No Alarms

by Beckett, Bernard

  Simon stopped at a narrow footbridge. A small stream ran darkly beneath it, protected from the streetlights by thick willows on either side. Across the bridge the path ended in neatly mown properties that extended right down to the water. Simon leant against the railing and lit a cigarette, staring at Sharon like he was expecting her to do something stupid.

  ‘Property’s over there,’ he muttered, nodding to the right. ‘Second along. You stay here.’ You, because he’d never be bothered learning her name. ‘All you got to do is make sure no one comes over the bridge. Got it?’

  Sharon nodded. Yeah, she got it, sort of. What, but not how. How were you meant to do that, if someone came along and they wanted through? But she knew she couldn’t ask. That was the whole point. The test they were giving her. So she stared straight back at them, like it was the easiest thing in the world, and hoped no one would come past.

  ‘Right then.’ Simon turned to Justin. ‘You got that lighter?’

  Justin nodded and they moved off, like that was all the explanation he needed. Like they did this every night, or Simon had already told him what was happening. Sharon watched their two dark figures run crouched along the other side of the stream, melting into the shadows of carefully arranged lawns, so you wouldn’t know they were there. Not unless you were straining your eyes, trying not to lose them.

  Then they were gone and Sharon was left with nothing to watch but the rain. Not proper wetting rain, the sort that would keep people indoors, well away from the bridge. Light misty rain that hesitated in the streetlights and fell so lightly on your face it felt like sweat. Sharon looked at her watch. She wondered how long it would take, whatever it was they were doing. Maybe until she got sick of waiting. She knew it had to be a chance, that they were sitting somewhere drier now, watching her. Just so they could see what she’d do, when someone came along. It didn’t matter though, if that was what it took to be a part of it. There were worse things they could have asked.

  It would be a dog. An old guy with a big dozy looking thing, across the road, coming out of the mist. Just the sort of dog they’d have, in their houses out on the other side. Just the sort of reason you’d need, to be out on a night like this. Once round the block in your big grey coat, so the animal would get a chance to shit, well away from the grounds the gardener had worked so hard on. They were too, coming straight at her. The guy looked up, his eyes checking her out, to see whether it was worth wasting a smile. Sharon avoided looking back, just shifted out so she was blocking the whole bridge, hoping that would be enough to send him around the long way. He didn’t have the sort of face that looked used to making detours. Too straight on his shoulders, no sign he was even thinking of backing down.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  Said nice and loud. Not as old as she’d first thought either, now she could see him close up. Sharon didn’t move.

  ‘We just need past.’

  ‘Sorry, bridge is closed,’ Sharon replied, getting just enough ‘fuck you’ into her voice to make him hesitate.

  ‘I beg your pardon. Don’t be ridiculous. Move aside. I need to get through.’

  No asking why, no thinking she might be anything more to him than a nuisance.

  ‘I’m not moving,’ Sharon said, not feeling any of the nerves anymore, not now it was happening. She hoped they were watching, both of them, with a good close up view of her calm-as face. ‘So really you got no choice. Piss off.’

  He looked at her properly then, for the first time. Age, weight, considering his chances. And the dog was looking more interested too, like some smell had woken him. The smell of trouble most like. It gave a low growl and the man tightened his grip on the chain.

  ‘Look, you really should move off. My dog is very protective and I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Sharon said. She had to work to deliberately slow herself down, as she reached into her back pocket and produced her knife. Nothing flashy, just opening it up in front of him so he could see the extent of the blade.

  ‘Bridge is still closed and you’re still going to have to fuck off.’

  Sharon watched him closely. He’d been bluffing the whole time. Full of shit the way they all were, people like that. His back foot moved away first, as his head went down and he turned, and Sharon felt the thrill of power. Just a little bridge sure, but there wasn’t anyone getting over it while she was there.

  ‘I’m going straight to call the police you know. I’ve got a good description.’

  But the way he said it, hurrying away as quickly as he could, it didn’t sound too dangerous.

  • • •

  He’d barely gone when the sound of smashing glass dragged Sharon’s attention back to the other side of the stream. She stared hard at the point where she’d seen them last and they appeared on cue. Not running but not walking either, same controlled pace, keeping tight against the shadows. Only now the shadows were different, more alive. They were on the bridge before she realised what was doing it, light from flames, just a small patch ripping up to the sky from a side window. Then they were past her, moving faster than she’d realised, so soon her lungs were burning, just keeping up with them. By the time the shouts started they were well out of there, two blocks away easy and working back up along the stream, the last direction they’d think of coming, if anyone was chasing them.

  ‘You know how to get back from here?’ was the only thing that was said after that. Simon asked it, ten minutes later when they’d worked their way back down to the train tracks, two and a half stations up the line. Sharon nodded and that was it, they were walking away. Just like professionals would do it, half of her thought, watching them walk away. The other half thought how it might have been good if they’d invited her back to their place, or one of them had asked her if anything had happened on the bridge. She so much wanted to tell it. Or they could have said, ‘well done’. That might have been good too.

  five

  IT WAS AFTER TWELVE when Sharon got home, back to the house which seemed smaller now, with thoughts of strangers’ dogs and fire inside her head. She didn’t try to sleep, just lay there on top of her bed, her mind full of thoughts that were once impossible; of who it was, who’d had their house scorched, of how much money all this would lead to, of handing in her assignment, because she’d promised she would, and Trish telling her how good it was. She didn’t even take off her wet clothes. This was a night she needed to cling to. She left the bedroom door open, so she’d hear the phone when Justin rang to check if she was alright, or tell her how impressed Simon had been.

  He didn’t though, and somewhere in the night her excitement turned to dreams. She woke to the musty smell of her not-dried clothes and the feeling of not having slept properly. It was late, because Zinny had slept in and when that happened the house stayed quiet. The shower was still half cold. Some man of Kaz’s had turned the thermostat down, trying to be helpful, and now they couldn’t find it to turn it up again. There was no bread left for toast and Kaz had run out of cigarettes, or hidden them. It seemed wrong, that such an important night could have given way to such a normal morning.

  Sharon hurried to school, determined to make Geography on time, just to mark this day out as different. They were taken through to the AV room to watch a video on volcanoes and while other students scribbled down notes on the back of their photocopied worksheets, Sharon made another list on hers. Lists were good.

  The ten most importint things I need to by, when I get pade:

  New cloths The old ones were okay, for the old Sharon, but it’s important to move on.

  Carton of cigarettes Scabbing smokes is for hardup people.

  New Stereo Something big, so the naybours know I’m there.

  New CD’s For the stereo. Some weird stuff too, like Justins got.

  New microwave Might get into some cooking.

  Toy gun for Zinny One of those big meaty pump water pistles the other kids have.

  Haircut Sick of the shit Kaz’s friend
Michelle does to it.

  Sumthin nice for Kaz I still owe her, some ways.

  Suround sound for the TV Great for videos.

  Ticket outta here Just you watch me.

  She folded it carefully and put it in her bum pocket. On the way to form time she passed Justin in the corridor. She didn’t say anything, just smiled, and he smiled back, slipping her a note as they passed, so cool about it she hardly knew it had happened. She slipped it next to her list and read it when she got to her home room.

  Pines, Spell 4

  Typical, he’d make her wait till then, but Sharon knew that didn’t matter. He hadn’t ignored her, and she’d done her job. It was a good waiting day. They had English spell three and when Trish walked round at the end, asking for the assignments, Sharon pulled out hers, a bit crumpled now after a day in her bag, but still looking flash, all typed out. She wasn’t the only one making more than the usual effort. Maybe two thirds of the class were putting their papers on the pile and those who didn’t weren’t bothering with the usual excuses. Even Junior had something on his desk.

  ‘Thanks Sharon,’ Trish said as Sharon handed it to her, nothing special, she was thanking them all, but still Sharon blushed, like she’d been caught out, shamed in front of everyone.

  Spell four finally arrived and Justin got straight into it when she got there, none of the usual messing about with small talk and cigarettes.

  Because this is different. Everything is different now.

  ‘You did alright,’ was the first thing he said, like he knew it was the most important thing of all. Sharon felt a smile at the bottom of her stomach, spreading up so quickly she had to fight it from wiping out the new hard look she was trying to teach her face.

  ‘Did it all go as planned then?’ Sharon asked.

  ‘Pretty much,’ Justin replied, and then, before she could break her promise and ask about the money, ‘here, this is for you.’

  He produced a white envelope and Sharon felt her hands start to shake as she took it. She didn’t open it though, it was right not to, she could tell. She folded it in two and added it to the collection in her back pocket.

  ‘Don’t spend it all straight off,’ Justin said. ‘It’ll look suss.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ Sharon asked, because she couldn’t help herself.

  ‘Like what?’ Justin said, and there was enough Simon in his voice to warn her off.

  ‘Just, well, if you need me again, you know. Let me know eh?’

  ‘Depends on what happens eh?’ Justin said, standing to leave. ‘You did well though.’

  He gave her a smile and for a second the other Justin, the real Justin, showed through the cracks, like inside a light had been switched on. Deliberate, Sharon decided, as she watched him walk away.

  Yeah, could do worse than be saved by Justin.

  • • •

  As soon as Justin’d gone Sharon opened the envelope and counted her money. Four hundred dollars exactly, in $20 notes. That was what professionals did, always paid up on time, no questions asked. She put the money back in her pocket and just knowing it was there made her walk more lightly, like the world was her friend all of a sudden. She went to last spell, History, because she wanted time to work out what to buy first. And like Justin had said, she shouldn’t blow it all straight off. It was great sitting there, knowing she had more money in her back pocket than any of them’d get in a month at one of their shitty little supermarket jobs.

  Sharon waited till Ms Clements was talking to them, same boring stuff she always said, then she pulled out her list. It was for real now. She could almost smell the new leather of the jacket she was going to pick up. Yeah, black jacket and a carton of twenty-fives. Good a way as any of starting. She must have got herself lost in the list somehow, because she didn’t hear Ms Clements stop talking, or notice the class moving onto whatever it was they were meant to be doing. Or realise someone was standing behind her. Madeleine, suddenly there, snatching the list out of her hands.

  ‘Ten most important things…’ the bitch read, loud so even people who weren’t interested had to hear. Not that there were many people not interested, when it came to making a person feel small.

  It wasn’t feeling small that worried Sharon though. What worried her was Justin finding out how careless she’d been, and her never feeling this sort of spare cash in her back pocket again. That’s why she didn’t have to think about what to do next, didn’t even hear Ms Clements shouting out from the front of the class. Sometimes the only way out is a punch. A single, strong, closed-fist punch. Not just hitting that smug bitch’s face. Hitting through it. Aiming for a point behind the head, like they always said, so the energy kept flowing and you felt no pain.

  Madeleine hit the ground hard and the list dropped beside her. There was total silence, nothing further to add, and Sharon moved through it, picking up the list, grabbing her bag and walking out the door. She’d caught it in time. No one had heard what it was about. Madeleine wouldn’t have read any more either, and if she had she wouldn’t say so. She’d got the point.

  Sharon’s hand hurt, but not as much as her head, filling up again with hate for the world that could take such a perfect day and turn it ugly without even trying. Still, she had the money, and town was only a train ride away.

  • • •

  Sharon loved the shops. She could spend all Saturday in the city, walking round, just looking. Clothes mostly, and the big electronics places. She’d compile lists in her head while snotty salespeople looked her up and down. They never came over though, not to ask if they could help. It was part of their training probably, knowing how to sniff out people without cash, and then leave them alone. Or maybe, if she stayed too long, to come over and ask her to leave, ‘if you’re not considering a purchase that is,’ with a little smile to go with the awful clothes they were made to wear.

  Sharon wasn’t into lifting stuff herself, although she’d often been in with people who were. It was too stupid a thing to get done for. The sort of thing that’d pin you down and stay on top of you forever. So she held off, just looking, waiting for days like these, when she had cash in her pocket.

  She knew what she wanted, a jacket she’d seen last week. Black leather and down to $295, half price. She didn’t go there straight off. There were other shops to visit on the way, nervous assistants to eyeball. Every time they gave her one of their looks she pulled out the cash and counted it. She could see them trying to guess where she’d stolen it from.

  By the time she got to Skinned it was almost 5.30. The blonde woman everybody recognised, with huge false eyelashes and a rose tattooed on her cheek, was bringing in the sign from the pavement. Sharon hurried past her and slipped through the door.

  ‘Ah, we’re just shutting up,’ she said in her funny voice, high pitched but smokey. She was alright though. This was the better end of town.

  ‘I’m just after the jacket,’ Sharon said. ‘It’s for tonight, a present for my Mum. It’s her birthday. I’m late because there was a problem with the cake.’

  ‘Which jacket?’ The woman smiled, her nicotine teeth yellow behind bright red lipstick.

  ‘Um,’ Sharon looked around, trying to spot it. ‘It was here last week, on sale. Sort of a soft leather, short cut, down to 295 dollars.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Bad luck love. Sold it this afternoon.’

  The woman looked properly sad but it didn’t help.

  ‘Look, is there something else? It’s just I’m in a bit of a hurry myself tonight.’

  Sharon looked quickly around, needing to salvage something from the fading day.

  ‘Ah yeah, there was another one. Um,’ she went to a rack of heavy leather and flicked quickly through it, trying not to be too obvious looking at the price tags. ‘Yeah, this is it.’

  ‘It’s quite different.’ The woman looked doubtfully at the heavy biker jacket Sharon was holding.

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And more expensive.’

  ‘How much
?’

  ‘Four fifty.’

  ‘I’ll give you 400,’ Sharon bargained, feeling the weight of the bad deal in her hands. ‘It’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘Um, yeah okay. We were going to sale some of this rack next week anyway.’ She looked carefully at Sharon, as if she was a child. ‘You’re sure your mother will like this?’

  Sharon nodded, already feeling pissed off at the way the day was going to end but without the energy now to change direction.

  ‘Here, don’t bother wrapping it, I’ll wear it out there, it’s getting cold.’

  Sharon handed over her precious cash and hovered at the door while it was slowly counted,

  ‘Okay, all there,’ the woman said and Sharon hurried out. Four hundred exactly, no money even for the train back out to the Hutt. She had to hitch, feeling uncomfortable in the new jacket that didn’t quite fit, feeling pissed off that even good things treated her badly.

  • • •

  A half-bad day would have ended there. It would have left her alone, after the ride she got out home, in a big car that smelt of sweat and hair cream. It would have left her to crawl off to her room, where she could leave her new jacket hanging somewhere she could watch it, and maybe grow to like it a little more. A half bad day would have found some space for her to think about the good things and work at pretending they were the only things that mattered. But bad days didn’t come in halves. Sharon already knew that.