The Chaos

  ‘I know what I’m going to do right now though. I’m going to take these sodding shoes off.’ She steps out of her shoes, picks them up and carries them till we get to a bin. Then she drops them in and sets off for the bus stop, striding along the wet pavement in her stockinged feet.

  ‘Nan, you can’t do that …’

  ‘Can’t I? Who says?’

  We get to the stop just as a bus is pulling up, and it’s not ’til we’re sitting down that I remember Mum’s cuttings, gathered up in their file, still lying on Taylor’s desk.

  Chapter 40: Sarah

  Marie doesn’t say a word. Not one word. She doesn’t need to: her face says it all. She picks her way across the kitchen and out of the back door. I follow her out. She’s hunched up against the weather, clutching her files to her chest.

  ‘Wait. Please wait!’ I shout after her. She pauses in the gateway, and I catch up with her. The rain is battering into our faces.

  ‘I’m clean,’ I say to her. ‘I’ve never done drugs. Never. Not interested. The boys do, but they don’t involve me. I’m safe here. We’re safe here.’

  ‘How old are you, Sally?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  I know she doesn’t believe me.

  ‘This is no place for a nineteen-year-old. And certainly no place for a baby. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘It’s our home. It’s where we live. We’re fine here.’

  ‘We’ve got a duty of care, Sally. A duty of care. You’ll be hearing from us very soon.’

  And with that, she’s gone. The rain’s so fierce and cold that it’s hurting the skin on my face. The gate blows back on its hinges, flapping wildly in the wind. I take hold of it and slam it violently. I want to shut the world out. Why can’t they just leave me alone? The gate bashes against the latch and flies open again.

  ‘Shit! Shitting fucking shit!’ My voice is swallowed up by the storm.

  I go back inside. Vinny looks up from the table.

  ‘Who’s your friend?’

  ‘My friend, you stupid, drug-soaked pillock, is from Children’s Services. The Council.’

  He stops what he’s doing and puts the foil down on the table-top.

  ‘Shit,’ he says.

  ‘Yeah, shit. Lots of it. Up to here.’ I hold my hand up above my head.

  ‘We’d better tidy up.’ They all start gathering up their stuff.

  ‘It’s too late, Vin. It’s too late for all of that. They’ll come back. They’ll take Mia, I know they will.’

  ‘Mia?’

  ‘They’ve got a duty of care, that’s what she kept saying. They’ll take her away from me.’

  ‘No, we won’t let them. We won’t let them in.’

  ‘What you going to do? Put up barricades? Wave your baseball bat at them? Yeah, that’ll help.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ He stands there, flapping his long arms uselessly at his sides.

  ‘I don’t know. Nothing. I’m just going to go, get out of here. You should too. Let’s face it, Vin. We’re busted.’

  I race upstairs and bundle up Mia in as many layers as I can, then I carry her down into the hall. I put her into her buggy and go back upstairs for the bags.

  Vinny’s in the bathroom, flushing his stock away. He calls out to me and I stop on the stairs.

  ‘Where are you going to go?’ Vinny asks.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll find somewhere.’

  ‘I’ve got some cash,’ he digs in his pocket, brings out a bunch of notes.

  ‘No, Vinny, you’ve done enough.’

  ‘Take it.’ He stuffs it into one of the bags. ‘I’ll miss you, Sarah.’

  ‘I’ll miss you, too. We both will.’ I put the bags down on the stairs and wrap my arms round his waist. He kisses the top of my head, like I was his child, his sister. ‘I’ve got to go.’

  I put the bags on the shelf under the buggy and wheel it out through the kitchen. There’s no time to think, or be sentimental, I’ve just got to leave, but as I push the buggy down the back streets into the wind I wonder whether there’s any point trying to run away. Because Mia’s chip will tell them where we are. Wherever I go now, whatever I do, it’s not a case of ‘if’ they find us, it’s ‘when’.

  Chapter 41: Adam

  We realise there’s been another power cut while we’re still on the bus. It’s starting to get dark, but the street lights are off and the shops are shutting up early. They know what to expect by now; the cuts can last for anything from a couple of hours up to about twelve. No point staying open in the dark, when your tills don’t work and you can’t take payment cards.

  As we get nearer to our stop, Nan’s face clouds over.

  ‘I can’t face it, Adam. Another night at home in the dark.’

  ‘Where else can we go?’

  She shrugs, gloomily.

  ‘I dunno, stay on the bus until we find somewhere where the lights are on.’

  ‘Do you want to? Really?’

  ‘Nah,’ she says. ‘Can’t be bothered. We’ll sit up for a bit, shall we, see if they sort it out. Didn’t bloody warn us this time did they, so perhaps something’s up the creek somewhere. Perhaps they’re working on it now.’

  Back at the house, we make our way into the kitchen. We always keep candles out at the ready; we light a couple and sit at the table. The heating’s off, so we keep our coats on. Nan finds her supply of ‘emergency’ chocolate, a couple of Snickers bars, so that’s tea sorted.

  ‘Nan, I think he knows something, that bloke, Taylor.’

  ‘Knows what?’

  ‘He weren’t listening to you, not really, not ’til you said the date. That’s when he woke up.’

  ‘He didn’t say, though, did he?’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t. Not to people like us.’

  ‘Do you think he will do something about it, Adam?’

  ‘Shouldn’t think so. He was pretty clear he wanted us to keep quiet, not to panic people. I reckon he’ll do precisely nothing. He hasn’t got a clue, Nan, how bad it’s going to be. I did try to tell him …’

  ‘I know you did. We both did.’ The end of her cigarette is a red glow in the dark kitchen. ‘Whatever happens, we done the right thing. We used the proper channels.’

  ‘But it’s not enough, Nan. It’s not enough. We need to do more.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got your little mate, whatisname, on the case.’

  ‘Nelson. Yeah. I wonder how he’s getting on.’

  We drift off into silence. After a while Nan says, ‘I’m sorry, love, I can’t stand this any longer, I’m getting cold. I’m going to bed.’ She takes one of the candles and goes upstairs. I press the button on my digital watch to light the display: 18:32. I can’t go to bed at half past six! And I can’t sit around doing nothing neither.

  I keep going over our trip to the council. I should have said more, made him listen. How do you make people listen in a city like London? If I was still in Weston, I could’ve done something on the seafront, written a huge message in the sand, or hung a banner on the pier where everyone’d see. Why couldn’t I do that here? Do something out in the open?

  The wind’s beating on the window – it sounds evil out there – but I can’t sit still any longer. I can’t do nothing. I pick up the candle and carry it through the lounge. In the hallway I blow out the flame and put the candle down on the floor. I wonder if I should tell Nan I’m going out, but she’s already snoring up there. I’ll be back before she even knows I’ve gone.

  Outside, the car headlights make a stream of light in the dark. The buses are still running and as one crawls forward I sprint ahead to the next stop and flag it down. I swipe my card and find a seat. We trundle along for ten, twenty, thirty minutes – the whole of West London is dark.

  I pull my hood forward and close my eyes. I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t really care. The sound of the engine, the rain spattering against the window, the coughs of the other passengers, all start to lull me into a sort of s
leep. I’m shaken awake when the engine shudders to a halt and I open my eyes. Everyone else is filing off. I get to my feet and stumble forwards. We’re at the end of the line, Marble Arch, where the bus terminates. The Arch itself is bathed in light, and the Christmas lights twinkle across Oxford Street for as far as I can see. The pavements are full, people jostling each other in that London way. It’s like I’ve stepped onto another planet. Nan was right, we should have come here, sat in a cafe or something, been part of the normal world.

  I wander through the crowds of late-night sales shoppers on Oxford Street. I keep my hood up and my head down. I don’t want their numbers. I want to feel part of something, to be somewhere where it don’t feel like everything’s about to go wrong. Just for a few minutes I can pretend this is how it’s going to be, with London carrying on the same, people working and shopping, eating out and having a drink, going to West End shows and sales.

  A woman’s bag hits my legs.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says.

  Instinctively I look up. She’s a twenty-seven. She’s got four days to live. It all comes crowding back into my head, and suddenly this street is the worst place for me to be. I’ve got to get out, get away from all these people. It’s choking me.

  Breathe slowly. In through your nose and out through your mouth.

  There are bodies all around me, pressing in from every direction. The air isn’t reaching my lungs. It catches in my throat. My chest is heaving.

  In through your nose.

  I can’t do it. Everything’s starting to spin, the buildings, the faces.

  Look down, look down.

  Even the pavement’s moving, shaking under my feet. I drop to my knees, and then I panic. I’ll be trampled down here, squashed on the ground.

  Except I’m not the only one down. All round me people are crouching, kneeling, holding on to each other. Everyone is on the ground. The woman with the shopping bag is screaming.

  ‘Oh my God!’

  And then it stops. Almost before it starts. No movement, no vibration, everything as it should be. People start getting back onto their feet.

  ‘What happened there?’

  ‘Whoah.’

  There’s no more screams, just nervous laughing. Everyone’s okay. It was only a tremor. No harm done. Something to talk about when they all get home.

  I stay down for a little while, breathing slowly, in and out, in and out, until I’m sure I’m okay. Then I ease myself up and look around. There’s no sign it ever happened. The buildings are fine, no cracks in the windows, no signs fallen down. Everyone around me is fine, shaken but not stirred.

  I stand still while Oxford Street gets back to normal around me. The blood’s pumping through my body now, there are goosepimples all over my skin.

  This is it. This is how it begins.

  I should be thinking of Nan, whether she felt it in Kilburn, whether it woke her up. But it’s not Nan in my head. There’s a girl out there whose nightmares are starting to come true. If she felt what I just felt, she’ll be as frightened as me.

  Sarah.

  Chapter 42: Sarah

  I don’t know where to go. It’s raining so bloody hard that I can’t think straight. I need to get Mia out of it, that’s all, so I come here, to the tunnel. At least it’s sheltered and it feels as if it kind of belongs to me – I’ve spent enough time here. But when I get here, I do a double-take. The whole place is lighter, brighter and then I realise what’s happened: someone’s painted over my mural. The entire length of the tunnel is white. There’s a smell of paint too, as though it’s only just been done.

  It doesn’t feel mine any more. It’s just a tunnel under a railway again, a bleak place. I don’t want to be here, but where else should I go? At least I can take ten minutes to try and get my head together. But ten minutes turns into twenty, and then Mia needs a feed, so I end up camping out, sitting on a plastic bag on the floor, leaning against the wall. I can’t believe it’s over – my life at Vinny’s. I didn’t realise what I had there until now. A home. Mia’s first home.

  I’m not hidden at all here, and with Mia feeding I can’t go anywhere. I’m a sitting duck. I keep looking from one end of the tunnel to the other, checking for cars, checking for people. But what will I do if I see anyone? I’ve got nowhere to run to.

  I look down at Mia. She’s wrapped up in her padded all-in-one. Her head’s inside my coat, but her bum and her legs are sticking out. She’s gently twiddling her feet together. That’s where they injected the chip: her left foot. It’s in there now, invisible, silent, so tiny it can go through a needle. I feel sick at the thought, this thing inside my baby; active, alive, communicating with Them, the bastards that did that to her. They could be tracking us now; somewhere in an office in London or Delhi or Hong Kong – Mia could be a dot on someone’s screen.

  It’s only a matter of time until they pick us up. And then what? Find us somewhere else to live? Send us home? Split us up?

  If only I’d never taken her to hospital. If they’d never injected that thing into her, we could disappear. At least, we’d have a chance.

  If she didn’t have the chip.

  It’s only just under the surface, surely. I’ve got some scissors in my washbag … She stops feeding for a second, taking a breather. Her hand emerges from my coat, her tiny pink fingers searching for something to hold on to. Her skin’s so thin, almost translucent. How could I even think of breaking it, digging below, to find that wretched chip? I’ve sunk to Their level. I’m disgusted at myself.

  I tuck her hand back inside my coat, and I hold her tighter. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I won’t ever hurt you and I won’t let them take you, Mia. I won’t.

  A gust of wind catches some rubbish and it blows into the tunnel, scuffing against the gravel and the brick. I watch as a food wrapper dances its way towards me. Then I look beyond. There’s someone there.

  Chapter 43: Adam

  There’s someone there. On the ground, in the tunnel.

  The tunnel’s been whitewashed: the painting, the nightmare, the date all covered over. It’s still dim in there, but I can see that it’s her. Sarah.

  I went round to her house. I wasn’t going to knock or nothing. I dunno what I was going to do, just wait there I think, I dunno. Anyway, I only got to the corner of the street, because there was a van and three police cars outside. Jesus! They were definitely at Sarah’s because I saw that big, skinny friend of hers being led away, hands cuffed behind his back. I ducked out of the way before anyone saw me. Don’t need that kind of trouble, but that left me not knowing: had Sarah been arrested too?

  I wandered round on my own, and, of course, I ended up at the tunnel. I knew I would, and now here she is. Called me a bastard last time I saw her. Threw a stone at me last time we were here. I should turn round and walk away, but I can’t. I can’t keep away from her. I walk towards her, slowly, steadily, so she’s got time to see me, time to move if she wants to. She don’t. She’s still sitting on the ground when I get to her.

  It feels uncomfortable, me standing, her sitting, so I crouch down a bit away from her. She’s cuddling the baby in to her, and then I twig – she’s feeding her. There’s nothing to see, just the baby tucked into her coat, but I still flush with embarrassment, the surface of my skin hot inside my clothes.

  She’s looking down at the ground, her hood pulled up around her face. I want her to look at me. I want to see her number again. I want that feeling.

  ‘Sarah,’ I say.

  She keeps her eyes fixed down. She’s pretending I’m not there. I can read her body language, I’m not stupid. She wants me to go away. But I won’t. I can’t.

  ‘Sarah, it’s me.’

  No reaction.

  ‘I saw your house, the police.’

  Nothing. I don’t know what to say next. I say what I’m thinking before I even know what I’m doing.

  ‘Did you feel it? Did you feel the earthquake?’

  She looks up then, and her number gives me t
hat warm rush. She looks puzzled.

  ‘What earthquake?’

  ‘A tremor, about an hour ago. I was in Oxford Street. Everyone ducked down, then they were all laughing, like it wasn’t anything, but it was.’

  ‘I didn’t feel anything. I was here an hour ago. I didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘I’m not making it up.’

  ‘I’m not saying you are.’

  She’s hostile. I expected that but she’s unhappy as well. I want to reach out to her. I want to get through her barriers.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask. ‘What happened to you?’

  She’s looking at the ground again, but at least she’s talking.

  ‘I had a visit from the Social. They caught up with me.’

  ‘Bummer.’

  ‘It’s more than that, Adam. They’ll take her off me. She’s all I’ve got.’

  ‘They can’t just do that.’

  ‘They can. They will. I was living in a squat with drug addicts, a dealer. Doesn’t look good. And now I’ve got nowhere to go. So I suppose I’m living on the streets.’

  ‘You could go home.’

  The baby must have stopped feeding now, because Sarah brings her up to her shoulder and then struggles to her feet. I offer a hand to help her but she takes no notice. She puts the baby into the pram.

  ‘Goodbye, Adam,’ she says, and starts walking away, like she means it.

  I won’t be shaken off like that. I’m trying to help her, for God’s sake.

  ‘I only meant … you’ve got somewhere to go, somewhere the Social would approve of.’ But before the words are even out of my mouth, I remember her dad pinning me up against the wall. ‘Sarah, I’m sorry.’

  I run to catch up with her.

  ‘Listen, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I can see why you wouldn’t want to go back. Your dad …’

  She stops and spins round.

  ‘What about my dad?’

  ‘He’s … he’s a bit of a case, isn’t he?’