A Read online

  – Gone, has he? Janice moved a copy of Vogue from her lap and put it on the desk in front of her.

  – Yeah.

  – He did say he wasn’t feeling too well. Bad kebab last night, I think.

  – Teather, Hooey prompted.

  – Yeah, said Teather. Look, sorry about this, Janice. We’re supposed to be on an emergency. I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?

  – Alright, Norm. Cheers.

  The striplights were merciless in the blank, white corridor. They picked out the alcohol-burst blood vessels in Hooey’s cheeks and the unplucked grey hairs in his moustache. They shone from Teather’s pate and shadowed the pouches of his face so they seemed to swell and shrink with the passing of each light.

  Teather pushed at door F, releasing further, even stuffier hotness and the smell of reconstituted vegetable soup. Two youngish men were sitting with their feet on adjacent desks at the far right-hand end of the room.

  – Oh, alright Norm, said one, without moving. His face was puckered-looking and he had red hair.

  – Hi Norm, said the other. What’re you doing here?

  Teather looked at both of them with disbelief. He ran a hand across his head again.

  – For Christ’s sake! he said. How long have you two been here?!

  – Mmm… The red-haired man thought a moment. Noon, I think?

  – Yeah, said the other.

  – I ought to have guessed… He took a couple of deep breaths. Yeah. Nigel, Gareth. This is Inspector Hilary Hooey from the Drug Squad. We were at school together. Over in Kenley.

  – Drug Squad, nodded Gareth, the one with the red hair. Rich pickings, hey?

  Hooey looked disdainful.

  – Not, he said, for all of us.

  – Oh, of course, said Gareth, grinning and reaching for his soup.

  Already Teather was flicking through file options and scrolling down lists of names, his eyes on the bank of screens covering his desk. Hooey skirted the mound of tea and soup cups huddled around the waste-paper basket, dribbles of tannin and synthesised vegetable juice soaking into the lime-green carpet. A throwing competition of some sort had obviously just been underway.

  Not for all of us?! Hooey winced internally, watching the rows of figures as they unfurled over Teather’s shoulder. What the hell was wrong with him? Middle age? Terminal bad temper? The white, hot windowless room was starting to feel claustrophobic. Hooey’s eyes were drawn to the furthest monitor, where the words GOD IS A PIG were wandering about at random. He didn’t smile.

  – Alright, got it! announced Teather suddenly. It’s Paolo Alkalai’s phone. Can you believe they sent it into fucking Miscellaneous and Personal?

  A hissing appeared from the speakers on either side of the desk – the sound fluctuating with the movements of a mobile phone – then there was a woman’s voice:

  – Directory enquiries. What name please?

  – Er, hi. The voice was slightly uncertain, male, with a hint of East Anglia. I need a number for Thomson enquiries or something like that… Some sort of Yellow Pages-by-phone thing?

  – There they are! exclaimed Teather. Got the bastards!

  A detailed map of the Welsh borders had materialised on one of the central screens. Between the n and the e of a Gothic-scripted Stone Circle some way up into the Black Mountains was the flashing red light of a mobile phone.

  – Er, hi. The same voice again. I need a garage in the Hay-on-Wye district that deals with breakdowns. Anything you’ve got.

  – Oh, baby! said Teather. A breakdown!

  – It was over an hour ago, Hooey pointed out.

  Teather clicked on a couple of options and skipped through a succession of attempted calls to local garages; then the signal went dead.

  – But, there’s no-one around to help them, said Teather. So, if we got a chopper out there, we might still pick them up! It’s not like theirs is a discreet vehicle after all.

  Teather froze the map on the screen and jotted down the grid references of the phone signal. He passed the piece of paper to Hooey.

  To his astonishment – glancing at the numbers – Hooey found himself feeling excited; like a blockage of some kind had given way inside him and a backlog of optimism had flooded his system in a moment. He hadn’t really appreciated what kind of a result this might mean. Get that lot in Wales, and you’d have Steve Fisk and his crowd sewn up in days – he’d get addresses, warrants, witnesses, names – a chink. With a bit of luck, he could turn it into a scourge. In a month he could have fifty of the serious bastards sent down – murderers, thiefs – the people he’d actually joined the police force to catch in the first place. It was the sort of opportunity he’d been waiting for his entire career.

  He pulled back the chair at the nearest desk, laid flat the piece of paper with the grid references on it and picked up the phone.

  – Cathy, it’s Hilary… Yeah. Look, I need a chopper… Now. There’s some people broken down on a mountain in Wales. LSD manufacturers. Been after them for ages… Yeah. Mobile signal… No, look, it’ll be fine but it’s probably best to play it safe… Yeah, yeah. There’s one in Brecon I think, for mountain rescue. Try them. One or two in Hereford. I don’t know. Get the bloody SAS in on it if you have to… The OS reference is 374239. Get that? Okay. They’re in a white decommissioned Ford ambulance. Don’t know the reg, but you can’t miss it. Cathy, get this lot and we’ve got Steve… Yeah, Steve Fisk! You know what that means!… Precisely!… Yeah, I’ve got the mobile. Cheers… Cheers, Cathy. Bye.

  Hooey sat back from his desk, his thoughts drifting towards promotion and accolades. Teather was working away on his keyboard, a pair of headphones clamped to his ears. At the other end of the room, Gareth and Nigel had reverted to cup-throwing. They were swapping stories, their voices lowered a token notch or two.

  – So there we were on the stairs, said Nigel. I was supposed to have been rigging some surveillance equipment but, you know how it is, everything got mixed up and they got me in on the raid too. So we’re creeping up to the door and there’s voices in the flat, but nothing like anyone in there knows about us, you know. So – one, two – in goes the door!

  Nigel flung down his arm in illustration.

  – So we’re all running inside. Freeze! Freeze! All that shit. Well, there’s only two old blokes in there. Twins. Looked just the same as each other. Scared shitless, they were, and no-one else was about. There was just this smelly old dachshund scampering everywhere, and this huge old machine in the middle of the room, belching tenners into a box… Thousands of them! These blokes must have been eighty or something!

  – Woh! said Gareth. He took aim and threw another cup at the bin.

  – Did you see the pictures? said Hooey casually. This is the Richmond job, yeah? The Oliver brothers?

  The two men looked surprised.

  – You actually saw them?! said Nigel.

  Hooey nodded.

  This Steve Fisk business, he thought. It really could change everything…

  – Yeah! said Nigel. Thing is, Gaz, we searched the place, you know. There was fake money everywhere. But this dachshund… Jesus! They had this whole porn thing going with it! You wouldn’t have…!

  Nigel stopped mid-sentence. On the desk in front of him, Hooey’s mobile phone had exploded into a game-show theme that no-one else in the room had heard in the past ten years. Hooey answered it quickly.

  – Yeah, yeah, he said. What?! You’re kidding…! Well, why not…? Yeah, of course press them… Yeah, yeah. I do see. And if that fails…? There’s a unit out there?! Then, shit! Get them onto it…! Yeah, yeah! Cathy, they could go any minute…! Okay. Yeah. Get them there as fast as they can. Keep me posted… Thanks.

  He replaced his phone on the desk. Across the lime-green carpet, Teather was returning from the tea machine, a blue cup and its sickly-looking contents in each hand. He deposited one on the desk beside Hooey, the metal strip of the tea bag revolving slowly in its middle.

  – So…? said Teather,
sitting on the nearest chair and frowning enquiringly.

  – So, said Hooey. The chopper in Brecon’s out looking for some missing trekkers. The three in Hereford are taking school children on a tour of the local area. But apparently there’s a police ground unit only ten or fifteen minutes away, and the SAS should be able to back them up.

  – It ought to be enough, mused Teather, throwing his tea bag at the bin and leaving a round brown impression just above the skirting board.

  Hooey threw his too, and got it in.

  s: faith, or fated to die

  Tim had sunk now into shaking. He was crouched on the ground, his eyes like craters in the remnants of the sunlight and the pale light from the moon. His lips moved in response to questions, but words or even sounds were failing to come out. Steadily his arms were tightening around his knees.

  – Come on, Tim, Fay was whispering. Come on, get back into the ambulance. You’ll get cold on the grass…

  Angus was sitting on the rear bumper. Belle was supine on the futon behind him, a half-burnt untapped cigarette poking at an angle from her lips. Fifty yards away, Fay rolled back on her heels and looked towards them, her face tense with concern.

  – Angus! she said. You couldn’t have a look in the tape bag?

  Angus stood up and walked round to the open passenger door, flipping on the light in the cab.

  Inside it looked a lot like a bin had been emptied on the floor. Coke cans, chocolate wrappers and partly eaten sandwiches were heaped around a carrier bag spilling old cassettes – Happy Mondays, old acid-house compilations, ’70s Neil Young albums, Asian Underground, everything Psychic TV ever recorded – and, some way down amongst them, a particularly choice King Tubby’s tape, which he picked up and slid into the machine.

  At once the air around the ambulance was filled with dub: throbbing basslines and echoed chants:

  – I went down to East Kingston, and there was peace, peace and love – love – love – love – love – love…

  – Mmmm! said Belle surprisedly from the back.

  Clinging to Fay’s arm, Tim dragged himself upright. He staggered across the grass towards the light and music.

  – Got to have a spliff, he muttered.

  He sat in his accustomed spot in the back of the ambulance and, with shivering fingers, set about assembling the ingredients.

  – A result, said Fay, arriving a moment later. Well, at least he won’t freeze.

  – So what now? said Angus.

  – I… Fay hesitated. I suppose we’re just going to have to find someone to help us.

  – Can you imagine a werewolf? Angus asked as he and Fay set off down the hill. I mean, can you imagine the moon doing that to someone?

  The single lane of the road was shining against the dark, surrounding grass. It twined around the contours of the common – black and white in the moonlight – sinking out of sight with the start of a dingle where the left-hand side was a wall of pines.

  – I think it would depend who it was, she said eventually. Not to anyone I know, but I don’t think it’s like, inconceivable. I… I think the moon can kind of bring something out of people.

  She looked at him and suddenly the light caught the green in her eyes. It made Angus chuckle.

  – True colours? he said.

  – Yeah. That’s kind of what I mean… Why did you laugh?

  – Oh, it, um… Your eyes just kind of flashed green as I thought of it.

  – Oh… She smiled to herself.

  For a few seconds there was nothing but the sound of their feet on the tarmac, slipping unconsciously into time with one another. Angus changed his gait abruptly when he realised. When Fay spoke again, her voice had purpose to it, as if she’d been considering how to broach something.

  – I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but, er, it’s not been too heavy, has it, having everyone turn up like this? I mean, I’d really not known quite what a… hermit you were these days.

  – Erm… said Angus, and laughed nervously, scouring his brain and turning up very little. Well, I don’t really know to be honest. I’ve not had much of a chance to think about it yet. Like, maybe I’m in a bit of a state of shock or something. Or maybe it’s just not a big deal… I mean, I have to admit, it is what I’ve been dreading the whole time I’ve been out here.

  – Yeah, said Fay. I’m not surprised.

  – Why?

  – Well, you made a decision. Right? You were living one way, and it was going to shit, so you left it behind. I mean, I have thought about it, you know. It was quite a big deal, dropping everything and heading off to Wales. Asking around pubs for somewhere to live. I mean, it is positive. I couldn’t do it. But, after all that the last thing you’d want is to have the old life traipsing out here after you.

  Angus turned his head to look at her, feeling himself frown as he did so. Fay was tying her hair back into a ponytail, the moon lying shadows beneath her cheekbones. The elegance of her face startled him.

  – What? she said, returning the look.

  – No, no, he said quickly. No. You’ve got the wrong idea. I never made… any decision. All I did was run away. I just got squashed. That’s all. By Belle, and the drugs, and the… fucking purposelessness of everything.

  – Okay, said Fay. But the drug thing, then. Jesus, I was there, Angus! It was clear enough. Down by the river on that day we moved in. Everyone had decided to go one way, and you’d decided to go another…

  – Balls! said Angus. I didn’t decide shit. It just happened! You’re looking at this whole thing way too… positively.

  – So what way are you looking at it?

  They followed the road as it dropped, listening to the stream in the dingle in front of them. To their left, the plantation filled a third of the sky, the occasional star blinking between branches and needles.

  – Okay, said Angus finally. I take your point. I didn’t meant to be rude… But, I mean, Belle was everything to me. She was everything I’d ever hoped for, and… I could have been anyone, you know? She didn’t give a shit about me. I was just somebody to admire her and make her feel good about herself, and… it left nothing. You know? When I found out. I had nothing left.

  Fay’s eyes were on the dingle.

  – Well, she said, after a silence. Angus, that is kind of extreme, you know? I mean… There’s more to the world than the tops of its mountains.

  Fay looked a bit surprised, like the words had popped out on their own, but she carried on walking, looking straight ahead of her.

  – Tell me something, said Angus a minute or two later.

  – What?

  – Just… something. Tell me, like, the greatest, maddest thing that’s ever happened to you.

  – Birth? said Fay.

  – You’re not allowed birth.

  – Then… Okay. She laughed. You really want to know?

  – Yeah, said Angus.

  – Okay, then… One time, I was at this party in Bristol, and I met a bloke called Adrian. He was beside me on the sofa in the chill-out room. Black bloke. Cool, but kind of disaffected, you know? He had this issue going with record companies, and I was telling him about stuff I’d been thinking about, about how companies behave like organisms, how people kind of rent out their bodies to be occupied by their spirit, give them physical form or whatever… Like a sort of prostitution. I was kind of angry round then. Anyhow, I gave him this whole tirade and he got right into it. He started writing down what I was saying and adding ideas, and over about half an hour or something we kind of moulded it into a poem. I don’t know why, really, it just seemed like the thing to do. Then this girl came over and started talking to him, and asked him for his autograph, and suddenly I realised that Adrian was Tricky!

  – What? said Angus. Like… Tricky, Tricky?!

  – Tricky! said Fay. She laughed again. Honestly! But that’s not even half of it… I mean, I stuck around for a bit and I gave him my phone number but, well, basically I’d only straightened out about a month b
efore so I still wasn’t finding parties that easy. The thing is, about three days later he phoned me up and said he’d got this stuff we’d written and he wanted me to come over and do some more work on it…

  Angus stopped and looked at her.

  – No… he said. Phase One?!

  – Yeah! said Fay. Exactly. Phase One. You know it, then?

  – Phase One… Phase One’s wicked! It’s the best thing he’s done since Maxinquaye!

  – It is pretty good, Fay admitted.

  – But that’s… Wait a minute. Are you saying that you…?!

  – Well. Yeah, said Fay. The lyrics anyway. There’s a photo of me in the cover and everything, kind of pale and wasted-looking, though I wasn’t. He even asked me to write some more stuff with him, but… I was a bit of a mess round then. It all got kind of odd and intense… I’ve really only started trying to write again in the past few months.

  – Fuck! said Angus. But I mean, Jesus, Fay! That’s seriously cool! I mean… How the hell didn’t I know about it?

  – I don’t know. Fay shrugged, smiling. I guess you didn’t ask me.

  To their left, a V of stars had appeared between the pine trees. At its apex was a gate with a sign tied to its middle.

  – Neuadd-newydd, read Fay slowly, bending down so the moonlight shone from the lettering. Do you reckon it’s a farm?

  – I reckon it’s worth finding out, said Angus. I mean, it can’t be much later than seven o’clock. We shouldn’t upset anyone too badly.

  Fay untied the baler twine and swung the gate open, letting him through before doing it back up again. Ahead of them a track of compacted stone led more or less straight towards the far side of the plantation, where the dim glow of a window was discernible from the swell of a bank behind it.

  As they walked, an entire cottage became apparent: its stone the same as the track’s and its door and window-frames built sturdily from oak. The lawn around it was wildly overgrown, covered with an extraordinary quantity of junk.

  – A skidoo! said Fay, peering at a shape inside the gateway.