chapter TWENTY-TWO
We had nothing to carry anymore, nothing to slow us down, and adrenaline was surging through us again. After a few twists and turns, we found our way into a park. This was better: only a few people around, a couple of old ladies with their dogs. We walked along the paths, looking for somewhere to hide. Spider kept sending me into gaps in the bushes.
“Go in there and have a look.”
“You do it!”
“Don’t be like that. You’re smaller than me. Go and check it out.”
I got ready to squeeze my way in, moving the branches out of my face. “People like you sent people like me up chimneys a hundred years ago. Just ‘cause I’m small,” I called behind me.
“No, mate, people like that woman who gave us a lift would have had us both cleaning her house, or polishing her shoes, or wiping her arse. ’Specially me. I’d have been someone’s slave.”
Point taken.
That opening was no good, but we found one a couple of minutes later. If you bent down and ducked under the bushes with thick rubbery leaves, there was a space behind, next to an old wall. It was big enough for us both to sit down and the ground was dry. No one could see us. We would be alright here for a bit.
We sat down next to each other, our backs leaning against the wall. The instant my butt hit the ground, all the strength went out of me. I was so, so tired. I closed my eyes.
“Ciggy?”
“No. Nothing.” I didn’t want to think, or feel, or see things anymore. I didn’t want to run or to hide.
“You alright?” His voice came to me through a thick fog. I’d nearly fallen asleep, just in that instant. I opened my eyes.
“I’m just tired.” He put his arm ’round me, pulled me in toward him.
“Did you hear what that bastard said?”
“About your nan?”
“Yeah. I should’ve killed him, Jem, while I had the chance. I was so mad, I just went for him. I forgot about my blade — should’ve pulled that and finished him there and then.”
“What good would that have done? Killing him? It would’ve just meant more trouble for you.”
“I don’t care. He don’t deserve nothing different for what he done. He had no right…”
“I know. But I’m glad you didn’t. Anyway, he—” I was going to say, Anyway, he’s going to die today, but I stopped myself just in time. Surely, if Tattoo Face was going to die, it would have happened; Spider would’ve knifed him, or he would have split his head open on the rail when they were wrestling, or the train would’ve hit him. I was certain I’d seen his number, certain it was today. I didn’t get it. I wasn’t sure anymore — were the numbers just in my head or were they real? If I’d just made them up, that was cool — I could ignore them, try to change them, whatever. I could stop the clock ticking Spider’s life away. If they were real, though, that meant Spider’s nan was OK — she had years to go. It was getting all muddled up in my head. Whatever the truth of it, though, there was one way I could comfort Spider.
“I think she’ll be OK, your nan.”
“Really? I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”
I turned around to face him. “Spider, I know she’ll be OK.”
“Because of her number?”
“Yeah.”
“But what if you’re not the only one to see numbers? What if someone else sees completely different ones? What if her number’s changed?”
“They don’t.” I hesitated, checking Spider’s number again — yeah, it was still there, still the same. “They don’t change.”
“So, the date we’ll die is set from the minute we’re born. Is that what you’re saying?”
He was starting to piss me off now. I was trying to make him feel better, and he was giving me the third degree. Questions I didn’t have answers for.
“I’m not saying anything.” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “You’re the one saying it all.”
“But I want you to say it, ‘cause it doesn’t make any sense to me.”
“What?”
“How everything is fixed for us. It’s like it don’t matter what I do because the end will be the same.”
“P’raps that’s how it is. Things happen.” I wanted him to stop it, but he was like a dog with a bone.
“So everything’s preset? It’s all meant to be?”
“I dunno.”
“That bomb was meant to go off. That bastard was meant to beat up my nan. That’s not right, Jem, is it? That can’t be right.” He was raising his voice now. He’d taken his arm away from me and was waving it around. He seemed bigger than ever in this confined space.
“’Course it’s not right.”
“It don’t make any sense.” A bit of his spit hit my face. He was well worked up.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“What?”
“Nothing makes any sense. Nothing means anything. You’re born, you live, you die. That’s it.” My philosophy in a nutshell.
That shut him up for a while. We sat, side by side, backs against the wall, both of us with our arms folded. But while I was still, Spider was shaking his head back and forth — it made his whole body move, his shoulder joggling into mine. Knowing, as I did now, how still he could be when he was happy and relaxed, it was disturbing to see him so agitated. He was out of his mind with worry. It felt like my fault. I wanted to reach him; I wanted to take his distress away.
“Spider, listen. Maybe I’m wrong.” I was scared of what I was about to say. The words crept out of me like quiet little mice.
He was still shaking away, caught up in his own dark, mad world. I sat up on my knees, facing him, and put my hands on both his shoulders. “Spider.” He couldn’t hear me. I moved my hands up to his face, held him firmly, slowing but not stopping his movement.
“What I said. That’s not right, either.” At last he was listening. His face was still and he looked up at me, his eyes haunted and sad.
“Why not?”
“It’s not all random. It can’t be.” I took a deep breath. “Because I was meant to meet you, and you were meant to meet me.”
His eyes filled with tears. Without saying a word he unwound his arms from around his ribcage and wrapped them around my waist, burying his face in my shoulder. Kneeling there, I held him to me, and stroked him, his back and his hair, and we cried together. There were no words to say what we were feeling; the tears said it for us — terror, relief, love, and grief, all mixed into the salt.
Later, much later, we disentangled ourselves and sat up. It was getting dark, and in our leafy cave I could only see Spider as a vague shape now.
“We need to get out of here, Jem,” Spider said. “We couldn’t have brought more attention to ourselves if we’d bloody tried earlier on.”
“Yeah, I know.” I had no energy left. My hand was hurting, my knee was hurting. I didn’t want to be found, but it would be so easy just to curl up here in Spider’s arms and wait for the inevitable.
“The best way to get out of here fast is to get another car.”
“And then what?”
“Drive to Weston. We must be bloody close now. You’ll love it.” Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling again. I wanted to feel it with him, I really did, but I couldn’t. I felt cold inside, miserable, scared.
“What are we gonna do at Weston, Spider? They’ve got TV and newspapers there, too, you know, and police and sniffer dogs and —”
He put one of his long fingers up to my lips. “I told you. We’re gonna eat ice cream and fish and chips and walk along the pier.” He was saying it like he believed it. Perhaps he did.
I gently took hold of the hand that was shushing me and laid it on my open left palm, softly tracing along his bony fingers with my other hand.
“What you doing?”
“Nothing. You’ve got lovely hands.”
“You’re soft in the head, you are.” He leaned across and kissed me tenderly. “OK,” he said, like his mind was suddenly made up. “I know you’re tired, so you stay here and be ready to run when I come back for you. I’ll find us some wheels, don’t worry. I won’t be long.” He started to crawl out from under the branches.
“Spider.”
“What?”
“Be careful.”
“’Course. Be ready, OK? I’ll only be a few minutes.” And he was gone, the branches swishing for a minute where he’d pushed his way through. I watched as their movement slowed and stopped. And I sat in the gathering dark, and waited.