Breaking East (11 page)

Woah. Bargain. I squeezed Stuart’s arm hoping to transmit the importance of not showing any excitement. The last thing we needed to do was hint we would pay more.

Stuart snorted. ‘You sure know how to have a laugh.’

Easties might not know much, but I should have known they’d know how to close a deal.

The guy smiled and shrugged. All nonchalant smuggery. ‘Then don’t go.’ He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out his ID. ‘If you change your mind. I’ll be at the Jermaine Street entrance after ten.’

The ID looked authentic enough. It had a chip and a watermark across his grey face and liver spot eyes. Charlie Davies. Stuart stared at it before turning and walking away grabbing my arm as he passed, encouraging me more than pushing me out of the door.

Outside he asked, ‘What do you think?’

‘We still haven’t got any tickets.’

‘I know,’ he said, ‘but would you recognise a ticket if you saw one?’

Good point. ‘I got the man though, yeah?’

‘Yeah, Atty.’ The roll of his eyes was obvious in his tone. ‘You got the man.’ But he smiled.

We spent the afternoon hanging out in the park trying not to draw attention to ourselves and staying out in the open where Gavin couldn’t move in too close. Stuart lay down and turned his face to the sun.

I couldn’t keep it in any more. ‘Gavin showed me a leaflet with a picture of my dad on it.’ Silence. He made out he cared, understood, but then just lay there like a lump of lard. ‘Say something,’ I said.

‘Well, in what context? What did the leaflet say?’

‘It was one of those political pamphlet things. An article about how great the world would be if we all united and got ruled from central London.’ I waved my hand. ‘You know the sort of thing. The photo of the reporter who wrote it, it was my dad.’ Only as I spoke did I realise the photo might simply be wrong, but I kept talking, hoping to make sense of it all in my own head. ‘It was definitely him, and he looks older than when I last saw him so it might be right.’ I showed him the picture, smoothing out the page where I’d screwed it up.

‘Where did Gavin get it from?’

‘A newsstand so he said.’

Silence. Then, ‘Would he lie about something like that? You know, doctor something to lure you home?’

‘Gavin wouldn’t have the noggin to think something like that up. And we haven’t all got access to fancy digi gear, you know?’

‘Who else would make it up?’

‘Well that’s just it,’ I said. ‘There’s no reason why anybody would.’

‘It might be a mistake. You know, photos next to each other on a database somewhere, maybe he looks enough like the writer for the leaflet guy to get it wrong. We’ve all got our doubles out there.’

I shrugged. ‘Anyway, that’s what we were talking about, Gavin and me, not about you or Gemma, or where she might or might not be.’

‘Ooof.’

I looked at him lying there with his eyes closed, topping up his tan. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? “Ooof”.’

‘You’re trying to guilt-trip me for thinking everything is about Gemma. Well, I know it isn’t, at least not always, but for now, for me, it is. If you can’t make finding Gemma top priority too, at least for the moment, then it might be best you go back with Gavin and sort out this business with your dad and whatever it is that’s going on between you. Sorry, but that’s the way it’s got to be.’ His eyes were open and looking at me in that way that made me feel like he could read every thought I’d ever had, ‘When I get Gemma back, I’ll help you figure it out, but not now.’ He tried to soften his words by reaching across and running his finger up my arm. A shiver rippled up to my neck. I shook him away. ‘I’ll come and find you later,’ he said. ‘When life’s back to normal.’ The air around us hung heavy and serious. His eyes flicked back and forth across my face and everything went quiet. ‘You’re a …’

‘A what?’

The mood shifted and he lay back and turned his face away. ‘Nothing.’

‘No, come on. Let’s get this atmosphere cleaned up. What am I?’

‘A … distraction.’

I thought of Joe,
You’re a liability, Atty
. A small twinge of panic niggled at my gut. ‘You came to me for help, don’t forget. What’s changed?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t want you to get hurt. Again.’

‘Eh? I can look after myself, you know? Nothing’s changed. In fact, it’s even more important I find Gemma and bring her home. I need to sort this mess out. Prove to Joe and everybody else, including my dad, I can be a good resistance soldier. Make a difference.’ Anger and determination put a crack in my voice. Stuart was behaving like I’d served my purpose already. Maybe he thought I wasn’t worth the cost of that second ticket after all. Or that I was more vulnerable because I was a girl. I gave Stuart a hard look, determined not to whine. ‘Without me you wouldn’t have got this far. Or have the promise of a ticket. We had a deal. I’m coming with you.’

The hard look I threw at him bounced off and hit me in the face. He was staring at me deadly serious. ‘Okay. But Gemma first then your dad, yeah? That order.’

I nodded. ‘Definitely. Gemma it is. Who’s Dad? I don’t know a dad.’

He didn’t smile. Not falling for my cheeriness for a second. ‘We’ll find him, Atty. I’ll help you. Promise. But when we do, make sure you listen to his reasons for going off the way he did, eh? No biting his head off without giving him chance to explain himself.’

‘Why do you think I would?’ I feigned affront, desperate to switch the mood to something more comfy. ‘I’m a reasonable person. I’m not aggressive or mean. I’m fair. That business with Carl was a one off.’ I flapped my hand and put my nose in the air.

‘Mm.’ At last he relaxed, even gave a little smirk. ‘You killed the fish.’

‘That was an accident. Besides, they were fish.’

‘And you didn’t half put the frighteners on that Gavin chap.’

‘Not hard was it?’ I laughed.

‘It’s not funny.’ But he grinned. ‘He’s still out there.’ He sat up, leaned on his elbow and looked somewhere into the distance. ‘Behind that tree.’

‘Okay, not roll-on-floor hilarious, but it’s funny enough. Gavin is a nuisance, nothing more. He’s got no money so won’t be able to get on the train. Ignore him.’

‘Fair enough.’ Stuart lay down again but reached for my hand.

‘We’ll sort it all out, you’ll see,’ I said. Not sure if I was convincing myself or him.

‘Course we will. Course we will.’

I think he might have actually believed it. Unless he was playing me. Either that or the innocence of the rich embedded itself deeper than I’d thought. Always possible, in his easty world: things did have a way of working out for the best. I was more used to things turning bad. And the potential for bad looked immense. But the feel of his hand in mine felt good and, well, maybe we’d get lucky.

I woke cold and stiff from lying on the hard ground. The sky had clouded over and the sun hovered just above the roofs of the houses skirting the park. Only a few dog walkers wandered the trails and they kept their heads down, hands deep in their pockets. Stuart slept on and I pondered about how far from home we were about to travel. The familiar tingling sensation as the adrenaline raced the blood to my head set me on a natural high. Surprising I’d slept at all.

‘Time we made a move,’ said Stuart. ‘We should eat something before we go to the station. Those cargo trains take hours.’ His waking so quietly was beginning to freak me out. I eased to my feet and tested putting weight on my gippy leg. He frowned. ‘You okay?’

‘Yep, pretty good. That stuff you put on it worked.’

He shrugged and turned away. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain.’

Another thing about being on a job and the adrenaline kick and belly flutters and all that other stuff, is it makes me lack patience with stupid comments. ‘We’re about to go jump a dodgy train ride and you want to make idle chit-chat about the weather?’

‘No.’ He swung the backpack over his shoulder. ‘Let’s go eat.’

At dusk a different breed of hawker comes out to line the streets and shout at passers-by. They reach out and grab at peoples’ clothes. ‘Here, love. Look what I got, suit you it will.’

Stuart remained polite as ever. ‘Thank you. Not today.’ And he put his arm around the small of my back, his fingers hot through my shirt. He leaned in close. ‘Just keep walking.’ His breath tickling my cheek.

We went to a proper restaurant and sat at a table in the window.

‘Gosh, posh nosh what.’ I grinned.

‘Yeah, well. It’s what we over-privileged nob-heads like to eat.’

‘Ouch.’ I made a show of flinching. ‘Those were Gavin’s words not mine.’

‘So, you’ve never thought of the likes of me as being over-privileged or a nob-head?’ He stared at me, eyebrows raised.

Not sure if it might have been the dim lights but I couldn’t figure out whether he was joking or not. He didn’t smile but neither did he look angry. ‘Well, I might have said something like that at some point but I didn’t know you then. Don’t tell me, you’ve always looked at us westy kids with nothing but respect and admiration.’

‘I’ve been trying not to look at you.’

‘Yeah, that would be right.’ I fidgeted under his gaze. ‘You’re staring now all right.’

‘Only because you’re so damn sexy. It’s hard not to.’

I laughed - it came out a bit like a hoot. I mean, what the…? I picked up the menu. Talk about awkward.

‘When I look at you,’ he said, ‘I want to touch you, sniff your hair, breathe you in.’

A cool breeze sucked up the hair on the back of my neck and tugged at it gently. It tickled like drying sand and I fought the urge to swipe at it, brush it off. ‘Stop it, Stuart. Be serious.’

‘I am. You wanted to clear the air and that’s what I’m doing. Get everything out in the open. And I have to confess, my intentions for you are not all to do with project Gemma. I have other plans for you too. When Gemma is safe at home, obviously.’

My head felt bulky and exposed. I lifted the menu right up high in front of my face so he couldn’t see me. I’d been called tough and cool and snazzy and kooky … but sexy? Never. I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Behave yourself.’

I realised my error almost immediately. At some point I was going to have to put the menu down and the longer I left it up, the more awkward it would be, but I wanted the stupid tickle, blush, and smile thing to go away first. So girly and so, so embarrassing. Stuart sat in silence waiting. I lowered the menu a fraction but kept my eyes on the list. And then I peeped. His eyes were twinkly and nerve-twanging cute.

‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘I’ve been struggling to keep my hands off you since that day you spoke to Crawlsfeld in the park.’ I looked at his hands resting loosely on the table. Sheesh, I imagined them tickling their way down my belly. My face burned.

The waiter appeared at the table. ‘May I take your order, madam?’

I almost jumped up and kissed him. ‘Um, yes please. Just a green salad.’ My stomach fizzed. It wasn’t like my guts didn’t have enough to cope with already - no way would I be able to eat.

Stuart sat back and after a brief scan of the menu ordered a steak with a gluttonous variety of side portions. ‘Need to keep my strength up,’ he said as the waiter wandered away.

‘Yes,’ I said adjusting my cutlery and flapping the napkin onto my lap. ‘Do you think that Charlie bloke is genuine? And can he get us on the train okay?’

Stuart sighed theatrically. ‘I’m trying to tell you I find you irresistible and you want to make idle chit-chat about some dodgy twit in a questionable outfit.’

I straightened the napkin and brushed at my lap. ‘It’s important we concentrate on the job.’

He took a massive breath and sat up straight, hands flat on table. ‘Okay. Can we trust him? Will we make it onto the right train? No idea. We’re just going to have to take a chance. Nobody ever got anywhere without taking a few risks in life.’

He needn’t have given up quite so easily.

The salad tasted of nothing and I pushed it around my plate.

‘I’ve ordered way too much, said Stuart. ‘Here,’ he emptied the dish of chips and onion rings onto my plate, ‘help me out a little.’

It smelled gorgeous and my mouth watered. I didn’t get my thunder thighs and cankles by shying away from food. Besides, I was doing him a favour. He said so.

Stuart paid for the meal and we left the restaurant just after nine. The few people left on the streets were walking with a lot more purpose and it wasn’t all down to that threat of rain. Stop and search in Craffid stepped up a pace when it got dark and turned frequent and harsh. If Stuart and I got picked up they might contact the Basley Law and then we’d be in several different flavours of poop.

Jermaine Street was more of a wide grubby alley than a street. Skips, wheelie bins and crates full of empty boxes and assorted junk lined the urine-damp mulch which made up the pathway down the centre. The rats and homeless huddled side by side trying to keep warm and occasionally feeding off each other. We live in the recycling age after all, nothing dead is wasted. The smell of rotting meat and sour veg made my throat close. I’d have to be skeletal hungry to appreciate what went free in the city. I stood as close to Stuart as possible without actually touching him. ‘Can you see Charlie?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘I can’t see any security either.’ He reached and squeezed my hand. ‘Always look for the positives.’ His palm felt rough and warm and soft and strong and gentle.

I didn’t know whether my stomach somersaulted due to the fear of the alley or the sensation of his hand, but every inch of me tingled. Such a rush. ‘Look. Down there at the end.’

His fingers slipped between mine in a lovers grasp. ‘Stay close, okay?’

No way would I have gone anywhere. My hand fitted into his too, too perfect. We walked down the centre of the alley with me half a step behind watching the rear. It wasn’t the time or place to decide to play the wussy girl, but that feeling of being protected sent my brain to mush. I had to get a grip. ‘Keep an eye out for trouble,’ I said, keeping my voice firm, almost bossy.

‘It’ll be fine. If anybody tries to have a pop I’ll hide behind you and you can give them one of your smacks.’

‘Ha de ha.’

A line of people stood silently against a graphitised wall. Obscenities and grotesque demons in fluorescent 3-D hovered over agitated men, worried looking women and silent children. It hadn’t occurred to me we wouldn’t be alone.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Stuart. ‘This must be the cargo.’ He let go of my hand and took his backpack off to hold in front of him, like a shield. ‘Best get in line I suppose.’

Talk about anti-climax.

A door opened bang on ten and we were herded through a gate. Two men in standard rail uniforms stood either side taking slips of paper from the people filing past. They had a proper underground racket going on. Brilliant but cheeky. Not to mention dangerous. I forced myself to stay focused but Stuart radiated warmth and smelled gorgeous. I whispered into his ear. ‘They’ve got tickets.’

‘I can see that.’

Our turn came and Stuart said, ‘We made arrangements with Charlie to collect our tickets on arrival.’

Not strictly true.

The weedy man with the bony nose standing in the queue behind us leaned towards the guard. ‘If he has no ticket he should be sent packing. Some of us have waited too long already.’

The guard held a hand up and muttered into a radio pinned to his chest. Word spread along the queue.

‘Charlie told us to come straight here,’ Stuart said to the guard, ‘we had a meeting with him this afternoon.’

The man behind shoved his way in front and snarled into Stuart’s face. ‘No ticket? No ride. Now on your way.’

The queue piled up and crowded in from behind. I couldn’t see a way back through the door, the air stank of pure hatred. I clung to the back of Stuart’s shirt. ‘We need to get out of here.’ Stuart gave a teeny shake of his head and kept his eyes trained on the guard, ignoring the man up in his face. ‘Seriously,’ I said. ‘This is going to turn scary any minute now, we need to get out.’

The crowd morphed into a mob within seconds and shouts from the back encouraged those at the front to ‘sort it out.’ The guard stooped to listen to somebody answer his radio call and the weedy guy leapt forward like some kind of ninja. He grabbed Stuart by the throat, lifted him off the floor and thrust him into the wall. The ticket collector shouted, a woman screamed, and kids wailed. Other blokes jostled between me and Stuart, shouting and grabbing at each other. A chaotic brawl of arms and bodies flailed in front of me. Stuart hung suspended above everybody else. I willed him to relax but he grasped at the man’s hands trying to prise them free. I fought to get closer, yanking people out of my way, desperate to help but there were so many and they all looked so furious and frantic.

Somebody grabbed me from behind and pinned my arms to my side. A voice, calm, barely above a whisper, ‘Take it easy.’

My first thought should have been how stupid were we not to recognise a trap when we saw one. Or, now we’d never be able to fetch Gemma. Or, holy shamboozles I’m going to die. But my first and pretty much only thought, as I got dragged kicking and screaming through the throng, was, Oh God, please don’t let us lose each other.

Whoever carried me down the corridor had the strength of a rhino. I wriggled, squirmed and ground at his shins with my heels the whole way out of there.

‘Ouch, Jesus, keep still, you little bitch.’

I hollered and growled. ‘Let me go you…’ I forgot any promises to Mum and pulled out all the curses I’d ever heard. He threw me into a room full of crates and boxes and slammed the door. I landed on my knees and my right one screamed a burning lightning strike of agony straight to my brain. I curled into a ball and clenched my teeth. ‘Dirty, stinking…’ The key clunked rather than clicked and I knew the lock must be a biggie.

When the pain eased to a mere agonising torture I opened my eyes. The door stood old yet solid, made with thick planks of oak. No way could I smash through that. It didn’t stop me dragging myself up and trying though. I wasn’t so much angry as poop-expelling scared. I needed to get back to Stuart. With him, the whole trip would be exciting, like a slick adventure, but without him I felt terrified. For the missing kids, for Stuart and for me.