Manhattan in Reverse (14 page)

Colin scooped Olivia up under one arm and swung her around. ‘Hiya,’ he called out to me. ‘Seen my daughter anywhere?’

She was shrieking: ‘Daddy, Daddy!’ as she was twirled about.

‘Don’t do that,’ I mumbled. ‘She’s just eaten.’

‘Okey dokey,’ he dropped her to the floor and collected a happy kiss from her.

‘Come on then.’ He clapped his hands, hustling them along. ‘Get ready. I’m leaving in five . . . four . . . three . . .’

They both ran downstairs to collect their bags.

‘How are you doing?’ he asked.

‘Never better.’ I gave the kitchen table and its mess a weary look, the work surfaces were covered in junk, too; and the sink was a cliché of unwashed pans. ‘How about you, still servicing the rich?’

His expression hardened, that way it always did when he had to speak slowly and carefully to explain the bleeding obvious to me. ‘I have to work at the BUPA hospital now as well as my NHS practice. It’s the only way I can earn enough money after your lawyer took me to the cleaners in that sexist divorce court of yours.’

I almost opened my jaw in surprise – I was the one who always made the needling comments. He was Mr Reasonable through everything. ‘Oh fine, sure,’ I said. ‘I thought it would be my fault.’

He gave one of those smug little victory smiles. They used to annoy the hell out of me as well.

‘What time do you want them back tomorrow?’ he asked.

‘Um, in the afternoon. Before six?’

‘Okey dokey. No problem.’

‘Thanks. Are you taking them anywhere special?’

‘The reviews for
Splat the Cat
have been good. I’ll take them to that this evening if there isn’t another power cut.’

‘As long as you don’t take them for burgers.’

He rolled his eyes.

I glanced out through the window, seeing his new navy-blue BMW 4x4 parked on the pavement outside. The stupid thing was the size of an Army tank. I couldn’t see anyone sitting in the passenger seat. ‘Is she coming with you today?’

‘Who’s that, then?’

‘Zoe.’

‘Ah, you remembered her name.’

‘I think I read it on her school report.’

‘As a matter of fact, yes, she is coming with us. She took the day off to help out. The kids do like her you know. And if you ever find yourself someone, I won’t kick up about them going out with him.’

Oh well done Colin, another point scored off your shrew of an ex, especially with that emphasis on ‘ever’. Aren’t you the clever one?

The kids charged back into the kitchen, hauling their overnight bags along the floor. ‘Ready!’

‘Have a lovely time,’ I said,
ever
gracious.

Colin’s smile faltered. He hesitated, then leant forward and kissed me on the cheek. Nothing special, not a peace offering, just some platonic gesture I didn’t understand. ‘See you,’ he said.

I was too surprised to answer. Then the door slammed shut. The kids were gone. The flat was silent.

I had fifteen minutes to make the bus. I was going on a protest for the first time in years. Making my voice heard, and my feelings known. Doing exactly what Colin despised and ridiculed. God, it felt wonderful.

COLIN

The finance agency’s solicitor was waiting on the doorstep, talking to Zoe, when I drove up in front of the house. I’d met him twice before; he was from Belgium, arrived here a month after the wormhole opened.

‘Who’s that?’ Steve asked as I started to manoeuvre the BMW up the gravel, backing it up to the horsebox.

‘Bloke from the bank,’ I told him. ‘I’ve just got a few papers to sort out, then we’re off.’ At least the agency didn’t stick a For Sale sign up outside the house. That tended to earn you a brick – or worse – through the window these days.

Zoe smiled and waved as I stopped just short of the horsebox. ‘Wait in the car for me,’ I told the kids. I didn’t want them to see the empty house. Last night we’d used sleeping bags on the bare carpet. Zipped together. Very romantic.

The solicitor shook my hand and produced a file of documents for me to sign. He glanced at the kids, who were pressed up against the BMW’s window, but didn’t comment. I guess he’d seen it many times before.

Zoe opened the garage door, and picked up the first of the boxes stacked on the concrete floor. She carried it over to the rear of the BMW, and put it in the boot.

The solicitor wanted five signatures from me, and that was it – the house belonged to the agency. A four-bedroom house with garage and a decent size garden in Enfield along with all the contents, sold for £320,000. Maybe two thirds of what I could have got last year. But that gave me enough to pay off the mortgage, and leave me with £30,000 in equity, which the agency had advanced me. That’s what they specialize in, one of many such businesses to spring up since January. A Franco-Dutch company who sell little bits of England to people who aren’t going to be accepted on the other side of the wormhole. Heaven knows there are enough takers from overseas, mainly India and North Africa, though for the life of me I can’t work out why they’d come here now.

I’d bought the BMW on finance from the garage. My pension portfolio had been sold to another specialist agency based in Luxembourg – God bless our sneaky EU partners – giving me £25,000. That just left the credit cards. I’d applied for another two; more than that and the monitor programs would spot the new loan pattern. But they’d given me an extra £15,000 to spend over the last month.

It had all gone into a community partnership I signed up for at www.newsuffolklife.co.uk. Most of the stuff was being shipped out in a convoy, with all the personal items we’d need crammed into the horsebox. The website recommended using them, they could take a lot more weight than a caravan.

The solicitor shook my hand and said, ‘Good luck, Monsieur.’ I handed him the keys, and that was it.

Zoe had jammed the last box in the back of the BMW. There were just four suitcases left. I picked up two of them. She was giving the house a forlorn look.

‘We’re doing the right thing,’ I told her.

‘I know.’ She produced a brave smile. ‘I just didn’t expect it to be like this. Murray surprised all of us, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah. You know I grew up with a whole bunch of sci-fi shows and films; it’s amazing how their vocabulary and images integrated with modern culture. They all had bloody great ships flying through space; captains sitting in their command chair and making life and death decisions, shooting lasers and missiles at bug-eyed monsters. Everybody knew that was how it would happen for real. Then Murray found a way to open his wormhole, and the little sod won’t tell anyone how he does it. Not that I blame him. He’s quite right, we’d only misuse the technology. We always do. It’s just that . . . this isn’t the noble crossing of the void I expected. It feels almost like a betrayal of my beliefs.’

Zoe looked embarrassed. She’s nothing like Jannette makes out: some piece of barely-legal nurse totty I pulled because she’s blinded by the title of Dr in front of my name. In fact, she’s training to be a midwife, which takes just as much dedication and intelligence as a doctor. I’m bloody lucky she even looks at a life-wreckage like me. The fact that she’ll take me on with a couple of kids in tow makes her extraordinary.

‘I meant the way this finally split the country,’ she said quietly. ‘Everyone always talked about the North–South divide, and the class war, and the distance between rich and poor. But it was just ideology, politicians lobbing spinning sound bites at each other. Murray went and made it physical.’

I put my arms round her. ‘He gave us the chance politicians always promise and never provide. God, can you believe I actually voted for Blair. Twice!’

She grinned evilly. ‘Wish you’d voted Tory?’

‘Stop putting words in my mouth.’ I gave her a quick kiss; then we shoved the suitcases in on top of the boxes. ‘Mind you, I still can’t believe Gordon Brown won the election.’

‘The bloggers said Murray allowed Conservative voters from marginal constituencies to travel through first.’

‘That’s such a typical internet bollocks conspiracy theory. Only thirty-eight per cent of the population bothered to vote, and they’re all the ones who know they’re not going through. The rest of us didn’t bother, why would we? That’s how Brown won the election. Murray doesn’t know who votes for which party. All he built was a wormhole, not this bloody surveillance state we wound up being oppressed by. And anyway, Murray doesn’t personally organize the exodus. We have to do that ourselves; take responsibility just like the First Article says.’

‘Gosh, scratch a doctor and he bleeds politics.’

‘After working for NHS management for fifteen years, what else am I ever likely to whinge about?’

She laughed, which was a lovely sight. By contrast, Steve and Olivia looked unusually solemn when we got into the 4x4. Zoe gave them a welcoming smile. ‘Hi guys.’

‘Where are we going, Daddy?’ Olivia asked.

‘I’m going to take you to see something. Something I hope you’ll like.’

‘What?’

‘Can’t explain. You have to see it.’

‘What’s in the horsebox?’ Steve asked. ‘You don’t like horses.’

‘Tent,’ I said. ‘Big tent, actually. Food. Solar panels. Four widescreen laptops. Two iPads.’

‘Cool! What kind of apps have you got?’

‘As many as I could download last week.’

‘Yeah! Can I use one?’

‘Maybe.’

‘What else?’ Olivia asked, excited.

‘Some toys. Lots of new clothes. Books.’

‘What’s it all for?’ Steve asked.

‘You’ll see.’ I put my hand on the ignition key, and gave Zoe an apprehensive glance. This was such a huge step to be taking, and there didn’t seem to be any defining moment, just a long sequence of covert events that had deftly led to this point in time. I didn’t feel any guilt about bringing the kids with us; in fact I’d be remiss as a father if I didn’t, there was never going to be an opportunity like this again. I’m not stupid and naive enough to believe New Suffolk is going to be paradise, but it has the
potential
to be something better than this world. We’re not going to evolve or progress here, not with so much history and inertia shackling us to the past, and the worst politicians of any era running things across the globe.

As for Jannette . . . Well, I’m afraid, as far as I’m concerned she hasn’t been a proper mother to the kids for years now.

‘Let’s go,’ Zoe said. ‘We chose a long time ago.’

So I turned the ignition, and pulled out of the drive, the overloaded horsebox rattling along behind.

‘What’s that ring?’ Steve asked suddenly.

That’s my boy: sharp and observant.

‘This?’ Zoe held her finger up.

‘It’s an engagement ring!’ Olivia squeaked. ‘Are you getting married?’

‘Yes,’ I said. It was the first thing we wanted to do on the other side.

‘Does Mum know?’ Steve asked.

‘No.’