Breaking East (13 page)

Perhaps, but it didn’t feel like we’d found it. My knee throbbed and burned something awful by the time we hobbled back into Shepton. I needed a bath and something to eat. The long walk after a sleepless night on the train made me exhausted and snappy. ‘There’d better be some hot water.’ Stuart stepped into a chemist and spent a small fortune on toothbrushes and replacing the lotions that we’d lost in the backpack. I wasn’t just knackered out but unreasonable and difficult. ‘You binned a load of that stuff in the hotel.’

‘I couldn’t carry it all and if I had, it would have been in my bag.’

Logic held no weight with such a moody bitch as me. ‘It’s still a waste of money.’

‘You don’t want any then?’

‘I didn’t say that.’

When we got to our room, Stuart made me sit in the chair by the window. ‘I’m going to scrub the tub out and run you a bath.’

I felt like he wanted to make me feel bad and it worked. ‘It’s my turn to do it for you.’

‘You just sit there,’ he said, waving a finger in a mock rollocking, ‘and do as you’re told.’ And then he bent down and kissed the top of my head. I turned my face towards him but he’d moved away and into the bathroom. I felt cold with disappointment and, for some reason, guilty to the point of being angry at everything. Confused I suppose.

The water wrapped me up, bone-warming hot, and Stuart’s potions soothed every bit as well as they had the first time. When I closed my eyes and shut out the grime of the grubby little bathroom, it felt like I was being cuddled and cared for like a precious child. Only one thing spoilt it and that was thinking of Stuart sitting in the shabby bedroom waiting for his chance to soothe his wounds. That hip looked horrible.

‘Sorry I took so long,’ I said climbing under the multi-coloured duvet wrapped in a bath towel. ‘It just felt soooo gooood.’

‘No problem. I won’t be long. Keep the bed warm.’

Like I needed asking.

Next thing, Stuart was leaning over me and shaking my shoulder. ‘Atty. I’ve got us something to eat.’ I sat up and gripped the damp towel to my chest. ‘You might want to get dressed first.’ He gestured towards the small coffee table in the window. He’d laid out a selection of take-away meals. ‘I wasn’t sure what you liked so I got a little of everything. I like it all so you take first pick and I’ll have what’s left.’ The only light came from the blue-marbled moon high in the sky beyond the bay window. He saw me looking at it. ‘Stunning, isn’t it? I swear we’re getting closer to it all the time.’ I sat on the edge of the bed and again, for no reason, that lump came to my throat. Stuart looked from me to the table and back again. ‘I know it’s not much, but if we leave the lights off, eat by the light of the moon…’ He went to touch my shoulder, changed his mind and ran his hand through his hair instead. He wiped his mouth. ‘I’m sorry. I should have kept some money separate. Or asked for more.’

‘No.’ I said. ‘It’s lovely.’ I smiled at him and at the table. ‘It’s better than lovely. It’s perfect. I’m sorry I’m such a bitch at times.’

He reached for me then and hugged me. Not a sexy hug but a friendly matey-type hug. ‘Don’t you dare ever apologise for being you, Atty.’

I pulled away. If he’d held me any longer I’d have sobbed for sure. ‘I’ll just go and get dressed.’ Diving towards the bathroom to change wasn’t only about being shy, but about getting the timing right. I didn’t want Stuart to witness me hauling two-days-unwashed knickers over my damp thunder thighs with nothing but a towel for cover. The potential for a less than flattering first impression was way too high.

He bent down to rifle through a bag at his feet. ‘I got you these too. I’m not being, you know, it’s just I thought you might like a fresh pair.’ He held out a pair of socks wrapped in a tight little bundle. ‘I hope they fit.’

‘I’m sure they will. I’m pretty much standard average. Thank you.’ In the bathroom I opened the socks and found a new cute pair of panties tucked up inside. They fitted perfectly. The last box got a strong, bold tick.

The food tasted delicious. ‘That’s better. I was starving,’ I said and leaned back holding my over-stretched belly. ‘Thanks again.’

Stuart gave me that look. That twinkly-eyed, can’t-wait-to-get-you-into-bed look. My toes tingled and I rubbed the back of my neck - those new hairs tickled like crazy. Now it looked like it might actually happen, I began to fret about all that girly stuff that usually bored me senseless.

Fran used to talk openly about such things all the time, whereas I found it too embarrassing. I liked to pretend I had no desire or need to de-fuzz and/or scent various nooks and crannies. Well, I hadn’t done any of that stuff recently and neither was I going to get the chance to now. Surely he wouldn’t appreciate me using that cheap plastic razor he’d left by the sink in the bathroom. Not for the regions I needed it for. And my teeth – I’d need to scrub them again after the curry. I should never have eaten the curry.

‘You okay?’ Stuart filled my glass from a bottle of Blue he’d got free with the take-away. He looked so relaxed.

‘Yeah, sure. I’m great.’ Happy, chirpy, care-free me.

‘Good.’

‘I’ve been thinking how we can get into the Manor,’ I lied.

‘And?’ He slouched in his chair, one hand holding his glass the other rubbing his flat, hard stomach. His tee shirt lifted slightly to show me the soft line of hair leading down the centre of his belly – he tugged at it absently.

My snoofle shot a lightening signal straight to my toes. ‘Um. I’ve been thinking we’ll have to go in through the gate because that razor stuff on top of the wall looks a bitch to get past.’

‘Through the gate. Right.’

‘Pretend we’re delivering something. Confidence will get us in.’

‘Confidence. Right.’ He smiled, taking the piss.

‘So,’ I said looking him dead in the eye. ‘You fancy your chances leaping the wall? Pole vaulting one of your specialities too, is it?’

‘Nope.’ He shook his head with an upside down smile. ‘The gate sounds like a great plan.’

I scowled and stood up. ‘I’m going to clean my teeth.’

‘Okay.’

I stopped at the door and turned. ‘Only because I got some of that meat stuck in them. At the back.’ Just shut the hell up, Atty.

In the bathroom I studied my flat hair – it doesn’t spike without the gel; my blood-red eye – it did look like a marble; my slightly bent nose – still sore; and the gash down my cheek - guaranteed to scar. Even with all that taken into consideration I didn’t get my problem. It’s not like I didn’t want this. I began to seriously doubt my sanity. I mean, really. Everybody was doing it. It’s time I caught up and got in on the action, found out what all the fuss was about.

‘Atty?’ Stuart knocked on the door.

Oh be-God. ‘Coming. I won’t be a minute.’ I cleaned my teeth, tousled my hair and took a deep breath. Now or never.

Stuart was standing to the side of the window. ‘Come and see.’ He motioned for me to walk around the table and chairs so that I stayed out of sight of anybody looking in from the street.

I crept around and stood next to him. ‘Look, down there, second tree past the red gate.’

My eyes took some adjusting to the dim light, but somebody was standing under the tree. ‘Who’s that?’

‘Gavin.’

I stood gobsmacked. ‘How the hell did he get there?’

Stuart frowned and shook his head. ‘I can’t think.’ His mouth shut into a tight line. ‘I can’t think about him at all right now. We need rest. Leave him there and we’ll speak to him in the morning.’ He shut the blinds. Without that big moon the room went a thick blue-black.

‘I didn’t tell him, I swear.’

‘Okay.’

‘I didn’t!’

‘It doesn’t matter if you did or not. He’s here now and we’ll just have to deal with it. But not right now.’

‘Stuart, I swear to you. I didn’t.’

‘Okay.’ There was a lengthy pause and the air felt electrified for all the wrong reasons. ‘I believe you,’ he said, but his voice was sharp, tense. ‘We’ll talk about it more in the morning.’

The logistics of getting into bed were a nightmare. I learned new stuff every day. I liked learning. Right then, I learned that an ex-boyfriend spying outside the hotel room does not create the ideal atmosphere for a first night of passion. Especially when current potential passion-maker thinks ex is there under girl’s request.

I used the bathroom again. Damn neurotic nerves. I washed out my old knickers. If nothing was going to happen I wanted to be at least semi-prepared in case it happened the following day. Stuart would feel guilty about doubting me, for sure. He’d be itching to make it up to me after he discovered I’d told him nothing but the truth. About Gavin anyway. Damn Gavin, he must have jumped the same train as us. Must stop saying damn, it was a Joe-word and so not BBC. The temptation to race out and knock Gavin’s teeth out was only outweighed by my wanting to cuddle into Stuart. With any luck, Gavin would have to sleep on the street, serve him bang to rights. We’d sort him out in the morning, on Get Gemma Day – the day everything might change. Anything could happen, we might be captured or even shot. No, surely not. Maybe. And there was I stressing over my stupid knickers. I nudged Stuart’s freshly washed boxers along the towel rail to make room and changed my mind as it all looked a little too presumptuous, leaning towards desperate. And erotic. Then I faced the problem of putting his boxers back exactly as I found them. The horror that he might think I’d picked them up to touch them set me in a right tizz. Argh, Atty, get a grip!

In the end I climbed into bed in my tee shirt and new panties, and faced away from the centre of the bed towards the window. Stuart stumbled and cursed his way around the bottom of the bed, patting it to find where I lay. ‘Argh, oops, toe, ouch.’ The mattress dipped and he settled in. The duvet stretched to cover us both, leaving a gap of cool air tickling the full length of my back sending hairs, which I didn’t even know I had, to a static attention. The silence which followed made it difficult to breathe, especially through my bent and sore nose. ‘Stuart?’

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry if I snore.’

‘Is that what you’re worried about?’

‘No.’

‘I’ve got much bigger things on my mind.’

‘Yeah, I know. But what I care about most, right now, is you believe me. I did not tell Gavin where we were going.’

He moved closer and his breath tickled my spine. ‘I know. I do believe you. I’m just frustrated, that’s all. And scared. If those guards at the station told Gavin, then they might have told Basley Law.’

‘I’m not sure the Law want us enough to chase us. It was only a DVD.’

‘And a break in. And stealing a file from an Approved agent. You might want to add money extortion to the list too if they’ve persuaded my dad to talk.’ Silence. ‘On reflection,’ he said. ‘I think I’d prefer it if it had been you who told Gavin.’

I stayed quiet. That was a heap of charges he’d reeled off.

‘I’d forgive you if it was, Atty. I’d forgive you anything.’ He shifted in the bed, closer. ‘Oh God, Atty. I’m frightened of getting this wrong.’ His fingers touched my waist and my toes curled. He snuggled his forehead into the curve of my neck. ‘I’ve only just found you. If anything happened to you I’d never forgive myself.’

I turned onto my back. ‘Nothing is going to go wrong.’ I paused to marvel how calm my voice sounded. I tried it again. ‘Nobody is going to get hurt.’ Woah. I sounded well in control. ‘If the Law knew where we were and wanted us enough to chase us, they’d have us locked up by now. It’s not their style to hang about under trees. That’s left to the morons like Gavin.’

Stuart’s fingers found the bottom of my tee shirt and touched the naked skin of my stomach. Thank God I was lying on my back. I breathed in anyway. It’s a habit, one I’d been trying to kick so I released gently but tried to keep my looser flesh as tight as possible. His warm breath tickled behind my ear and then a teeny barely-there kiss.

His fingers stroked in larger circles, tickling my ribcage and down to my pantie line. ‘Is Gavin hanging around outside putting you off?’

Decision time. If I said, ‘no’ it would mean, ‘yes, I want you.’ And did I want to confirm the ‘all westy girls are easy girls’ line? If I said ‘yes’ it would mean, ‘no, not tonight.’ But we might not get another chance anytime soon. I wanted him to keep touching so, so bad, but the whole conversation seemed so, I don’t know, contractual. It crossed my mind all polite easty boys might like express permission first. In writing maybe. Perhaps he didn’t really want to, just felt obliged to try. Maybe he wanted a get-out clause, I offered him one. ‘Well, he is a bit.’

‘I understand.’

‘Not a lot. Just a bit.’

‘It’s okay. Honestly. When we’ve got Gemma and Stacey back I’m going to take you to the best hotel money can buy and we will have the best food and the best wine.’ He kissed my neck, tugged my tee shirt down over my belly, and cuddled in like a puppy. ‘The first time should be the best night ever.’

‘Are you going straight to sleep?’

‘I’m way too tired to think strategic stuff. We can plan our next move in the morning. I’m knackered.’

I must have slept pretty good given all that my brain had to deal with because I woke clear headed and keen to get going. But Stuart lay silently beside me with his hand on my thigh. His fingers felt hot and dry and no way did I want him to take them away. So I lingered long enough for the sun to rise and brighten the room. The blinds didn’t quite reach the windowsill and the stripe of light through the gap shone like a torch into my eyes. I eased out from under the hand, got up, found some money in Stuart’s pocket, and crept out to buy us breakfast.

At home, the key to avoiding random street checks, was to look as rich as possible. I walked with a deliberate purpose, jiggled the coins in my pocket and held my head high and confident.

Shepton didn’t appear to have an underclass like Basley. It was much smaller and everybody moved very slow and laidback. The local equivalent to our Reds dressed casually and chatted to passers-by like they were all old mates. Perhaps they were. Despite my strut, I must have stuck out like a lemondropper at a tea party - a walking disaster; never had much, never will; written off without a hope. That’s what was lacking in Basley – hope. The Law had us believe every county had its problems but Shepton seemed to be doing okay. There were enough window boxes and pretty paint jobs to suggest there was wealth to waste.

I found a small café which did some great cheese rolls and even let me take away drinks – I ordered a big, black coffee for Stuart and a rich Hot Blue for me. ‘This is a very pretty area,’ I said to the middle-aged woman behind the counter. ‘Is there much opportunity for work?’

I might as well have asked if she served puppy’s brains in a sandwich. Her face changed from amiable to guarded within a fraction and I swear the air chilled.

‘Most places are family owned,’ she said. ‘Passed down from generation to generation.’

‘I don’t just mean the cafés and B & Bs, what about other places? Factories of some kind?’

‘No.’ She turned away.

Charming. And she hadn’t even seen my papers. For all she knew I might have been a local.

Gavin had followed several meters behind and waited in the doorway of a bakery over the road. Now I didn’t have Stuart to distract me, things began to make sense. The guards would never have told Gavin anything unless he’d handed over a truck load of money. Gavin never had money. The only way he’d know we were in Shepton, was if he’d put a trace on us.

I pulled the leaflet out of my back pocket, ran my fingers down the centre crease, and found a small bump halfway down, disguised by the fold. I rubbed at it until the paper rippled and the upper layer flaked away. A tiny circular tracker, the size of a miniature watch battery, stuck to my finger like a contact lens.

The woman behind the counter placed a brown paper bag containing our breakfast on the counter, ‘There you go. Have a nice day.’ Nice words but her tone was decidedly dismissive.

‘Do you have a back door?’

She pointed down a passage. ‘Past the toilets and through the yard.’

Stuart woke as I slammed the bedroom door. ‘Woah. Morning.’

‘That cheating, squirming worm!’

‘Uh? Who?’

‘Gavin!’ I paced back and forth across the room at the bottom of the bed. ‘He put a tracker on us.’

Stuart looked confused and fumbled with the duvet to sit up. ‘How?’

‘I’m going to kill him,’ I said.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. Really. I’m going to rip his arms off and stuff them up his backside.’

‘Oh. Nice.’ He swung his legs out of the bed and yawned. ‘I need the bathroom.’

I’d noticed.

Stuart drank his coffee and said nothing until I’d ranted myself out. He nodded and looked at the carpet. ‘He’s a naughty boy,’ he said.

‘Naughty? He’s a sneaky, conniving, cheating git.’ I slumped in my seat and scowled at the breakfast. Not saying what I really thought, using full floral swear words, made me feel miserable. ‘A proper git.’

‘Yeah, I get it. So anyway, where was the tracker and where is it now?’

‘It was buried in that stupid leaflet he gave me. I stuck it on some old biddy where I bought the breakfast. He’s probably at bingo or something now. But he won’t be fooled for long ― we need to finish up and get out of here.’

He nodded. ‘So it was on you, not us.’ I shot him a look. He raised his hands in surrender. ‘Just getting the facts sorted. At least now we know how he got here and that the guards aren’t gossiping. That’s a good thing. Positives.’ He did his signature finger waggle thing before turning serious. ‘I think we should wait here, let Gavin come and talk to us. We’ve seen where the kids are being held, now’s the time to tell Joe where we are. Joe can contact my mum and they’ll figure out how to get the kids out of the Manor.’

I weighed the idea up. Knowing where the kids were didn’t quite have the same heroic zim as taking them home ourselves. My fantasy ran away with itself again and I pictured myself smiling, holding Gemma’s hand, walking along the pavement to greet Joe. ‘You don’t think we can get them out by ourselves?’

‘I think the safest way, for the kids and us, would be to let the experts take over.’ He held my hand and fiddled with my fingers. ‘I’ll make sure Joe knows it was thanks to you we found them.’

‘I don’t need you to tell him anything but the truth.’

‘Of course not.’

‘But feel free to point out all the good bits. The riding the bike, the …’ I tried to think which moment had been entirely mine.

‘Naturally,’ Stuart said. He smiled. ‘Trust me. Joe will think you’re ripe for chief commandant or whatever the group call their top man. Or woman.’

There was a knock on the door. ‘Mm,’ I said. ‘Sooner than I expected.’ I opened the door.

‘Very funny, Atty.’ Gavin strutted into the room and stood all macho-esque in front of the window. ‘These things cost money, don’t you know?’ He waved a small box, about the size of a ring case. ‘You’re lucky I got it back.’

‘Or what?’ I demanded. ‘What would you have done?’

‘Huh. You don’t want to know.’

I scoffed and folded my arms. Like he, the bonzo of Basley, had the nerve to try and scare me. ‘Where did you get that from anyway? Not Joe, surely.’

‘I bought it.’

‘Yeah right.’

‘I did. It’s mine.’

Stuart came and stood alongside me, not touching, but close enough to leave no doubt whose corner he was in. ‘It doesn’t matter where or why or whatever. The point is, Gavin. We need you to get in touch with Joe and tell him where we are. We’ve found Gemma. We need Joe to contact my mother and they can arrange for Gemma, and maybe the others too, to be taken home.’

‘Well, duh uh,’ said Gavin all sarky, ‘if I could get to speak to Joe I would have already. Nobody can get in or out of the west and all communications are cut, it’s under lockdown.’

I dropped to a sit on the bed. ‘Please tell me you’re lying.’

‘Straight. Something to do with the riots. Joe’s locked in and we’re locked out. But Gemma and Stacey are okay where they are. They’re in some big house playing with ponies and go-karts.’ He looked around the room at the grubbiness and sniffed. ‘Don’t know what we’re going to do though.’

‘We?’ If he thought he was about to snuggle up between me and Stuart he could think again. ‘Where did you sleep last night?’

He grinned and gave me a need-you-ask look.

I snatched at the duvet and made a show of tidying the bed. ‘Well you can sod off back there again tonight.’

‘Why, don’t you want me getting in the way? Moved on to the next step have we?’ he spoke all sarky and whiny.

I swung round but he was looking at Stuart, and not in a happy way. The flaming cheek of him. ‘It’s none of your business.’

‘Guys,’ said Stuart, ‘can we cut the squabbling. I’m trying to think.’

Squabbling was what it was, childish and petty. I tried to raise the tone. ‘We need to find out if time is an issue. If the kids are safe we might as well leave them there until the lockdown is lifted.’

‘They’re good, I told you, they’ve got ponies and go-karts to play with.’

‘No Gavin. They haven’t. There are no ponies, no go-karts, no anything. Who knows what the hell is going on in that place?’ Stuart paced the room. ‘We can’t risk waiting for help. If they’re being mistreated we’ll have to get them out ourselves. There’s no saying how long the lockdown will last.’

‘Okay, if that’s all true, then I’ll help you. So long as I don’t have to deal with the creep with the gold tooth.’

‘What do you know about him? And how did you get here? Train? They’re pricey tickets.’

‘I came on my bike.’

This was getting more confusing by the minute. ‘You haven’t got a bike,’ I said.

Gavin grinned like a loon. ‘I have now. You’ll love it. It’s a sport with a thousand cc and it’s got …’

‘Gavin.’ Stuart stepped up to Gavin’s face, his palms facing the floor, shoulders tight. ‘Shut up. We get it, you’ve got a bike. Now all we want to know is ― what do you know about Crawlsfeld? The bloke with the gold tooth.’

Gavin glanced at me and turned all coy and daft. ‘Well. It’s complicated.’

‘Just tell us, Gavin.’ Stuart used his bulk to lean into Gavin, making him squirm and back away.

‘Okay. Straight. He caught me nicking a car over east, let me off if I could introduce him to anybody wanting to give their kid up for adoption. Paid me too.’

I couldn’t believe his ability to be so blasé. ‘You earned money by introducing Crawlsfeld to Carl.’

Gavin stepped towards me. ‘You don’t get what it was like for Carl. He’s not a bad bloke. Just some young lad working all the hours he’s awake in some crummy, mindless job. They paid him in kiddy vouchers mainly. He had nothing for himself. Or Fran. She wasn’t happy, Atts, honest she wasn’t. I didn’t think she’d do what she did, but it was no life for any of them. Including Stacey. Especially Stacey.’

‘Nice speech,’ said Stuart. ‘But why did Crawlsfeld want them? Did you ask him?’

I sneered. ‘Or did you just ask, how much?’ Things had been tough for Fran, but that was because Carl let them down. He should have stepped up. ‘If the job didn’t pay enough, Carl should have got a better one.’

Gavin snorted. ‘Yep. Just like that. Because that’s what it’s like, isn’t it, Atty? A guy needs money to feed his girl and kid and, if his job don’t pay, all he has to do is go out and get another one.’ He spat the last three words like he wanted them to stab me through the eyeball. I studied the pattern on the manky carpet. Everything stank. And I didn’t know how to put it right.

Stuart spoke quietly into the silence. ‘And Gemma? Do you know why Crawlsfeld picked Gemma?’

‘My girl over east. She knew your mum was away and, well, your dad ain’t the best, is he?’

‘Did she earn enough for a bike too?’

‘She’s got enough money of her own.’

I laughed. ‘You kept her money too, huh? Wow. You the man, Gav. You the man.’

‘I’ve said I’ll help get them back.’

‘Yes. You did. But what do you think you can do to help us?’

‘I can find out what’s going on in the Manor.’

‘How?’

‘Well I’ll ask Mary.’

‘Who’s Mary?’

‘She put me up last night. I’ll ask, she’ll tell me. How hard can it be?’

If only all our lives could be as simple as Gavin’s.