Authors: Bea Davenport
Another girl tapped the teenager hard on the back. She had what Clare always called the ‘hard-girl’s-hairdo’ – a tight ponytail stretched high on top of her head – and she was clutching a can. “Don’t talk to her, you stupid mare.”
The first girl gave a direct glare into Clare’s eyes and they turned and moved away. Clare knew better than to argue. As she walked away, she pulled her notebook out of her pocket and started scribbling down a few notes about the scene.
Graffiti: ‘Pigs Murderers’. Torched cars still alight. Shop looted and stripped. Power cut after fire at elec sub-station. Friends claim Craigy is innocent. Stench of burning.
Glancing behind, she was aware of the little gang of teenagers following her at a short distance. She stuffed the notebook back inside her pocket and kept walking. She could knock on Amy’s door, just to make sure she was okay, and then she could make a phone call to Stewie to see if he was up for driving out and taking some pictures. Trying to look confident, she quickened her stride towards the stairs that led to Amy’s floor.
She didn’t quite make it to the stairwell. Someone ran up behind her, pulled at her shoulder to stop her walking, then kicked at the back of her knee, making her buckle and fall down to the ground. She felt a foot on the small of her back, pushing her flat down onto the concrete. Her skin grazed on the ground and she tasted grit in her mouth. She held her breath as the foot pressed down harder.
“What were you writing in that book?” It was the voice of the second girl, the one who’d warned the other not to talk to Clare.
“Nothing about you,” Clare muttered, wincing at the pain in her leg and hands.
The girl kicked her hard in between the shoulder blades. “Give us the book.”
“No way.” Clare rolled over a fraction so that she was pressing down on the pocket with the notebook. The girl crouched down, put her knee on Clare’s back and tried tugging on Clare’s arm, but she stiffened and refused to budge. In the next moment, her head was wrenched backwards as someone pulled hard on her hair. Instinctively she put both hands up to her head and then doubled up as she was repeatedly kicked in the back, thighs and stomach. Spasms of pain were shooting through every muscle and limb. She tried calling out, but the sharp ache in her stomach made it difficult to catch enough breath to make a noise. Someone grabbed her fingers and forced them backwards and as she tried desperately to move her hands back with them, to stop her fingers breaking, she felt someone pull the notebook out of her pocket. At the same time, the weight came off her back and her hands were released. Slowly, her eyes streaming, Clare tried to push herself up, her numbed arms and fingers barely taking her weight. She watched, shaking but unable to act, as the girl pulled pages out of the book, without looking at them, and tore them into little pieces. She scattered the papers across the ground.
Another young girl turned back to Clare and gave her a hard thump that landed on the side of her face and made her fall back down to the ground again, clutching her head. She lay there, pain pounding through her whole body, no longer trying to fight tears. The agony in her head washed over her, wave after blackening wave.
ten
Slowly, Clare became aware of someone calling her name. “Clare. Clare!”
She blinked repeatedly, unable to focus properly, and raised her head, groaning. Amy was standing over her with tears running down her little face. In her hands, she was clutching as many pieces of torn paper as she’d been able to find. “I’ve got some of them back for you,” she said. “The fucking bastards.”
Clare gathered her thoughts together enough to say, “Amy!”
“I’m sorry, Clare,” Amy said, in a tone that suggested she was the one doing the telling-off. “But that’s what they are.”
Clare pushed herself to her feet and brushed herself down, screwing up her face and moaning involuntarily. Everything throbbed.
“Look,” Amy said. “Here’s your friend.”
Finn was running towards her. He came to a stop and Clare thought she saw him visibly blanch. “There’s an ambulance on the edge of the estate, but the crews have been told not to come in. Let’s get you there. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can.” That wasn’t quite true. Her legs felt reluctant to move and there was a searing pain across the side of her head. “And I don’t need an ambulance, I just want to get home.”
Finn took her arm. “What the hell happened?”
Clare took a step forward and wobbled. She clutched at Finn. “Hang on. I just feel a bit sick.”
“Have you… does your back feel okay?”
Clare closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly. “Nothing feels okay. How’s George Armstrong?”
“In good hands. Never mind him. I think we should get the paramedics to check you over.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ve got a few bruises, that’s all.” Clare shivered, although the night air was warm. She tried to suppress the urge to vomit. “And I feel like a prat.”
“This isn’t your fault.” Finn put his arm around Clare, and she gave him a small smile.
“Though you probably shouldn’t’ve got your book out when you did,” Amy chipped in. “You should’ve waited till they couldn’t see you.”
Finn stared down at her. “What’s your part in all this?”
Amy shrugged. “I was watching, that’s all. If you want to get the bastards I know where they went.”
Finn followed the direction of Amy’s eyes.
“Hey,” Clare said. “I’d just like to go home, if that’s okay. I don’t want anyone getting anyone else, you hear me?”
Amy made a disgusted
puhh
sound. “Want these?” She held out the crumpled, torn shreds of paper.
“Go on then. Thanks for picking them up.” Clare stuffed them into her pockets. “I take it your mum’s out again?”
Amy thought for a moment. “No, it’s okay. She’s in the house.”
“So how come she’s letting you wander around at…” Clare looked at her watch and squinted, her eyes taking a while to focus. “Around half-one in the morning?”
“She’s asleep.”
“She’s asleep? Through the power going down and the fires and all this racket out here?”
Amy nodded. “Yep.”
Finn coughed. “I think we should get out of here, Clare. Think about yourself right now.”
Clare squinted at Amy. “Promise me? Promise you’re not on your own in that flat?”
Amy shook her head. “Uh-uhh. I’m fine.”
Clare didn’t entirely believe Amy, but she was too wracked with pain to argue. “Go to bed then. I’ll come and see you tomorrow, I promise.”
Clare looked around. The place was still in darkness but there were fewer people around. The trouble seemed to be damping itself down.
They started to move slowly forward again, Clare hobbling and gritting her teeth.
“Hang on,” said Finn, stopping. He scooped his arms under Clare’s legs and round her shoulders and lifted her up. Clare made wincing noises. “You don’t have to do this, I can walk.”
Finn strode forward. “It’s like carrying a little bird,” he said. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
Clare tucked her head under his chin and closed her eyes, grimacing at the way every movement caused fresh agony. “What I want to know is where the police were? Not a sign of them anywhere.”
“They’re around, but they’re on the edge of the estate,” said Finn, pausing for a moment to hoist Clare a little closer to him. “The main roads into Sweetmeadows have been blocked off. I spoke to one of the lads and he said it was orders from on high, not to actually go into the estate. For their own safety.”
“Never mind anyone else’s safety,” Clare grumbled.
“To be fair, you were warned not to go in and you took no notice. Not that I’m taking the pigs’ side,” Finn said, quickly, as Clare gave him a sharp look. “Plus, they’re short of manpower. It’s their own fault, because they’ve shipped a load of officers off to earn the big money on picket duty down in Yorkshire. So they were caught on the hop when this all kicked off. It took them an hour or so to get some extra officers together.”
Clare tried to breathe slowly, to calm the pains shooting across her head and body. It had no effect. “Meanwhile the place is going up in flames and there are old men having asthma attacks who can’t get an ambulance. And families with kids and no electricity in their flats. That shop is the only one that’s actually on the estate, and it’s been torn apart. If the police aren’t supposed to move in when all that’s going on, I don’t know what they’re there for.”
Finn stopped walking. Clare spotted two paramedics walking towards her.
“Hey. How are you doing?” one of them said.
“I’m fine. A bit sore, that’s all.” Finn lowered her gently to the ground and, as she placed her feet on the pavement, she clutched at him for balance. Her head swam.
The young woman paramedic took her arm. “Can you walk over here to our ambulance? We’d just like to give you a quick once-over. I’m Jill, by the way.”
“Hi, Jill. I really don’t need a once-over,” Clare argued, but she let herself be lifted into the back of the ambulance. Jill examined her bruises and gently felt the side of her jaw. Clare cringed as more spasms bolted through her head. She touched the tender skin on her face and checked her fingers to see if she was bleeding. Jill shone a small light into Clare’s eyes, which started to water.
“I’d be happier if you spent the night in hospital. You’re badly bruised and you’ve hit your head, so I’d feel more comfortable if someone was observing you for the next few hours.”
“I’d feel more comfortable if I could just go home and have a shower and get into my own bed.”
Jill ignored this. “Are you coming with her?” she asked Finn, easing Clare down onto a stretcher and propping her head and shoulders up. Finn nodded.
“I get no say in this, obviously.” Clare watched as the ambulance doors were closed. She felt too weak, sore and exhausted to put up a real fight.
Tuesday 31st July
The sound of a trolley clattering with tea cups woke Clare with a painful jolt. When she’d worked out where she was, rather slowly, she closed her eyes again with a moan. Everything still ached, or at least that was how it felt, on every part of her body. A nurse leaned over her and asked, in a whisper, whether she wanted a cup of tea. Clare nodded, wondering why the nurse had bothered to lower her voice when the trolley made enough noise to wake everyone along the whole corridor.
Clare asked the time and was told it was just after eight in the morning. “Damn. I’d better get to work,” she said, slowly pulling back her sheet. She had a vague memory of being helped into the hospital nightgown and hoped that by that point Finn had gone home.
“I don’t think so,” said the nurse, holding up a hand. “The doctor needs to see you before you go.”
“I can’t wait very long then,” Clare said, sitting back with her tea, hoping her head would stop spinning if she lay still for a moment. “I’ll be in trouble if I’m late for work.”
The nurse gave Clare a long look. “I’ve seen you before,” she said. “Recently. Am I right?”
Guilt made Clare’s skin prickle. She hadn’t recognised the nurse, but it was possible that she’d been on duty two months ago, when Clare had to be admitted as an emergency.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
The nurse frowned and looked at Clare closely. “I’m sure I am,” she said. “I don’t get faces wrong. I’m sure you came in…”
“It wasn’t me,” Clare said quickly. “I just have one of those faces, everyone thinks they’ve seen me before from somewhere. Common, I think they call it.”
The nurse laughed. “Well, you should know whether or not you’ve been in hospital recently. But you shouldn’t be fretting about work. I can call someone for you and tell them you’re here.”
Clare shook her head. “No need. I’m fine to go to work, really.”
“You don’t look fine to me.” It was Joe’s voice.
“What the hell are you doing here? How did you even know I was here?”
“Bob Seaton told me. You went out to Sweetmeadows last night, in spite of people telling you not to do it, and you got beaten up by a bunch of toe-rags who thought you were about to dob them in to the police. Well done, Clare. That’s a prime piece of fuckwittedness, even for you.”
“That’s a warped version of what actually happened. Nurse, is he even allowed in at this time of the morning?”
Noisily, Joe scraped a plastic chair to the side of the bed. “Yes, I am, because I called the ward sister and asked if I could drop in before work. I’m quite ready to believe that I don’t know the whole story. Does the name Amy Hedley feature in it, by any chance?”
“Not in the way you think. I went out to do a news story on the mini-riot that was going on. Amy had nothing to do with that. She only turned up at the end. She tried to rescue the pages from my notebook, bless her.”
“I’m told you’re lucky that you didn’t get a broken jaw. Or even a brain injury.”
“Really.” Clare folded her bruised arms and glared at Joe. “You know, I could do without this kind of bedside manner.”
“And I gather the boyfriend was with you. Fat lot of use he was, the big tough miner. Letting you get beaten up by a bunch of kids.”
“Actually, Finn was taking George Armstrong to hospital. He had a serious asthma attack and Finn probably saved his life. Get your facts right before you write the headlines.”
“You’re not expected at work, by the way. I spoke to Catt this morning, as soon as I found out.”
“Throwing a party, is she?”
“Don’t be like that. If nothing else, this is going to make you have some time off. Every cloud and all that.”
“That’s not the way I see it.”
Joe put a morning paper on the bedside table. “I thought you’d rather have this than flowers.”
Clare gave him a weak smile. “I would. Thanks. Hey, what did Seaton say about this young lad dying in the police cells?”
“They’re saying he managed to hang himself with something. They’re not telling us what he used. But he was only seventeen. Seaton says the team interviewed him about Jamie Donnelly and he got very distressed, so they put him in the cell to calm down. When they next went to check on him, he was dead. Of course, he shouldn’t have been left with anything that meant he could do himself harm. There’s another inquiry hanging over Seaton’s head. He looks like a man with the world on his shoulders.”