Cracks (17 page)

One night, I’m walking back along the towpath at the end of the job. It’s just me, Zander, Jax and two other guys in their early twenties. Zander doesn’t like
to park his car by the house so the car and the stolen goods get left in a lock-up at the city end of the canal. We always walk the last bit. Seems there was once a road into the estate but the
canal flooded badly on one side and now this is the only way in. But it’s a miserable journey and tonight it feels ten times harder.

The whole evening has been one big struggle. I’m tired and have a headache that nags above one eye. I’m cold and just want to get into my sleeping bag and pass out. We saw some CATS
people earlier – lots of them – and Zander made a change of plan to move to another warehouse in a different part of the city. Worried thoughts jab at me as I picture manhunts and
sniffer dogs all laid on by Cavendish just for me. Is it only a matter of time until I get picked up?

And do I really want to be thieving like this anyway? I don’t like doing it. I’m worried about it becoming too easy. What then? Do I end up like Zander and the older ones of his
gang? Sleeping with a weapon and never really trusting anyone? Having dead eyes that slide about and never really smiling? Never having a proper home or people who care about me?

All this grinds away inside and so I’m not concentrating when Jax calls out some warning to me. The next thing, my toe smashes into something hard and I trip. I’m falling sideways. I
see the look of shock on Jax’s face as I fly off the towpath. Then I slam into the filthy water. It instantly fills my mouth. I go under, gasping and choking. It’s dark and cold and I
thrash about. I can’t swim! I’m being dragged down. I surface again and then go back under. Something has hold of my foot. My lungs are screaming, tearing, burning. I’m going to
die! I’m going to die right here before I’ve even had a chance to live. Hurts my chest . . . can’t breathe . . .

Lights start exploding inside my head.

And then I’m above the surface again and a long brown arm is around my neck, pulling me backwards, and then hauling me back onto the towpath.

Jax is dripping all over me. He leans over, gasping for breath. ‘You all right, man? You OK? Matt!’ He slaps my cheek gently, his eyes wide and scared.

I struggle to a sitting position and then throw up all over myself. I can taste that chemical water and I heave over and over again. I look up blearily to see Zander staring down at both if us,
a look of distaste on his face and zero sympathy.

‘If you two want to go for a swim then feel free. But I’m not standing around all night waiting for you.’

I wipe my mouth with a shaking hand and glare up at him. I open my mouth to bite back but Jax squeezes my shoulder warningly. ‘You’re OK, Matt, you’re OK,’ he says.
‘Think that’s enough excitement for one night, yeah? Come on.’ He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. I take it and he helps haul me to my feet.

‘Told you to watch out for those bricks, but did you listen?’ He’s smiling kindly.

‘Thanks, Jax,’ I say quietly and he just nods and claps me on the back.

‘Forget about it,’ he says. ‘Owe you one, anyway. For Kyla,’ he adds in a whisper.

I
sleep heavily that day, but have strange dreams where harsh voices mutter threats in my ears. I’m underwater and can see Cavendish’s
face floating just above the surface. I’ll die if I stay under, but I’ll die if I come out too. Then I’m looking at a brain floating in a glass jar and Cavendish is prodding it
with a pencil, laughing.

I wake up suddenly. Sitting up, I groan. I don’t know what was in that canal water but my guts feel terrible. The house seems empty and I wonder where everyone is as I pad through and take
a shower – cold, because the heating only works when a guy called Mab manages to hack into some sort of power company database.

I’m shivering when I come back into the room with just a towel round my waist. I start as I see Kyla reading a tatty paperback on the sofa. She looks me up and down. I instantly turn into
a red traffic light as I snatch up my clothes.

‘Where is everyone?’ I say in a strangled voice.

‘Out on a job,’ she says, with a small cough. ‘Zander gave you a lie in. Said his golden boy deserved a rest.’

I flush even more. ‘Don’t call me that.’

Her face softens. ‘OK,’ she says quietly. ‘Look, he didn’t really. I heard you took a dip in the canal? You were muttering in your sleep. Sort of feverish. Zander thought
you’d be a liability if you went.’

‘Oh,’ I say. I don’t know how to put my next question but Kyla seems to guess it from my expression.

‘Don’t worry!’ She smiles. ‘You didn’t tell us your deepest, darkest secrets or anything!’

I grunt and grab some clothes and a hoodie pinched from a clothing factory we broke into a few nights ago. I leave the room. Kyla watches me go.

Well, thank God for that. I could have said anything when I was delirious.

But I didn’t mean to snap at her. I just didn’t like what she said. If the best that can be said is that I’m the ‘golden boy’ of a creep like Zander, well, it
doesn’t say much. But it’s true things have changed around here since I’ve been ‘working’ for him. Everyone has better clothes and gear and boxes of gadgets are
starting to pile up in the rooms until Zander flogs them. And that’s another worry, right there. I haven’t heard anything further about this mate with the illegal chipping device. What
if Zander decides I’m too valuable to let go? What then? I can’t stay here forever. I feel like invisible arms are pulling me in all directions. I have to find out who I am. I’ll
never be able to live a normal life until I find out who that donor boy was and whether there’s any connection with my own identity. But Jax is starting to feel like a real friend now too.
And I’ve never had one of those before.

By the time I’m dressed, I’m regretting snapping at Kyla. I go back into the room, wondering what to say. But I stop dead in the doorway.

She’s flicking round television channels. An Indian woman is serving behind the counter in a shop. It’s some kind of soap by the looks of things. The image is so vivid because of the
fancy 3D TV, it’s like they’re in the room. But suddenly I’m surrounded by feelings, smells, pictures, like I’ve been pitched headfirst into another world.

I see jars and jars of delicious sweets in rainbow colours. I’m pulling on a lady’s skirt and whining.
I want those sweets so badly
.

And a woman is saying, ‘Stop it, Cal! I told you, no sweets until Friday!’

I kick the counter in a temper, looking down at my feet. I’m wearing blue sandals. One of the leather straps is undone and my socks have Winnie the Pooh pictures on them.

‘Matt? Matt? Are you all right?’

The room comes whooshing back into focus. Kyla is standing in front of me. Her hand tentatively touches my shoulder. ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

I look up at her concerned face blearily. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say, shakily. ‘It’s just . . . something I remembered.’

It’s true. This is a
real
memory. Mine, from before the time I was in the Facility. If I compare it with what I remember from my old life, it’s like comparing a kid’s
drawing with the two-metre square, 3D television images in front of me. A smile spreads across my face and Kyla smiles back uncertainly.

‘Matt,’ she says finally. ‘Tell me to mind my own business, but . . .’

‘Mind your own business but . . .’ I say quickly, but soften it with a smile. ‘I’m OK, honest.’

She regards me for a minute and then shrugs. ‘No worries. Least said, soonest mended, my mum used to say.’ Something sad passes across her face. Then she looks up and brightens.
‘Hey, you hungry, Matt?’

‘Yeah, I am actually.’ We live on takeaways here. I think about a greasy slice of hot cheesy pizza or some creamy chicken tikka massala and my mouth fills with spit. ‘Shall I
go get something?’ There’s a row of shops with a couple of takeaways back along the towpath.

‘No need,’ she says. ‘I’ve been cooking.’

‘Oh,’ I say, forcing a rictus smile on my unwilling face. ‘That’s . . . great.’

She uncurls herself from the sofa in a way that looks like something you’d need to study for years and disappears from the room without saying anything else. I close my eyes and try to
reach for more of the memory. But it’s no good. It’s like finding your way into a pitch dark room. It’s gone.

I understand now why Amil’s place has such a pull though. I’ve really been in that shop. Maybe his family will know who I am. But it would have been years ago. Why would they
remember me? It’s all churning away inside my head as Kyla comes back into the room holding two steaming bowls.

‘Budge,’ she says and puts the bowls on the broken coffee table before flumping down next to me on the sofa.

‘Er, thanks,’ I say and she starts tucking into the food with a gusto you wouldn’t expect from such a skinny girl who was recently at death’s door. I peer into my bowl.
It smells like something a cat coughed up on the pavement. I dip my spoon in and taste some, hesitantly. It’s greasy, lumpy and a bit sour. Also, grey. I’m no expert but I’m
guessing that’s a bad colour for food.

‘Like it?’ says Kyla, watching me closely. ‘It’s potato and bacon soup. Well, sort of soup. Maybe more like a stew. Soup-stew. Stewp.’ She laughs throatily and I
feel a smile tickle my mouth. She turns serious again. ‘Eat up! The bacon was a bit old, but I’m sure it’s OK!’ I decide that a boy who can fight his way out of a coma can
guzzle down some bad soup. I spoon it down in about six massive gulps to get it over with. It has a taste and consistency not unlike that toxic canal water.

Kyla wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Considering she’s about the most elegant girl I’ve ever seen, she has some very trucker-like ways.

‘Want some more?’ she says hopefully.

‘No! Er, I mean, no thanks. I’m all full up.’ I pat my belly unconvincingly. ‘It was . . . delicious.’

‘Good, I’m glad you liked it, Matt. I wanted to do something nice for you. I wanted to . . .’

She looks down and presses a finger into a fag burn on the sofa like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. ‘Wanted to, you know . . .’

‘What?’ I say. My mouth has gone really dry but my hands are sweating. It’s like all the moisture in my body is in the wrong places. She’s sitting so close that I get a
whiff of some sort of soap or perfume. It smells spicy and sweet, like cinnamon on apples. She looks up and my stomach dips, like I just jumped a ten storey building.

‘Oh, you know, just wanted to say thanks. For saving my life.’ She tries to sound flippant and does a silly wobble of her head. She has a tiny gap between her teeth and her tongue
pokes through, pinkly. She couldn’t look ugly, even if she tried really, really hard. Her skin is the colour of very milky coffee and I see her cheeks darken a bit. She smiles normally again
and I notice her pupils, big and black in her chocolate brown eyes. Every bit of her face is just exactly right. I’d like to stare at it for three hours at least. My cheeks burn and I look
away, clearing my throat.

‘It’s no problem,’ I say in a strangled voice.

There’s an awkward silence, then Kyla drums her thighs with her hands.

She gets up and gives a loud yawn. ‘God, I’m going nuts in this place. I’ve got to get out of here for a while. Come for a walk with me?’

‘Um, OK. Where to?’ I wish I could stop umming and er-ing and speak normally.

‘Just somewhere I like to go.’

Should I go with her? If she and Jax are . . . together or something, maybe he wouldn’t like us going off on walks all over the place. He’s my friend. I don’t want to tread on
his toes . . .

But they don’t
seem
like they’re together. And it’s only a walk, after all.

‘Yeah, all right then,’ I say, as though it’s just one of many options I fancy just now.

‘Right!’ says Kyla, jumping nimbly to her feet. ‘Let’s clear this stuff away and get going.’

We leave a few minutes later, taking the back way through the estate. I haven’t been this way before. There’s some sort of a common with flooded roads to one side
and a large patch of grass on the other. I can see a group of tower blocks in the distance and we head towards them. There’s rubble everywhere, and piles of bricks. A digger with a massive
wrecking ball is stark against the grey sky.

Even though the light’s bleeding away by the second, it’s good to get a quick glimpse of daytime. I’ve been living like some sort of bat recently. It’s weird how quickly
I’ve got used to my new life all the same. I’ve even adapted to the rotten air now. It’s normal to see black stuff when I blow my nose and I’m used to having a bit of a
cough. I sometimes long for things like a proper comfy bed and then I remember the only one I’ve ever really known was a hospital bed. That makes me feel a bit sick so I try to put it out of
my mind and make myself comfortable on the floor. At least I’m free.

For now, anyway.