Breaking East (12 page)

I hammered and yelled at the door until my fists were grazed and my knee glowed red-hot, like it might burst into flames any second. I collapsed into the dust to get my breath back and the blood rushed to my head when I heard some geezer laugh; none of what just happened was any way funny. I put my ear to the door and tried to listen for more voices, hoping for a clue as to why I’d been locked up and what the hell they’d done with Stuart. But the noise down the corridor had eased off to nothing more than the odd shout in the distance.

Other than what seeped under the door, the only light came from a long strip window up near the ceiling on one wall. I figured the room must be somewhere in the station - a back storeroom or an old office. I pushed some crates and balanced a couple of boxes to climb up and get my bearings. I rubbed the grime from the glass with the chump of my fist and peered through at hoards of people on the platform way below me. I recognised some of the tense, sallow faces from the line outside. They milled around before being picked out, seemingly at random, and ushered into a train that looked like it should be carrying fuel; round, bulbous trucks with red warning triangles splattered across their bellies, hooked one after the other.

No sign of Stuart.

All those people were paying to ‘escape’, risking their lives, when they’d all likely end up scraping a living in a place like Shanks estate. City people fantasised about this ridiculous image of country living being all farmers markets and leaving the back doors open. The reality is very different. In the villages, and towns like Basley, people are robbed by people they know and probably trusted, rather than faceless city strangers. I stood and watched until the hatches on the trucks were lowered and the train pulled away. If Stuart was on it, I’d lost him. The few people remaining on the platform were pushed and shoved out of a side door back onto the street. I hoped the weedy toad who grabbed Stuart’s throat was among the rejects.

Everything went still.

There seemed little point in balancing on top of the crates just watching the rats wake up so I climbed down and began to root through the boxes in the hope of finding something to jimmy the door open with. But they all contained bundles of pamphlets. I opened a batch and held one up to the light, maybe it had my dad in it. The key clunked and the door swung open so I shoved the leaflet in my back pocket alongside the one Gavin gave me.

Charlie stood in the doorway and looked at the floor by my feet, his grey face shining tacky in the light from the passage. ‘Come on.’ He stood to the side to let me pass and indicated down the corridor. ‘Off you go.’

My muscles tightened ready to fight or fly. ‘Where’s Stuart?’

‘He’s waiting on board.’

‘I’m not going anywhere without him.’

He didn’t answer but gestured for me to get a move on.

Charlie ushered me down dim passages to a platform and into a train carriage like a wooden crate, reminding me of an ancient cattle truck. It stank a bit like one too. Inside were mountains of clear bags full of clothing. I climbed on top. ‘Where’s Stuart? I told you I wasn’t going without him.’ The sliding door clattered across and slices of light from between the wooden slats striped the bags. It sent my eyes funny. ‘Stuart?’

‘Over here.’

I crawled through, throwing bags behind me to clear the way. I found him lying in a dip, his nose a mulch of red and black flesh. ‘Oh my God. What did they do to you?’

‘Hey, you should see the other guy.’

‘Shut up, Stuart. That was so lame.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ His sss came out as shh.

‘What the hell have they done to you?’ To my shame I started to cry. I have no idea how it happened, the tears came from nowhere, no warning, nothing. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Hey. It’s okay. I’m okay.’

He eased himself onto his elbow and pulled me into him. I buried my face into his neck and sobbed. All that grot leaving trails on his collar bone, talk about humiliating. I tried to wipe it away with my hand, then used the neck of his tee shirt.

‘What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault. Are you all right?’ He pulled his head back to get a look at me. ‘They didn’t hurt you did they?’ His chin brushed my forehead and it felt rough but gentle, like a cat’s lick.

I shook my head and gave a gloopy sniff. ‘No.’ I wished for a tissue, I didn’t want him to see me all snotty. ‘They just locked me in a room and then brought me here.’ I whined like a three year old. Stuart flinched as he adjusted position to get a better hold of me. ‘Oh God,’ I said and rubbed at the damp stain on his shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Nope, don’t be. You stay right where you are.’ He snuggled me close and put his mouth in my hair and breathed deep. ‘So worth it,’ he whispered.

We stayed laying quiet until the carriage squealed into action and picked up a steady, if slow, creep out of Craffid. The crying had given me a headache and I felt stupid and weak. Crying was nothing but a total waste of time and energy. I wanted to make up for it and look after Stuart the way he’d looked after me, but I had nothing to offer. Stuart’s bag had been lost in the scuffle and he’d been forced to hand over all his money. ‘Basley Law have put out a call on us,’ said Stuart. ‘Charlie and his friends took advantage, upped the price and robbed the lot.’

I pulled out the bundle of cash I’d kept hidden down the back of my jeans and counted it out. ‘Three hundred and fifty.’ It struck me as precious little out of the five grand we’d set out with.

‘It should do us,’ said Stuart. ‘Once we’re there we won’t need very much.’

‘How are we going to know when to get off?’

Stuart hooked me back into his arms and spooned me close, his breath hot on my neck. ‘They’re going to sling us off when we get there. It’s going to be fine, try and sleep.’

I didn’t sleep. I lay and tried to imprint the feeling of being held so close and safe deep into my memory. Even as he slept he gave me the occasional squeeze and I hoped to remember how warm and safe it felt, to be held and wanted like that, forever.

The morning light crept through the slats into the truck and the dark mounds of bags took a more solid shape. We rattled and jolted along at a snail’s pace. Perhaps my plan to make a leap for it might still be worth serious consideration. I turned over to take a peek at Stuart sleeping.

He gripped me tighter and gave me a crooked smile with his eyes still shut. ‘Where do you think you’re sneaking off to?’

‘Ooph.’ I winced at the sight of his face. ‘That looks sore.’ I pulled away and sat up.

‘Yeah, it is a bit.’

‘What about the rest of you? Do you hurt anywhere else? Are you up to making a leap for it?’

He opened his eyes. ‘I want to stay here, with you.’ He held his arms open.

‘Um. Gemma?’

‘Yeah suppose. You’re right.’ He sighed, eased himself to a sitting position and tested his limbs. Nodded with an upside down smile. ‘It’s all good. Don’t want to jump though. They said they’d let us off when the time is right.’

‘Why should we believe them all of a sudden? After they let those rabids loose on you?’

‘Because they’ve taken a mountain of money and could have let them rabids, as you call them, kill us both. Have you ever seen anything like that before? Unbelievable.’ He touched his swollen nose and then thought better of it. ‘They’re chancers and scumbags but not inhuman.’

I pulled a face. ‘Charncers and scarmbargs, eh?’

He tried to smile but it must have hurt too much. ‘And they put us in first class.’ He raised a finger. ‘Always look for the positives. And wherever we get off, it’s closer to where we want to be than we were, and it’s away from any tails such as Gavin. Now come here.’ As Stuart reached for my hand the train jerked to a stop. Somebody shouted from the front and then the scrunch of footsteps on gravel stopped outside our crate. ‘Too late,’ said Stuart struggling to his feet. ‘Sounds like this could be where we get out.’

The doors slid open and the head and shoulders of the friendliest guard in the world poked over the ledge. ‘Out you get.’

The jolly guard would normally have irritated me rotten in the way all incessantly cheerful people tended to do. But after Charlie and his mangy mates I felt like hugging him, just because. He grinned and held out his hand to help me off the carriage. I shook my head and he simply moved on to help Stuart. ‘Are you two going to be okay out here?’ He spoke like everything was completely normal and helping beaten-to-a-pulp stowaways off cattle trucks happened every day. ‘You’re miles from anywhere by here,’ he said with a chirpy chuckle.

Stuart looked around at the fields and hills of nothing. ‘We’re in north Wales though, right?’

‘Oh yeah, that’s where they said to drop you, so that’s where you’re at.’

‘Thanks, mate.’ Stuart held out his hand.

The guard shook it. ‘You’re welcome. Take it easy.’

We were back in the holiday movie.

We slid on our backsides down the embankment and waited for the train to clatter away into the distance, the guard waving from a window like the fat controller. Then there was nothing. No sounds: just a hazy heat thick with gnats. I swatted and batted at them with my palms flat. ‘Tsk. Why do they like me so much?’

‘Good taste?’ Stuart got to his feet and studied the sky. ‘I can smell the sea.’

‘There’s nice. But can you remember the address?’ The file had been in his bag.

‘Sapton Manor, Shepton. Shepton is by the sea.’

Poor thing, all those s’s. ‘Pardon?’

‘Sapton Manor, Shepton. And Shepton…’ he turned to look and saw my smirk. ‘Ooo. You can be cruel, Atty. So, so cruel.’

‘Sho Sho cruel.’

He rolled his eyes and flinched. ‘Ouch, that hurt.’ He wandered down to a stream and knelt at its edge. ‘What do you reckon? Safe to drink?’

‘Unlikely, but it’ll do to wash your face.’

I bathed his face with the cool water. He looked into my eyes the whole time pulling the occasional flinch and giving me the odd smile. ‘I can’t wait to get you somewhere comfy, Atty. And that’s no lie.’

Oooph. Judging by the weird sensations, like goosebumpy neck and the warmth spreading down my belly, neither could I.

The sun blasted the tops of our heads, racking up my headache to a level that would knock a donkey out. To hell with the remembering being hugged thing, I wished I’d got some decent sleep in instead. The air felt hot and sticky in my lungs, like being in a tent at midday. We meandered along country lanes overgrown with cow parsley and hemlock. Stuart loosened his jeans so they hung low below his bruised hip. He swiped at the hedges with his belt. ‘Shall we pick some?’

‘What for?’

‘It’s poisonous.’

‘I doubt we’ll get chance to grind it into anybody’s tea.’

‘You never know. I’ve heard it’s pretty easy to do. Put a few leaves in their salad maybe.’

‘Now who’s been watching too many movies?’

‘It’s an idea.’

‘True. Hello Mr Crawlsfeld, fancy a salad? Well, I happen to have a few leaves in my pocket.’

Stuart shrugged. ‘Can’t see the harm in being prepared. Just in case the opportunity presents itself.’

We bypassed a few villages by cutting through the fields. We must have looked like we were traipsing home from battle. My eye had fully opened and Stuart examined it. ‘It looks like a marble in a puddle of tomato juice.’

I rooted about for a matching compliment to throw back. That smile of his affected my brain and the ideas were slow in coming. ‘Your nose,’ I tilted my head in mock studious concentration. ‘It looks like a donkey’s dongle.’

‘A donkey’s, eh?’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Odd how donkeys and dongles are on your mind.’

I slapped his arm. ‘Stop it.’

He curled his shoulder away and laughed. ‘What sort of come-back is that?’ He put on a girly voice. ‘Stop it, Stuey.’

‘Huh. From the guy who wants to defend us by feeding the enemy salad.’

‘Ah but, Atty. A crappy plan is better than no plan, right?’ He turned away and went quiet for several seconds. ‘A donkey. Sheesh.’ He looked at me sideways, a dirty smirk on his face. ‘I do hope I don’t disappoint.’

Yet another moment for me to deal with and another chance for me to lay down some ground rules, tell him where to get off. But I didn’t want to. I pointed towards the horizon. ‘Look. I can see the sea.’

‘So it is.’ He held my hand, fingers loosely entwined, his thumb stroking my palm.

We walked in a silence I’d thought was comfortable but Stuart had clearly been thinking too much. ‘Who’s M Gee?’ he asked.

‘Joe’s boss.’ Keep it simple, felt safest.

‘Ever met her?’

‘No.’

He pulled a face I couldn’t read. Talking of M Gee and Joe led me back to thinking about my dad. I fished the leaflets out of my back pocket. The two were very different but both interesting in their own way. The one from the station was thicker and more official looking than Gav’s; it had shiny paper and glossy images. I let go of Stuart’s hand to open it up. ‘I found boxes of these in the room at the station. Looks like a questionnaire thing.’

Stuart snorted. ‘Same old thing but different words I suspect. They’re all either for or against unification. Which one is it this time?’

‘It’s trying to gain support to regionalise more laws.’ I read a line off the cover. ‘
Each county should have the right to execute activists without having to wait for international permission
…’

‘Bin it. It’ll never happen.’

I stopped reading aloud until I got to the bit about Basley. ‘They’ve got West Basley as an example, look.’ I tried to show him but he waved it away so I kept reading it out. ‘
Basley has so many cons an entire region of the county has been taken over
…’

‘Atty stop.’ Stuart took the leaflet out of my hands. ‘I just told you, it will never happen. Trust me. My mum works on this kind of stuff all the time.’

‘Well that’s all right then. She doesn’t help people like me though, remember? Who on the west is important, professional and flicking fancy enough to get her attention, eh?’ I was up in Stuart’s face, the pamphlet in my fist.

‘It won’t happen,’ he said, calm enough to make me want to slap him. ‘And some people on the west aren’t all Hot Blue and cuddles, you know. For every extreme idea on the east, there’s a matching one on the west.’ He took the pamphlet out of my hand and ripped it up. ‘The two will balance themselves out and the rest of us will find a way down the middle.’

‘Just like that.’

‘No. People like my mother, your dad, Joe, M Gee …’ he squeezed my hand, ‘you and me. Us. We’ll help make it happen.’

‘How?’

‘There’ll be a way.’ He turned and set off again at a meandering stroll. ‘I’ve been thinking. Maybe you were right and Joe knows my mother. Something about the name M Gee rings a bell. Perhaps she’s the connection. Maybe it’s all connected, Joe, your dad, my mum …’ he shrugged. ‘Like you said, it would explain why you were asked to watch me and Gemma.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s an idea. Not so sure where my dad fits in. I’m beginning to think he might just be a complete tool and buggered off to live somewhere happy-ever-after and write stupid leaflets in the sunshine.’

He put on a judge’s lofty voice and mused at the sky. ‘Has that idea just popped into your head or have you considered all the facts and come to a calculated conclusion?’

‘I am not calculating.’

He laughed and began staggering about the lane holding his face. ‘Ouchy. Don’t make me laugh … it hurts.’

Somehow, I’d made a twonk of myself. ‘What’s so funny?’ I said. ‘Either one of us could be right or we could both be totally wrong.’

‘Of course.’ He coughed and reached for my hand. ‘You’re right.’ His face twitched and his eyes shone. ‘I think the sun’s got to me. But remember what you agreed? Back in the park? You have to give your dad a fair hearing, okay?’

‘Humpnf.’ What else could I say?

Shepton was quaint and touristy-pretty. The hotels along the seafront were painted in pastels with striped canopies flapping above glass fronted doors. But there wasn’t going to be anything so upmarket for us. With only three hundred and fifty quid we were forced to book into a small back-street bed and breakfast with a sticky welcome mat and a beer-bottle green reception. I stood inside the door near a hand-drawn sign, FOYER, and wrinkled my nose. ‘Hums a bit.’

‘Yes. What is that?’ Stuart sniffed. ‘Smells like curried mackerel.’

Rich people ate the weirdest stuff.

A big woman in a flowered dress puffed through the door at the back of the passage. It swung back and forth on its hinge, wafting a new scent of grease and boiled cloths into the hall. ‘What can I do for you?’ She hesitated when she saw the state of my face and scowled at the back of Stuart’s head as he tried to read the faded-out price list. ‘Are you alright my lovey?’ She reached for my arm.

‘Fine thanks.’ I smiled my sweetest and girliest.

Stuart turned around and after a brief glance at his face she withdrew her arm like I’d tried to take a bite out of it. ‘Oh my goodness,’ she said and put her hand on her cushiony chest. ‘What on earth has happened to the pair of you?’

Stuart smiled. ‘Rugby match.’

‘Oh thank heavens. I thought you might have brought some bother with you.’ She waddled past us to get behind the desk in the way people walked wardrobes across a bouncy carpet. She looked like a mega flowery weeble. Stuart blinked and gave her a tight smile as she raised her arm to lift the hatch. I, too, held my breath. Curried mackerel smells like fat women’s pits.

‘Just the one night please,’ said Stuart. ‘The best double you have.’ He glanced at me, his eyes were hard yet excited and oh so dirty. My face flushed and my snoofle tingled in anticipation.

We stood inside the bedroom door and looked at the grubby duvet. ‘Do you think it’s supposed to be that colour?’ I asked.

‘Greeny-grey and brown blotches with patches of yellow?’

I lifted a corner. ‘And the rest. There’s some pink under here.’

‘It’s not ideal, granted.’

I shrugged. ‘Pah, crotch rot. It’ll be okay in the dark.’

‘Is that your way of breaking it gently?’

‘What?’

‘That you don’t like it with the light on?’

That stupid grin wouldn’t get off my face. I hid it by heading for the window. ‘Not a sea view, but could be worse.’

Stuart laughed. ‘Let’s freshen up and go see if we can find the manor house. Get our bearings before dinner and then we can plan our next move.’

Such a tease. But it would be so much sweeter when we knew the kids were safe. Then we could give each other our full attention, so to speak. ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘We can ask the landlady where it is. She looks like she’s been here forever.’

‘Good thinking. You ask. I’ll wait outside in the fresh air.’

A northern mile is about twice as long as a southern mile, I swear it. Three miles the woman had said, but even with my dodgy knee, and Stuart with his black and blue hip, we should have covered it in less than two hours. But it took three and the sky had darkened by the time we got there. We’d clambered across fields and streams, through woods and waste tips. A true nightmare of a walk. We were both grumpy as hell by the time we crept over a ridge to spy at the manor nestled in amongst some trees. The wall surrounding the grounds must have been almost as tall as the manor itself and was topped with rolls of razor wire, sparkling in the dying sunlight; lethal but, from where we lay, pretty, like fairy lights.

I only spotted the one entrance. ‘Big gates.’

‘Big cameras.’ Stuart sounded defeated already. ‘I wonder if they’ve got ears.’

On top of the pillars, either side of the gates, were huge black balls the size of car tyres. They looked like typical housing for high-tech security surveillance systems.

‘We’re never going to get in there.’ I said. ‘Not without an invite.’  All we could see of the manor itself were a couple of white turrets poking above the walls.

Stuart nodded towards the sun dipping behind a steep rugged hill. ‘We need to get to higher ground, so we can see over the wall and in through the windows.’

‘What good will that do?’

‘I might see Gemma. She’s close. I can feel it.’ He scurried backwards until he dropped behind a ridge and was hidden from the cameras. He started towards the hill.

I called after him. ‘Shall I watch the gates?’

‘Don’t be so bloody lazy.’

I scrambled to follow him. ‘I’m not being bloody lazy. I’ve got a bad knee.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I’ll race you to the top.’

Hah. Nobody ever beat me on the wall at the gym. ‘You’re on.’

What most kids don’t realise is that the winning is in the selection of the route. Pick a bad one and you’ve lost before you start. And Stuart picked a bad one.

I waited at the top for him to catch up.

‘You cheated,’ he said. ‘You took the steps.’

‘Now, now. Don’t be a sore loser.’ I wrinkled my nose. ‘So not attractive.’ He came and sat close so our thighs and arms touched and sent little mini shock waves to my toes. He put his face inches from mine and looked at my lips. I sucked them between my teeth.

He looked into my eyes and made a small breathy sound – like half pain, half frustration. ‘I’ll make you pay for that later.’

No way would I look away first. Not until he’d kissed me.

He rubbed at his hip. ‘How’s your knee?’

‘It’s fine!’

He laughed. ‘Only asked.’

He knew what he was doing to me and I wanted to slap him for it.

We looked over to the Manor. The wall stretched around the entire circumference. Only two ways of getting in - a small door embedded at the back, and the massive gates with the mega cameras at the front. A huge white mansion with towers like a palace stood bang centre of the greenest lawns I’d ever seen. The walls reflected the sunlight and almost shone, giving it the effect of a fairy-tale castle. Had it been pink I’d have sworn we’d slipped into La La land. The grounds spread wide and well organised with neat borders of colourful flowers and small clumps of bushes and trees. They all looked expertly cared for. ‘Are you sure this is it?’ I said. ‘I can’t see any ponies or go-karts or any of that other stuff from the brochure.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Ain’t that a surprise?’

‘What do you suppose it is? Looks pretty quiet. And so … clean. Definitely not a school.’

Stuart wiped his upper lip. ‘All the blinds are drawn.’

I’d learned to recognise the lip-swipe as habit, something he did without thinking when he concentrated or got nervous. I shrugged. ‘So? The blinds are drawn. Not sure what that might mean.’

‘No. Nor me.’

We waited for something to happen. There were no people in the grounds, no deliveries, no gardeners – there must be gardeners sometimes – no movement of any kind. I’d heard people crave peace and quiet but any long spells of silence made me nervous. Sinister things happen in the quiet - bad things never shout. But I was tired and hungry and fed up so my instincts weren’t to be trusted. I saw no reason to stress Stuart out more than he already was. ‘Doesn’t look too bad.’

He sighed. ‘No. Doesn’t feel good though. But there’s nothing to see, come on. Let’s go back to the digs. It’s going to take us hours to find our way. Perhaps there’s an easier route.’