The Chaos (17 page)

‘You look like a drowned rat. Did you find it?’ Nan’s off her perch and hovering by the door when I come in.

‘I found it and I found
her.’

‘Who?’

‘The girl who did the painting on the wall. It’s Sarah, the girl from school, the girl at the hospital.’

‘So what’s the deal with her?’

‘She has nightmares and I’m in them.’ 

Anyone else would pull a face, frown maybe, ask what I’m talking about. Not Nan. She gets it straight away.

‘The painting. It’s her nightmare, her vision. She’s a seer, Adam. She’s got second sight.’

‘She’s got a baby as well.’

‘A baby?’

‘I saw it. Her. She’s a twenty-seven, Nan. The baby’s going to die with everyone else.’

I don’t mean to tell. It’s something about Nan, about the way she listens, that makes my mouth run away with me. And then it’s out. It’s said. 

Nan’s eyes spring wide.

‘The baby dies? Oh no … and you’re there with her. In the picture. Jesus, Adam. You know what this means, don’t you?’

I shake my head. My legs are like jelly, I don’t know how I’m still standing.

‘It means that you must never see them again. I need to get you out of here, out of London, like you’ve been saying. You can’t be here when it happens. You can’t be anywhere near.’

‘That’s what she said.’

‘The girl? Sarah?’

‘Yeah, she told me to get out. Not to come back.’

‘Did she do this to you an’ all?’

Nan puts her hand up to my head. When she moves it away, there’s blood on her nicotine-yellow fingertips.

‘She did, but that was earlier. When she first saw me, before we talked. She threw a stone.’

‘Nice, your friend is. Classy.’

‘Shut up, Nan. You don’t know her.’ 

She sniffs.

‘Not sure I want to.’

‘You won’t never meet her now anyway. You’re both right. I should stay away from her, from the baby. If I stay away, it can’t come true, can it?’

Nan makes me sit down at the kitchen table while she fetches a bottle of disinfectant and dabs some on my head with cotton wool.

‘Nan,’ I say, ‘has Nelson been back today?’

‘No. Why?’

‘’Cause I think you’re right, what you were saying before. We’ve got to warn people. We can’t just let this shit happen.’ 

She stops dabbing and looks at me. 

‘Do you mean it?’ she asks.

‘Yeah. It’s too big, too serious. I don’t care if people think I’m a nutter. We’ve got to give them a chance to get out. And then we’ve got to get out too. You and me, Nan, out of London. Do you promise?’

‘Yeah, I promise. We’ll give it a try, and then we’ll pack our bags and go. I used to like Norfolk before it disappeared under the North Sea. But we need somewhere hilly. Out in the middle of bloody nowhere. We’ll sit on a hill, open a couple of cans and sit tight, yeah?’

Me and Nan on a hillside watching the end of the world.

‘You can have a last fag if you like, I wouldn’t deny you that.’

‘I always thought I’d be the last smoker in England. Perhaps I will be.’

She puts the TCP away in the cupboard and starts rummaging through the freezer for something to eat. 

‘Adam,’ she says.

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m glad you want to fight it, ’cause I’ve already done something.’

‘Oh God, what is it?’

‘I’ve booked an appointment.’ She stands up from the freezer and sort of puffs her chest out.

‘Who with?’

‘Mister Vernon Taylor, the Emergency Planning Officer in the Civil Contingencies Unit at the Council.’

‘Who the fuck’s that?’

‘Language. He’s the person in charge of planning for disasters. I did some research. Aren’t you proud of me?’

‘Yeah, s’pose. I dunno. Shouldn’t we be seeing that other guy, the one in a suit, MI5 or something like that? He gave me his card. Some geezer in the Council’s not likely to believe us, is he? And even if he buys the stuff about the numbers, we don’t know what’s going to happen, do we? Only when.’

‘It’s his job to look after this kind of thing. Sort out this road, this estate. I don’t like stiffs in suits any more than you do, but we can’t let personal prejudice get in our way. We got to tell someone. We got to, Adam. We’ve got lives to save. It’s our civic duty.’ She’s giving it the full upright citizen stuff now. I guess I must be pulling a face because she goes on, ‘You’re an ungrateful sod, you are. I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘I am. I think. I just … I dunno. I am. Thanks, Nan.’

She sniffs a bit and then takes the cardboard off a packet and makes some holes in the top of the plastic with a knife.

‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Go and have a quick bath first, and put those filthy, wet clothes in the wash. You can wear a shirt tomorrow, look a bit smart for a change.’

‘What for?’

‘I just told you, you soft sod, we’re going to see the Council. We’ve got to look the part. Don’t want them thinking we’re on day release or something.’

I haul myself upstairs and run a bath. It’s only when I get in the hot water I realise how cold I’ve got. I let the warmth soak through to my bones and I close my eyes. It’s still pissing down outside. I see Sarah’s face and her number whispering a promise to me.
For richer, for poorer. In sickness and in health. Till death do us part.

If I never see her again, if I keep away from her, how can that ever come true?

Chapter 38: Sarah

I
 came here with just my school bag. Now I have no idea how I’m going to pack for the two of us. I suppose all I really need is clothes, nappies and wipes. We’ll manage for everything else.

I don’t know where we’re going to go, just that we need to get away from here. I don’t have enough cash for a train ticket, maybe a coach. Perhaps Vinny would give me some. But I couldn’t ask – he’s done so much for us. Been a real friend.

Mia’s asleep as I gather up her things. I stop to look at her, with her mouth open, her arms flung up around her head. A flutter of panic starts to build in me. Will I cope on my own with her? What if I can’t find anywhere to stay? It’s stormy outside again, the glass is rattling in the window frames. I can’t just set out in that lot with nowhere to go and no-one to go to. Not with a baby.

I sink down onto the bed, not defeated yet, but suddenly realising the truth of my situation. I need to think ahead, I need to plan.

The storm’s so loud, I don’t hear the knock at the door for a while. At some point, I realise that there’s another sound on top of the rattling and creaking and groaning and I make my way downstairs. It’s not coming from the back – someone’s at the front door. No one ever comes to the front. I slide back the bolts, but there’s no key for the lock. The door won’t open.

I lean down and flip up the letter box.

‘Who is it?’

I can see a shiny patent belt wrapped tightly around the middle of someone’s coat. There’s a pause and then the someone bends down and there’s a chin level with the box.

‘My name’s Marie Southwell. I’m from Children’s Services.’

Shit!

‘What do you want?’

‘I want to talk to Sally Harrison. Is that you?’

For a split second I feel a flood of relief. Sally Harrison? It’s a mistake, wrong address. Then I remember that’s me, the me that checked in at the hospital.

‘You’ll have to come round the back, down the alleyway and into the yard. I’ll meet you.’

‘Okay.’

I let the letter box spring shut and race into the kitchen, snatching up some of the dirty plates and mugs, shoving them into a cupboard and slamming the door shut. The woman who appears in the back alley is windswept, but still smart, with black patent boots to match her shiny belt. She shows me her ID and I lead her into the house, all at once painfully aware of how it must look to an outsider. Grease and dirt on the ceiling, mouse droppings on the floor, the baseball bat leaning up against the wall.

‘Cup of tea?’ I ask, hoping to distract her, but her eyes are everywhere, taking it all in.

She smiles. ‘Yes please. Milk, no sugar.’

I’m all fingers and thumbs as I try to make the tea. The milk’s out on the worktop. When I add it to the tea it forms white clots. I pour it down the sink.

‘Shit. Milk’s off. Sorry, I’ll make some more. Can you drink it black?’

‘Don’t worry about the tea. Shall we sit down? It’s just a routine follow-up. About you … and the baby. Is she here?’

‘Yes, she’s upstairs.’

‘I’d like to see her. When we’ve had our chat.’

‘Okay.’ My palms are sweaty. I wipe them on my jeans and sit down. ‘She’s fine, the baby. There’s nothing wrong with her.’

She looks up from the papers she’s sorting on the kitchen table.

‘No, no, of course there isn’t. Just that you both seem to have slipped through the system before. It’s just routine.’

‘How did you … how did you find us?’

‘She was chipped in the hospital, wasn’t she? The baby, Louise.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘The hospital notified Children’s Services and she was tracked here.’

Tracked. I’m speechless. Wherever we go now, we can be found.

‘I never wanted her chipped. They just did it.’

‘Well, yes, I know a lot of people don’t like the idea, but it doesn’t hurt them and it’s a legal requirement now.’

‘I know. Well, the law stinks.’

I can hear myself saying it, and I’m kicking myself,
thinking,
Stop it, act normal, act friendly, and she’ll go away.

The smile on her face goes a little tighter.

‘Well, it’s done now. And it means that we can give you the advice and support you need. Are you in contact with Louise’s father?’

‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘No. He never even knew.’

‘I’ll need his details, because there’s child support to consider. He should be paying child support.’

‘I don’t want his money. I don’t want anything to do with him.’

‘But you could do with
some
money …’ She looks around.

‘I’m all right. I manage. I’ve got friends here, they help out.’

‘You’re entitled to money of your own.’

‘I don’t want it. I don’t want anything off anybody. I just want to be left alone.’

‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, not when you have a child. The local authority has a duty of care, to ensure the welfare of children in the borough.’

Care?
Care? Who cared about me when I was still at home? Who bothered to find out what was wrong when I started playing up at school? They didn’t look further than the wrought-iron gates and the gravel driveway. Nothing wrong with that home, she’s just a bad lot.

‘We can apply online now, if you like. I’ve brought my laptop.’

‘I told you I don’t want anything.’

‘Maybe next time …’

‘I’ll fetch Louise down now, if you like. She’s fine and I’m fine. We’re fine.’

‘I’d like to see her room, if I may? The baby’s room?’

I sigh.

‘Sure.’

And I lead her up the stairs, with the empty light sockets, the wallpaper hanging off the walls, the doors off the landing kicked in at the bottom. Mia’s still asleep in her drawer. She’s clean and safe and well. That’s what they’re looking for, isn’t it?

‘You’re leaving,’ Marie says, seeing the plastic bags full of clothes and nappies.

‘No, just tidying up. It’s not easy keeping tidy here …’
Shut up. It’s fine here.

‘No,’ she says, ‘it’s not easy. I can see that.’ 

My pictures are in heaps all over the place. She wanders over to one, picks a drawing up off the top of the pile. 

‘You’re an artist. These are good.’

Then she notices the next one. It’s Adam and Mia, in my nightmare. She bends to pick it up, frowns.

‘What’s this?’

‘Nothing, it’s nothing. Just a nightmare. I drew a nightmare.’

‘It’s … powerful stuff. Disturbing. Is this the father?’ 

I start to laugh but then blurt out, ‘Yes, yes that’s him. Scumbag. Dumped me before I even knew I was pregnant.’ It’s ridiculous. I’m obviously lying. There’s Mia lying in her cot with her lily-white skin and blue eyes to prove it, but Marie doesn’t seem to have noticed the evidence.

‘We should be able to find him,’ she says. ‘His face is very … distinctive.’

‘I don’t want him found. I told you, I don’t want anything to do with him.’

We both hear the back door slam. Vinny and the boys are back.

‘Your housemates?’

I nod.

‘I’ll quickly examine Louise, and leave you to it, then.’

She kneels down by the drawer. The boys are on good form, I can hear them clattering about in the kitchen, and I start to wonder what state they’re in.

‘That looks fine,’ Marie says. ‘No need to wake her up.’

She stands up, dusting down her coat with her hands.

‘I’ll come back next week, we can talk through your benefits then. It’s what you’re entitled to. Okay?’

‘Okay,’ I say. I feel like I’m being bulldozed, back in the system, officially on the books, but it’s fine. This time next week, I’ll be long gone. We go downstairs, me leading the way. I’m cursing the lost front-door key – I could have let her out that way, and bypassed the boys altogether. It’s no good, I’ll have to take her through the back. But she’s right behind me. There’s no time for damage limitation.

They’ve got the foil and the spoons and the syringes all on the go. Vinny and Tom and Frank in the kitchen, cooking up a storm.

Chapter 39: Adam

A
t twenty past two we’re outside the Council One-Stop-Shop, and Nan’s having a last fag for courage.

‘Nan, what are we going to say? Have you thought about it?’

She tips her head back and blows a long stream of smoke up the sky, then drops the end of the cigarette on the floor and grinds it under her shoe.

‘I’ve thought about it. I’m ready. Come on, Adam. Let’s get in there.’

As well as a black polyester jacket and skirt, she’s wearing shiny court shoes. They’ve only got a little heel, but that’s five centimetres more than her usual slippers or crocs, and she’s having a bit of trouble walking. She’s tried so hard to dress up and look smart, but I can’t help thinking the overall effect is pretty close to a man in drag. She’s made me put on some clean jeans and a school shirt. The collar’s digging in, so I undo the top couple of buttons.