The Memory Keepers (18 page)

51

His first thought was,
Well, we’re done for.

Actually, his first thought was,
Effing Jesus hell. As if this day could get any worse. Some bastard god up there is really having a field day with my life. If I ever die and somehow make it to heaven, it’s payback time.

His second thought was to run.

But run where? It wasn’t like they could just stroll down the stairs and out of the lobby. And unless Alba had a private jet he didn’t know about, they couldn’t exactly jump off the roof either. Not without one hell of an uncomfortable landing.

‘Now would be a good time to tell me you
do
have a private jet,’ Seven said, turning to Alba.

She was staring at him with wide eyes, her lips fallen open. ‘What?’ she croaked.

‘Never mind.’ Letting out a shaky laugh, he backed away. He felt drunk with fear. ‘Well, then. It was nice knowing you both.’

Seven’s voice was steady, his grin wide, but inside his heart squeezed painfully.

Why did it all have to happen now, just as he was making friends? Just as he was discovering the secrets of his past? Why couldn’t the stupid London Guard have saved him the bother and found him out years ago, way before there was anything worth fighting for in his life?

‘Listen to me.’

Kola grabbed Seven roughly, snapping him from his thoughts.

‘The lift is out. It’ll take the guards a few minutes to find out which floor you’re on, and then a few more to come up. You’ve got a bit of time. Go to the roof,’ he instructed. ‘There are building works round the north side. Climb down the scaffolding. I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you all day. Hopefully it’ll throw them off, and you can get somewhere safe to lie low. If you can, meet me tomorrow night under Waterloo Bridge. Midnight. I’ll update you on what happened.’

The sounds of footsteps and shouting and doors banging open rumbled closer.

Kola’s eyes narrowed. ‘Go!’ he urged. ‘Now!’

And before Seven could worry if he was going to be able to make the climb down with his injury, before he could even let himself think about all his skids in his memorium – effing hell, he was going to lose
all
of them, his life’s collection, everything he owned – he nodded, grabbing Alba’s hand and pulling her towards the door.

The noise of heavy boots drumming up the stairwell hit them as they left the flat. The stairwell was dark. A few stuttering neon lights bit back the shadows. Lights pooled as doors opened, residents coming out to see what all the noise was about.

Seven turned to thank Kola, but the door was already swinging shut behind them.

He stared at its peeling red paint, the broken number plate. It was stupid, but he’d never cared about them until this moment. Until he realised he’d probably never see this place ever again. All he wanted to do now was memorise every crack and curl of chipped wood before they too were stolen from him, like everything else in his life.

‘Seven?’ Alba whispered, and he heard the fear in her voice. Her hand shook in his (or was it his shaking in hers?). ‘We need to go.’

Tearing his eyes away from the door, Seven stumbled towards the stairs, and beside him Alba fell in with his strides as they ran hand in hand up to the roof.

52

Cold wind rushed at them as they stumbled out onto the rooftop. Behind them, the metal door swung shut with a heavy clang. It was only early afternoon but the sky was so thick with low-hanging clouds it cast the city in a murky twilight.

‘I guess’, Alba gasped, ‘it’s probably not the best time to tell you I’m afraid of heights.’

She was panting from all the stairs they’d just run up. Thank the lord she’d worn flats to church this morning. This whole running-for-your-life business would have been impossible in heels.

Seven let out a strangled laugh. ‘Not really, no.’ But he squeezed her hand a little as he led her towards the edge of the roof where scaffolding hugged the north wall of the building.

Before them, North unfurled in a rush of buildings, pockets of green, and broad, sweeping streets, tiny cars rolling down them like a toy city. Sheets of tarpaulin and tattered bits of fabric strapped to the scaffolding flapped in the wind. The metal rungs reached up past the edge of the rooftop and ran down its side in a narrow, vertical climb.

‘Ladies first,’ Seven said with a weak grin.

Alba edged towards the side of the building. There was a wooden walkway she could lower herself down onto, but it was narrow, just wide enough for one person. If she slipped  … 

No
, she thought firmly. She would
not
slip.

Heart pounding hard in her ears, she crouched down at the edge of the building. She turned her back on the dizzying view and, slowly, limbs shaking, lowered herself towards the walkway. Gusts whipped up her skirt, ballooning her dress around her thighs (how graceful).

Seven knelt down and grasped her hands to steady her. The wind scattered black strands of hair into his eyes.

‘How much are you wishing you hadn’t worn a dress this morning?’ he said, though behind his smirk Alba could see he was in a lot of pain.

Stretching her legs further, she found the wooden slats with her feet. She swung an arm down and clutched one of the poles rising up out of the scaffolding before, in a clumsy, heart-stopping movement, she dropped.

She landed heavily on the walkway. Still clinging to the pole for dear life, Alba shuffled into a more secure position on the ledge.

Seven swung down after her so quickly the wooden planks bounced beneath her feet as he landed. She let out a cry, falling silent as his hand snapped over her mouth. He pressed her back against the cold wall.

‘They’re here,’ he breathed into her ear, and it was enough to make her blood turn to ice.

From above came the slam of the roof door. Heavy footsteps of the London Guardmen; boots crunching across the concrete.

‘Check the whole rooftop!’ someone shouted.

Alba’s stomach churned.

They’ll see us!
she thought desperately.

As if reading her thoughts, Seven let go and gestured to the end of the scaffolding where a ladder ran down to the walkway beneath them. As quietly as possible, Alba moved towards the ladder, Seven right behind her. The scaffolding was rickety. It creaked under them, the sound only just masked by the moaning of the wind lifting off the rooftop.

‘What about the scaffolding?’ came a voice just as she reached the ladder. ‘He could’ve climbed down there.’

Stumbling forward in panic, Alba grabbed the ladder and scrambled down. Seven was right behind her. His face was twisted in pain, his skin pale and beaded with sweat, but he made it down, pushing her back when they were at the bottom under the shade of the walkway above, shielding her from view with his own body just seconds,
seconds
before –

Thud.

Someone dropped down above them onto the scaffolding.

It felt as though everything else went silent.

Alba’s heart beat so hard it shook her entire body. She held her breath, terrified the sound of it would give them away. Her fingers fumbled until they found Seven’s. The whole world seemed to funnel down to this precarious ledge high up on the side of the building, the places where their skin touched, the feel of his heartbeat in his fingertips, his chest heaving against hers.

The walkway above creaked as the boots shifted.

‘Don’t see anything.’

‘He’d have a hard time getting down here in a hurry.’

‘His flatmate must be telling the truth. The skid-thief’s not here.’

‘Well, let’s station a few men in the flat in case he comes back.’

The planks gave a final shudder as the person above pulled themselves off the ledge, but it was a long time after the sound of the guards’ footsteps faded away that Alba finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

Pressed tight against Seven, she picked up his faint, minty scent. ‘Why do you smell like that?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Like mint.’

Alba felt him take a deep breath.

‘I – I can’t afford toothpaste or soap.’ His voice was so quiet it was almost lost under the wind rushing around them. ‘I have a mint plant in the flat. I chew it to clean my mouth and rub it on my skin with water.’

Somehow, this felt like the most real thing Seven had ever said to her. It felt as though he’d taken a little piece of his heart and placed it in her hands.

‘Oh,’ Alba breathed.

When he pulled away, her body felt suddenly cold without him against it. She pressed her hands into the wall behind her to steady herself as the view of South swooped open in front of her. Dear
lords
, they were high up.

‘What do we do now?’ she asked.

Seven rubbed the back of his neck. ‘
You
need to go back to North and try and explain why you look like
this
–’ he nodded at her dress, which was dirtied and torn, jewels fallen to the floor around them – ‘and I need to get some place safe to lie low for a while.’

‘But where?’

He hesitated. ‘I think I know someone I can trust.’

Alba returned to the car forty minutes later, out of breath and messy-haired, her dress ripped and dirtied.

‘Thank you,’ she said to Hans as though nothing at all had happened. ‘Those honey madeleines were delicious. I feel much better now.’

She met his eyes in the rear-view mirror. The driver stared at her for a long moment before clicking his eyes on the road and growling the engine into life. The screen dividing the front and back seats turned opaque as the car pulled away from the pavement, Hans’s face disappearing from view.

‘With the utmost respect, Mistress Alba,’ he said, voice sounding from behind the tinted glass, ‘you will leave me out of this. Whatever
this
is. I took you straight home. Miss,’ he added.

Alba felt suddenly angry at his words.
That’s all I am to the servants
, she thought.
Little Mistress Alba
. The girl who swung her mother’s moods in the wrong direction. The girl they stepped around as she lay broken on the floor, too worried for their own backs to pay her any attention.

Usually, Alba felt she deserved this treatment. But today, after everything she’d just been through, she felt insulted. It wasn’t fair. Hans had no idea what had happened to her. She could have been attacked. Raped. It must look like it, from the way her dress was ripped. And he was too worried about being caught up in whatever she’d gotten herself into to even ask if she was all right.

‘Oh, this was all me, Hans,’ Alba said quietly, though her voice was hard with suppressed anger. ‘I did this all by myself.’

53

Loe and Mika lived on a flooded stretch of Bankside near Blackfriars Bridge. A floating community had established itself on the shallows around the abandoned buildings there on the South side of the river. Hunched on mismatched clusters of inflatable objects, the shacks were tied to each other with ropes, their underbellies dug into the riverbed for support. Wooden walkways ran between them.

Twilight was falling by the time Seven made it to Bankside. Diamonds from the lowering sun flecked the water’s surface in gold and silver. He’d been sick twice on the way – not that he’d had much to throw up. His insides had already grabbed and digested the battered sausage Kola had given him earlier, probably worried it would be the last thing they’d see for a while – and his chest hurt in a way that made it feel as though his whole
body
was a torn-up dog-toy.

Still, he managed a weak smile as he stepped across the tatty rope-bridge strung between the balustrade lining the riverside and Loe’s floating home, imagining Alba’s reaction to the structure before him.

‘But it’s a
bus
!’ Seven could practically hear her cry.

And it was: one of London’s old double-decker buses, half-submerged beneath the water, its red shell rising out of the river. Long flecks of paint peeled off to reveal rusted metal beneath. Pigeon-stained tarpaulin stretched over the broken windows. Bunches of tyres and gasbags skirted the edge of the bus, steadying it in the shifting riverbed.

Seven rapped his knuckles on the makeshift door cut into its side. He glanced over his shoulder as he waited, the cap he’d stolen off some sleeping drunk’s head pulled low over his face. Even though he couldn’t spot anyone watching him, it felt as though there were eyes trained on his body, hidden persons silently waiting for the right time to pounce.

‘Seven! Seven! Seven!’

A gleeful voice called out from above. He leant back to see Mika waving from one of the windows in the upper floor, beaming down at him. She went to say something else but was drowned out by angry shouting from inside.

‘Oops!’ she sang, slapping a hand over her mouth and disappearing.

A moment later the door opened. Without a word, Loe grabbed Seven and dragged him inside. She pushed the door shut behind him and ran to one of the windows.

‘What are you doing here!’ she hissed, peeling back the edge of the tarpaulin pinned over it and peering out. A slice of dusk light streaked in, cutting through the hazy interior of the bus. ‘The whole of the London Guard are after you!’

‘One time, Loe,’ Seven said with a sigh, clutching his aching chest. ‘Just
one
time, could you try hello?’

She swerved round. ‘What the hell are you playing at, coming here, Seven? You’re gonna lead the London Guard straight to us!’

‘I was careful. No one followed me.’

‘You’d better hope not.’ Loe hesitated, seeming to notice for the first time that he was doubled over in pain. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘I was attacked by a dog.’

Her expression softened the tiniest bit. ‘Shit. Why? What happened?’

‘Seven! Seven! Seven!’

Just then, Mika came bounding down the stairs in a fuzz of black hair and bright red fabric. She would have barrelled straight into him were it not for Loe, who ran forward and scooped the girl up before she could hurt Seven without knowing.

‘Mika, for gods’ sake!’ Loe’s voice was hard. She set her down, cuffing her round the ear. ‘I told you not to shout out his name. The whole of Bankside will know he’s here the way you’re going.’

Mika played with the hem of her dress. ‘Sorry, Loe.’

‘Now go upstairs and stay out of our way.’

‘But –’

‘
Mika!
’

Sticking her tongue out at Seven, the girl gave him a little wave before dashing back up the stairs.

Loe pointed to the back of the bus. ‘Sit down, then, you idiot – before you faint and throw up on my floor.’

Seven followed her, collapsing gratefully onto a seat. Loe had made a sort of living room at the back of the bus, with a cluster of the original seats arranged into a big L-shape. He leant back, running a hand through his tangled hair.

‘Thanks, Loe,’ he murmured.

‘I haven’t done anything yet.’

‘Exactly.’

They sat for a while in silence. A tinny patter picked up as it began to rain outside, merging with the sound of the water slapping against the sides of the bus. The shadows deepened, the rain growing heavier. Thick clouds clotted out the light. Loe got up, moving about to light the lanterns strung from the handrails. The bus filled with their amber glow.

It would have been homely, comforting even, if Seven’s body didn’t feel as though it had been torn apart and stitched badly back together by one very drunk surgeon and a rusty pair of old knitting needles (which was almost what
had
happened).

‘So,’ Loe said finally. She perched on the edge of a seat, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘It’s really hit home that Carpenter’s dead.’

The flash of a memory, like pain: Carpenter’s eyes rolling back, blood gushing from his mouth and the black hole in his neck.

Seven swallowed. ‘Yeah.’

‘And our jobs are gone.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And we’re wanted by the London Guard.’

‘Yeah.’

‘And it looks like you’ve got no home any more ’cause they found out where you were staying. Am I right?’

‘Loe,’ he groaned, ‘you really are just one big shining ball of joy.’

Scowling, she flicked her eyes away. Her shoulder tensed as she lifted an arm to run through her messy crop of hair. She drew a deep breath.

‘What am I gonna do?’ she said abruptly, speaking in a voice he’d never heard from her before. It was small. Defeated.

‘I’ve got Mika to feed,’ Loe went on. ‘She might be tiny but damn, does she eat like an overweight North banker after pay day.’ She gave a strangled laugh.

Seven knew exactly why she was attempting humour: she was trying to hide just how scared she was.

He’d been doing it for years.

‘You’ll find a way,’ he said.

Loe didn’t turn round. The rain drummed harder on the metal skin of the bus. When she finally spoke, there was a hard edge to her voice.

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’