Wasted (15 page)

Jess and Jack duck into the crowds. Jess is wearing flat shoes but they are flimsy and loose and she would be better off without them. In any case, the one that almost fell off before does so now, and she loses a precious two seconds as she stops to scoop it up. But now she is away, running fast, one-shoed, with Jack pulling her between the people and stalls. They can hear from the noise that their pursuers are close behind them: passers-by shouting angrily –
Oi, you! Mind where you're going! Where's the fire? Hey! Careful, you bloody idiot! Did you see that, Maureen? Really! Freaking kids!

They cannot know what the lads plan to do when they catch them. Perhaps the lads do not know either. This could be simply three skinny youths chasing a boy and a girl for fun; or it could be very much worse than that. How bad are these boys? They are shouting murderous threats but they may not be serious. Does being skinny make them weak and unused to physical action or does it make them dangerously quick? How dangerous? For all we know, they could be good fighters, brave and cunning, well trained in a martial art, their reflexes honed by boxing lessons or playground tussles or even gang warfare. They could be from violent homes and prison may hold no fears for them.

Or they could simply be three skinny lads who have had a couple of drinks – which will slow them down and impair their judgement – and who happen to have brought knives with them, out of habit. For self defence, they might say, or because they think a knife is the mark of a hard man.

In fact, two of them
are
just skinny lads who've had a few drinks; and the other has indeed had many fights in playgrounds and gangs, some of which he has won and others he has not. And this one does carry a knife and he does think a knife is the sign of a hard man.

If Jack has to face this knife, it will be the second time in two days, which is more times than a decent boy should expect to come across one. But then probability is a weird science and you can easily throw two double sixes in a row, whatever the laws of probability say about it.

The knife-carrier's name is Simon. Which is a nice enough name and does not suit Simon one bit. For there is very little nice about Simon. Also, if we look more closely at him, we will see that he is not really skinny. He is hard, lean, fat-free. His skin is tight on his body and wiry muscles strain to escape. He is very much stronger than he appears at first. Simon carries the knife because too many people think his small size makes him unthreatening. He is sick of being called skinny, and calling him skinny is something we should not do.

Simon lives on the posh side of town but he spends little time there. His polite parents lost control of him long ago and would be upset but unsurprised to see him now, nasty-faced and furiously chasing a boy and girl through a fairground at night, with a couple of drinks (or more) inside him.

Carrying a knife which did not come from their smart granite kitchen.

Jack and Jess don't know that they are running from a knife but something makes them more afraid the more they run. The chaotic noises around them and pockets of darkness with people dressed strangely begin to work sinister magic. Any forces of good are being sucked from the fairground and replaced by menace. Jack and Jess slide and twist round corners, dodging jesters and a man dressed as a tiger, throngs of people, huge stilted giants, acrobats, candyfloss-sellers, everything a blur. Screams from rides, cries from hawkers, bangs of fireworks and fake shooting galleries, all jumbled. A man grabs Jack, thinking that he is running because he has committed a crime, and Jess shouts in fear. “No!” Jack wriggles free and the man is left behind.

Though they can't look round, they sense that not all three boys are following them now. They are right. One has stopped, spitting and retching after the unusual exercise. Another is lagging some way behind Simon. Only Simon still follows close. And he is very close. In fact, he could probably reach them within seconds if he pushed himself, but he is waiting his moment. His mind keeps coming back to the knife still strapped to his wrist. It is warm and it makes him feel strong every time he senses it. He can afford to wait for the right moment.

Jess's breath comes in shallow gasps now. She is not used to this. It hurts. Her bare foot slips on the grass. Her throat rasps and stings, her chest stabs, her head feels hot. She knows she is slowing down.

“Let's stop. Please.”

“Can't let him win. Come on!” urges Jack beside her, dragging her arm.

“Can't. Go on. Much longer.” She knows. And yes, she's a bit scared of stopping and facing her pursuers, but not
that
scared. Though she should be.

Still they run, though there is hesitation in Jack now. After all, what is the worst that can happen?

The circus show will begin soon and criers are rounding up the crowds. Movement is in one direction, with Jack and Jess going against the flow. They are coming to a quieter part of the fairground now, away from the noisiest rides and stalls. They need the crowds. Jess is past thinking or caring but Jack's mind is alert –
Must get back to the crowds. Could hide in crowds.

During the chase there have been many choices of lefts and rights, and Jack has made those choices too quickly to think. Thanks to those snap decisions – and many other things leading to them: spinning the new coin, going in the Roller-ghoster, choosing to go to the fair at all – the chase ends where it does and in the way it does.

A noise behind them. A curse and a yell. Simon slips on wet mud. It gives them valuable seconds.

Jack and Jess run faster.

Gaining ground.

A turn, then another, doubling back. Have they lost him? Slipping behind some caravans, dodging, leaping over and round buckets and boxes and rubbish. Tangled rope. Flapping newspaper. Plastic bags. A Mexican hat.

And here they are, gasping for breath, face to face with Simon, who stands there, triumphant. Hot-faced they all are, staring at each other.

Just here.

Just behind the fortune-teller's caravan.

Fantastic Farantella the Famous Fairground Fortune-teller – Your Future Foretold for a Fiver – She Can See It Coming!
Mind you, Jack and Jess can't see the front of the caravan, as they are hiding behind it.

“So what are you going to do now, then?” asks Jack.

“I think you're going to come with me, so's you can say sorry to Kelly.”

“You going to make us?”

“Yep.”

“Look, just go back to your owner, why don't you?” says Jack, trying to sound bored. “She deserved all she got. She even deserves you. Come on, Jess, we're out of here.”

“Oh no, I don't think so.” A voice behind them.

Jack and Jess turn. One of the other lads is standing behind them. No wonder Simon seems so relaxed. “Meet Joe,” says Simon. They turn to Simon again. He is closing in and his eyes are nasty. And there's a knife in his hand. Jess feels sick instantly.

It is strange what the mind is drawn to in times like this and Jack finds himself thinking of the coin in his pocket. He needs to keep it safe. He feels that if he can keep the coin safe then all will be well. It is an illogical thought but it is the only one he has. He does not look at the knife.

Jess is about to say something.

From behind them comes Joe's voice. “Security. Coming this way.”

SIMON'S
face shrivels in anger. “Catch you later, jerks, but trust me: you will apologize to Kelly, or you'll be sorry.” And he walks away, the knife hidden. Joe goes in the other direction. They must be practised at walking away from trouble pretending to be innocent because, actually, they do a good job, Jess thinks: they saunter, hands in pockets.

The security men haven't seen them yet. One of them begins to speak into a radio. It is impossible to be sure whether they are even looking for Simon or if they are simply there by chance.

“Let's get out of here,” says Jack. He holds her hand as they slip round the side of the caravan. Of course, in theory, Jack and Jess have nothing to fear, as they are innocent as far as the law is concerned, but they do not want to be involved. Jack's mind races ahead to possible questions and then being blamed by Simon and his cronies if they get them into trouble. Peering round from behind the caravan again, Jack and Jess watch Simon and Joe slip around a corner of another vehicle and the security men walk in the wrong direction.

At any moment, Simon will turn his attention back to Jack and Jess.

“Quick!” whispers Jess. “In here.” Fantastic Farantella's door is open, draped in a thick red velvet curtain. There's a handwritten sign, which has fallen on the floor:
Open for future business. Come in – I've been expecting you
. A crystal ball straight out of Pound 4 All sits beside it, trying to sparkle with its cheap glitter covering.

Simon is turning, peering. Joe is with him. At any moment…

Jess pulls Jack through the doorway. Several layers of red velvet close behind them and they are in near darkness. A tall woman has been on the phone and she jumps to her feet, startled.

“Blimey, give me some warning, why don't you?”

Jess manages to stop herself from saying,
Sorry, we thought you could see the future
. Jack knows what she's thinking and they both feel laughter welling up.

“Look, I'm on a break,” says Fantastic Farantella. “I'm not supposed to be on again for another half-hour. Can't you read the sign?”

“Sorry – but it said open. Really, it did,” says Jack politely.

“We're very sorry.” Jess uses her wide eyes and the most innocent voice she can find.

Farantella sniffs. “Well, you'll have to go. I need a break. Knackered, I am.”

“Look, please,” says Jess. “You see, I've always wanted my fortune told and I've heard you're the best.” She puts her shoe back on.

“Yes,” says Jack, “Everyone says so. And this is the only day we can come and…”

“We've been saving up. Please.”

Farantella is not impressed and she is not a kind woman. But she could do with the money. It's not easy earning a living as a fortune-teller in the age of science, when no one believes in fate and destiny any more. Not that she does either, but it's always paid the bills. And sometimes, especially after a shot of whisky, she really does get visions and vibes when she touches people, so who knows? The scientists haven't explained everything, after all. And long may that continue, as far as Farantella is concerned.

She sniffs again. “Oh, all right, but you won't mind if I drink my tea while I'm doing it?”

They shake their heads.

“And it'll be ten quid.”

“It says a fiver.”

“There's two of you, love. They not teach you maths at school?” Catch Farantella on a good day and she'll let you in for a reduced price, but this isn't a good day. Mind you, they're nice enough kids, nothing wrong with them that she can see, and the boy has cute eyes – though weird hair. To be honest, she needs a fag but she's trying to give up. She's at that fidgety-fingered stage. If they push her too far, she'll maybe give them something to worry about in the fortune she tells them. One of those
Oh no, I see horror! Oh, horrible things; Oh you poor dear – take care now!
Mind you, you're not allowed to do that these days, what with the regulations. It's many years since Farantella disliked someone enough to predict a nasty accident. Besides, it frightens off the punters. And she'd once heard a story that a fairground fortune-teller had been caught up in some legal case when a punter had accused her of causing post-traumatic stress disorder. Farantella can do without that.

“We haven't got ten quid, have we?” Jack turns to Jess, innocent-eyed.

Jess shakes her head. Outside they can hear shouting. It might be Simon and Joe or the security men or someone completely different. Farantella sees her looking, cocks her head. “You being chased then? That why you arrived in such a hurry?”

“Please, you could do us a really quick fortune-telling – maybe we could find seven-fifty? Please. And we'll tell everyone about you.”

Farantella could do with seven-fifty for a few minutes of making stuff up.

“Eight quid. But I do you together, mind.”

“Done.” Jack and Jess pool their money. Not including the lucky coin, of course.

“OK,” says Fantastic Farantella the Famous Fairground Fortune-teller. “Now, just a minute. I'm not quite ready, what with you crashing in on me like that.”

She gets some matches, lights a few incense sticks, takes a swig of her tea, and presses the button on a CD player. Watery whale music drifts out. She pokes a head and arm through the curtained doorway and rights the sign so that it really does say “Closed”. They hear her shouting, “Oi, what you doing hanging about? I'm closed.” And she comes back in, scowling.

Farantella sits down at the table and signals to them to sit, beckoning with a swooping, dramatic arm. She slowly drapes something like a piece of net curtain over her head and pulls a crystal ball from under the table, sets it on a saucer covered in crumpled tin foil and finds the plastic switch on the side. The ball starts to moan and glow. Jess feels Jack begin to shake with laughter and she refuses to look at him.

Fantastic Farantella closes her eyes. A hum comes from her nose, vibrating. It goes on for a long time, but then Farantella starts coughing. She takes a slug of tea. Opens her eyes.

Stares at them both. They stare back, wide-eyed, every muscle frozen to trap the laughter. “You are drawn together,” she says, in a drony voice. “Am I right?”

They nod. Well, it's hardly rocket science. She'll need to do better than that.

Farantella's hands are hovering above the crystal ball. It stops moaning, begins buzzing and then the light goes off.