Ring Around Rosie (2 page)

Ted was staring at the contents of the last
unpacked box in his bedroom, wondering where he could hide some of the more
private things he possessed, when the bedroom door burst open and spewed out
something that looked a little like Rosie but with a mouth that was opening and
shutting like a demented goldfish.

Ted frowned and ordered her to close the
door. If their mum heard him playing
The Streets
so loudly she’d make
him turn them off.

“I… when I… I saw…,” gasped Rosie.

“Spit it out, I can’t understand what
you’re on about.” 

“I was painting…. and then I wasn’t… or
rather I decided to go for a walk… and I…”

“You mean you got bored of painting and
went looking for something mum and dad wouldn’t approve of. But how you found
anything like that around here I have no idea. But if you’ve found a free
party, or some smoke, then lead the way!”

“No, no, nothing like that. Well, the part
about me getting bored might be true but that wasn’t what I found.”

Rosie poured out details of the bunker and
the men she saw and what she heard.

“Don’t you think that sounds dodgy as? Men
hanging around here where no one else is and saying pretty disturbing things
about some poor person or people.”

“Right, and I suppose you think they’re
pirates,” sneered Ted, pushing the box under his bed to deal with later.

“I don’t know… I mean no! I didn’t hang
about to hear who they were. Raven came bumbling over and ruined everything
with his squeaking and I had to leg it.”

“Well I don’t know what you want me to say.
You know what mum and dad will do if you go off and get into trouble, and I’m
not getting blamed for you getting arrested again. So I guess that’s the end of
it.”

 “I want you to come down to the beach with
me, I need to see what’s down there.”

“I dunno, I’m not nosey like you, Rosie. I
don’t need to know what’s going on,” said Ted. “What makes you think they’re up
to no good? There may be a perfectly legitimate explanation.”

“You don’t believe that any more than I do,”
urged Rosie. “Come on, I know you’re bored too.”

“Why do you need me to go with you? So I
can take the blame when you get into trouble?”

“We’re not going to get into trouble, Ted,
I only want to look. I want to know where that path leads that comes up through
the wood. It must go down to the beach, and if so what were those men doing
down there? I thought the only access was from the sea, there doesn’t look like
there’s another way down, and yet they came from somewhere.”

“So you want to go back to where you saw
those men, hope they’re not around, and go down the path through the wood?”

No, I want to find another way down to the
beach, I don’t want to see those creepy men again.”

“Seriously Rosie, I have no idea what
you’re expecting to find.”

“Life! Something to get my heart racing!
Anything rather than a
blank canvas, representative of a new, clean start
,
according to my therapist. Anything rather than the pitying, worried glances
from mum, terrified I’m going to go off the rails. I’m not craving alcohol, or
pot, or partying, or stealing, or any of the other things I used to do, I just
want to be allowed to be myself, for once!”

Ted blinked disbelievingly at Rosie; her
big blue eyes fierce with defiance. That was more than she’d ever said about
the problems of the last few years and the reason they’d had to leave London
and all the bad influences there. He was taken aback and yet flattered that she
had finally opened up to him.

They’d always had a pretty good
relationship as far as siblings go but they had led mostly separate lives. His
had been about the girls and the pot smoking and the bars, but he was
seventeen. She was trying to do the same, and more, but she was three years
younger, and it had all blown her mind. And Ted hated the people she hung out
with; they weren’t really her friends, they just used her to feed their frenzy.
Not like his mates, they were solid. They were boys he’d known since junior
school. They were safe and dependable. Well, most of the time.

“Ok, I’ll come with you, but only because
you’ll get yourself into trouble if you go alone,” he grinned.

Rosie nodded, sweeping her hand through her
mop of dishevelled blonde hair. “Cool,” she breathed, relief apparent on her
anxious brow.

Rosie wandered round his room, staring at
the piles of stuff that didn’t yet have a home, as if awaiting something.

“Erm, later though, yeah?” Ted said,
feeling uncomfortable as she rifled through his photos.

“Ah, I’d forgotten about these. Who knew
you used to be so cute? Oh and this one, of you jumping on the bed naked!” she
laughed.

“Give that here, I was about to bin it!”

“No way!” giggled Rosie, “It’s far too
cute. This one’s coming out on your wedding day.” And with that she shoved it
in her pocket and left the room.

Ted started to follow her and then thought
better of it. It was so unusual to see her laughing that it was worth a little
humiliation. Besides, he could get it back off her later. And there was no
danger of it coming out on his wedding day because he wasn’t planning on
getting married. They’d all made a pact; him and his best mate Dillon, and
Midge. They weren’t going to get sucked into something there was barely an
outside chance of getting out of with all your essentials intact. Plank didn’t
agree, he wanted to get married one day, but he was fairly sure it wouldn’t be
to a stunner, and the others agreed, more an ok-looking lass (his words), who
wasn’t totally repulsed by his scrawny body and freckles.

Ted missed them. They were a motley bunch
but they were his brothers and had been since primary. They knew London, could
access its dark recesses: every bar worth going to, and the best places to eat
afterwards; which gig venues had the young, hot ticket sales girls that would
sneak them in for free; where to buy the best quality pirate DVDs and games.
And, above all, they knew who they could rely on and trust: each other.

Of course they had all teased Ted to death
about his new countryside life; Hunter wellies and Barbour jackets, shooting
parties and games of skittles with the old dudes down the local. It was funny
to begin with but then it just made him angry. If it hadn’t been for his sister
and her
issues
they wouldn’t have had to leave, and he wouldn’t now be
about to study Renewable Energy in Devon, as far from London as
they
could get him. As if it was all
his
fault! 

“Chin up, mate,” Dillon had said one night
when Ted was ranting about his crap life. “You can come back up and crash with
me whenever you want.”

“Thanks man,” smiled Ted. “I know. It’s
just gonna be hard to get anywhere without a car, and I’ll have to get work to
pay for one, and I know nothing about farming or any other countryside jobs.”

“Mate, I’m sure there are other jobs
besides farming in the countryside,” laughed Dillon. “Although, you would look
gorgeous in a milkmaid’s outfit.”

Ted had lunged at Dillon, fists clenched,
but he couldn’t help laughing with him.

A smile threatened to reshape his sullen
lips as he thought about how they would all be heading down to the local pub
and then to the Indian about now. Ted doubted there was much chance of any
Indian restaurant delivering out here. What he wouldn’t give for a bowl of
poppadoms, an extra hot tikka with plain rice and a side of peshwari naan. His
mouth started watering.

He instinctively reached for his phone.

“Un-bloody-believable! It’s tuned itself to
a sodding French network!” he growled.

Ted took his phone to the window and held
it up. The sound of the waves breaking on the shore reached his ears and he
cringed; passing cars with horns blaring, police sirens, domestics in the
neighbouring house, those were the sounds he longed for.

Just as he was about to give up on his
phone and turn away, he caught a glimpse of movement on the beach. As he
squinted into the retreating sun, he saw what looked like a boat on the water
heading slowly towards the cove. Probably just fishermen, he thought,
smothering a yawn.

Ted tossed his phone onto the bed and ran
downstairs, chasing the smell of toast.

Rosie gobbled her food. The light was
fading and she had to get down onto that beach before nightfall. She stared
beseechingly at Ted across the table. Ted rolled his eyes and turned to their
parents.

“Rosie and I were thinking we might try and
get down to the beach for a swim after dinner. That ok?”

Rosie saw her mum blanch and then collect
herself.

“Well, are you sure it’s safe? I mean there
are rocks down there, I’m not sure it’s really a sea for swimming in, is it?
Sam?”

Rosie saw her mum and dad exchange a
thousand words just with a look and waited for the resounding ‘no’ that usually
followed a request for her to do something
interesting
.

“Well, I’m sure if they’re together they’ll
be fine. And they’re both strong swimmers. Just make sure you don’t doggie
paddle out too far, ok?” he winked.

Rosie stood up hurriedly before they could
change their minds.

“I’ll grab my towel.”

Rosie sped upstairs. Good on Ted for coming
up with the swimming excuse. She knew her parents would have been torn about
whether to let her out of their sight so late, but what could they say about
something as mundane as swimming?

Minutes later they were standing on the
cliff edge sussing out the challenge ahead. Now that Rosie looked closely there
was an obvious route down the cliff. It was made by what appeared to be animal
tracks that ran between rock and ledge, where the earth was more compacted
rather than loose and precarious. There was evidence of recent landslides where
great chunks of earth and rock had slid sadly down the cliff face like giant
tears, splashing onto the beach below. It made Rosie realise how unstable the
cliff really was but she wasn’t going to let that put her off as she took the
lead and launched herself onto the first rock. Moments later they were at the
bottom, panting as they took in their surroundings. 

Small undulating hills led steadily down to
meet the sea where they were soon engulfed in its angry white teeth as it
lunged at the shore, taking great bites out of the shingle and dragging it into
the water, before spitting it back onto the beach in disgust. Not the calmest
of waters, shivered Rosie.

Ted was clearly thinking the same as he
rolled up the bottom of his jeans and tentatively dipped a toe in the water.

Rosie scoffed at his cowardice, threw off
her clothes and plunged into the freezing water. Her parents thought she was
swimming, so, to muzzle the guilt, she swam. And to her surprise it felt
amazing to be wrapped in watery arms that held her gently as she lay looking up
at the darkening sky.

She heard Ted splashing about nearby and
looked up to see him wading out of the water pulling up his boxers. His dark
hair clung to his head as the water poured off his retreating body. Rosie felt
herself blush as she realised her eyes were lingering too long. Last time she’d
seen him with so little on he was still a boy, when had he become a man?
Probably sometime during the blur that was the last few years, she suspected.
She, on the other hand, was far from being a woman; despite her attempts at
adult behaviour she’d only managed to look like a child dressing up in her
mother’s clothes; lipstick all over her face, high heels she could only stagger
about in.

Rosie looked at her white fingers as they
slowly started to turn blue, and decided it was time to get out. She staggered
up the stony beach and dried herself, pulling on her clothes over the sodden
underwear.

Dusk wasn’t far off and it was getting
harder to see as she scanned her surroundings. She could see the rocks that her
dad had mentioned at one end, just eerie misshapen shadows littering the
shoreline. As her eyes swung to the other end of the cove something caught her
eye. At the base of the cliff, a bit further along from where they were
standing she saw something that looked like a head. She ran up the beach to
take a closer look, waving at Ted to follow.

It appeared to be some kind of shrine.
There was a large ugly head carved out of wood at the centre, and then around
it were ‘offerings’ that just looked like bits of old rubbish people must have
picked up from the beach: rope, plastic bottles, shells. There were also a few
tea lights scattered around. Rosie saw a card leaning up against the side of it
with a picture of an old man with outstretched arms and a lamb at his feet. She
opened it and all it said inside was: ‘Let the little children come to me’.

“Well that’s just creepy,” said Ted when
Rosie showed it to him.

“What do you think it means?” Rosie asked.

“No idea, but it doesn’t sound good,” he
said, walking away.

“Get down!” hissed Rosie, dragging Ted back
against the brush of the cliff.

“What the…?” began Ted, but Rosie hushed
him and pointed further down the beach.

They had been so involved in looking at the
shrine that they hadn’t noticed that a boat had pulled silently into the bay.
Four men were walking down the beach towards it. It was hard to see in the
waning light, but from their shapes Rosie thought she recognised the three men
she’d seen earlier.

Ted and Rosie watched in silence as a
dinghy was lowered from the boat and people were helped into it. Two of the men
on the beach waded into the breakers to greet it as it pulled in to the shore.

“They look like children,” whispered Rosie,
as they watched the shadowy procession walk up the beach and disappear into the
wood. The dinghy took the other men back to the boat and it left as silently as
it had come.

“Let’s follow, I have to see where they’re
going,” said Rosie, starting off along the beach.

“No way, you nutter,” hissed Ted. “If
there’s something dodgy going on here you’re not getting involved!” Ted grabbed
Rosie’s arm and started dragging her back towards the cliff.

“Get off me! You don’t have to come then,
go home to mummy and daddy like a good boy. I should have known you’d bail when
the shit hit it!”

Rosie yanked her arm from Ted’s grip and
started running along the beach. She had an overwhelming feeling of euphoria;
for the first time in ages she felt free. She could hear Ted swearing at her
stupidity as she ran, his voice shrinking behind her until the only sound was
her feet crunching in the shingle.

Rosie reached the entrance to the wood. It
was horribly dark and creepy but she couldn’t go back now. Her heart was
pounding loudly in her chest like a tribal drum, beating out its battle cry.

She took a deep breath and entered the
yawning mouth of the wood. The twisted trees engulfed her in their leafy arms
as she tiptoed carefully up the narrow path. She could barely see her hands in
front of her face, but the echoing voices coming from ahead acted as a daunting
guide. Her trainers caught on twigs and brambles as she walked making her
stumble, but Rosie marched on unfazed.

The voices started to grow louder and Rosie
could see a glimmer of light ahead from a torch.

As she neared the end of the wood that
faced the bunker she stopped and watched as the dark figures entered it from
the far end.

Silence followed as she held her breath,
waiting for something to happen, but when it didn’t she decided to get closer.

Climbing the overgrown grassy bank that
went up over the top of the bunker, Rosie walked along to one of the protruding
chimney structures. There were two thin metal bars near the top that formed a
cross over the hole, and below that was a dim glow of light. She could hear
voices.

“Stop yer snivelling,” came the echo of a
man’s voice through the hollow space beneath.

“She don’t like the dark,” came a quiet
voice.

Rosie’s heart lurched; that sounded like a
child’s voice. A girl, she thought.

“It’s better camouflage for your sort, you
should be used to it from the jungle,” laughed the man.

Rosie gritted her teeth, her lips forming a
hard angry line. She heard scuffling and then the light went out.

“Sleep well kiddies, you got a long journey
ahead of you tomorrow,” cackled the man.

Rosie heard muffled voices in another part
of the bunker. She left the chimney she was listening by and crossed to the
other. The voices were clearer there.

“… tomorrow morning. All twelve of them are
going to London this time. We’ve had big orders coming in, so we’re going to
have to step up the work load.”

Rosie recognised the voice as the spiky,
blonde-haired man’s; it was cold and emotionless.

“Give us some of that.”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I don’t think that’s up to you. Just
because Gabriel’s not in ‘ere doesn’t make you the boss.”

“Go and pack up the shit before I slam your
head into that concrete wall.”

“Arrghhh.”

Rosie heard a scuffle. Then silence.

“You go and help him, Griff.”

“’Ello pretty.”

Rosie leapt sideways and nearly fell
backwards down the bank. She was stopped from falling by a large hand grabbing
her around the neck and dragging her to her feet. Hot breath, rancid with
alcohol, caressed her face.

“We don’t usually bag ourselves a pretty
white girl but I’m sure we can make an exception.”

The voice was soft and silvery, almost
calming, but in the way that a crouching tiger can be as it sizes up its victim
before a kill, or how a swaying cobra soothes before it strikes. Rosie’s head
was screaming at her legs to move but they refused to pay attention, and before
she had time to berate them for their lack of urgency she was being dragged
down the bank and into the bunker.

The blonde-haired man was leaning against
the wall as they entered, a glass in his hand.

“Get your stinking hands off me!” screamed
Rosie, finally getting through to her trembling body and struggling against the
cast iron grip that held her.

Rosie thought she saw a flicker of fear in
the blonde-haired man’s eyes, as he looked her up and down.

“What you got there, Gabriel?” asked the
short hairy man, that Rosie remembered was called Rusty, entering the room
carrying plastic cups and a water bottle.

 “An addition to our little party,” replied
Gabriel, shoving Rosie forward so the others could inspect her closer.

“Not bad,” snorted Rusty, slithering up to
Rosie and sniffing her. Rosie shrank back from his watery lips as they brushed
her cheek. 

 “That’s enough, Rusty,” said the blonde
haired man, pushing him out of the way. “Where’d you find her?” he asked,
walking around Rosie and looking her up and down.

“She was listening on the roof when I came
back from the truck,” said Gabriel, pouring himself a drink.

“What are we supposed to do with her?”
asked the blonde haired man, holding his glass out for a refill.

“We’ll have to take her with us to London,
what choice do we have?”

“I can think of something we can do with
her,” Rusty smiled, licking his lips.

“I thought I told you to get on with
packing the shit up!” exploded the blonde haired man.

Rusty scuttled out of the room, muttering.

“Is that a good idea?” asked the blonde
haired man, returning his attention to Gabriel. “We said we were going to stay
away from white Brits coz they attract too much attention and there’s always
someone who will look for them.”

“Well we don’t have any choice, Zaydain.
There’s no point doing away with her here, we may as well get some work out of
her,” said Gabriel. “Besides, the amount of money we can get for her will be
worth the risk. You should be celebrating.”

“The place will be crawling with cops!
They’re not gonna let this one get away; think of the publicity she will draw.
We’ll all be finished!” shouted Zaydain, pacing the room. “She must have a
family who will care if she doesn’t come home tonight, and that’s no good for
us. No one is looking for them others, no one cares that they haven’t come
home, but this one… You said no white girls, Gabriel, that was the deal. Black
don’t show the dirt.”

“Grow some, Zaydain! This was never gonna
be a church picnic. This is business.”

Rosie was finding it hard to follow the
conversation; there was a ringing in her ears like a fire alarm. It chased the
fear as it started its slow torturous journey from the top of her head down
into her stomach and then out to her arms and legs. She wanted her mummy; she
needed to go now.

“Please, I need to go home,” she whispered.
“I won’t say anything, I promise. I’ll pretend none of this happened. It will
be like I was never here.”

Gabriel’s laugh was deep as it rattled
around his huge, muscular body, like chains tethering a dancing bear. Rosie
felt her legs starting to shake. “As far as we’re concerned, you’re
not
here, love. You’re a no one, a nobody, a piece of fine-cut meat to be sold on
to the highest bidder,” he said moving closer to her. He put his hands around
her throat and whispered in her ear. “It will make a nice change to have a bit
of white meat on the menu.”