton and I think I cried all night.
Barraclough, their name is. The old lady told me at breakfast. She’s different in the mornings because that’s when she pops her pill. She’s got something Chippies call the dulleye, which I guess is depression, and she’s on pills for it.
Breakfast was at 8 a.m. It was hot, watery coffee and hard bread. Daz and his mother dunked their bread in the coffee so I did too. Afterwards Daz told me the bread was a special treat because I was there – usually they just have the coffee.
They don’t talk over breakfast, the Barracloughs. I sat there trying to eat wet bread without slurping, saying Darren Barraclough over and over in my head. Darren Barraclough. I like it. I think it has a ring to it. I needed to find things I liked that morning.
They don’t talk over breakfast, but we talked straight after. The old lady’s pill saved me from having to leave right away but it didn’t blunt her sense of reality. She started asking me questions. Did my parents know anything about Daz. What did I say to them when I left the house. Had I left a note. What time yesterday would they have started to worry. When would they have known I was definitely missing. What would they do then. Had I relatives or friends in Silverdale I might be with. In other suburbs. Would they get the police in right away. What did I think they’d think had happened to me.
I did my best to answer. She and Daz knew the authorities would be looking for me, and that sooner or later they’d widen their search to include the city. I said, ‘The city’s a big place to find one person in. Surely if I stay indoors till they get tired looking it’ll be okay?’
Daz shook his head. ‘You were seen, Zoe, yesterday. The kids you told me about, and them downstairs. Others. You were dirty from the dump but even the little kids had you sussed. Lornorders pay for information and there’s a lot of hungry people out there. Soon as the law comes sniffing around, someone’ll finger you.’
Then what can we do, Daz? What do I do? I don’t want to bring the police down on you, but I don’t know any place outside of Silverdale other than this.’
‘I know. Listen. I have to go out for a while. See a guy.’ He stood, pulling on his jacket. ‘I’ve got an idea but I don’t know if I can swing it. You stay here with Mam and don’t even stick your nose outside.’ He turned in the doorway, grinning. ‘And if you hear a fan, stay away from the window.’<
br />
DAZ
Zoe wiv me now and evryfing shoud be grate but is not. i watch her in the partmen. she lucking at fings and i can see she dont lykem. any ovver Subby i be glad, fink ah well now you see how it is but not wiv Zoe. i wish ther coud be somfing Zoe lyke but we got noffing. i always new that but it never feal so bad lyke now. i fink if Subbys’d let her back she go and i never see her again. i howld her hand and she make a littel smile but not happy.
Oh Zoe i do anifing 2 make you happy. wolk a fousan myle. slap Cal mouf.
anifing.
ZOE
So there I was, alone with the old lady. The pill was working and she was okay with me, but still and all I knew I wasn’t welcome and that’s a bad feeling.
I thought the stuff I’d brought might make it better so I got my anorak and emptied the pockets on to the table. She sat and watched, saying nothing. I’d hoped her face might light up or something but it didn’t. When everything was on the table I said, ‘This stuff’s for you. I hope you can use it.’ She looked at it for a minute and then she said, ‘Is this all you brought?’ I felt a stab of anger. Here I was trying to be friends with her, giving her stuff she’d probably never seen in her life and all she could do was criticise because I hadn’t brought more. I looked at her, ‘What d’you mean, all? Can you get stuff like this, even in small quantities?’
She shook her head. ‘Didn’t mean that, girl. This house never saw such goodies. What I mean is, where’s your clothes? Shoes? The stuff you’re wearing won’t last forever, y’know, and you can’t just go to the store and buy more like you could in Silverdale.’ She nodded at the food and things. ‘You better hang on to that – it’ll get you strong shoes and a change of underwear, but you’d have done better to bring them along in the first place.’
She really put me down. I’d planned to offer my little store of cash, too, but she’d only tell me I was going to need it, which was true. ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I had to leave in a hurry. I had no time to plan, but I thought it’d be nice to bring along some of the stuff you can’t get here, that’s all’
To my surprise she leant across the table and squeezed my arm. ‘It was a nice thought, only -.’ Tears glittered in the creases at the corners of her eyes. ‘Can you imagine my face with lipstick? This face? And what’s the use of being clean and smelling nice for a week if you’ve got to go back to -.’
She broke off and got up, gathering the three chipped mugs. I followed her out to the kitchen. I know it’s silly, but I expected she’d run hot water into the sink, squirt in some washing-up liquid, wash the mugs and hand them over hot and steamy for me to wipe.
There was a sink. A stainless steel one, but like the elevator you only had to see it to know it hadn’t been used in a long time. Its taps were dry and rusted and a foul smell rose from its drain. On a worktop beside it stood a battered plastic bucket with water in it. The water looked grey and scummy and Mrs Barraclough did the mugs in it, dipping them quickly and standing them upside down on the drainer. I looked around for something to wipe with and she said, ‘Leave ’em, they’ll dry.’
‘Where d’you get the water?’ I asked.
‘Raintank on the roof.’
‘But it doesn’t come through your taps?’
‘No. Folks’d waste it if it did. You gotta go up for it.’
‘Can I get some now?’
‘No. You heard Daz. You gotta stay out of sight, and anyway we’ve got our ration for today.’
‘That?’ I nodded at the bucket.
‘That for washing. This to drink.’ She opened a sliding door under the sink to reveal a second bucket, threequarters full. For some reason it reminded me I needed to go to the John. I mentioned it and she said ‘Well – I was beginning to think Subbies must’ve found a way to do without. Second door.’
Oh, you needn’t worry. I’m not going to dwell on it. If I tell you the Barracloughs have three plastic buckets in all, you’ve probably got the picture.
When I returned to the kitchen, she’d left it, and I was about to go back to the living room when I heard a familiar sound. I looked out the window, leaning across the sink to do it. There were high buildings all round so you couldn’t see much sky, but the noise grew and I saw a fan go over, low. I ducked back, though the window was so dirty I doubt a pigeon on the sill could’ve seen me. As the fan’s engine faded I heard a siren not far off and a minute later a copcar went by, travelling fast.
The old lady was back in her armchair. The pill must’ve been wearing off because she glowered at me as I came in the room.
‘Hear that?’ She nodded toward the street. ‘They’re looking for you, girl. If that boy don’t hurry you’re back in Silverdale and we’re dead.’
I couldn’t think of anything to say. I sat in the other chair and we stared at the stove, avoiding each other’s eyes.
DAZ
wots the rottenest feeling?
scairt? no
hungry? no
cold? no
loanly? no
sick? no
ashamed ov yor mower, ashamed ov yor hoam. thats wot.
i tecka big chanse go up the school see Mister James. I disser pointim but he like me just the same. hes teeching. i wayt. braketyme he coms owt sez wot you doing hear Barraclough you xpelt. i com rite owt wiv it. you in FAIR Mister James i sez.
he goes wite. goes shush. lucks all rownd. howd you know that he sez. i larf. fings, i sez. fings you say fings you do. just then a fan coms over lo and he damnear fills his pants.
wot you want he sez. mebbe he finks i com 2 black male him or somfing.
want you 2 hyde some 1 i sez.
hide some 1 he sez. hoo.
girl i sez. Subby girl. name dont matter.
Subby girl he sez. i cant hyde no subby girl. thay catch me, i get kickowt Silverdale. Mister James liv in Silverdale come 2 town 5 daze a weak.
you wont get court i sez. lornoders wont luck in school cos you Subby.
thay mite he sez. thay know i’m sim pafetick.
if you sim pafetick i sez you hyde her. Mam and me get topt if you dont. i hear copcar syren, gotta get back.
okay he sez bring her after dark i do wot i can but i cant hyde her long. a day or 2 at moast. fanks Mister James i sez.
going hoam i seen abowt 6 copcars plus the fan. fan gotta speeka on it. lornorder tell frou the speeka how Subby girl missing. hare color. wot cloaths she got on. all lyke that. big reward 4 any 1 turn her in or giv informashun.
i go faster. You fink abowt gerrin topt, you go faster 2.
ZOE
We must’ve sat the best part of an hour, listening. It’s amazing how sound travels. The guys in the fan kept moving from place to place, hovering to do their spiel about me. They got closer and closer till the tinny voice seemed to be directly over us, then moved off. I felt a little better as the noise receded, but no matter where they went we could still hear them, and of course we both realised that at this very moment somebody – one of the kids from last night – might be leading a bunch of cops here. When footfalls sounded on the stairs we tensed up and our eyes met across the cold stove, and when the outer door opened I half-rose ready to run, though I don’t know where I thought I’d run to.
It was Daz. He closed the room door and leaned against it, breathing hard.
‘They’re everywhere,’ he gasped. ‘In the sky, on the ground, underground for all I know. You’d think it was a king they were looking for.’
His mother looked at him. ‘Any in this building?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Couple of cars in the next street.’ He turned to me. ‘Come on – I know a place you can hide till they’ve gone.’
I followed him out of the room, out of the apartment and down the twilit stairs. ‘Daz,’ I whispered. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Basement,’ he said.
We passed the doorway we came in last night and went on down. It was totally dark and knee-deep in trash and it stank. Daz switched on a flashlight
and led me toward an enormous old furnace. In the dark above it, pipes filled the ceiling space like spaghetti, but the air was cold and dank and I knew nobody had stoked this furnace in years. I knew what Daz had in mind too, and it crossed my mind that this wasn’t exactly the most original hiding place ever devised. In fact if I was a cop, it’d be one of the first places I’d look.
I’d underestimated him. He didn’t open the door and tell me to get in. The furnace stood on a brick base, very close to the wall: so close that when he shone his torch on it I noticed that whoever had limewashed the walls down here back in the good old days hadn’t been able to get at this section, which was black and greasy and furred with cobwebs.
‘Halfway along there,’ he said, ‘there’s a hole in the base. It’s a crawlspace, goes right in under the furnace.’ He chuckled. ‘I used to hide from our mam in there. I know it’s not so nice, Zoe, but I want you to wait in there till I come back for you.’
He was right. It wasn’t nice. I had to scrape along sideways and by the time I reached the hole my damp face was caked with cobwebs and flakes of rust and my hair was an old mop, stiff with dirt.
Under the furnace was horrible. Pitch black and horrible. I won’t go on about it. I forced myself not to think about spiders and black beetles and thought about Daz as a little boy, hiding here from his mother. I wondered whether his brother Del had come here too, but that started me thinking about ghosts so I shook my head and thought about something else.
The cops came, eventually. I heard them on the stairs, then at the foot of the stairs where they paused to voice their disgust as flashlights showed the dirt they’d have to wade through in their shiny boots. I hoped it’d put them off: that their search would be perfunctory. I hoped one of them wouldn’t turn out to be a Sherlock Holmes, the sort of guy who’d notice torn cobwebs and scuffmarks in the dirt. I doubted it. My hidey-hole was a good one.
Daz 4 Zoe Page 10
