The Chaos (6 page)

‘Sarah.’

‘Come on,’ she says. ‘Let’s get out of this meat market.’

And I follow her through the station. We’re swallowed up in the crowd, hundreds, thousands of people around us, but it’s okay because I’m not on my own any more.

I’ve got a contact, someone who knows the ropes, and I’ve got somewhere to go.

Chapter 11: Adam

S
he’s disappeared.

I go to school the next day really psyched. I’m going to find her and talk to her. I can’t wait. But she don’t turn up, not that day or the next one. I start asking people about her – other kids in her tutor group, but no one knows where she is. No one knows much about her at all.

It’s doing my head in. The connection between us – that electricity – it’s all I can think about. Lying in bed at night, I feel her hand on my face and I break out into a sweat. I didn’t dream it. It was real, just like the ache in my balls is real when I think about seeing her, holding her, touching her …

It’s so unfair. The only person in that school to get me, to see me for who I am, and now she’s gone.

‘Where’s your girlfriend gone?’

‘One look was enough, then she fucked off!’

‘Aah, he’s all on his own.’

I don’t like what they’re saying, their stupid, ignorant
comments, but I try to ignore them. They’re not important. Nothing here is important.

I sit in lessons and it just feels like I’m wasting time – the teachers don’t know squat. They spend their days wittering on about history and geography, literature and science, when I know everything’s going to come crashing round our ears in a few months’ time. It’s all words, just words – plate tectonics, global warming, peak oil, peak water – I can’t see how it connects with what’s happening outside, in London, now. Something’s already started out there, something that’s going to change everything, kill half the people in this room. School’s got nothing to say about it.

I need to find Sarah. She knows something, I’m sure of it. She’s out there somewhere, and I’m not going to find her sitting here. The teacher’s put up a map of the world on the front screen, telling us to copy the shapes of the earth’s plates onto the base map she’s sent to our palm-nets.

I reach down into my bag to get my palm-net out, and I pull out Sarah’s pencil case instead. I picked it up after she ran out of the art room, thought I’d keep it for her, give it back to her the next day with her picture of me. I unzip it and look inside. There’s only pencils and pens and rubbers, but it feels like I’m looking at something private. I go to zip it up again and something catches my eye – there’s writing on the inside, her name and address printed clearly in black biro. I run my thumb across it, like I did with my mum’s letter, hoping to pick up something of her. I read it a couple of times, and the words stick in my head. All the rest of the lesson, I’m running over and over them, until by the time the bell rings, I know what I’m going to do.

Instead of going home, I check out Sarah’s address on my palm-net, and it sat-navs me there. It’s more than six
kilometres to Hampstead and it takes me just over an hour, but I don’t mind the walk. It feels like the right thing to do. It feels right to be doing something.

I start to get second thoughts when I reach her neighbourhood. It’s all detached houses, big ones, with electric gates. Is this really where Sarah lives? I know she comes to school in a posh car, I’ve heard people talking about it, but this is something else. I can understand why she’d want to stay here instead of coming to school. If I lived somewhere like this, I’d never leave.

Number six is hidden behind a high brick wall with two scanners perched on the top. The gate is metal, solid, so you haven’t got a clue what’s behind there. There’s an intercom grill with a button under it. It’s the only way I’m going to get in, so I press the button. A woman’s voice comes through almost straight away.

‘Yes?’

I clear my throat.

‘I’m here to see Sarah. I’m a friend from school.’

‘Which school?’

‘Forest Green.’

There’s a long pause. Then the gate starts swinging open. I take it that’s an invitation to go in and start crunching up the gravel drive. The house takes my breath away. It’s painted white, with big pillars propping up a porch at the front. There’s a black Mercedes parked by the door, next to a red Porsche. Jesus! Her family isn’t just loaded, they’re super-rich!

The front door opens as I get close, but it’s not the woman who spoke to me on the intercom, there’s a man standing there. He’s a big bloke, tall, looks taller because he’s standing in the doorway, and I’m at the bottom of the steps. His shoes
are black slip-ons, shiny and expensive. He’s wearing dark suit trousers and a crisp white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up. He’s yanked his tie loose around his neck. He looks at me like I’m something his cat’s just dragged in and I clock his number. 112027. Another one. Sarah’s dad. 

He don’t ask me in.

‘You know something about Sarah?’ he says. ‘Have you seen her?’

So she’s not here either. She’s run off.

‘No,’ I say, ‘I haven’t seen her for days. I thought she might be here. I wanted to talk to her.’

‘Talk to her?’

‘Yeah, we’re … we’re friends.’ It sounds lame as I say it. 

‘She’s friends with
you?’
He don’t believe me or he don’t want to. I don’t like him, don’t like his tone. 

‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘we sit together in Art.’

‘And you like her, do you?’ What’s he getting at? 

‘Yeah. Like I said, we’re friends.’

He steps out of the doorway and starts down the steps towards me.

‘She was only there a few days,’ he says, ‘and now she’s run away. What did you do to her? At school. What did you say?’

‘Nothing. I didn’t say nothing. We were just friends. That’s all.’

I’m picking up on his body language and I know I should get out of here. I start backing off, but I’m not quick enough. A hand shoots round my neck and pins me up against one of the pillars. He leans in so his face is close to mine, puts his weight into his hand so I start to choke.

‘You touched her, didn’t you? You got your filthy hands on her, my daughter.’

‘No.’ I force the words out. ‘No, I never.’

‘You couldn’t keep your hands off her, could you? You’re disgusting. Disgusting.’

His number’s in my face now. He’s a twenty-seven, but not like the others, there’s something different about his death – it comes from inside him, pain radiating through his body, shooting down his arm, crushing him.

‘Gary? What is it?’

Over his shoulder, I can see a woman just inside the doorway. Must be Sarah’s mum. She’s in her dressing gown, with bare feet.

‘What is it? Have they found something?’

Her dad loosens his grip.

‘No,’ he calls back to her. ‘It’s nothing.’

I twist away from him, holding my hands up to my neck, my chest heaving as I try to get some air.

‘Nothing,’ he says. He watches me stumble down the drive and break in to a run. The gates are still open, thank God, and I’m out of there and running down the road. I don’t stop until I’m shot of that whole hateful estate and back to a place where there are shops and cafes and houses that open onto the street.

I go into the first paper shop I find and buy a Coke, opening it as soon as I’ve paid.

‘’Ere, not in the shop! Take it outside,’ the guy behind the till shouts at me. I take no notice. The sugar in the drink is hitting my bloodstream, and my shakes are starting to go. God, I need this. I thought he was going to kill me. What a wanker! Okay, he’s worried about his daughter, but that’s not normal, going off on one like that, nearly choking the breath out of me.

I drain the can and hold it out to the shop-guy. He tips his head towards the recycling bin and hands over my five cents,
like it was killing him to do it.

‘Thanks, mate,’ I say and I wander out of the shop and start heading for home. My legs are tired and slow, but my mind’s still racing. She’s not at home. She’s not at school. Where the hell is she?

Chapter 12: Sarah

I
t’s a two-bedroom flat, and six girls sharing, including me. It’s okay. They’re friendly enough, show me a corner in one of the bedrooms where I can put my bag.

Meg introduces me to the others, then takes me into the kitchen and cooks us both egg and oven chips. I’m starving. I can’t eat in the mornings, but by the afternoon, I’m ravenous.

‘One good meal a day,’ she says. ‘Other than that, it’s the rock-chick diet – fags, vodka and … well, you know.’ The thought turns my stomach. I’ve never drunk alcohol, never smoked, and I’m even less likely to now.

I must have pulled a face because Meg says, ‘You’ll have to have a drink. Everyone drinks. It’s the only way to survive here. Not today, though, not on your first night.’

‘Survive? It doesn’t look that bad …’

Her face doesn’t move a muscle, but there’s something, a flicker behind her eyes. What’s going on here? The front door opens as a man lets himself into the flat and breezes
into the kitchen. He’s not very tall, a few centimetres taller than me, but he’s thick-set, with muscular arms bulging under the cloth of his denim jacket. He’s got a cigarette in one hand and car keys in the other.

‘All right?’ he says to Meg, and leans forward to kiss her on the lips. At the last minute, she tilts her head and gives him her cheek instead. ‘Don’t be like that, you silly bitch,’ he says, and the coldness in his voice makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Then he notices me and his body language changes. ‘Who’s this?’ he says, and now his whole focus is on me.

‘This is Sarah. She needs a place to stay.’

‘Right, right.’ He looks me up and down, then holds out his hand. ‘Shayne. Welcome to our humble home.’

I take his hand – it would be rude not to, and I’m not sure enough of myself to be rude to him, yet – and we shake. He holds on just a little bit too long for comfort.

‘Bet there are people looking for you,’ he says.

I shrug.

‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe here. No one’s going to rat on you. I’ll need a contribution to the rent though. Not tonight. First night’s free. Tomorrow.’

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Okay.’ I’ve got my money – he hasn’t said how much, but I’m only going to stay for a day or two and it’s not going to be more than fifty Euros, is it. Or a hundred?

The girls are getting ready to go out, doing their hair and make-up. Shayne’s in and out of the bedrooms. I’d tell him to get lost if I was them, but none of them do. Meg settles down on the sofa and pats it, inviting me to sit next to her.

‘Not going out?’ I ask.

‘No, not tonight. I’ll stay in with you.’

‘Thanks,’ I say.

She gets out a tin of weed and some papers and starts rolling a joint. We watch the telly, and when Shayne comes back into the lounge, she passes the joint to him and he stands at the side, smoking. He’s looking at us, not at the telly. Then he looks at his watch, a big, flashy gold thing.

‘Come on, girls!’ he shouts. ‘Time to go.’

The others all start filing out of the flat. Shayne’s the last to leave.

‘Vinny will be round in a bit. You’re all right to see to him, aren’t you?’ he asks Meg. 

‘Sure.’

He steps forward, hands her a wad of cash. She stuffs it into her bra.

‘Okay, see you later, girls,’ he says, and then he winks at Meg and gives her the thumbs up.

The door closes behind him.

‘He seems … nice,’ I say. ‘Taking everyone out.’

She snorts, reaches down to the floor beside her, grabs a bottle of vodka and takes a swig.

‘He’s a dick. But he’s less of a dick than some of them. Here …’ she holds the bottle out to me.

‘No thanks,’ I say.

‘Go on.’

‘No, it’s all right, I don’t drink.’

‘Some of this? It’s the good stuff.’ She wafts the joint under my nose. 

‘No. Thanks.’

Meg looks at me, and her face goes softer. She reaches out and smoothes my hair around my face. 

‘How old are you?’ she asks. 

‘Eighteen,’ I say. She smiles. 

‘How old are you really?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Go home, Sarah. Go home before it’s too late.’

‘I left home for a reason.’

‘Yeah, we all did, but this isn’t any better, trust me. I’ll help you. I’ll give you some money to get a taxi or whatever.’

‘It’s all right. I’ve got money …’ Her eyes go a little bit wider. She holds her finger up to her lips.

‘Don’t tell anyone. Don’t even tell me. I hope it’s hidden, because they’re a bunch of thieving cows here.’

‘It’s in my … I’d better check.’ I left the bag in one of the bedrooms. I jump up and go and fetch it. The zip’s open. Someone’s been through it. The money’s gone, of course. All of it. Every last note.

‘Shit! Someone’s had it. Will you help me get it back?’

She shakes her head.

‘It’s gone. You won’t see that again. If you get money, keep it on you.’ She pats her chest, where she stashed the money Shayne gave her.

‘But it’s one of the girls, or Shayne. He was in and out of the bedrooms, wasn’t he? People can’t just take stuff. It’s mine!’

‘It’s gone. There’s your first lesson. Hard, innit? Let’s hope it wasn’t Shayne, ’cause he’ll have seen this.’ She pulls my school shirt and tie out of the bag.

‘Why?’

‘He’ll make you wear it tomorrow. He can charge double for a kid in a school uniform.’

Tomorrow. Shayne wants some rent money, but some bitch has stolen mine. How am I going to get money? How the hell am I … then Meg’s words register.

They’re going to charge for me. Tomorrow.

‘The girls,’ I say, ‘they’ve not just gone out on the town,
have they?’

She has another swig out of the bottle.

‘No,’ she says, ‘they’re out working. I should be too, but Shayne’s given me the night off. Wants me to keep an eye on you.’

Keep an eye on me. Make sure I don’t run away. Keep me there until tomorrow. Tomorrow. Oh God.

‘Meg,’ I say, ‘I can’t … I can’t do what the other girls are doing.’