by Kate Blair
I miss my dad too. But I try not to think about that.
The day lurches into evening without Galen’s return.
What’s happened to him?
It’s almost completely dark when Tig wakes again. She’s coughing hard, crying between breaths. I run to get water, but she shakes her head. She reaches for a tissue and coughs into it. Tig hands it to me, too weak to reach the bin. I make out dark stains on it. I take it to the window to catch the weak evening light.
Blood. She’s coughing up blood.
Tears flow. What am I meant to do? She lapses back into sleep and I lay my hand on her head, like Galen did. She’s unnaturally hot, like holding a mug of tea. Her pulse pounds through her skin. I try to count under my breath, but I can’t keep up.
I head to the cupboards Galen got supplies from, and swing them open. Squinting through the gloom I spot bags of herbs and a couple of bottles of pills. No labels. I can’t risk giving Tig pills without knowing what they are.
Pushing the bookcase back, I squeeze through and search the kitchen. Nothing.
I shut the cupboards. I’m as useless as I was when Rebecca died. I stand in the main flat for a long time, wondering what to do as the darkness closes in around me.
My hands clutch into fists. If Dad understood the reality of all this, surely he’d help. I can’t believe the man who sat with me, night after night, when I was injured would abandon a child like Tig.
A scratching sound catches my attention. It’s coming from my right, where the front door is. I creep toward the bookcase. I need to get back to Tig. There’s a scraping noise followed by quiet swearing on the other side of the door. Then a faint click.
Someone is picking the lock.
My heart pounds, too loud in the darkness. I shuffle across the floor, the need to be silent slowing my steps. A few feet between me and the bookcase.
Do I have time to hide?
The clunk of the doorknob. Hinges creak.
“Shh,” someone says.
“He’s out,” says a second whisperer.
“Could be hiding that politician chick. She asked for him on her way in.”
I hold my breath. Muted footsteps. A circle of light bobs along the hallway wall, but it’s still pitch black in the sitting room. I back toward the bookcase, reach behind me, and find the edge of it with my fingers. The light sweeps across the sitting room floor and I freeze.
Surely they saw me.
I’m not breathing. What will they do if they find me? I scan the room for a weapon. But there are only books within reach.
I have to move.
The light flashes around the walls, over the couch. One of the men drops down and shines it underneath.
Now is my chance. I move fast, squeezing behind the bookcase, flinching at the slight sound of my steps. The circle of light advances into the center of the room. Did they hear that?
“No one here. Check the other rooms.”
I close my eyes for a moment. Thank goodness.
But I’m not safe. The bookcase is still away from the wall. The gap visible behind it.
How am I going to move it back into place?
Perhaps they won’t notice. It’s so dark in here, and their lights leave deep shadows. Maybe they won’t come close.
“I’ll start searching the kitchen. That’s probably where he keeps the meds.”
I swallow. If they’re looking for Galen’s drugs they’ll turn this place upside down.
I have to move the bookcase.
I reach for the handle in the back and pull. There’s a creak. I pause, breath held.
Footsteps from the corridor, coming back to the sitting room. A voice, no longer whispering. “All clear.”
“Good. Let’s get to it.” Then comes the clatter of kitchen cabinets, the sound of crockery clinking.
Inch by inch I drag the bookcase back into place, glad that the scraping is covered by the noise the intruders are making. As soon as it’s against the wall, I collapse against it.
More clatter from outside. The sound of smashing. I hurry to Tig’s bed.
She’s still breathing, thank God.
But it’s shallow, slow. And she doesn’t wake even as the clamor of the burglars grows louder, grows closer to the bookcase.
What am I going to do if they get in here? My fight with Galen’s friends showed how pathetic I am. They probably ran off because they only meant to scare me in the first place.
There’s a large, ceramic plant pot nearby. I scoop it up. I can swing it against a head, if they come in here. If I time it just right. But I don’t know what I’ll do about the second man.
The noise continues.
After a while I sit down, still clutching the pot in one arm. I stroke Tig’s hair with the other, hoping she won’t wake. She’s damp with sweat. I pray they don’t move the bookcase. Pray Tig doesn’t cry out in her sleep. I want to cover my ears as the sound of smashing gets closer. A hollow, wooden sound makes me jump. They’re on the other side of the bookcase, checking the shelves. I stare into the darkness, pot raised and ready.
But after a long time there’s swearing, then the flat outside grows quiet again. I hold on to the pot for a long time before lowering it to the ground. I close my eyes and cry, feeling useless, trying to sob silently. After a long while, the tears dry up and the exhaustion of the last few days consumes me.
I awake with a jolt. The bookcase is scraping back. I fumble in the darkness for the pot.
“Tig! Talia!” Galen’s voice is breathless.
“We’re here!” I’m so glad it’s him. I’m about to say we’re okay. But we’re not.
“What happened?” Galen bursts in, clutching a torch. He shines it in my face and I blink.
“People broke in. Looking for medicine.”
“But they didn’t find you? You’re all right?”
“Tig’s much worse. She was coughing up blood.”
The torch’s glare moves from my eyes and I’m blind for a second. Then Tig’s pale face appears in the oval of light. Galen rushes to her side and puts a hand on her head.
“How long has she been like this?”
“Hours. Most of the day. Where have you been?”
“There was so much to do. I wanted to get back. I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was this bad.” He picks up her wrist and looks at his watch, counting.
“128.” He swings his bag from his shoulder, and pulls out a y-shaped tube. He puts two ends into his ears and presses a metal circle against her chest, under her clothes. I watch his profile, intent on his sister. His Adam’s apple bobs. I want to ask what’s wrong with her, but he holds his finger to his lips as he listens, then swears.
“Get some water,” he says, reaching in his bag.
When I get back with the cup, Galen sits Tig up. She’s limp, but he shakes her. Her eyes open slowly and focus on me.
“Mum?” she says.
I reach out, pat her hand. “Sorry, sweetheart; it’s me, Talia.”
Her eyes are closing again.
“Swallow this, Tig.” Galen lifts a pill to her lips, and I pass the cup. Once the pill has gone he lowers her. She’s already asleep.
Galen points back at the bookcase, and we head through into the main room. His light roams around the flat and I gasp at the devastation. The sofa cushions have been slashed. Broken crockery spills out of the kitchen. The sideboard has been smashed to pieces.
Galen shakes his head.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” I say. “You were gone so long, I worried …”
He gives me a smile. “And I’m glad you’re okay too.”
We look at each other for a minute. I want to reach out for him. But now isn’t the time.
“What’s wrong with Tig?”
He pauses. “I think it’s pneumonia.”
I know that one’s bad. You have to go to Quarantine. People die of it.
“Will that pill help?”
“That’s just a painkiller. It’ll bring h
er temperature down. It’s not enough. We need antibiotics. But my suppliers are all out.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I can give her water, try to keep her fever down for now. But she needs real help.”
His eyes are glistening, only half his face visible in the torchlight.
“Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. “We need to get you out of the Barbican. It’s getting worse.”
“I don’t want to leave Tig.”
“You don’t have to.” He kicks at a piece of mug. “The deadline for the raid is tomorrow afternoon. There are army vans gathering all around the estate. As soon as they break through, you should take Tig to them. They’ll take care of you both.”
I’m about to say they’ll put her in a home. But it’s clear from his face he knows it.
“Her only chance is antibiotics,” he says.
“Or the Transfer.”
A bitter laugh. “And possibly kill another person? She wouldn’t want that. Anyway, with us criminals all locked up here, the waitlist is too long.”
His head is hanging. Once the army gets hold of him, they’ll put him in Quarantine. He may never see her again. But he’s right. It’s her only chance.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BARBICAN, LONDON
ONE DAY LEFT
GALEN AND I FALL asleep propped up against Tig’s bed. He’s snoring in minutes, his warmness comforting as he slumps against me. I listen to them both breathe, hoping Tig will make it. Hoping tomorrow won’t be too late.
I wake as the sun comes through the windows. The greenery tangles my senses, and for a moment I think I’m in a forest. Galen’s head is resting against my neck, his breath soft on my skin. I can see his mouth, his stubble, his expression so open, so at peace.
I ease his limp form to the ground. He murmurs, but doesn’t wake as I lie him down and turn to Tig. I put a hand to her forehead and her eyelids flutter, but don’t open. She’s just as hot. The pill didn’t work, or wore off.
She needs those antibiotics now.
But there are still hours to go and I can’t sit still, can’t wait for the two of them to wake. I move the bookcase softly and creep into the other flat. I find some bin bags under the sink and start picking up the mess in the sitting room. It’s probably a waste of time. Who knows what the army will do to this flat? I put anything I think could be mended on the table.
This place is so different to my home. The penthouse doesn’t even feel real anymore. It’s become a vision of heaven. Clean, warm, luxurious. Has Dad been back there? Does he worry about where I am, or is he relieved to have me out of the way?
I’ve made a lot of headway when Galen appears through the gap in the bookcase.
“Wow,” he says. “Did you do all this while I was asleep?”
“Just wanted to be useful. I noticed how clean the flat was before.” I reach for a shard of broken plate.
“Thanks. Mum was a maid, so she was particular about cleaning. It wore off on me.”
I drop the fragment into the bag and straighten. “What happened to her? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Knocked down by a car on the way home five years ago.” His voice has a catch in it. “Guy who hit her had good lawyers, said it was a mistake — he wasn’t a real criminal and he deserved a second chance. He only got a stomach bug. The rich always get off lightly.”
I don’t know what to say as Galen continues. I had a good lawyer too.
“It’s one law for them, one for us. They need an underclass to be permanently sick. So we don’t make ‘mistakes’ like they do. They call us evil, criminals. No second chances.”
“Everyone deserves a second chance.”
“And the rich get them. But young black men from the Barbican don’t. We don’t even get first chances. Most people assume we must be sick as soon as they see us and cross the road.”
He’s got a point. Employers won’t touch Barbican residents. Even if they have no record. They assume they’re guilty of something, they just haven’t been caught yet.
And I made that assumption when I saw Galen’s trainers.
“I never thought about that.”
“You never had to. They want people with nice addresses — and phone numbers, so they can call them in at short notice.”
“Phone numbers?”
“The phone companies won’t install landlines here. And we can’t afford mobiles. Do you know how much those cost?”
I actually don’t. Dad pays my bill.
Galen continues. “Most people don’t understand stuff like that. They haven’t been here. Sebastian Conway has.”
“He’s been here?”
“Met the people. Listened to the stories. He wants to help. And when he took over the Democratic Justice Party, it gave us all hope. But then your father’s party started gaining in the polls.”
I bite my lip. “I … I don’t support him anymore. Dad, I mean.” I feel guilty saying it, like I’m betraying him. “I know that doesn’t count for much, but it’s the truth. I still love him, but I want Sebastian Conway to win.”
“He’s your father,” Galen says. “It counts for a lot. And it means something to me.”
“He’s not a bad man. It started with him wanting to prevent what happened to Mum and Rebecca happening to anyone else. But somewhere along the line it became about revenge.”
We look at each other for a long time. His green eyes are intent on mine. Then he takes a deep breath. “I’d better get Tig another painkiller.”
We head back through the gap. Galen tries to wake Tig, but she’s beyond drowsy. She can’t open her eyes for more than a few seconds. It takes a long time to get her to swallow her pill. Once she’s lying back on the bed, Galen paces the leafy room like a tiger.
“The antibiotics will help, won’t they?” I ask.
“Maybe. But the sooner she gets them the better,” Galen says, stopping by Tig’s bed. “I’ll borrow a stretcher, and together with a couple of my mates we can get her downstairs, but then we’ll have to hide and you’ll be on your own.”
“What mates?”
“I’ll message Gazzer.”
“Gazzer? Where have I heard that name?”
Galen avoids my eyes and strokes his sister’s forehead. “You punched him.”
“No. Not him.”
“He’s one of my best friends,” Galen says. “I’d trust him with my life.”
“And that guy with the neck tattoo? I saw him on TV shouting at the police. He’s crazy.”
“Yeah, Reece is a bit nuts at times. Tyler will help too.”
I swallow. “I can’t imagine they’re fans of mine.”
“Nah. Definitely not.” He meets my gaze. “But Gazzer’ll take care of you and Tig. Trust me.”
“I trust you. It’s him I’m worried about.”
The raid deadline is this afternoon, so the boys are coming over before it kicks off, while it’s still safe for them to travel across the estate. We spend the morning waiting. People come to the door and I hide behind the bookcase, listening to Galen explain he has to stay with Tig, listen to him give advice, bandages, and painkillers.
When it’s quiet, we sit together by his sister’s bed. Sometimes talking, sometimes silent. I keep catching his eye, accidentally. I want to reach out for him, to feel his breath on my neck again, but I don’t know what to say.
After a while Galen heads into the other room. He comes back with a bag and hands it to me.
“You’d better get ready,” he says. I peer into it. There are my clothes. The red jumper and tweed skirt I arrived in, cleaned. I head into the bedroom in the main flat, get changed and tidy my hair.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door.
“Come in,” I say, and Galen enters.
He looks me up and down. “Yup, that’s the Talia Hale the army will recognize.”
“Are your friends here yet?”
“Nah. But at least I get a chance to thank you.” He walks
over, takes both my hands. “I appreciate this.” His gaze is hard on me, his hands warm around mine. “It’s Tig’s best chance.”
“It’s nothing.” I can’t look away. “After all I’ve put you through, it’s the least I can do.”
“You’ve been trying to help.”
“And where did it get you? All this is my fault. Are you sure you still trust me to help?”
Galen leans forward. I’m breathless as his face grows close. But he whispers in my ear.
“I trust you,” he says. Then he pulls back, slowly, the soft stubble of his cheek against my skin, until his lips are an inch away. I can’t stand it anymore, and I lean in and kiss him.
His lips are softer than I’d imagined. He drops my hands, and pulls me close, an arm tight around my waist. For a moment, there’s only him. The brush of his skin, the scent of him.
That’s when the doorbell rings.
“Damn,” he says, his mouth still close against mine.
Galen gives me a smile as I pull away, then goes to answer the door.
I stand for a moment, feeling the tingling though my body.
Deep voices from the hall. Laughter. I hurry to join Galen, feeling awake — fully awake — for the first time in longer than I can remember.
It’s the guys. Galen exchanges complicated handshakes with them as they enter the flat. I wonder if I’m blushing.
“Talia,” Galen says. “Gazzer, Reece, and Tyler.”
The guys stare at me.
“She’ll get Tig to the army. It’s well simple. Help her get Tig down the stairs, but stay out of sight. Talia’ll get help from the squaddies.” Galen speaks with more of an East London accent with them.
The guys still stare at me. I stare back, still stuck in the moment, in the kiss, the feeling of being alive.
It’s almost a relief when the noises start. Helicopters, shouts, and screams. Smashing glass. Bang on time. The boys flinch, and without a word we head to the balcony and lean over. I see Galen clutch the edge so tight his knuckles turn white. I’m not surprised.
It’s an invasion.
The main barricade must be down, because there are camouflage uniforms streaming into the Barbican from the direction of London Wall. There’s a group of residents standing shoulder to shoulder in the courtyard and, as the soldiers approach them, they toss flaming bottles that explode when they hit the ground. Petrol bombs. But the army keeps coming behind, holding their riot shields in front of them, almost dancing on the spot to put the flames out, helped by a couple of soldiers following with fire extinguishers. Smoke bursts out in patches by the residents, then they’re running away, hands over their eyes. Tear gas. They’re helping each other. Arms pulled over shoulders. An injured man carried between three people.
