Num8ers (8 page)

“No way, man, no way.” He sounded confused, scared almost.

“It’s true, Spider. It’s all true. I knew something was going to happen because their numbers were all the same. And it did.”

“Ah, this is way too weird. You’re freaking me out.”

“I know. I’ve had to live with this for fifteen years.” Those stupid tears weren’t far away again.

He suddenly slapped his forehead.

“That old bloke, the one that was run over, you saw his number, didn’t you? That’s why you wanted to follow him.”

I nodded. There was silence again for a while.

“My nan knows about you, doesn’t she? You and her, you’re the same, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “All this time, I just thought she talked a load of bollocks, like, it was funny, really. But she knew there was something different about you. You’re a pair of witches! Shit!”

I sat up a bit, tried to breathe more evenly. There were a couple of ducks paddling along the canal, little brown things, oblivious. I watched them making steady progress upstream. How easy to be a bird or an animal, living from day to day, unaware that you’re alive, unaware that one day you’ll die.

Spider had got up, was pacing around again, up and down on the flat stones edging the canal. He was muttering under his breath — I couldn’t catch the words — just trying to get his head ’round what I’d said, I suppose. He scooped up a handful of gravel, started chucking it at the ducks. Must have hit one, because they suddenly took off, little brown wings going like the clappers.

He swiveled ’round. “Do you see everyone’s numbers?”

I looked back down at the ground. I knew what was coming next. “Yeah, if I see their eyes.”

“You know mine, then,” he said quietly. I didn’t say anything. “You know mine,” he said, more insistently.

“Yeah.”

“Shit, man, I dunno if I want to know or not.” He sank down to the ground, crouching, holding his head.

Don’t ask me,
I thought.
Never ask me that, Spider.
“I won’t tell you,” I said quickly. “I couldn’t. It’s not right. I’ll never tell no one.”

“What d’you mean?” He was looking at me now. As our eyes met, that bloody number was there again. 12152010. I wanted to rip it out of my head, blank it out like I’d never seen it.

“It would do your head in if I told you, freak you out. It’s just not right.”

“What if someone hadn’t got long to go? If they knew, they’d have a chance to do stuff they’ve always wanted.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah, but it’d be like living on Death Row, wouldn’t it? Each day, one step closer. No way, man. No one should have to live with that.” Except, of course, that we all do. We all know we’re one day closer to the end when we wake up in the morning. Just kid ourselves that it’s not happening.

Spider stood up, scratched his head, and kicked some more gravel into the water. “I need to think about this. You’ve done my head in today.” A siren started up from a street nearby. “Let’s get out of here.”

I handed his hoodie back to him, and we set off down the canal path. The gravel crunched under our feet as we walked past the graffiti-daubed walls lining the path. A lot of the buildings were derelict, but here and there some had been tarted up, turned into posh offices or restaurants or wine bars, shiny
islands in a sea of grime. The sirens faded as we got farther away, and there was an odd quietness about the place, like everything had ground to a halt.

When we got near the projects, we cut up to the main road. A couple of people had stopped outside the electronics shop’s window, and we joined them. A dozen TV screens, all the same. The London Eye wasn’t turning anymore. There was a bit missing, like someone had taken a big bite out of it: one pod gone, the ones near it twisted and wrecked, trash all over the ground. Only it wasn’t trash, it was bits of people and people’s things. The camera lingered over some tattered blue material, what was left of someone’s coat, and something flapping in the breeze: the frilly edge of a straw bag, shredded in the blast. Words slid along the bottom of each screen:
TERRORIST ATTACK AT THE LONDON EYE…NUMBER OF DEAD AND INJURED UNKNOWN…POLICE WARN PUBLIC TO BE VIGILANT FOR MORE ATTACKS…

We watched for ages. Beside me, Spider kept saying, “Shit, man. Jesus Christ.” The news was on a loop, the same pictures over and over again. As I stood there, I could feel stuff rising up inside me. I fought to keep it down, but in the end I had to find an alleyway and get rid of it: the sour contents of my stomach spilling out of me onto the ground.

Spider came to find me. “You alright, mate?”

I coughed and spat, trying to get my mouth clean. “Yeah,” I said. I got a tissue out of my pocket, wiped my mouth. “Spider?”

“Yeah.”

“I could’ve done something. I knew something was gonna happen. I could’ve warned them, got them to shut the place down or something, I dunno.”

“Yeah, but what if they’d shut it, and they’d all made for the Tube, and it had happened there?” He was right, I supposed. One way or another, today was their day: the Japanese couple, the old lady, the guy with the rucksack. But there was this feeling crushing me, the feeling that I could have made a difference.

“You wanna come to mine?” Spider asked.

“I dunno, I guess I do.” I wanted to go somewhere safe. I wished I could say, “I’m going to head home,” but nowhere felt like home.

I suddenly remembered Sue and the police — God knows who would be waiting for me back at Karen’s. Yeah, Spider’s was definitely the better option.

We shambled back to Carlton Villas and let ourselves in. Val wasn’t on her normal perch; she was in the front room with the big TV on. She half got up when she saw us coming through the door.

“Terry, that you? Ah!” She collapsed back into the chair. “I’ve been fretting all afternoon since the news came on. You alright?”

Spider bent over to give her the normal peck on the cheek, then wrapped his arms around her and folded his legs so he
was crouching on the ground in front of her chair, hugging her. He held on tight.

“You were there, weren’t you?” she said. “I knew it. I knew it.” One hand rested on his back, the other clutched his head into her, nicotine-stained fingers buried in his springy hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe now, son.”

I hovered in the doorway, feeling that I shouldn’t be seeing this; it was just between them. After a minute or so, Val looked ’round at me. “Come here. Sit down, love. You look done in.” I sat next to her and she took my hand. “I’m so glad to see you both.”

Spider disentangled himself and sat back on his heels. He rubbed his arm across his face, but not before I’d seen the tears glistening there. “We were there just before, Nan. I was going off on a rant because we didn’t have enough money left to go on the ride, but Jem, she”—he hesitated, looked at me quickly — “she said we should come away, it didn’t matter. We were on Hungerford Bridge when it went off. We saw it, Nan, we saw it.”

“So you saved him. You kept my boy safe.” She held both my hands in hers now, looked deep into my eyes. “Thank you. Thank you for bringing him back to me. He’s a naughty boy, but he means the world to me. Thank you.”

I didn’t know what to say. “We were just lucky,” I mumbled, but Spider wasn’t having it.

“No, it wasn’t luck. She saved me, Nan, just like you said.” I flashed him a warning look, but the shock of the day and the relief of getting back home was loosening his tongue. “She’s like you, Nan. She knew something was going on.”

I went to get up, but Val tightened her grip on my hands. “You felt something? What was it?”

I shook my head. “I just had a feeling, that’s all. I knew something bad was going to happen.” Her eyes were boring into me as she sat there, just waiting. My heart was beating like mad, the blood pumping through me, deafening me. “I knew people were going to die.”

Val made a little sighing noise, like she’d been holding her breath. “I knew there was something,” she said quietly. “I knew you had a gift.” She was still holding my hands, shaking them gently up and down, a gesture of comfort. “You’re here for a reason, Jem. You saved Terry for me. Thank you.”

Her eyes were glistening, and I thought,
You’ve got it wrong about me. Spider could have stayed where he was, and he wouldn’t have died today. I only protected him from getting hurt. He wouldn’t have died today. I can’t save him. I want to, but I can’t, and soon he’ll go, and you’ll think I’ve let you both down.

But I couldn’t say any of this, I could never tell them what was coming up for Spider. So I just sat there; and Spider, Val, and I were all quiet, as the reporter on the TV broke the news that police were putting out an urgent call to trace two youths seen running away just moments before the explosion, both in hoodies and jeans: one black, very tall; one shorter and white.

I felt my stomach lurch. Whatever trouble I’d been in yesterday fell away. Spider and I were up to our necks in it now. We all looked at each other, and Val held on to my hand with one of her hands and reached out to hold Spider’s with the other.

“You’ve done nothing. They’ve got nothing on you,” she said firmly. But we’d both had run-ins with the police before, and they weren’t going to swallow any stories about second sight, were they? Spider looked at me over the top of his nan’s head, and I knew what he was thinking. We couldn’t stick around waiting to be picked up. It was time to run.

“Listen, I’ve got to go out for a bit, like I said, do a bit of business, and then when I get back, we’ll get going.”

“But—” I started to object, but Spider wasn’t having it.

“We’re gonna need money, aren’t we? You get a bit of food together while I’m out, yeah?”

“OK, but what if they pick you up now?”

“I’ll be fine.” He put a jacket on over his hoodie and crammed a beanie over his unruly hair. “There, don’t worry, Jem. Safe.” He formed a fist and held it out to me, and I did the same. Our knuckles touched. “Safe, Jem. I’ll be back soon.” He sloped out the front door.

All this time, Val had been watching us and hadn’t said a word. Now she got up from the chair.

“You’d be alright here, you know. They’ve got nothing on you. You didn’t do nothing.”

I shrugged. They’d been heavy enough about the knife — this was something completely different.

“I’m not going to stop you, don’t worry. You’ll have to do what you think best. Look,” she said, making for the door, “if you are going, you’ll need some different clothes. Let me have
a look in my room. You go through cupboards in the kitchen, take what you want.” I went through to the kitchen and started opening cupboard doors randomly. There was hardly anything there — a few cans of peas, some beans, a box of instant mashed potatoes. I took out a packet of crackers.

“Did you find the chocolate biscuits? I’ve got a box of chocolate biscuits somewhere,” Val said, coming into the room with an armful of clothes. “Here,” she said, handing them to me, “try some of these.”

I took them back into the sitting room and sorted through, thinking that I’d rather die than wear them. She’s small, like me, so we were OK size-wise, but — obviously — they all stank to high heaven of smoke and, to be honest, they were gross.

“What you making that face for? Not good enough for you?” She’d caught me. “Look, you’ll need a couple of T-shirts, and you’re going to need something warm. It’s dropping cold at night now. This sweater,” she rummaged vigorously in the heap and pulled out a big pink thing with a huge roll neck, “and a coat, or something. Here.” She threw a mint-green padded parka and some gloves in my direction.

“I’ll…I’ll try them upstairs.” I stumbled up and found the bathroom, dumped the clothes on the side of the bath, and slid the bolt across to lock the door. I used the toilet, and then sat there for ages, just breathing, trying to get my head around what had happened, what was still happening. It was like things were slipping and sliding around me, and I was trying to catch up, hold everything together.

After a while, I stood up and wriggled out of my hoodie. I’d have to try Val’s things, anyway. I put them on and faced the mirror. I looked like me in someone’s grandma’s clothes. It was horrific. But I was going to have to do something, wasn’t I? The filth who’d picked me up the other day would soon realize it was me they were looking for, even if Karen didn’t ring them up, which I was pretty sure she would. They’d have a description then, wouldn’t they? Even a photo. Karen had taken a couple of me with the twins when I’d first got there. They would be looking for a small, skinny girl, with long, mousy hair.

I opened the cabinet on the bathroom wall above the sink. Among the painkillers, hemorrhoid cream, and indigestion tablets were some nail scissors. Without thinking twice, I took them out and started hacking at my hair. The scissors were crap, and I could only cut through if I pulled the strands really tight. As I snipped away, I was left with handfuls of hair. I let them fall to the floor. Halfway through, I looked in the mirror. God, I looked bad. What the hell had I done? It was no good, though; now that I’d started, I’d have to see it through. I didn’t look in the mirror again until I’d gone all the way ’round.

Have you ever seen that film
The English Patient?
Bloody boring, if you ask me. Karen made me watch it at her house once; it went on for hours and she cried her eyes out at the end, silly cow. Anyway, one of the characters, the nurse, cut her hair off, ended up looking absolutely brilliant. She just cut it, ran her fingers through it, and there she was, like a model.
Just like me. Except that I looked seriously bad. There was no way I could even go out of the house, let alone run away, looking like this. I looked at the bundles of hair lying on the floor with a sick feeling in my stomach. Was there any way to stick it back?

Val knocked on the door. “You alright in there? Jem, you alright?”

I slid the bolt back and opened the door.

“Sweet Jesus!” Yeah, it was as bad as I thought it was. “It’s alright. It’s not that bad,” she said quickly, trying to undo the damage, but we both knew she wasn’t fooling anyone. It was tragic. “I think it’s going to have to all come off, love. I’ve got some old clippers somewhere. Let me look under the sink.”