Waking Broken (20 page)

Friday, 8.16am:

His schoolbag slung to one side, Ahmad ducked behind the hoarding. He slipped through the damp undergrowth as he worked his way between the wooden frame and the riverbank fence.

Once out of sight, he stopped. He pressed himself against the back of the hoarding and waited. Wet patches covered his school trousers where condensation from the weed stalks and old brambles had soaked through the thin material. He ignored the sensation. The trousers were cheap; although they gave him little protection, they also dried quickly.

Ahmad pushed a spill of lank dark hair out of his face. He tipped his head back and listened. So far: nothing. He had been a fair distance away when he first saw them. Leroy’s gang were on the other side of the grassed area by the shops. They were in one of their usual poses: ranged against a wall covered with their graffiti, smoking and eyeing up anyone who came within potential strike range.

Ahmad’s cousin Habibi had likened them to a pack of dogs. The graffiti their equivalent of how a dog marked territory with its scent. And like dogs, they controlled their patch. They were brutal with those weaker than themselves and always probing for weaknesses with those of whom they were unsure. With the powerful, they were surly but abject: snapping and snarling only when out of reach.

When no one else was around, the gang’s aggression turned inwards. That was when the pecking order was established. Those without a natural short fuse mimicked the aggression of those who did. A propensity for sudden violence was a prerequisite for running with this pack: showing restraint meant being singled out as suspect. The younger, weaker members of the pack took the brunt of the humiliation. Ostensibly, the abuse was to test their commitment; in reality it provided an opportunity for the alpha males to flex their muscles. There was little real love lost between the gang’s lieutenants but it was rare for them to come into direct conflict. They instinctively understood that the balance of power was crucial. If any of them demonstrated too much strength, the next step would be a showdown with Leroy; and none of them was brave enough for that.

Unfortunately for Ahmad, the gang had picked up his scent a few weeks earlier and he knew his days were numbered. They knew the street he lived on and where he went to school. Each day it got harder to avoid them. He had already missed several days of lessons after spotting some of Leroy’s gang hanging around the gate in the morning. School offered only a dubious sanctuary and the risk of trying to get there was too dangerous.

The only thing to save him so far had been that he was not crucial business. They had more important matters to take care of: deals to make, scores to settle and debts to claim. Ahmad was small fry, a loose end to be tidied up when convenient.

Now, as he stood hiding behind the hoarding, the sound of trainers pounding on tarmac came around the corner. Ahmad froze. He clutched his bag to his chest and moved his cold lips in a silent prayer, a plea for one more day.

The feet stopped a few yards beyond the far end of the hoarding.

‘Sheee-it. That fuckin’ little Paki!’

‘Yeah! Little shit.’

A loud thud came as one of the pursuers kicked something: the door of a parked car by the sound of it.

‘Where you reckon he got to?’

‘Ah, fuck, I dunno.’

‘You think we should look down this way a bit more?’

‘Nah. I ain’t fuckin’ runnin’ after some little shit like that. He could a gone a dozen ways.’

‘What you gonna tell Leroy?’

‘Ah… fuck knows. Who cares! Why, what you gonna say?’

‘Nothin’ man, I ain’t sayin’ nothin’.’

‘Good.’

Ahmad closed his eyes. He stopped listening. They were not searching for him but they did not move on either. It sounded like they were lighting cigarettes, killing time to make it look like they had put effort into the hunt instead of giving up as soon as they were out of sight.

Then came the sound of something smashing.

Moving very cautiously, Ahmad turned around and dropped into a crouch. He peered underneath the bottom of the hoarding. Through a patch of nettle stalks he could see one of his pursuers. He did not know the name but he recognised the leather jacket and the long braids tight to the scalp. The teenager had his back to Ahmad and was leaning against a parked car. A curl of smoke wafted up around his shoulders.

‘Anythin’ in there?’

‘Nah.’ The other gang member straightened up from where he had been leaning through the now broken window of the parked car. ‘Glove box is empty. Stereo is fuckin’ nasty piece of shit.’

‘What now. We gonna go back?’

‘Nah. Let’s wait here a bit. Snake an’ Deever was going down the other side of the block. They’ll probably come back up this way. We’ll see if they got ’im.’

Ahmad turned around carefully, trying not to make any noise. If any of them paused to use their brains, it would not take much concentration to realise their prey must have gone to ground. When they spotted him, he had not been that far away, certainly not far enough to give him that much of a head start. When he hid behind the hoarding, he was hoping they would run further on before stopping.

Now, he was in an awkward position. Making a move with two of them only yards away was not exactly safe. But he did not want to wait until more of the gang turned up.

The fence behind the hoarding was just a couple of strands of barbed wire. Beyond, lay a low bank and a slope that dropped to the river through a mess of old brambles and scrubby hawthorn trees. If he could get through the weeds without too much noise, he might get away. He was not sure but he had a feeling that a path used by fishermen ran along the riverbank. His mother would be furious if he came back with another pair of wrecked trousers but he had little choice. And, anyway, he would much rather take a lecture from his father than a beating from Leroy.

Ahmad scrambled up the stone-filled gabions. The wire baskets rose like a rampart along a bend in the riverbank, protecting the curve from erosion. At the top stood a high mesh fence with strands of razor wire along its top.

Ahmad shivered as he pulled himself up. He was coated with mud and wet through. His clothes were torn and his limbs covered with scratches that stung like mad.

He did not know this area well. The land here used to belong to the army. Previously a major military base, the regiment that once called these buildings home had been merged out of existence a few years ago. Now surplus to requirements, the whole area was earmarked for redevelopment. Spread across several hundred acres, the old Caledonia Barracks had become a piece of prime real estate. Immediately to the west, an area of run-down housing was already undergoing an extensive programme of urban renewal. Northwards lay the city’s airport and the nearby dual carriageway. To the east, off-the-peg office blocks and tin shed retail units sprawled across an old factory site. Negotiations over the future of the Caledonia Barracks had been dragging on for a couple of years, the planners and developers wrangling over how to divide up the pie.

For now, the site remained mothballed. Basic maintenance and security operations were still carried out. Other than that, the former military base remained a zone of ghostly memories. For more than two centuries, soldiers had trained at the Caledonia Barracks in preparation for their part in some of Britain’s most glorious and inglorious military endeavours. Flags and trophies from India and other imperial conquests once adorned buildings around the base. The site also played a key role in preparing troops for the Normandy Landings. During the Cold War, extensive bunkers were excavated in case the Government needed to be put underground when the Soviets attacked.

These days, the massed ranks of soldiers were long gone. The only hordes to gather on the parade ground were flocks of pigeons and starlings. A growing contingent of rabbits had also staked their claim on the southwest corner of the site; they were rapidly expanding their forces into new territory. The rabbits at least kept the grass cropped but neglect was becoming more and more obvious on the buildings themselves. Gutters sagged with a distinct lack of military discipline, paint flaked and weeds were sneaking into cracks in walls, paving and tiles.

Ahmad was at the southwest corner of the site, near a section that once housed various maintenance sheds and workshops. The nearest building was some kind of large warehouse.

He stood for a while watching carefully but there did not seem to be anyone around. The only possible sign of life was a red van parked at the back of one of the loading bays.

Friday, 9.28am:

Rebecca smiled as she opened the door. A thick sleet had begun to fall and a gust of wind blew wet slush into the hall. Harper looked up from the steps. He was huddled into an old sheepskin jacket with his collar pulled up.

He gave a shrug. ‘Sorry. I should have rung.’

She looked at him for a moment longer then stood aside. ‘That’s okay. Come in.’

Harper moved quickly up into the warmth. He gave Rebecca a wan smile without meeting her eye and turned to push the door shut behind him. With his face away from her, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before turning back.

Silent for a moment, they moved uncertainly around each other. Before the pause could get too awkward, Rebecca stepped closer and Harper gave her a clumsy kiss on the cheek. Her arm stopped part way around his shoulders and then withdrew.

She moved away again, unsure how to proceed. ‘Er … do you want a cup of tea?’

Harper nodded. ‘Sure.’ He followed her into the kitchen, watching the way she walked and the swing of her hips like a man who had not eaten for days and now saw a banquet. ‘I’m sorry to turn up on you without warning,’ he said. ‘I tried to ring a few times last night but you must have been out.’

‘Er … yes, sort of.’

Harper smiled. ‘Sort of?’

Rebecca blushed and put a hand to her face to cover her embarrassment. ‘Well, no. I was in but I’d turned the phone off.’

‘Ah.’

She reached out and put her hand on his arm. ‘It wasn’t you,’ she said. ‘Well… not only you. I didn’t want to talk to anyone last night. It was a crap day. I had a load of stuff to think about.’

‘That’s okay.’

She shrugged and gave a quick, almost apologetic smile. ‘Some of it was about you. But other stuff too. I handed in my notice yesterday.’

Harper gave a short laugh. ‘I bet that went down well.
La belle dame
wouldn’t have liked that.’

Rebecca looked surprised. ‘You know her?’

‘Your dear Miss Hamilton? Sure. Well…’ Harper tipped his head back and stared up at the ceiling. ‘Oh shit, this’ll be another anomaly.’ He leant back against Rebecca’s sink and shook his head. ‘Well, on the one hand, yes, I do. But mainly through what you’ve told me about her. Which, of course, you haven’t told me because we hadn’t met until a few days ago had we? You’ve also introduced me to her a couple of times, which again, of course, you’ve got no knowledge of doing.’ He shook his head. ‘This starts to get so tedious.’

Rebecca gave him a quick look that mixed tenderness and bafflement before turning back to the kettle and putting tea bags into cups. ‘Er, milk, sugar?’

‘White, no sugar thanks.’

‘Okay. So, what do you know about Claire Hamilton?’

Harper laughed. ‘Well she’s a complete harpy, isn’t she? A total control freak who can’t bear to think anyone can do anything as well as her. And although she’s really pushy, she’s not actually that good at her job. So she hires all these bright young things to reign over. Then she gets really pissed off when she realises not only are they younger and more attractive but they can also often do the job much better than her.’ He shrugged. ‘I always used to say you should either set up on your own or work with someone else.’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘That’s weird.’

Harper nodded. ‘Tell me about it.’

‘So… did I go and work for someone else… in your world?’

‘No.’ Harper shook his head. ‘It was one of the few things we used to argue about. I guess the job with Paul Cash hadn’t come up. Maybe it would have done. But you used to get so wound up and I told you a few times to tell her where to stick her job. I think you were nervous about giving up on a job without something else to go to. Not that finding something better would be a problem for someone like you.’

Rebecca looked away as she gave a short laugh. ‘So, what were you trying to ring me about last night?’

‘Oh, nothing much.’ Harper took the proffered cup of tea. ‘Thanks.’ He took a cautious sip, blowing across the surface to cool it down. ‘I just wanted to talk.’

Rebecca smiled. ‘You were taking a bit of a chance on me being here this morning, weren’t you? A bit later and you’d have missed me. I was going to go over and see Paul Cash. Now I’ve lost one job, I’d better not forget to turn up for the new one. I need to work out what I’m supposed to be doing for him.’

‘Sure,’ said Harper absently. He sighed and took another sip of tea. ‘But I hadn’t really set out planning on seeing you. I needed a walk to sort my head out. I’ve been wandering around for a bit. It started to rain and I realised I wasn’t far from where you lived so I thought I’d see if I could find it.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad I did considering what the weather’s doing now.’

They both looked at the window. Outside, the sleet was turning to snow. A thick, swirling of wet flakes was coming down with increasing speed. It was not settling yet but at the rate it was falling that was merely a matter of time. Rebecca glanced back at Harper. ‘So was it just the whole thing on your mind or something in particular.’

Harper put the tea down. His eyes widened as he gave a long sigh. ‘Oh, it was something in particular,’ he said. ‘I had another total head fuck this morning.’

He made the call earlier that morning. He had wanted to ring the previous night but Brendan did not tell him the news until late and Harper decided to make himself wait rather than panic his mother by getting her out of bed.

He woke a little after six and lay awake thinking about it for most of the next hour. After making himself get up and shower, he forced down a few pieces of toast for breakfast and listened with minimal attention to the
Today
programme on Radio Four. Eventually, the clock ticked round to eight and he let himself make the call: half full of hope, half sick with doubt and the distress of raked up pain.

His mother was obviously surprised when she heard his voice. ‘Daniel, is that you?’ A note of wary concern slipped into her tone. ‘You’re ringing a bit early aren’t you? Are you okay? Has something happened?’

‘Er… yes… no. Nothing’s wrong. That’s not…’

‘Are you sure, dear? You are alright are you?’ Mrs Harper sounded flustered; a woman who wanted to feel pleased to hear from her son but could not help expecting a catch.

‘Mum! I just wanted a chat.’

‘Oh.’ There was a moment’s silence.

‘Is that okay?’ Harper had asked. ‘It’s not a bad time?’

‘Well, no. Of course it isn’t. I mean, I’ve still got some washing to sort out but it’s nothing urgent. Just some towels I need to get done. But I can put them on in a few minutes. It won’t make much difference. I don’t think I’m going to get to hang them outside today. It’s already pouring here. It was raining all night too and they were saying on the radio we’ll get gales later. Still, we can’t expect too much at this time of year. They were saying you might get snow if it gets much colder.’

As his mother went into automatic burble mode, Harper could not help smiling. It was what she had always done when unsure what to say: just start rabbiting on about the most inconsequential minutiae. He let her ramble for a couple of minutes, offering the occasional “oh” and “really” as the moment demanded.

‘So, mum,’ he interrupted eventually. ‘I’m not sure when I last spoke to you.’

‘Oh, it was the Sunday before last,’ she said. ‘I did try you last weekend but I didn’t get an answer. I don’t like to call in the week because I know you’re busy with the newspaper and I don’t want to disturb you.’

‘Mum! You don’t have to worry about that. You can ring me when you want; I don’t mind.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded pleased but also surprised. ‘That’s not what you said before. You told me it was best not to ring on weekdays.’

‘Ah.’ Harper fell silent for a moment. He was beginning to think his alter ego not an entirely pleasant person.

‘But are you well, Daniel? It’s very nice to hear from you, of course. Have you got a day off today or are you on holiday? You’re not ill are you?’

‘Well.’ Harper hesitated. ‘I am having a couple of days off.’

‘A holiday is it?’

‘Not exactly,’ he answered. ‘I did have a little accident. But it was nothing serious,’ he added quickly. ‘I was out on… out the other morning and a car skidded on some ice. I was knocked down but I didn’t break anything. They took me into hospital but I was okay, they didn’t keep me in. Left me with some bad bruises and scrapes. I’m having a couple of days off while the bruises go down.’

‘Oh, Daniel, that’s terrible. Are you really okay?’

‘I’m fine, mum. A bit battered but no real harm done.’ He paused, closing his eyes and summoning the courage as he finally got to ask the question that had been burning since last night. ‘But anyway, how are you… how are you and dad?’

Harper blinked rapidly. His voice was tight and he looked down, avoiding Rebecca’s eyes. He swallowed a couple of times, turned his head to look at the gusting snow outside and sniffed. She watched him, letting him take his time.

‘It was so weird,’ said Harper eventually, his tone still slightly choked. ‘I didn’t get to speak to him… he was out doing stuff but… just to know he’s okay, that he’s alive and well and just like normal was so weird. Talking to my mum, it was… for her it was just an ordinary conversation. I might have sounded a bit odd but I’m not sure that’s anything new.’

He gave a short laugh and looked at his feet again. ‘Mind you, it was probably a bit out of character for me to ask after my dad but…’

Rebecca reached out slowly and put an arm around Harper’s shoulders. He flinched at the contact then let his body lean slightly against hers. Harper closed his eyes, absorbing the sensations of the weight of her arm around him, the warmth of her body against his and the softness of her breast.

He sighed, his voice thickening again. ‘We never saw eye to eye when I was growing up. I thought he was a right miserable bastard when I was a teenager.’ He sniffed. ‘My dad was never exactly the touchy-feely sort even when I was little. He was just this big bloke with a voice like a bear and so many rules. I was scared shitless of him most of the time. I felt like I never got away with anything when he was around. I used to be convinced he knew if I’d done something wrong just by looking at me. I reckon I spent most of my childhood feeling guilty even when I hadn’t done anything.’

Rebecca leant her head against Harper’s. ‘So, what happened?’

‘Hah! I left home as soon as I could. I got out and moved away. Then I got on with doing all the things he didn’t approve of.’ Harper gave a wry smile. ‘And there were plenty of those.’

‘Like what?’

‘Oh, the usual vices: drink, bad language, being seen in the presence of unmarried women with short skirts, staying up late, smoking, spending money on enjoying yourself, listening to loud music: anything frivolous really.’

‘You made up for lost time?’

Harper nodded. ‘I was determined to. I used to think he’d spoiled my childhood by never letting me enjoy myself. And, in a way, he did. But only partly. It was also my fault because I turned it into an issue. I never saw the other side of the story. And you know the funny thing?’

‘What’s that?’

‘He was just like me. But worse. I only found out after he was dead. My mum would never have said anything when he was alive. I think she was afraid of him a bit but she also didn’t want to go against him. You see, when he was a kid, he was an orphan and got into all sorts of trouble, some of it quite serious. He drank and fought and did all the things I wanted to do but worse. Then one day, when he was about twenty-five, he got into a fight in a pub and ended up putting someone in hospital. I’m still not sure I know all the details. But, reading between the lines of what my mum told me, I think he would have been in serious trouble if the police had found out who was responsible. But he never got caught. Not by them.’

Harper smiled. ‘The police didn’t catch him; he caught religion instead. That’s why he was always so strict: he was determined I wouldn’t copy his mistakes.’