Part One is here

Saturday – Alex Part One

The wall hadn’t changed. He’d stared at it for hours now, but it was just the same. Every thing else had changed, but the wall was the same. If he looked at it long enough, perhaps everything else would follow and fall back into line.

He glanced at his phone. The screen was dark so he pressed the button. It faded back up and the message was still there and nothing would be the same again. He was lying to himself. The wall was different. Before it had just been a wall. Now it was a barrier.

Alex hauled himself out of the kitchen chair and slumped into the lounge. He flicked on the TV, grabbed a controller and spent more time than was healthy shooting things. When his thumbs started hurting, he tossed the controller to one side and looked at his phone again. Same message. Perhaps if he let it run out of battery, the message would go and he could pretend he hadn’t seen it.

He ran his nails across his scalp and groaned. It wouldn’t work. He opened the phone and went into his texts.

‘Hey. I’m pregnant.’

He lifted the phone, ready to throw it at the wall, then lowered it and laughed. It was a laugh that said more than words ever could. It was a horrible, cynical laugh that carried not a whit of humour and plenty of anger. But what had he to be angry about?

It was his fault. It was him who’d forgotten the condoms and him who’d pushed and pushed until she caved in. He didn’t even think he was surprised. He’d been a grumpy bastard for the last month and he wondered whether it wasn’t because he’d known, deep down, what was coming.

He started to type and stopped. He flicked to phone and called her.

‘Hey.’

‘Hey. Got your message.’

‘Yeah. Crazy huh?’

She sounded slightly hysterical, a little too high-pitched.

‘Yeah, that’s just the right word. What you gonna do?’

‘What do you mean, you?’

‘Well it’s your call, isn’t it?’

‘It’s our call, Alex, it’s our baby.’

‘It’s not a baby, not yet. It’s a, you know, foetus.’

‘Right, yeah. What do you want to do?’

‘It’s not about me, is it?’

‘Yeah, actually, it is.’

‘Well what do you want to do?’

‘It’s a baby, I—’

‘No it’s not.’

‘What do you want to do?’

‘I don’t want a baby. I don’t want to have kids. I’m sorry, I just don’t. We haven’t even finished Uni, it’s ridiculous.’

‘So you think we should get—’

‘Yeah.’

‘Right. What do we do?’

‘We go to the hospital, I think. Look, Lisa, I just think it’s too soon and we’re too young and—’

‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right. Yeah.’

The phone went dead and he stared at it. Had she hung up? It rang a second later and he jumped and dropped it. It slipped between the cushions and he swore and jumped onto the floor, dragging them off until he raised it triumphantly aloft.

‘Yeah, what happened?’

‘Sorry, just cut off, don’t know why. So, we go tomorrow?’

‘Yeah. I’ll come over yours.’

They sorted the time and he put the phone down. He reached for the controller and pressed start, but the bad guys had been planning and he died before he got anywhere.

He slept badly, waking up in pools of sweat and searching for a dry patch on the bed before drifting off again.

It was half five when he finally crawled out and into the shower. No point in lying there when he couldn’t sleep. He slipped out the house and got on the tube heading for central. The others thought he was weird, but there was nothing he liked better than getting into town before everyone else.

It was half six when he arrived and the rush hour traffic was already building up, but Embankment was quiet enough for him to think. He reached Temple when his phone buzzed.

‘I don’t want an abortion. Can you come over now?’

The phone shook as his hand tightened around it. He shoved it in his pocket. This time he could pretend he hadn’t seen it. He could go over to hers at the normal time and just pretend it got lost. He wasn’t having that conversation over the phone. And she was wrong. He stomped back toward the station and grabbed a hot chocolate.

Alex stared into the river at the swirling dark water, his mind going in circles. He couldn’t have a child. He wanted to do things, travel, get drunk. He knew what it meant to have a kid. Well, maybe not completely, but he knew he couldn’t stay at Uni, and that meant the end of his research. His biological sciences degree would be a complete waste. He’d have to get a serious job. He snorted and turned away from the river.

She’d understand, once they had a chat. She knew it was stupid, she just didn’t want to admit it. And that was fair enough, she was the pregnant one. He had no idea how it felt, but it had to be pretty intense having something growing inside you. Like Aliens. He chuckled and sipped his hot chocolate.

There was nothing funny about this. Nothing at all. The scent of flowers drew him back toward the river and he paused. There was a guy selling flowers and they were amazing, the most incredible blooms spread out on this little table. He wore this big puffer jacket and looked cold.

‘Hi. Nice flowers.’

‘Thank you, sir. I am rather proud of them. Can I interest you in buying something? Perhaps there’s someone special you could give them to?’

Actually, that was a really good idea. He could soften her up with some roses. There was a bunch of red roses right in front of him that smelled gorgeous.

‘Yeah, I’ll take those please.’

The flower seller wrapped them up, humming a song that sounded vaguely familiar. He held them out to Alex with a smile.

‘I’ve given you thirteen in case one gets damaged on the way to wherever you’re going. Maybe you could give it to someone else, if you don’t need it?’

Alex nodded absently and paid, not really hearing him. Lisa would love these. He could say sorry and they could have a chat and decide what they wanted. He nipped across the road and up the steps to Embankment station. Just as he was about to step in, the world went black. He stared up and gasped.

The sky was filled with shapes, huge balloons that drifted like clouds over London. There were glimpses of sunlight between them, but the smog and dirt that hung beneath them blocked any that got through. The streets were deserted around him and the entrance to the station was blocked by orange bollards.

A screaming sound, like a police siren on crack, started up and he ducked his head instinctively. A car hammered down the street, weaving this way and that before piling into the black railings. Moments later, a different sound cut through the sirens, a whistling noise that grew louder. Alex spotted the rocket just before it struck the car. The explosion washed over him and he was thrown back into the bollards.

He raised his head, peering at the flaming wreckage of the car. Two dark grey trucks came into view and screeched to a halt. Men in uniforms the same colour as the truck emerged and surrounded the car. They carried guns and before he had a moment to prepare himself, they unleashed at the burning vehicle.

The flames shifted this way and that as the bullets flew into the steel and rubber. After a few seconds of gunfire, the men piled back into their truck and drove swiftly away, leaving Embankment empty and shockingly silent. The siren stopped.

‘Alex, welcome to London.’

The voice was familiar and sounded inside his head and took his mind a little further than it was willing to go. He groaned and cradled his head in his hands.

Next Installment Thursday 17th July

Part One is here

Friday – Sam part two

She’d only set one personal ring-tone on her phone and that had been for Tanya. And now it was ringing. Chewing her lip, she looked at the screen and there she was, the photo they’d taken in Hamley’s with the giant elephant staring her in the face. She lifted it to her ear and took a deep breath, then pressed answer.

Tanya was sobbing, mewing into the phone and the sound nearly sent Sam to her knees. Tanya didn’t cry, same way she didn’t talk about her feelings or admit to being scared of anything.

‘Tany, was is it, what’s wrong?’

‘I miss you.’

It took a while to come out between the sobs but as it sunk in, Sam staggered back until she found a bench and sat. The tears were for her. The space on the other side of the bed was gaping, a gulf into which she fell every night.

‘I miss you too.’ She burst into tears as the words came out and for a while the only sound was the two of them sharing the one thing they’d never shared before. Sam got control first, horribly aware of the people staring at her and the likely state of her mascara. The last few months had necessitated the exploration of all sorts of waterproof mascara before she’d decided that description was a contradiction in terms.

‘Where are you?’

‘At the flat. Where are you?’

‘In town. I just had to leave work for a while. There’s—’

‘Can you come and see me?’

‘Of course, I mean, yeah, of course. I’ll be there in a half hour.’

The sniffles were drying up and Tanya sounded more like her old self. ‘Okay, see you soon.’

The phone went dead and Sam stared at it. Tanya never said bye when she hung up, but she’d almost forgotten the abruptness. It used to really bug her, not getting to say bye or I love you. As she tucked it into her jacket pocket, she realised she’d just spoken to Tanya for the first time in four months and she hadn’t asked about the cancer. Probably just too upset.

She set off, ignoring the stitch that formed in her side and the shortness of breath that made her blink and pant as she walked. She was almost at the station when she stopped, distracted by the most amazing scents. The flower stall was in its usual place but it smelled better than usual today and her feet carried her away from the station until she stood before a wondrous display of colours.

The flower seller came around the side of his stall and stood beside her.

‘Can I interest you in anything today, madam?’

His voice made her smile. He reminded her of university and visiting her parents. He smiled back and she stared at him for a moment. He was odd, really. She’d only glanced at him before, but the voice and the sharp eyes were very different than the picture she’d built up in her mind. Funny how quickly we create an image of someone and how easily it can be wrong.

‘Um, I don’t know, maybe, yes?’

‘Splendid. That’s conclusive then. How about some roses?’

The smile took the sting from his gentle mockery and she found herself smiling again. It felt strange on her face and reminded her of the man on the train.

‘I like roses.’

‘A bunch of twelve perhaps. You could put them in your office, or maybe take them home to have in the kitchen.’

The way he said it made her think he knew what her kitchen looked like. He could see the empty glass vase that sat, unused on the windowsill. She shook her head.

‘How do you know I work in an office?’

He chuckled and the sound slipped up her back and massaged her neck. ‘Well, you’re wearing a suit. You look stressed, I’m sorry to say and you’re here. One should never assume anything, but I thought it was probably a fair guess.’

She nodded. ‘I look that good then?’

He looked up at the sky for a moment, hands moving unceasingly as he cut and wrapped the roses. ‘I am sorry, I didn’t mean to offend.’

She waved it away. ‘Not at all. It’s not surprising really, I have cancer.’

Her mouth snapped shut and she blushed deep red. ‘God, I’m sorry, I don’t know where that came from.’

‘It’s fine, really. Well, not the cancer, but telling me, it’s fine. Sometimes it’s nice to talk to a stranger. So long as your mother doesn’t find out, of course.’

He said it with a wry grin that managed to banish the blood from her cheeks and make her smile. He didn’t look surprised. In fact, he seemed matter of fact about it.

‘Do you often have people telling you they have cancer?’

‘Fortunately not. But I’ve… known people who suffered from it. I am sorry.’

He hoisted the roses up, obscuring his mouth. ‘Will you keep these, then?’

She hesitated. But if she could tell him about the cancer, then… ‘actually, I’m just on my way to see my ex. I haven’t seen her in four months. I think I might give them to her.’

The roses lowered and he stared her straight in the eyes. ‘I think you should keep them. Here, I’ll put an extra one in there and you can give her that one. One rose is far more romantic than twelve, after all.’

She took them from him and breathed them in. The smell took her far away from London and Tanya and the impending operation that wasn’t going to be successful. She was back at home at her parents’ place. Funny how she still thought of it as home. She was in the garden, listening to mum and dad talk on the patio as the sun beat down.

She blinked away the memory and paid the man. As she was walking away, his voice followed her to the station. ‘Remember, you just give her the thirteenth and keep the rest.’

She mulled it over as she got on the escalator down to the tube. She already knew she’d give them all to Tanya. She’d give her everything she owned if they got back together. She grabbed the last seat in her carriage and chewed on her knuckle. Was this a really stupid idea?

The smell filled the carriage and she noticed everyone smiling at her. She also saw more than one person rise, as though to get off at a station, then sit back down and relax. They rolled into Shepherd’s Bush and she stood. Most of the carriage rose with her and got off. Some came with her to the exit, but most wandered aimlessly or headed for the opposite platform.

She got above ground and the smell drifted away, replaced by the scent of fried chicken and the market. It brought back more memories than she was willing to deal with and she stomped across the green, focusing on the steady beat of her feet on the pavement.

The flat was just as it had been four months ago. Why was that strange? What had she expected? The door was the same colour and every move she made felt choreographed, as though coming back here was destined to happen. Perhaps it was. Perhaps that was why it was only today she’d changed her screen saver.

Her hand shook when she reached for the bell and she hesitated, staring at the tiny white circle as though it could answer the hundreds of questions rattling around her brain. With the smallest of shrugs, she pressed the button. And waited.

Her palms were sweaty and she felt wobbly, ready to topple over. Footsteps approached the door and she took a deep breath. The door opened and the breath caught, stuck in her throat. It wasn’t Tanya. It was a face she vaguely recognised. Was it an old friend of Tany’s? It might be.

She coughed as her body caught up with her not breathing. It took control for a moment and she grabbed the door frame to stay upright as her body shook. When she finally stopped, she looked back at the woman who stood waiting, arms folded.

‘Um, is Tanya there, please?’

The woman spared her another glance then turned and walked into the flat, leaving the door ajar. Sam pushed it open and put one foot inside. The familiar scent of jasmine incense filled her nose and mingled with the roses she clutched tight in one hand. Her eyes watered and she stepped back, back into the cool clear air of the street.

‘Sweetheart, some woman’s here to see you.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Dunno…’ the rest of her words were too faint to hear, no matter how hard she strained. The roses were suddenly heavy, dragging her arm and she laid them carefully on the step. Who was the woman and what was she doing here? The word sweetheart bounced round and round her mind and with every revolution a little piece of her crumbled.

‘Hi, what— oh, hi, Sam, you came.’

‘Of course I came, you were upset.’

‘Yeah, but. No, of course, please, come in.’

‘Who is she?’

‘Huh?’

‘The woman who opened the door, who is she?’

‘Oh. She’s Trish, she’s my partner.’

‘Your partner.’

‘Yeah, about two months now.’

‘And she’s already moved in?’

‘Yeah, well.’

‘Your partner… I’m going to go, I should go.’

‘Sam, wait, what did you think?’

She scrubbed the tears away and rounded on her. Something bubbled up from within, something she recognised from her father, just once or twice when she was young. Something that terrified her.

‘WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK, WHAT DID YOU THINK, TELL ME, WHAT THE HELL DID YOU THINK, YOU CALLED ME. YOU CALLED ME. YOU SAID YOU MISSED ME, YOU SAID…’

She trailed off, wiping her chin and dropping her head. Everything was gone, like something had scraped her out from the inside. Tanya stared at her, eyes wide and hands held out before her like she expected Sam to attack her. Maybe she would, if she had more energy.

She scooped up the roses and stuck her arm out straight. They looked alien, like they weren’t from Earth. The smell was gone. The smell of everything was gone. Her nose was blocked and streaming. Tanya looked at the roses, shaking her head.

‘Take them.’

Still she shook her head. Sam yanked one from the bag, a thorn splitting her finger open. She looked at the blood, blinking, waiting for the pain to start. She stepped forward and Tanya backed into the flat, one hand holding the door. Sam shoved the roses in her face and finally she took them.

With the one rose gripped between her fingers, she turned and marched down the street. She listened for the door but it never closed, not until she was round the corner and heading toward the green. She looked down at the rose in her hand.

‘This one’s for me. That’s who it’s for.’

She smiled and shoved her nose in it and took a deep breath. The smell was back, stronger than ever and a sort of haze came over her. She felt rather than knew she was getting on the tube, but she only knew she was going home when she stepped out at Chalfont and Latimer and buzzed through the gate.

She ran a bath. She put the kettle on, but forgot to make the tea. She undressed slowly, every move taking forever as her limbs refused to follow her instructions. She took the phone off the hook. She walked into each room and ran her fingers over the furniture, straightened pictures that didn’t need straightening. She went into the lounge and flicked the switch behind the TV, taking it from standby to fully off. She should be doing that every night.

The bath steamed but she barely felt the scalding water as she sank into it. The rose twirled slowly between her fingers and she reached out with gentle, shaking fingers to pluck the first petal. With each one she tore off and dropped into the water, she imagined she could feel the cancer, eating her insides.

When all the petals lay scattered across the water, she dropped the blood-stained stem onto the tiled floor and reached for the knife. She felt that, but only for a moment.

Interlude

Dammit. Damn, damn, damn. That was the worse choice ever, what the devil had he been thinking? She was so far beyond his control, he’d never had a chance. What had Tanya been thinking, what kind of horrible bitch was she?

He was made of pure energy, but he couldn’t help being angry at her anyway. There was reasonable behaviour and then there was just being unpleasant and that was unnecessary. The flower seller sighed and shook his head. The bath was red now and her life force sunk down and out, then rushed past him.

So that was that. Two from five. That Monday feeling was coming back with a vengeance. He picked up the list. He needed an easy one, a real easy one. Or at least one where he had a chance of making a difference.

He found Alex pretty quickly and read through it twice. He was beginning to question his instincts. Three hundred years of this and suddenly he was making all the wrong decisions. What was that about? He was thinking more as well, about things he’d never used to think about. What happened if you didn’t meet your quota? What happened to those who went below?

Why was he asking anything? He knew what happened below. He’d invented most of it. Perhaps that was what was wrong. He’d spent three hundred years working against his will, against his values. He shook his head. That wasn’t true, not since the Father got through with him. He’d stripped away most of the bad stuff and left him back where he’d started, all those thousands of years ago. But it was there, creeping about inside, longing for a way out.

He picked up the list again and focused on Alex. He would get Alex and then it would be all about Sunday. He just had to get Alex.

Part One is here

Friday – Sam Part One

It made no sense. She was healthy. She exercised four times a week, she ate nothing with refined sugar in and she had one glass of wine with her Sunday lunch. So how had she got cancer? She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths. She wrinkled her nose. The tube smelled pungent today, probably thanks to the large man in the too-small t-shirt beside her.

What was he doing out anyway? It was seven in the morning and there was no way he was going to work, so why was he even here? She sniffed, wrinkled and rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand. It came away with a hint of foundation and she sighed again.

‘Cheer up, love, can’t all be bad.’

He was speaking to her, with one of those smiles that says ‘I’m talking to you but I’m thinking about your breasts.’ She tried to imagine him undressed, but all she could picture was bulging white skin covered in hairs and spots and she clamped her lips together and swallowed.

‘Really, I mean, think about it? What have you got to be grateful for?’

God, he was still trying. Actually, that was a good question. The doctor had told her to think about that when she had moments like this. She looked anew at the man in the t-shirt. Had he had cancer? Maybe he still had it. She opened her mouth and closed it again.

Stupid. Of course he didn’t, he just lucked on the question. It was still a good one though. What was she grateful for? She was grateful for mum and dad. She was grateful for having her job and how nice they’d been about it all. She was grateful she no longer noticed the absence on the other side of the bed.

Getting rid of the photos had helped. Having her there, staring at her every time she walked in the door was the height of stupidity, but she hadn’t been able to just cut her out of her life. Even if Tanya had tried her best to do exactly that.

But the space was just space now. It wasn’t a Tanya-shaped space, nor was it a lack on her part, some fictional issue she had that drove other women away. Now it was just space. So she was grateful for that.

She blinked. The big man was staring at her, nodding and smiling. ‘There’s something, isn’t there?’

She nodded and flushed, putting her hand to her throat. Maybe he had got it, or had it. Maybe it didn’t matter. The therapist said it might have come from her anger. She’d laughed at him, in his posh shirt and tight jeans. He looked like a therapist as much as she did, but he was deadly serious.

‘Our diseases come from somewhere, Samantha. Often we cause them ourselves. You carry a lot of anger, too much I fear. What are you so angry about?’

She hadn’t been able to tell him. It was only the second appointment and she was in pieces, waking up five times a night to prowl around the flat and read websites on the C word. Four months later, she still couldn’t tell him. How do you explain to someone that you’ve always been angry?

She didn’t know where it came from, or why it came, but the world was flawed and no one else seemed to realise. No one else saw the hurt and rudeness and destruction and crappiness that went on everyday, so no one else got angry about it.

The tube rolled into Embankment and she got off. She managed to flash the big man a grateful smile and he gave a little wave, the kind big men who should be smaller give. His face followed her all the way to the office. She should have said something. She should have said what she was grateful for, and that right then, she was grateful for him.

She stopped her lip from curling into a sneer as she crossed reception.

‘Good morning, Miss Frane.’

She raised a hand as she made for the lift. She had meetings today, but she was exhausted. She’d stopped sleeping again. The doctor said the chemo’ would do that, but for all his warnings, she wasn’t ready for it. It was like she ran a marathon in her sleep and when she woke up, she just wanted to go back to bed.

She could manage the first hour or so. Habit and the determination to not give in got her out of the house. Then it hit and she staggered to the tube. The rest on the way gave her enough energy to get into her office but now she could hardly stand. She checked her schedule. Meeting after meeting after meeting. The pad was wet and with a sniff of realisation, she grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes.

No point in feeling sorry for herself, no point at all. The chemo’ was over in a couple of weeks and then she had the op and then it was recovery and she could put all this behind her. Maybe her memories of Tanya would finally go with it.

She put her phone on the desk. Knowing it was stupid, she pressed the button and the screen lit up. Tanya smiled up at her and her mouth wobbled. With a growl she unlocked it, went into settings and changed her save screen to blank. With a sigh of satisfaction, she slammed the phone back on the desk and went for her mouse.

Elizabeth turned up ten minutes later and stuck her head through the door. ‘Morning, Miss Frane, can I get you anything?’

Sam stared at her, wondering whether everyone who had chemo’ got the blurring around the edges of their eyes, and shook her head. The door was almost closed when she called her back.

‘Sorry, Liz, actually, yeah. I need to cancel the morning meetings. Sorry, I’m just…’

Liz nodded, eyes sad. ‘Yes, of course, no problem. Can I get you a drink or anything.’

‘Is it too early for gin?’

‘Probably just a bit. You could have coffee and pretend there’s liqueur in there.’

‘Couldn’t you just put liqueur in there instead of me pretending?’

Lis smiled and pulled the door too. Sam stared at it, at the dark wooden paneling covered in shiny lacquer, and ever so slowly put her head on the desk. She sat up guiltily when the phone rang, sweeping imaginary sleep dust from the corners of her eyes. Had she been asleep?

Face flushing red, she answered the phone.

‘Samantha Frane.’

‘Hello Samantha, it’s Doctor Islam. I’m sorry to bother you at work. Do you have a minute to talk?’

‘Of course, why, what’s up?’

There was a moment’s silence and it was enough for her to know. She bit her lip and grabbed the table edge with one hand, squeezing until her fingers ached.

‘We have all the results back now and I thought you would want to know immediately. The tumour is larger than we thought. Also, the cancer has spread into your lymph nodes. If we operate now, I think we can get it all, but I must warn you, it is a long procedure and will leave you out of action for some considerable time.’

He kept talking, but she didn’t hear him. She didn’t hear anything save the rushing in her ears. Her hand shook where it gripped the table and she stared in wonder at the whiteness of her knuckles. She’d never been that pale, so where did the whiteness come from?

‘Samantha, are you there?’

His voice, always so damned soft, flooded back into her consciousness.

‘Yes, yeah, I’m here.’

‘Do you understand what I am saying?’

‘Yeah, when will you operate?’

‘I have booked it in for Tuesday. I will not be operating though, this isn’t my area of expertise so I will pass you to a colleague of mine. She is outstanding, you will be in good hands. I need you to come in and see me today or tomorrow, can you do that?’

She organised things, autopilot taking over while her mind drifted up to the ceiling and stared down at her. She saw the straight, mousey-blond hair brushing her shoulders. The thin, even face that would be pretty if it weren’t so severe. She watched her lips wobble as she answered the questions and put the phone down. Then she slammed back into her body and heaved a great groan that doubled her over until she dropped from her chair and onto the floor.

‘Miss Frane, are you alright?’

Liz’s tremulous voice cut through her sobs and she looked up. Liz had never seen her cry and she knew what she must look like, but her PA came rushing around the table and wrapped her arms around her. It was probably the worse thing she could have done. Sam stiffened, drawing her shoulders in, tears drying up.

‘I’m fine, really. Can you get me an appointment with Mr Edwards. Needs to be today.’

Liz backed away, hands out to her. ‘Are you su—’

‘NOW, please, sorry. Yes, now please, straight away if possible, thank you.’

Liz dashed out the office and Sam slumped back in her seat. She spun the chair so she could stare out the big window behind her. She could see the river and thousands of people, going about their lives like she wasn’t this close to death.

She stood and sucked in a deep breath. She couldn’t be in here. She couldn’t talk to her boss and try and explain why her job didn’t matter anymore, why nothing mattered. She grabbed her jacket and ran. Liz called after her and it was probably something caring, something that she needed to hear, but she couldn’t hear it, not now.

Minutes later she burst out onto the street and sucked in a huge lungful of filthy London air. She could breathe again, as ludicrous as it sounded. Out here she was one among millions and not one of them knew her, or what was happening to her. She didn’t know why that was so important, but it was. She stamped past the yard and glanced at the van parked inside. It had been there when she left yesterday and it was still there. There was something creepy about it, with all the blacked out windows and nasty bumper stickers.

Sam set off for the river. It would be clearer there and she could pretend she was on holiday, cruising by the Thames. She used to come here with Tanya all the time. They’d hang out on the South Bank, or laze on the steps of St Paul’s. She sniffed and rubbed her eye with the heel of her hand, then looked in horror at the mascara smeared across it.

She reached Embankment and headed straight for the railings. As she leaned against them, the phone rang. She stiffened, like the railings had electricity running through them. She struggled to breathe as she pulled her phone from her jacket pocket. She was too hot and she yanked the jacket off as well, not yet daring to look at the phone screen. She didn’t need to.

She knew it was Tanya.

Next Installment Thursday 10th July

Part One is here

Thursday – Jackson Part Two

How had he lost so much time? Bloody tourists. He shoved his way through the traffic, growling under his breath. They were meeting in the park. Him and the two of them on a bench, all cosy and out the way.

He was sweating, a thick sheen of it all over his dome. Bloody, sodding bollocks. He ran over the road and into the park. They wouldn’t want to wait. And they wouldn’t be impressed. He hadn’t thought he cared that much but turns out he did.

He slowed as he neared the centre of the park and followed the instructions. He spotted them before they spotted him and took a moment to examine. They were wearing suits. Should he have worn a suit? He spat, drawing stares from the people around him. Why did he care? Bloody Chinese bastards, he was better than them.

Jackson stomped over and stopped before the bench, arms folded. They looked up at him and for a brief moment his blood ran cold. Bitch had dead eyes, but they were nothing on these two.

‘Hi, you Li and Han?’

They still stared at him. One of them, who knew which, lifted an arm and carefully examined his watch.

‘Yeah, I know, bloody tourists in the way.’ He stopped himself before he could say anything else stupid. Their eyebrows rose and he opened his mouth again, then shut it. He shifted from foot to foot.

‘We do not appreciate being made to wait.’

Jackson blinked. The guy had an American accent, bang on. Weird.

‘Yeah, like I said, tourists.’

The one who hadn’t spoken patted the bench beside him. Jackson was sitting before he had time to think. This was that bastard flower seller’s fault. He’d thrown him. He’d been having a good morning and now it was all over the shop because of him. Sodding roses. He scrubbed his hand on the knee of his jeans and turned to the two Chinese men.

‘Let’s put this little issue of lateness behind us, shall we, and begin again. I am Li, then is Hen.’

Jackson stuck out a hand and received the limpest handshakes known to man. What was he so worried about? These guys were creepy but he could snap them both without blinking. Hell, bitch could snap them.

‘Thank you for agreeing to meet with us. We thought this would be a good time in our relationship to develop a deeper understanding. It is important that we are all on the same page, you understand?’

Jackson nodded, waiting. There was a but in this. He didn’t know what it was, but it was definitely there.

‘Tell me, Jackson, where do you see yourself in five years time?’

Jackson blinked. He hadn’t been asked that since school. When they asked him there, he told them he’d be robbing cars. Turns out he went a bit further, but they never expected anything from him, so cars seemed pretty big at the time.

‘Dunno. Working with you, I suppose.’

Was that the right answer? His hands were in his lap and he rubbed them together.

‘I see. You wouldn’t want to be in our position, making people like you do all the work?’

‘Well, maybe, dunno.’

‘You haven’t thought about this very much, have you, Jackson? I only ask because we want to work with people who think ahead, people who think about the big picture.’

‘Uh, yeah, I think about it. I mean, I’m getting a new van. Gonna have straps and stuff, make it much easier. Means I can get more in one go, too.’

The men looked at one another and turned back to him. He thought the one doing the talking was grinning, but maybe not. ‘Well, that’s very good to hear, truly.’ Li nodded and smiled for sure now and Jackson found himself smiling back.

‘We have a proposition for you, Mr Jackson.’

‘Uh, it’s just Jackson.’

‘Well. We are expanding our operations. Until now we have been focusing on older children, those strong enough to work and satisfy our clients’ needs. We wish to diversify and become more specialist. We want younger children, toddlers. Can you still work with us?’

He didn’t have to think. ‘Yeah, course. Don’t matter what age they are. Gonna be trickier to find though, less homeless ones.’

‘Well, that will be your challenge. The rest of our operations will continue in just the same way and we would expect to receive children, not promises or excuses. Do you understand?’

Jackson nodded, face heating up. He could get em, but it’d take longer. He might have to bring in some other people as well.

‘When do we start?’

‘Mr Jackson, you have already started. Thank you.’

He turned away and the two men talked in quiet voices. Realising he was dismissed, Jackson stood and walked away. He was dazed, thrown by what had just happened. They didn’t want to go for drinks or nothing, and what was that about? Still, they wanted to stick with him and that was just fine.

He stopped. They hadn’t discussed price. Kiddies were gonna take a lot more time, they had to be worth more. He turned back to the bench, but it was empty. Dammit, where the hell had they gone?

He did a slow circle, catching sight of people through the trees. But every time he moved to see them, it was other people. Creepy bastards. He headed back to the bench, then turned to leave the park. He spotted them, standing over near the exit. He raised his hand and dashed across, making sure to keep his voice down until they were close.

‘Here, we didn’t talk about price.’

The look they gave him was strange, like they’d never met and Li stepped forward. It might have been Hen, he wasn’t sure.

‘I am sorry, sir, I don’t know you. Nor do I know what price you are talking about. Excuse me.’

He turned away and fighting the urge not to, Jackson grabbed his arm and pulled him back around. ‘What the hell you talking about? You can’t pay me the same for the young-uns, so don’t try and bullshit me.’

Li looked at the hand on his arm and up at Jackson. His face split into a smile and there was something oddly familiar about it. He couldn’t pin it down and what happened next took all thoughts of familiarity from his mind. The man’s face split apart, his lower jaw dropping until it rested on his chest while the top of his head disappeared backward. From the darkness of his throat a pair of hands reached up and grabbed either side of his widening mouth.

With the sound like a blocked toilet finally clearing, a head emerged from his throat, followed by a body and a young girl climbed out. Her hair stuck wet to her head and her face was covered in spit. She scrubbed it away with her sleeve, staring at him. Jackson backed away, hands pressed to the sides of his head. He heard mumbling and realised it was him. ‘What the hell, what the hell, what the hell?’

The other man fell onto his hands and knees and his suit jacket ripped all the way up the back seam. The skin beneath it was bruised deep purple but now it tore open. Jackson winced, expecting blood to erupt, but instead a child emerged to stand atop the wrecked body.

Jackson took another step back, his heel caught and he landed on his arse. He didn’t feel the pain, his eyes fixed on the two children stealing toward him. There was something familiar about them also, but he couldn’t place it. He couldn’t place anything except the sweat running down his back and the way his hands shook where they gripped his head.

He had a moment to ask what was happening before he felt the hands. Tiny hands gripping his waist and shoulders and splayed flat across his head. He shrieked and scrambled to his feet, breaking free of the children surrounding him. He dashed away and they watched him go.

He got to the entrance to the park and slowed. They weren’t following. He took deep breaths, head swinging to and fro as he rested his hands on his legs. They’d poisoned him. This was some sort of test by those creepy bastards. They’d spiked him somehow and he was hallucinating.

He shook his head and slapped himself around the face. He drew odd looks from the passers-by but right now he couldn’t give a toss. Something brushed his leg and he looked down. A young girl, no more than twelve, – he was a good judge – stood beside him. She looked up, pale green eyes set in deep, black sockets.

‘Hi Jackson, you wanna come play?’

He screamed and lashed out. His fist collided with her face and something gave beneath the blow. People passing by stopped now and stared at him. One man came forward, hands out-stretched, and Jackson flailed at him, batting his hands away.

‘Why don’t you want to play? You said we’d have fun.’

He turned back to the girl. Her face was caved in, one eye burst and the bone of the cheek cracked and poking through the flesh. His stomach heaved. He could handle blood as well as the next man, but she was still standing, still talking to him through crushed lips.

He wanted to run but he was surrounded. He put his head down and charged at the nearest one. He’d make a path and they’d never stop him. The person moved out the way and he dashed straight into the railings on the edge of the park. His head struck the metal and he groaned and staggered away.

More hands grabbed him and his stagger became a fall. He landed on his back hard enough to knock the air from his lungs and he gasped and lashed out with fists and feet. Nothing connected and the hands returned. Soon he was pinned. All about him, children’s faces looked down. They were all familiar in their own way.

‘We’re yours, Jackson.’

‘You took us.’

‘And you tried to sell us, but we’ll always be yours.’

A boy, twelve or thirteen, loomed large in his sight. Then hands went into his mouth and he felt them pull his tongue away and slip down his throat. He gagged and vomited but nothing came up. The hands went further and he thought his face would split apart. From the pain that came next, he thought maybe it had.

The hands slipped down until he swore he felt them in his chest. Then the head followed and the shoulders and he screamed, the sound a gurgled, muted cry. His entire body was tearing apart and why wasn’t he unconscious?

His mouth closed up around the boy’s feet and his scream came out whole now. His body shook, great convulsions that made his head slam against the floor. His arms were free and he tried to stand but he couldn’t move. He got as far as sitting up before the hands pulled him down again.

The next was a girl and she was definitely familiar. He’d taken her only a couple of weeks ago. She’d been sleeping out of the hostel and they were his favourite. Promise of a warm bed and she jumped into the van. Now though, her hands were pulling at his lips and try as he might, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

Interlude

The flower seller turned away and vanished into the crowd. What made it worse were the number of children queuing for their turn. Jackson had been at it a while. He should have felt remorse, some sort of pain at what he was being asked to do. But there wasn’t even a hint.

Truth was, the flower seller had never expected to succeed. How Jackson got on the list was anyone’s guess. The subjects were supposed to be on the edge, but he was well past it. The choice he made today was between evil and greater evil. There was no salvation so far as the flower seller could see.

The street around him faded and the stone of his chamber came into view as he dropped back into his body. He stood from his chair and stretched. He glanced back through the window to the park and the man lying prostrate on the concrete path. To those standing around, he was just another lost soul who’d finally slipped free of sanity. But the flower seller could still see the long line of children.

There was supposed to be salvation, real salvation that made a difference. The list was tough this week. If he had the choice, he wouldn’t be beholden to it like all the rest. But the truth was, he liked being a seller. It was just the weekly reviews that made it drag. Still, two in either column. There were three days left, it could go either way. He picked up the list and scanned it. So many choices being made.

He sighed. Now and then he got a sense of just how big their job was. When he was down among the nitty gritty, he could ignore the bigger picture, but the list trailed off his desk and out into space and the end was somewhere far below him.

He needed a drink. He dumped the list on the table and jumped.

Next Installment Monday 7th July

Part One is here

Thursday – Jackson Part One

Jackson woke and slid from his bed. Bitch was still sleeping. She could stay there. Better to not hear her bitching voice this early in the morning. Breakfast, comb through the beard thirty times, wax on the scalp and out to the van. He squeezed behind the wheel, head brushing the roof and huge hands gripping the wheel.

Busy day. He checked himself in the rear view. Beard looked good, eyes not so much. He’d been drinking too much. Anything to block out the bitch moaning and whining at him every night. He had red bits around his dark irises, blood vessels that burst and spilled into the whites. He sniffed, hawked and spat out the window. It struck the dust of the yard and rolled into a tiny dust-covered ball.

Shit game last night. Not one good player on the pitch. They fired the managers but it was the players getting the money to be shit every week. He spat again and pulled out of the yard to the road, yellow dust following in the van’s wake.

He prodded his nose as he waited to pull out at the lights. Bitch had hit him a few weeks back and he was beginning to think she’d broken it. Not the first time, which was why it was so difficult to be sure. But it moved differently and felt even more spread out than usual.

He pulled out, giving the finger to the guy beeping him and headed into town. He’d park up at Pavan’s and the guy could like it. Too much to do to worry about the wardens. Far too bloody much to do. They were coming in tonight.

He bit his lip, the only sign he’d ever give he was worried. Worried was too strong a word for it. He wasn’t worried about shit, ‘cept maybe bitch sleeping around. She was too, no doubt. But still, it bore thinking about. Two years and seven months and now they were coming to visit. Why?

He’d ask them when they got here and if they couldn’t give him an answer, he’d find someone else to sell to. There were plenty who wanted ‘em. Hell, they were queuing up at the door. He stopped at the lights and checked the back. Ropes all present and correct.

He reached Pavan’s without any of the wankers on the road driving into him. Always a bloody miracle, considering how many there were these days. He parked up and went for a walk. He strolled down to Embankment, checking out the tourists, watching for the weak spots.

There were a couple of girls, young, bag straps over both shoulders. He approached them with a warm smile but they hurried away. Too old anyway. He kept moving, watching, waiting. He headed for the South Bank. There were school trips there sometimes, but today it was empty. He did spot a couple of homeless kids, familiar territory. One was a young boy, long lanky black hair. The other was a girl, older than the boy and pretty in a skinny sort of way. Bob hair cut and thin lips. He headed over but they spotted him and moved on quick enough.

It was fine. This was window shopping. He stomped over the Millennium bridge and strolled back toward Embankment. Most of the way there when he smelled them. They took him back and he stopped dead, eyes watering. For a moment he was in mam’s garden, surrounded by rose bushes, watching her bustle about. She looked down and smiled at him and he opened his mouth. His breath came in short gasps and he placed one hand against his heart. Why did it hurt so bad? The smell faded and some semblance of reality returned. He stared at mam until the rot appeared and she faded away.

He sneered and wandered over to the flower seller. The flowers were impressive. Mam would have loved them. He resisted the urge to buy them all and toss ‘em in the river.

‘Nice stall.’

‘Thank you, sir, perhaps I can interest you in something?’

He was taking the piss. What was it with that stupid voice? ‘I ain’t buying no flowers.’

‘Perhaps for a lady friend? Ladies always love to be given flowers.’

‘Don’t know no ladies.’

‘I see.’

The flower seller looked down at his feet. He was a weird one, skin all messed up like he’d been burned or something. Jackson blinked and the skin was back to normal.

‘How about one red rose then? The bitches love a red rose.’

He balled his hands into fists and leaned over the table between the flowers. ‘You taking the piss?’

‘Not at all, sir, merely meeting you in a place I thought you’d be comfortable.’

‘I ain’t never gonna be comfortable round a poofter like you, get it?’

‘Absolutely, sir. I can offer you a sample. Here, take the rose for free, please.’

Jackson looked at the flower held out to him and the scent caught his nose and trapped it. He could see mam, he could almost hear her. With a growl he lashed out and smashed the head of the rose, sending the petals flying. He stomped away, not wanting to look the flower seller in the eye and not sure why.

He got a few paces before he stopped and checked himself. He always looked people in the eye. He turned, hands shaking from being clenched so hard and approached the man. He stood where he’d left him, the empty rose stem still clutched in his hand. As Jackson approached, he raised his head and their eyes met.

‘That was unnecessary.’

‘Screw you, offering me a rose.’

‘What is so bad about offering you a rose?’

‘What the heck? You think I’m a poofter or summink?’

‘I merely thought you might like something to give your woman when you got home. I’m sure you have one, you carry yourself like a man used to getting what he wants.’

‘Damn right. Why would I want to give her anything?’

‘Not to put too fine a point on it, to keep her sweet. Sometimes it’s easier to stroke than keep clear of the claws.’

What the hell was he talking about? He was right though, she wouldn’t… he glanced at his watch and swore. They would be here in a few minutes and he was too far away. What the hell had he been thinking? And where had the bloody time gone?

He dashed down Embankment, leaving the roses on the stall.

Interlude

The flower seller watched him go, satisfied with the smear of water and rose petal on the back of Jackson’s hand. It didn’t count as receiving, not strictly, but it would do.

That was lazy. But if these were the only tools they gave him, what did they expect? He could probably have tried harder, but he’d tried and that’s what counted. He turned back to the stall and started to pack up. There was work still to be done.

He tried to keep the smile from his face, but he couldn’t help cracking a grin. What a singularly unpleasant man. His list entry had made it quite clear how nasty a piece of work he was, but he was all that and more in the flesh.

He felt it, his old life, at times like this. It had been centuries, but he couldn’t help remembering the old thrill when an opportunity arose. It was, he thought, the creative part of himself, stifled from his time in the Flights. They didn’t appreciate creativity in the Dome. They appreciated numbers and results.

Well, he could have both. He opened his jacket and one by one placed the bunches of flowers inside, where they vanished. He whistled quietly to himself as he worked.

Next Installment Thursday 3rd July