Breakdown, page 14
‘Yeah,’ says Tarquin. ‘Here.’ He passes the gun to me. ‘Shoot him in the face if he does anything,’ he says.
I hold the gun. It feels good. I step nearer and crouch down. I hold the gun full in the ganger’s face. I’ll shoot you, I think. You don’t know me. I’ll shoot you as quick as lightning.
Tarquin takes the belt, squats down behind the boy, twists the belt around the boy’s wrists, locks the buckle into place. With the machete Tarquin saws through the remainder of the belt. He tests it, moves to the front and ties the boy’s feet.
‘Aw, please,’ whines the boy.
All the time I push that gun right up close. My hand doesn’t waver. I almost wish he’d struggle so that I could shoot and be done with him. He isn’t going to take me or my Lenny anywhere. I wish to God he wasn’t going to live to tell any tales back at Games City either.
Kaylem gurgles, screams. I glance over at him. One side of his face pitted with shot. Blood everywhere. He looks back at me. Evil. Malicious. But it’s a vacant stare. One eye not quite right. I think he’s lost an eye. He starts coughing, spluttering. I remember his breath on my face, stinking of alcohol. I don’t care if he chokes on his own blood. I wouldn’t turn round and roll him over if you paid me in hot meals.
Tarquin doesn’t say a word. After he’s through tightening the belt, he backs up.
‘Don’t do this, bro,’ whimpers the ganger.
Tarquin toes Kaylem. ‘You better not die,’ he says. ‘You need to sit up and loosen the ties on your partner and pray he helps you home before the dogs come.’
As if by design, a low howling breaks out through the morning.
‘Oh, man,’ moans the ganger.
Tarquin takes the gun back off me. ‘I ain’t finished here yet,’ he says. ‘Get Lenny.’ He yells at Lenny, ‘Take her hand.’ His voice changes. ‘Take Lenny’s hand. Walk to the end of the street. Turn the corner and keep going. Don’t come back whatever you hear.’
‘What you gonna do, Tarquin?’ says Lenny. He sounds more frightened about what Tarquin’s going to do than for his own skin.
‘Don’t ask,’ says Tarquin.
I don’t. I just grab Lenny’s hand and pull him back up the street. We get to the corner. Lenny lags a bit. I haul him around it. He doesn’t need to know what Tarquin’s going to do. I don’t need to know. I grab Lenny and hug him to me. ‘Your brother knows best in this,’ I say. ‘You gotta trust him. He was one of them once.’
We keep on walking. Lenny keeps looking back. We wait to hear shots, wait for something. It’s like the whole of London’s waiting. But the shots don’t come. Gradually Lenny stops shaking so much. He starts to breathe easier.
We hear something. I’m not sure what it is. It’s not a shot. Lenny jumps nearly out of his skin. I keep tight hold of him. I don’t know why. Now would be the very best time to let go, let him scoot off. Lenny wouldn’t know what to do. Even if he didn’t scoot off he’d just stand there not knowing.
Yep, this should be the very best time.
To leave Lenny and Tarquin, once and for all.
29
I imagine Lenny standing there after I’ve gone and looking all baffled. Looking like he’s thinking: should I wait for Tarquin? Follow Missa? Go back? Shout out?
And I can’t do it.
Maybe I can’t do it at all.
And then I’m foxed. I’ve got to do it. Go. Leave them both. Before we reach anywhere near Nan’s flat.
It wasn’t my fault. I’m not the one who locked me up in Games City. What the hell do they expect me to do? But I don’t move or run off or anything. I still can’t. Not while Lenny’s got his little hand curled up in mine so trustingly.
Tarquin catches us up. He comes at a run and shoots one look straight at Lenny. I can see Lenny thinking, like he’s going to ask a string of questions. Tarquin cuts through all thinking. ‘Where to?’ he asks me.
I open my mouth and say, ‘West.’
Oh God. I don’t want them to come west with me.
I hear Nan’s voice. ‘Rules of survival. He who hesitates is lost. When you kill a dog, take its head off in one sweep. Don’t leave a chance for it to get up and bite you. Don’t look into its eyes. Pity is a trap for the faint-hearted.’
But they’re not dogs. And I’m not ready. That’s it. I’m not ready. I don’t want to leave them and go back to the flat alone. I want their company.
I’ll pretend we are going to Scotland just a little longer.
Before I know it, it’s dusk. And I haven’t even tried to leave at all. We’re down by the waterfront where Nan died. I don’t even know why I brought them here. We’re supposed to be going to the wharf where the trade boats moor.
We get to the place. I look around. Lost. As if I’m expecting to see Nan. Tarquin puts his arm round me. Lenny slips his hand into mine and says, ‘Don’t be sad, Missa.’
‘Is this where it happened?’ says Tarquin. They stand there with me.
And I don’t know why, maybe because they’re being so nice about everything, maybe because we’re beginning to feel like we’re a team, but I can’t stand it. The time is right now. If I don’t do it now, I’m never going to be able to.
I bend and give Lenny a little kiss on the top of his head. I stroke his cheek, tuck his hoody round him. I look at Tarquin. Our eyes meet. I look away. I stop thinking about the way his skin glows, the angle of his cheekbones, how the muscle on the side of his face bunches when he laughs.
He’s going to be OK. He’s got a gun. He’s going to be more than OK.
‘I need to be alone,’ I say. ‘Just for a bit.’
They nod. I slip away very slowly. Like I’m just going to shed some tears round the back of some derelict building.
As soon as I’m out of sight, I quicken up my pace. When I’m sure they aren’t going to hear, I start to run. I run fast.
I head straight down the street. The flat’s only a quarter of a mile away. I can do that in five minutes easily. I know I can get there. I ate well last night. It’s almost curfew. This is the dog time of day. But I’ll get there.
When I get home, I’ll get in, I’ll ram the door shut, lock out the world behind me. I’ll drop down on the bed. I’ll let go. Everything can flood out then. I’ll lie there. I don’t know what the hell I’ll do after that. But it won’t matter. I’m not going to stop until I get there.
I make it down through the old high street and up the old estate, I round a corner and I meet them.
A gang of five.
They’re holding bars. They’re holding dogs. The dogs start baying. The gangers smile when they see what they’ve found.
I scream, one long pitch of despair. They weren’t banging any pans. I can see the street leading to my home. The dogs yowl. The noise that only those kind of dogs can make. Everything was so safe, so quiet a few seconds ago. I was free of Tarquin, free of Lenny, free of all the lies. I was racing home to be with everything that is left of Nan.
I was so very nearly there.
The boys laugh. I recognise some of their faces. I can see what’s coming. I turn round. I run back the way I came. And I scream. I run and scream and run. No thoughts. Only Tarquin. Run. Faster. Keep going. Fast.
I glance back. They’ve loosed the dogs.
Don’t stop. Don’t fight. Not when two packs are on to you.
30
I round a corner and there’s Tarquin. He’s running towards me. Thank you, God. I don’t know what to think. Help me. He must help me. He must know I tried to take off without them. I don’t care. I’m so glad to see him.
‘Get back down the street. Find Lenny. Bring him here.’ Tarquin pulls out the gun. He drops to one knee, holds the gun steady in both hands, shoots the lead dog dead in the face. I race on, find Lenny, grab his hand.
The dog goes down squealing. Thrashes about. His eye’s a mess. Everything stops. All the running and the whooping and the cries of ‘Cut her down.’ An ice front descends, freezing everything in its tracks.
One of the boys calls, ‘We’re going back. We seen what you did to Kaylem. Nobody here wants to lose an eye. But now you’re for it. You hear? Careem wants your head, and Lenny’s, in a bag. He’s got posses out after you, everywhere, every street. And he wants the ho.’ The boy throws a finger at me.
‘Come an’ take her then,’ says Tarquin. ‘Scared of a BB gun?’
The boy doesn’t move.
Tarquin stands back up, holds the gun level. Both hands. ‘Don’t worry, Melissa,’ he says. ‘Nobody’s going to take you from me.’
A flicker of something shivers in my chest. If I could have gotten away, I would have. I’d have wiped Tarquin’s steel-dark eyes out of my mind. I’d have forgotten everything about him. However hard. However much it hurt.
But I know then, at that moment, I’m not going to try and get away again. I can’t do it any more.
I hold Lenny tight. He’s trembling. I hold him very close.
Tarquin stands tall like a statue. The gangers drag their dogs away. One of them presses his hands together and bobs his head. Tarquin nods.
The boy slinks forward, hauls the injured dog off, backs up. They all back up. All the way down the street.
As they turn the corner, jeering starts. Calls of: ‘Pussy man,’ and ‘Not for long.’ Hooting, a crescendo of pan banging.
Tarquin turns to me. ‘Where?’
‘This way.’
‘Your place?’
I nod.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ he says.
I lead them to my street. I open the side gate to the back garden and the flat. We pass alongside the house into the yard. I don’t say anything. I know they know. They don’t say anything. Tarquin just smiles. Lenny clings tight. We open the yard gate. Tarquin lets his arm rest on my shoulder, just for a minute. ‘Expect you was confused, just needed some time,’ he says.
Lenny joins in. ‘’Cos you was upset.’
I daren’t speak.
‘I do that,’ says Lenny. ‘I run away when I can’t stand it. I sticks my head in a corner.’
‘Being where your nan died.’
They don’t say anything more. I don’t either. I scuff along the tiled path to the flat door. Frowning. I keep my head up. I pull out the pot by the corner and get out the key. I figure they won’t notice it’s the same as the one on the key ring with the cottage.
The yard is just the same – straggly potato tops, old brick wall. I unlock the door. I push it open. We go down into the basement. Steep stone steps. Concrete floor. One tiny grille letting in a last sliver of light. Old fireplace. Smell of soot.
I can’t think of anything else to do. Tarquin doesn’t mention it again. Even if Lenny didn’t guess, Tarquin did. I grope around for a lamp and the flint. Get it going. Point to a chair. If he’s ready to bury it, so am I.
‘The gangs?’ I ask. ‘How did Careem know? So quickly, about Kaylem?’
‘The Blah-Blah,’ says Tarquin. ‘The pans.’
‘Oh.’
‘We bang out messages on them.’
‘I thought they were to scare off dogs.’
‘They do that too. But anyone who’s a ganger knows how to hear the Blah-Blah.’
I see. All around me a secret language. Instructing thieves on thieving. Looters on looting.
‘Gives a running account of where you are, what swagger you got, blades, dog packs you’re hunting, what your business is, where the army are, avoid getting curfewed, sent to the labour farms.’
I didn’t know. ‘I’ll get out wood,’ I say. ‘If it’s safe, I’ll make a fire.’
‘It’ll be safe enough for tonight,’ says Tarquin.
The lamp flickers. Everything’s the same as when I left. The worn rag rug, tall bookshelves, table in the middle of the room, potatoes still on it. They’ve got mould on them. Lenny looks at them wistfully. I throw them out. I got more potatoes. I get them out of the sack in the cupboard. I scoop out water from the pail. Wash out a pan in the sink. Scrub five potatoes. I set about cleaning out the fireplace, raking out the ashes. Fetch the firewood from under the steps. Get it going.
Tarquin pulls up the chair and sits. He puts the gun on the table. He stretches out his legs. He cups his hands round the back of his head. His jacket falls open. The fire catches. He exhales, soft air. I drag up a stool. I place it near his feet. ‘Put up your feet,’ I say, just like I used to for Nan.
And this old, dry feeling comes over me. I see her garden stick by the door. I see her old blankets. All her little pots arranged by the windows with the seedlings in them, limp and drooping. I glance into the bedroom. I see her comb, her mirror, her things spread on the side table.
I want to hold them to me. Grip tight the fossil we found in the garden, her book of Greek stories, pray to all her Gods to take care of her in the underworld. I want to look into the mirror and see if any memory of her face lingers there. I want to gather up her old blankets and wrap myself inside them and lie down on the bed and rock myself into that other place.
As soon as I get the fire going, I go into her room. I don’t let myself cry. I’m not going to feel anything again. Feeling is too hard. I stand there. I press her clothes against my face just for a second.
I hear the door. I drop the clothes. A hand touches my arm. I think that it must be Lenny. He still feels things. His feelings flow out unchecked. An arm goes round my shoulder. It isn’t Lenny.
Tarquin doesn’t say anything. He just keeps his arm around me. I just stand there. He presses his lips against the back of my neck. He doesn’t kiss. I just feel him and his lips pressing against me.
The edges of me melt. I don’t know where I stop and he starts. Like when you climb a steep hill and you’re too weak. No one can carry you, but if you say you can do it, you can. It’s like that. Drawing strength out of nothing. Some of Tarquin has got into me, and the two of us are stronger than I knew.
The moment passes. It’s stupid to stand there with Nan’s old clothes. I go back out and cook the potatoes.
Tarquin follows me. He says, ‘We can’t stay here.’
You can never go back, can you? Things happen and you can’t unhappen them.
‘They’ll find this place. They’ll rip it apart.’
I realise I’m trembling.
‘They’ll get trackers on to us at dawn – nowhere’s safe now.’
He’s right.
‘How long have we got?’ I say. I know we don’t have long.
‘We should leave tomorrow.’
I thought we might have had a bit longer.
‘We daren’t risk going back to the waterfront either. They’ll watch everywhere we’ve been.’
I don’t say anything. I just take down more of Dad’s books and pile them on the floor beside the fire. Nobody’s going to read them now.
The books burn. The room warms up. I boil a little pan of potatoes. I cook the rest of the noodles. I poach our last egg. I serve it all up. We eat. I find some of the dandelion leaf tea. I brew a pot.
Lenny is warm and full. He snuggles by the fire in the armchair and falls into a deep sleep. He doesn’t ask me to read his book. He hugs it to him, as if he’s scared we’re going to put it on the fire.
Tarquin and I sit facing each other across the table.
‘We really got to go tomorrow?’
‘If I was on my own, I’d have gone tonight.’
‘OK.’
‘But.’
I nod. He doesn’t need to explain. I look at Lenny on the chair. He doesn’t need to explain anything.
31
I bite my lip. I should tell. Now. While Lenny’s asleep. While there’s still a little time to make a plan.
I take a deep breath. ‘Tarquin,’ I say.
He looks at me.
‘I got something to say.’
But what if he walks out on me? Nothing will bind us together any more. What will I do then?
I could have managed alone, fought off a few dogs, if I was left alone. But I can’t stand against Careem. He’ll find me. They’ll find this place. He’ll send me to the General.
If Tarquin walks out on me, where can I go? Alone?
‘You don’t have to explain,’ says Tarquin.
I’m better off if we stick together. I’m far better off. We can go north. Why not? Why not pretend a little longer? North is as good as any other direction. I don’t have to tell them yet.
I hesitate, bite my lip. ‘Thanks.’
We might never get to Scotland. We might get somewhere different. There may never be any need to tell anything. Ever.
I sit there. I fight hard against this swallowing feeling. I’m all wrong inside.
‘You’re very beautiful.’
I look up in surprise.
‘And Lenny loves you.’
His eyes are shining.
‘And I won’t do nothing to damage that.’
I try to grasp what he means.
‘Like I said in them tunnels, you’re safe. I’ll protect you, like I do Lenny. I’m your friend.’
‘Oh,’ I say.
‘I’m trying to say, you ain’t got nothing to fear from me.’
And I understand. The curtain pillowing my head, the lips on the back of my neck. The silence when I tried to run. The arm across my shoulder. He cares about me for Lenny’s sake.
‘Un vrai ami, pas comme les autres que vous avez eu jamais.[1]’
I shake my head. ‘Why do you do that?’ I say. ‘Suddenly start speaking in French?’
He smiles. ‘Some things come easier in my own tongue,’ he says. ‘An’ I like to use it. I ain’t got no one else to use it with.’
‘Not Lenny?’
‘Not Lenny.’
‘But I don’t understand it.’
‘I’ll teach you one day.’
I sigh. Get up. It’s not just French I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he doesn’t speak it to Lenny. I don’t understand him. I don’t understand anything. I busy myself. Collect clothes. Clear plates off the table.
