The Bunker Diary (6 page)

Yeah, right.

At eleven o’clock this morning he was
still stuck in the middle
of nowhere, trying to find his way back to
London. Hitching, looking for a railway station, trying to find a car to steal. He was
walking along a narrow country lane when he heard a van. He turned round to stick his
thumb out, the van drove into him, caught him a glancing blow and knocked him into a
ditch.

‘Hurt like fuck,’ he said,
rubbing his shoulder. ‘I thought it was broke. And then, when I start crawling out
of the ditch, all covered in leaves and mud and shit, someone whacks me across the head
with an iron bar.’ As an afterthought, he smiled at Anja and said, ‘I know
it was an iron bar because
may waife
works in an iron-bar factory.’

Anja pouted. ‘Very funny.’

It
was
pretty funny.

Fred went on. ‘That was it. Out cold.
I think he gave me another couple of whacks just to make sure, then he must have got me
in the van and tied me up. Next thing I know I’m being bundled into a fucking
lift.’ He shook his head. ‘He’s a strong bastard, I’ll give him
that.’

He rubbed his arm again and wiped sweat from
his brow.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked
him.

‘Starting to feel it.’

‘Bad?’

‘It will be.’

‘Do you want anything?’

‘What have you got?’

‘Not much. Tea,
water …’

‘
Tea?
’

I shrugged.

‘Any aspirin?’

‘I’ve asked for some.’

It was gone ten o’clock now, so the
lift had already gone up for the night. I’d put in a fresh shopping list. Food,
aspirins, bandages, juice, cigarettes for Anja and Fred.

It was at this point that Anja suddenly
recognized Jenny. ‘Oh,
God
!’ she gasped, staring at her.
‘You’re
her
, aren’t you? You’re that girl from the
news, the one that went missing? Oh, shit … what
is
this? What the
hell’s
going on here?’

I told her and Fred as much as I know, which
isn’t much. I told them how Jenny and me were captured. I told them about the
lift, and how we have to ask for things. And I told them about the lights, the cameras,
the microphones.

When Anja realized what the cameras meant,
she almost had a fit.

‘He’s
what
?’

‘Watching us,’ I said.
‘Listening.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

She stared at me. ‘Are you seriously
telling me that everywhere I go this dirty old man is
watching
me?’

‘That’s right.’

‘
Everywhere?
’

‘Yes,’ I sighed.

‘Oh, my
God
! That’s
dis
gus
ting. I’m not having that. You have to do something. You have
to get me out of here.’

‘Me?’ I said.

‘I don’t care
who
,’ she whined. ‘I just want to get out of here.
Now
.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘This is im
poss
ible. I have
commitments … I have things to
do
.’ She started crying.
‘I have to get
out
of here.’

I turned to Fred.

‘So,’ he sniffed. ‘No
aspirins till tomorrow?’

‘Nine o’clock in the morning, if
he agrees.’

‘No cigarettes till then
either?’

‘Nope.’

‘Shit.’

Later again.

Now that Fred and Anja are here, everything
feels different, and I’m not sure I like it. I know there was nothing to like
about anything before they were here, but I suppose I’d kind of got used to things
as they were – just me and Jenny, doing our best to look after each other.

But now … ?

I don’t know.

I feel sort of edgy, unsettled.

Out of place.

I just don’t like it.

I’m tired.

It’s been a long day.

I’ll write some more tomorrow.

Last night it occurred to me that Jenny
might feel more comfortable sleeping in Anja’s room rather than sharing with me.
But when I mentioned it to her, she got all snotty about it.

‘I thought you liked me?’

‘I do.’

‘I thought we were friends?’

‘We are. It’s
just …’

‘Just what?’

‘Well, you’re a girl.’

‘So?’

‘And I’m a boy.’

‘So?’

I sighed. ‘All I meant
was –’

‘I don’t
like
Anja.’

‘Why not?’

‘She’s scary. She sticks her
nose up.’

‘That’s just her way. It
doesn’t mean anything.’

‘I don’t like her.’

‘I’m sure she’s all
right.’

‘Why don’t
you
sleep in
her room then?’

‘Very funny.’

Jenny grinned.

And that was that.

There were no more surprises when the lift
came down this morning, just a carrier bag full of food. No aspirins, no bandages, no
cigarettes. Me and Jenny put the food away and started making breakfast, then Anja came
in. No make-up, bleary eyes, crumpled clothes. She looked tired and fragile, and somehow
that made her seem more approachable.

Or so I thought.

‘Morning,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘Good morning.’

She just glared at me. ‘Any
cigarettes?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Shit!’ she hissed.
‘
Shit!
’

She turned round and stomped out.

I looked at Jenny.

Jenny shrugged.

We got on with breakfast, eating silently,
like a couple of kids whose mum is in a really bad mood. When Anja stomped back in again
to get a drink of water, muttering more curses under her breath, I sneaked a glance
across the table at Jenny and saw her looking back at me with a smug glint in her eye,
as if to say, ‘See? What did I tell you? She’s
scary
.’

Just so you know, this is where everyone
is:

Notice anything odd about that?

Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but
apart from me and Jenny it seems like we’re all trying to keep as far away from
each other as possible. Which is kind of strange, don’t you think? I mean, here we
all are, stuck together in this hellish situation, desperate to find a way out, and
we’re behaving like strangers on a bus.

Or maybe it’s not so strange after
all?

It’s just what people do, I
suppose.

After breakfast I went to see how Fred was
doing. There was no answer when I knocked on his door. I knocked again and put my ear to
the door. Nothing. I called out his name, knocked again, then opened the door and looked
in. He was lying on the bed, curled up into a ball, wearing nothing but a pair of
shorts. The bedclothes were all thrown on the floor, and I could see scars and tattoos
all over his body, needle tracks on his arms and legs. He’s got a lot of scars. He
had the pillow clamped over his head and he was sweating like mad and moaning like a
baby.

Heroin withdrawal.

Even with his legs all scrunched up, the
bed’s far too small for him. He must be at least six feet four.

‘How’s it going?’ I asked
him.

‘
Unnnhh
,’ he
replied.

‘Do you want some tea?’

‘
Unh
.’

‘We didn’t get any aspirins.
You’ll have to stick it out.’

‘
Funnhh …
’

‘I’ll bring you some
tea.’

On the way back to the kitchen, I passed
Anja’s room. The
door was open and I could see her sitting on the
bed with her legs crossed and her arms held tightly across her chest.

Jenny’s right about her, she is scary.
Beautiful but scary. She has that overbearing confidence that comes from wealth and good
looks.

‘Do you want something to eat?’
I asked her.

Her head snapped round at the sound of my
voice. ‘What?’

‘Would you like anything to
eat?’

‘How long are we going to be
here?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

She flicked at her hair. ‘It’s
un
bear
able.’ She started jiggling her foot up and down, then turned
and looked at me. A good long look, up and down, checking me out like I was piece of
furniture or something. Finally she blinked, wrinkled her nose, and looked away.

‘What are the police doing about
Jenny?’ I asked her.

‘What?’

I sighed. ‘What are they saying on the
news about Jenny?’

‘Jenny who?’

I glared at her.

‘Oh, right,’ she said.
‘The girl …’ She shrugged. ‘I think there was one of those
appeals on TV, you know, a press conference, with her parents and everything. And
there’s been lots of coverage about her in the newspapers, lots of photographs,
that kind of thing.’

‘Do the police have any
leads?’

Anja shrugged again. ‘How should I
know?’

‘Did they
say
they had any
leads?’

‘I haven’t really been following
the story, to be honest. I’m very busy at the moment. I don’t have time
to –’

‘You need to get your head out of your
arse,’ I said.

‘Ex
cuse
me?’

‘You heard me. Stop feeling sorry for
yourself, for Christ’s sake.’

She gave me a nasty look.

‘You could try talking to Jenny for a
start,’ I went on. ‘I know it’s hard, but pretend you’ve got a
heart.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t
have to listen to this.’

I shrugged.

‘What do
you
know
anyway?’ she sneered. ‘How old are you?’

‘Old enough.’

That was supposed to sound cool, but it
probably didn’t.

Her foot was jiggling around at sixty miles
an hour.

I said, ‘You should have gone while it
was dark.’

‘I’m
sorry
?’

‘The lavatory. I told you last night.
You should have gone while it was dark.’

She uncrossed her legs, brushed at her knee,
flicked at something on her shoe, then recrossed her legs.

I said, ‘Do you want me to go with
you?’

‘What? God, no!’

‘I won’t look. I’ll stand
in front of you, facing away, so the camera won’t see anything.’

Her mouth tightened. She chewed her lip,
stared hard at me, then looked away. The room was quiet.

I gave it a minute, then turned to
leave.

At the door I heard a little sob. I turned
round. Anja’s head was bowed down and her voice was trembling. ‘Why’s
he
doing
this?’ she wept. ‘What have
I
done? I don’t
deserve this. It’s not
fair
.’

‘Fair doesn’t come into
it.’

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

I said, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen
if you need me.’

The summer before I ran away was a hot one.
Long, hot, and tedious. Dad wasn’t home very much, as usual, and I spent most of
the school holidays either traipsing around the world with him, staying in hotels and
soulless apartments, or – when he got fed up with me cramping his style – staying with
various friends and relatives, most of whom I neither knew nor liked. I didn’t
actually get to spend any time at home with Dad until the week before I was due back at
school. And even then, all we did was argue about stuff all the time. Mostly the same
old stuff.

‘I don’t see
why
I have
to go to boarding school, Dad. Why can’t I just go to a normal school, a
local
school?’

‘You know why, Linus. We’ve
already been through this a million times.’

‘Yeah, but –’

‘Just give it another year, OK? Once
I’ve got all these projects sorted out I won’t have to keep travelling so
much, and then –’

‘You said that last year.’

‘I know. But –’

‘
And
the year
before.’

‘Things are different now. I promise.
This time next year everything will be OK.’

That’s when I decided it was time to
go.

11.55 p.m.

I only wrote a short shopping list tonight.
We’ve got enough food for tomorrow, so all I asked for was some clean clothes
and something to read. I didn’t bother asking the others if they
wanted anything. I’m getting a bit sick of being mother. They know how it works.
If they want something they can ask for it themselves.