Breaking East (8 page)

I nodded and played dead, didn’t so much as breathe while Stuart skidded away.

Stuart’s dad stood on the edge of the pit and looked down towards the lake, hands gripping the straps of the backpack, his chest heaving. Thank God he didn’t look my way. As he dropped to his haunches to scurry down towards the water I eased over the edge and did the same towards the bike. I’d meet Stuart there. If I couldn’t help collect the money, at least I wouldn’t be a pain in the backside and delay our getaway. The last thing I wanted was for him to think he might be better off without my tagging along. When Gemma came back to Basley I wanted her to be holding my hand.

The bike stood propped on a stick thing and was much bigger than it looked from up above. And tattier. I gripped the handlebar to test its weight. Definitely heavier than it looked too. I sat astride and kicked at the stand, like I’d seen it done in those movies I’d been banging on about, and almost toppled over when the stand sprung up into its underbelly. I was leaning over looking to see how to pick it back out again when the thrum of another vehicle came up the road behind me. Something big, like a lorry. I looked up to the quarry rim, no sign of Stuart. Through the gate came a van, complete with The Law logo. Holy sheeshing claptrap.

I don’t know which bit of which movie I’d seen it in, but I turned the key and stamped on the pedal sticking out by my good leg. When the bike started I assumed the rest would be easy. All I had to do was steer, right? Wrong. Mopeds don’t just move - things need to be squeezed, twisted and manipulated. I did it all. Somebody shouted and I did it all again, only with a bit more desperate pleading, and the bike’s back wheel span, the front reared, and I was away. Slowly. The brainless Reds ran after me so I twisted and tweaked until my knuckles turned white. Stuart scrambled down the side of the quarry yelling at me to wait for him, but that would have meant, not only figuring out how to stop, but risking getting caught by the gorillas in the bandanas. Instead I veered towards the gate with the intention of leading the Reds in a circle to give Stuart time to get to the bottom. The Reds, not having a brain cell between them, were too daft to consider splitting up. Dumbskies of the first degree. I relaxed my hands to slow the bike as much as I dare, without falling over, and Stuart leapt onto the bike behind me.

He yelled into my ear. ‘Change gear!’

‘What? How?’

He reached both arms around me and shuffled my hands off the handlebars.

‘I need to hold on! ’

He squeezed me between his arms, the engine roared, the front wheel reared, and I slid back into his crotch and squeaked.

Stuart’s breath warmed my ear. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘You squeaked.’

We were sitting eating some bread and cheese bought from a farm. ‘My knee hurt, okay?’

‘Oh, right, okay.’ Stuart smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘There’s nice.’

‘We could skip the Craffid and train plan, and steal some fuel from somewhere. Ride the bike the whole way. What do you think?’

‘They’ll be looking for the bike. I bet they’ve already got in touch with other counties telling them to watch out for us. And fuel stations have high security.’ Without the right paperwork even five grand couldn’t buy us fuel.

‘I meant steal from a farm or somewhere not a fuel station. I’m not a complete pancake.’

‘Still too risky. Besides, that bike makes my arse sore.’ My backside was about the only bit of me that didn’t ache after my beating and I planned to keep it ache-free. ‘I vote we stick with plan A.’

‘Fair enough. I suppose risking another theft charge would be a dumb move in any case.’

When Stuart rolled over so easily I got the impression he’d only suggested the idea so he could let me have my own way. I’d seen Joe use the same trick on his lady-friends, as he liked to call them. He’d let the little lady of the moment make a few minor decisions so when something major cropped up he played at being all super reasonable, But honey, you’ve had your way all the time lately. Now it’s my turn. He’d go gooey eyed, bat his lashes in mock flirtation and simper. Just this one teeny thing. Trying to make them laugh. I swallowed. Well, I wasn’t going to let Stuart do it with me. Not that he simpered and his face looked pretty much expressionless. But I didn’t want him to start playing games with my head ― we needed to focus. We had to find those kids and get them home, not only for their sakes, or Stuart’s, but for mine. Call me selfish, but I had to get back into Joe’s good books. I needed the resistance group like I needed my blood. I knew nothing else and had nowhere else to go. What started out as a way of keeping my hopes alive for promotion had now escalated to my keeping my home and Joe, the only family I had left.

I broke little bits of bread off a loaf and eased them to the back of my mouth past my split lips and aching teeth. ‘I wish you’d got soup,’ I said.

‘Do you want me to go back and ask? They might have some. Or ice-cream might be good.’ He looked at me, straight-faced.

‘No. Stuart. I don’t think it would be a good idea to draw any more attention to ourselves, do you?’

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. Stop moaning if you don’t want me to fix it.’

Fair point. Annoying though.

We counted the money. Stuart handed two big bundles over to me. ‘In case we get separated.’

I held them in my lap. ‘I need to shop for some new gear. I’ve worn these clothes for days and they’ve got blood all over them.’

‘You girls and your shopping.’

He wore all the latest trends. He used shops where people like me couldn’t even get through the door and he had the cheek to roll his eyes at me. ‘You think I look fit to travel, do you? Blend in? With all this blood and crap all over me?’

‘It suits you. The urban fantasy look.’

‘Don’t be a dick.’

He scoffed and stood up. ‘You are so touchy sometimes, do you know that? I was having a laugh. You do know what one of those is, don’t you, Atty? It’s where people try and look for the bright side in life.’

I stood too. ‘Not all of us have a bright side. You and your let’s give Daddy a ring for Five. Frecking. Grand.’

‘I’m scared too, Atty.’

‘Yeah, you would be. But I ain’t. I’m fine, thank you very much.’ I sounded a proper twonk.

He picked up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. ‘It’s easier to be angry than afraid, I get that. But …’

I held my palm in front of his face. ‘Don’t you dare start your educated psycho babble on me.’

He stopped.

I moved my hand and rubbed my palm on my thigh. The silence and the way he pursed his lips and stared at the floor, told me loud and clear I’d stepped over a line.

‘Whatever, Atty.’ He looked up, straight into my eyes. ‘Whatever. I’m not going to argue with you.’

I hated reasonable people. They got right into my orifices.

It’s very hard not to touch the driver when riding on the back of a bike. I sat as far back as I could, my legs spread wide, and my hands on my knees.

Stuart sighed. ‘Hold on, Atty.’

‘I’m okay.’

He let go of the handlebars. ‘Just hold on. I’ve already scraped you up off the floor once. I don’t want to have to do it again.’

He was such a nob. I grabbed his tee shirt but stayed well back on the seat. ‘Happy?’

He drove off without a word.

We left the bike in an old stable block at the top of a hill overlooking Craffid. I’d never been to a city before and my stomach bounced around in excitement. I forgot I wasn’t supposed to be talking to Stuart and asked him if he knew where to go for the train station.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But we can go to the shops first. Then maybe a hotel. We both need to freshen up.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We might be better off getting a train in the morning. The station is a proper doss house at night so best avoid it if we can.’ He didn’t sound sulky, simply cold and detached. And he avoided my eye. Fair enough. Better to keep a professional relationship anyway. All that frolicking good fun at the beach had been nonsense.

I set off ahead of him. ‘Okay, your call.’ He could take this one, the next, if important, would be mine.

When we walked around the shopping centres it soon became apparent who had all the money. The cities, or rather those places that received overseas dignitaries, boasted fully funded teams of specialist security officers rather than the useless rabble of wannabes that made up the Law at home. No wonder they didn’t allow the likes of us to move in. Our money might be good enough, but once we spent it they wanted us to sod off home to our hovels. It almost made me keep Stuart’s money in my pocket. Almost.

I picked various items of clothing off a rail in a small select store. The girl behind the counter glowed bleach-clean pretty and showed off the same blonde, sun-kissed hair as Stuart. He smiled at her and she cutesy smiled back.

I waved the clothes in front of her face. ‘Can I try these on, love?’

‘Course.’ She indicated a curtain in the corner and fiddled with something on a shelf under the till.

Stuart hovered nearby, his hands in his pockets. ‘I’ll wait here.’

Yeah. Course he would, being male and therefore so, so predictable. I refused to look at either of them. She was likely skin shallow and brain dense. Good luck to him.

In the changing rooms I took the first good look at my face. My eye, although beginning to open, had no white to it. The pupil was pin-tiny, the usually ice-blue iris had a dark bottle-blue glassy look to it and the rest glowed a vivid red. My upper lip was so swollen it blocked my left nostril and I couldn’t close my mouth over my teeth without wincing. Where Stuart had pulled the muck out of my cheek, a blue-purple bruise surrounded a thick black line. What part of my clothes didn’t have blood stains, had sand or dust or some other muck stuck to it. I looked like a walking, or rather a hobbling, bomb victim. I held the new clothes up against me, still on their hangers. Yep, they’d do.

‘That was quick.’ Stuart looked up from the magazine article that bleach-features was showing him.

‘Yep. No point in hanging around.’ I tried a pointed smile. Sheesh it hurt. ‘I’m not one for tarting myself up. How much?’ I shoved all the clothes onto the counter.

The girl slapped the magazine closed and took the money with a pout to put a trout to shame.

I smiled more easily. ‘Thanks. You’ve been too, too kind.’

Stuart half-waved to her from the doorway. ‘Thank you.’

We stopped in another shop further along the street where Stuart bought some new gear and then we went to a chemist. He filled a basket full of various lotions and potions. I looked at the aisle upon aisle of beauty products. Painted girls with fluffy hair and talons that could pluck your eyes out studied the shelves. I wouldn’t have known where to start. Perhaps they taught such things in school alongside geography.

‘Do you need anything else?’ Stuart said.

‘Na.’ I tried to pull a face, still hurt. ‘It’s for girly girls, isn’t it? Not for the likes of me.’

He went to the desk to pay. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted him to say, but he could have said something. Even if I argued with him, told him off for being daft and patronising. I might have faked a blush and simpered a little and said, Yeah, right. My beauty is au natural. But no, he just walked away.

Stuart carried all the bags and I limped alongside as best I could. The sun hadn’t set but started to dip behind the buildings, lengthening the shadows and cooling the streets. People moved quickly, their heads down, keen to get home. Stuart led the way to a hotel which looked all glass and period furniture. A bloke in a fancy tuxedo opened the door and kept his eyes on the ground. Talk about posh.

Not many places put real people on the doors or in their reception areas. At most hotels, people arrived and touched screens to check-in. They stood on scales and were weighed, measured, and given a spinal alignment assessment so they could be allocated beds that matched their exact physical requirements. But this hotel had a woman with blood-red nails and a beehive smiling at us from behind a blue granite desk. She wore an old fashioned tailored suit and high spiky heels.

When Stuart signed his name as J Frank I understood why he’d brought us for the pricier, personal touch. A top-tart receptionist is more easily fooled than a face recognition box. He showed her a fake ID and when she glanced at me he came over all authoritative. ‘She’s with me. She’ll only be here an hour or two.’

Oh nice. Consider me flattered.

‘Of course, sir.’ The woman’s face had such a thick layer of slap pasted over it she had the plastic look of a doll. ‘That will be an extra three hundred pounds.’

Holy Moly. For an hour? It had better be good. For that we should expect the full bundle. I stepped forward. ‘Any chance of some Hot Blue?’

It looked an effort, but she did manage to address me directly with polite, if tight, efficiency. ‘Of course, madam. I’ll have it sent up to Mr Frank’s room.’

The room turned out to be well smart. It was more like a giant bedsit with two full-size, squichy sofas and a solid oak dining table full of crystal glass and silver trinkets. The Blue arrived almost simultaneously. Stuart thanked and tipped the waiter and then we were alone. ‘Sorry about the, uh …’

I folded my arms and waited.

‘You know? The um … she’s here for an hour stuff.’

I watched him squirm for a little longer then tried to grin, ouch. ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘It was a great idea, well executed. What do I care what she thinks anyway?’

His cheeks puffed out as he sighed in relief.

I wasn’t that scary, surely. ‘You must have some weird fetish picking up a tart with this face.’ I was referring to my bruises but realised too late it might sound like another dig for compliments, so added quick as I could, ‘Nobody would have guessed you were still at school either.’ I tilted my head and nodded. ‘Impressive bit of confidence there.’

He gave a cute little crooked smile. ‘You drink up and relax. I’ll use the bathroom first. I won’t take long and then you can have a long soak in the tub.’ He didn’t wait for an answer just disappeared with an armload of stuff through a door that matched the walls. Invisible bathrooms, fake IDs, this was his world but one I could easily get used to, even if it meant being branded a professional tart. I lounged back on the bed, supped my drink and turned my phone on. There were several texts off Gavin and a couple off Joe. I opened the first from Joe.
Where are you, Atty?

Joe had a quick mouth when he got annoyed but he’d never used it with me around, certainly not at me. I’d only ever seen him being calm and methodical, even when having to make decisions under all sorts of pressure. I opened his second message.
I meant every word about you staying away.
Boogah.
But I shouldn’t have shouted. I was worried about you. Stuart is missing now too. Stay away from him. And Gemma – it’s being sorted, okay?
I turned the phone off and removed the battery. I didn’t know where the chip was located so played safe and put the whole lot into the fish tank in the corner of the room.

‘What are you doing?’ Stuart stood in the bathroom doorway watching me prod the plastic casing with a spoon to make it sink.

The light from the bathroom shone bright behind him and sprinkled through his sticky-uppy hair. I’d seen him at the beach, but indoors, close up, oh boy. One arm hung loose, slightly away from his body in that way guys with beefy torsos have to leave room for their chest. And did he have a chest. And a stomach. A six-packed, toned, lean begging-to-be-touched stomach. The other hand clutched at his right hip holding the teeniest towel in the world, so low it barely covered the necessary. I looked down to his feet and even they were in great shape. Manicured toe nails for God’s sake.

‘Atty? What are you doing?’

‘You must work out a lot.’ I looked back at the fish tank. ‘I mean, I’m working at killing my phone. Putting it out. Like a shot. Lot.’

He frowned and walked over to the bed. ‘But why? I thought you said it was chipped?’ For such a big guy he moved so smooth.

‘Yeah, ‘I said, ‘but Joe can trace it. I think he might be looking for me.’

‘To forgive you? Or to …’ he looked at me. ‘To … I don’t know. What do the resistance do to their guys if they foul up?’

I didn’t know, not exactly. But this was me, not any old guy. Joe wouldn’t hurt me but he was tamping angry, of that I’d no doubt. I swallowed and watched the phone sink and nestle alongside a tiny castle with weeds waving around it. At least the silence wasn’t total. There were noises from the street and the sound of water running.

Stuart plucked a bottle of pink liquid out of the chemist bag. ‘I’m running you a bath and I’ll put some of this in. It’ll help with the bruises and aches. I use it after a tough match.’ He returned to the bathroom and poured some of the liquid under the taps. When he bent over and swished the water, his stomach stayed drum tight. Not an extra ounce anywhere. He turned the taps off and ambled out. ‘All yours.’ He rooted through the bags of clothes. ‘And yes, I work out.’

Pretending not to hear felt safest.

The bubbly bath water hugged and cossetted my aching body. I have never experienced such delicious luxury. When the water wrapped around my neck I almost wept with pleasure. I couldn’t help myself from breathily announcing, ‘Oh my God. This is sooo good.’

I lay half asleep until the water began to chill and then examined my knee. It had swollen to twice the size it should have been and looked blue and yellow and red … all colours.

Stuart knocked on the door. ‘That’s enough. You don’t want any open wounds to get too soft. And I’ve ordered food. It’ll be here soon and I want to see to your face before it arrives.’

On the back of the bathroom door hung a white towelling robe. I put it on and studied my face. The mirrors were everywhere so I saw the damage from all angles. Pretty messed up. But I’d taken the odd knock before and survived, this would be no different.

‘Sit.’ Stuart said as soon as I walked back into the bedroom. He’d dressed in a plain, white tee and black shorts, and had lined up various bottles and jars on the table. He stood over the chair with a pack of swabs in his hand and a grin on his face. ‘Doctor Stuart at your service, ma’am.’

I sat. ‘Is this what you want to be? A doctor?’

‘Hell no. I’m going into politics.’ That surprised me and it must have shown. He laughed. ‘There’s more than one way to make that difference, Atty. And I like my face the way it is. I’m not cut out to do it your way.’

He cleaned my face and applied some paper stitches before he looked at my knee. The way he touched me made me think of Fluff and the twig. Those strong, gentle fingers. I tingled and blushed when I thought what they might be able to do. I fidgeted and looked away embarrassed.

‘Sorry,’ said Stuart. ‘But it needs to be done. We don’t want it getting infected.’

I made a show of wincing. ‘It’s just a bit sore that’s all.’

He winked. ‘I understand.’

I freaking hoped not.

The food arrived and we ate sitting opposite each other at the table. The lights were low and looking at Stuart set me tingling. I needed to get a grip, we were on the most important job of my life, everybody was chasing our tails, and to top it off he was an easty, which put him on a different planet to me altogether. I gave myself a stern word and put my business head on.

‘So, Stuart. What’s the plan?’

‘We go to bed.’

Oh shivering foofles.

He smiled at the look on my face. ‘Get some rest.’

‘Yeah, course.’

‘And stop worrying. I’m a gentleman. You were safe in the hut, you’ll be safe here.’

‘Of course. I know that.’ I almost added, but will you? As a joke of course, but it felt too dangerous.

He gave me one of his sparkly-eyed looks and winked. ‘Not that I wouldn’t want to.’

‘Um.’

He grinned and raised his eyebrows.

‘Way too complicated to go there,’ I said aiming for woman of the world-esque sophistication. And I got bossy. ‘We have kids to rescue, peace to make, mysteries to solve …’ I waved my fork around. ‘Speaking of which. If your old man is so rich, why do you think he sold Gemma?’

Well, I know how to kill the mood and that’s a fact. Stuart’s eyes lost their twinkle and he sat back in his chair.

‘The reason he has money, Atty, is that he makes it any which way he can. Nobody gets where he has by being nice.’

‘Your mum has money too though, right?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. She works as a human rights lawyer. A lot of it is voluntary.’

‘Ah.’

‘What’s that mean? Ah?’

‘I’m guessing that’s why I was asked to look out for you. You know, she might have defended somebody high up in the resistance.’

Stuart shook his head. ‘Nope. She only works for other professionals. Lawyers, politicians, those people who are locked up for whistleblowing and whatever.’

‘So.’ I said. ‘You don’t think there are any resistance members smart enough to have a professional career?’

‘That’s not what I said.’

‘But if there was a professional resistance member, your mum wouldn’t help them … she’d leave them to rot, yeah?’

‘I didn’t say that either.’

‘Didn’t have to.’

He sighed. ‘The resistance have specialised people to represent them. We all need to work to our strengths.’

Yeah right, that would be it. But I let it go. ‘When did you last see her?’

Stuart took a drink and paused as if considering whether to answer or not. ‘Couple of weeks. Or so.’

‘I haven’t seen my dad for two years.’ I said it before I thought it. Weird.

‘Woah,’ said Stuart. ‘What happened?’

He wasn’t the first to ask but it was tough to talk about. I didn’t think anybody would ever get it. Not Gav, not Fran, not Joe, no one. But Stuart was going through the same sort of thing, even if on a much smaller scale so I talked. ‘Over breakfast one day Dad told me he might be late back after work as he had a meeting to go to. I went to my friend’s house, came home, and cooked the dinner …’ I pushed the last of my food around with my knife, my appetite gone.

Stuart placed his cutlery together in a central line down his plate. ‘These are strange times. You must never give up hope.’

‘Come back when your mum’s been gone two years and tell me that again.’

He wrinkled his nose. ‘Fair comment.’

‘At least you know your mum’s alive.’ The words shot across the table far sharper than I intended. ‘Sorry. It’s not your fault.’ I tried to laugh. ‘Besides, I’m well over it. It was a long time ago. I’m eighteen in a couple of weeks so I won’t be needing him any more.’

Stuart twirled his glass on the snow-white table cloth. ‘How do I know she’s still alive?’ He studied me. ‘Do you know she’s still alive, Atty?’

I shrugged, ‘Pretty sure. Dead people can’t request resistance fighters to keep an eye on their kids for them, right?’ I snatched at the bottle of Blue and filled his glass, then my own. ‘She’s alive all right. But first, here’s to finding Gemma.’ I raised my glass.

‘Yeah,’ he said, barely above a whisper. ‘Gemma.’