Breakdown (28 page)

During the course of the day, I raid the kitchen. Cooked chicken, slices of bacon, half a loaf of bread, as many apples as I can carry. I stash the food in little hideaways. The bread and meat under an upturned bowl, behind jars in the pantry; the apples tied in a scarf behind the rubbish bins. Then I sit down and draw myself a map of the estate. I write in every detail I've discovered. I mark the most likely sentry points and shade in the most risky areas to cross. I calculate the timings of the patrols. Impatiently I wait for nightfall.

When I'm certain Marcy's in bed, I creep down to the kitchen, collect the food and stow it in a bag. I tiptoe into the General's study. As quietly as I can, I slide up the sash window. It squeaks. The glass rattles. I freeze.
Don't let Marcy come.
A breeze ruffles the curtains, lifts the corners of papers, scatters them across the floor. Let them stay there. I listen for footsteps.

The first patrol passes.
All clear?
I sit on the window sill and swing my legs up and through. I duck my head and slide out. Across the flower border and I'm outside. Down three stone steps to the Great Drive.
Be very careful.
Soldiers might shoot first, ask questions later.

The Great Drive circles the house. It's wide, covered in gravel. I slip off my shoes. Hold them in my hand, tread carefully, so that no stones crunch underfoot.
Very, very quietly now, Melissa. Somebody will be on duty somewhere.
Carefully I cross the gravelled walkway, reach the steps to the formal garden.
Bit easier here.
Hide behind those trees.
Rows of clipped trees like kids' drawings. Duck behind the rosebushes and hedges.
Will Tarquin be there? Will I get a chance to see him? Go back. Before it's too late.
In the moonlight I dart from hedge to hedge, the bag of food clutched tight to me.
Listen for the tread of booted feet.

In the distance, voices. Soldiers? Maybe not, maybe workers still on their way home?
Don't move.
I stay hidden inside the formal garden until the voices fade.

I wait for the moon to go behind a cloud. Iron grey sky. I race across the wide lawn. At the far end I throw myself flat onto the grass. The drive curves up to the front door. I have to cross it. I lie very still by bushes, listening, watching.
Wait. They are there somewhere
. At last I see the guards, two of them in a small shelter by the walled garden, a thing like a playground house. I inch on my stomach to the very edge of the drive. I'm going to have to risk it. Now, before the clouds clear again. I worm my way across the drive. In the very centre the clouds break. I freeze.
Wait.
My heart pounds. Nothing.

I get into the woodland. Once there I keep close between the trees, watch behind me. It's only about half a mile down to the village.
Run now.
Fast. I pull my shoes back on and run.

On the far side of the woodland is a long avenue where people in the old days probably strolled on pleasant afternoons. I avoid it. I stay inside the tree line. Cross little glades where stone statues cavort. Bacchus, half naked, raises a marble hand with a short staff to the skies. Pan, bearded, horned, on cloven hooves, playing pipes. Eros, bow in hand. Urns on plinths.

For some reason, the statues remind me of my dream, when Tarquin came to me chanting hymns, banging pans.
His lips on mine.
I think of Nan and all her Gods.

Trees stretch up, smooth bark, twisting trunks, pulled out like barley twist on old furniture. Leafless. Cold. There's nobody in the woods. Nobody to follow me.
Be careful, Melissa. Make sure.
I crouch down and listen.

Nan told me that.

Never be too sure. Don't trust completely. The calm comes before the storm. Double check.

Out of the woods. Over the wall.
Across the old village square to the back of the police station. Soldiers. Some of them are drinking. I hear conversations, coarse comments about girls, what they would do to them if they had their way.

I hide behind a barrel.
Don't let them catch you, Melissa.
They go on towards the village, swilling back their drink. Scatter. Shout. Move off towards the barracks. As quiet as a mouse, I slip round to the old police station.

Carefully I check the building – one storey high, low slate roof. At each window I raise myself up and peer in. Darkness. Silence. Cold stone. I whisper, ‘Tarquin?
Tarquin?
'

Window after window. No answer. I'm three quarters of the way round the building, desperate.

At last, a little window. Too high. I pick up a tiny pebble and stand on tiptoe and throw it in. No glass. The pebble rattles against stone. I can just reach the bars. I hold on. ‘
Tarquin?
' I hiss.

‘
Melissa?
'

Thank God
.

There is a God.

‘Go back,' he says. ‘They'll catch you. They'll flog you.'

I doubt it. I don't tell him. I don't think the General will let anyone flog me. He'd prefer to do that himself.

‘I'll be OK,' I say. ‘I brought you food.'

I push the handle of the bag through the bars. ‘Pull it in.'

‘Thank heavens, I'm starving,' he says. ‘I've been eating pig swill.'

He hauls the bag through the bars. ‘Meliss, I can't do this much longer. I'm going to lose it. I don't wanna make things worse.'

‘Hang on,' I say. ‘Please, hang on. There's a plan.'

‘How's Lenny?'

‘He's fine.' No time for details.

‘Be ready any time from now,' I whisper. ‘You remember the moron guy, by the tunnel out of Games City?'

‘Yeah?'

‘As soon as I get you out, the guard needs the same treatment.'
Please let him understand
.

‘What about Lenny?'

‘We'll get him out. Just KO the guard as soon as he releases you. I'll sort everything else out.' I hope I will. I hope to God I will.

My mind starts spinning.
Just get Tarquin out.

‘OK,' he says.

‘I gotta go.' I reach my hand as far as possible, press it to the bars, cold steel, chill stone. I push my fingers into the space between.

I'm expecting to feel his hand touch mine, but instead something warm and soft brushes my palm.

‘Meliss'?' he says.

I can't answer. My heart's racing.

‘Meliss'?' he says again. I feel his breath on my skin, hot, ticklish.

I try to speak. My throat closes up.

‘Thank you,' he whispers and he presses his lips into the soft centre of my hand and kisses it.

It's not long before Harold's back.

‘I've set it up,' he says.

‘OK,' I say. ‘But you haven't forgotten about Lenny, Tarquin and me getting out?' I say. I push the point home. ‘I want your plan for that.'

‘It's covered.'

‘It better be,' I mutter.

‘Right, let's get down to details: one, the wine order for Billson, the internal manager, will come soon, could be any moment. The truck those wine crates supposedly need to be shipped out on is leaving tomorrow afternoon, so it's going to be
very
soon.

‘Two, the trick with this is not so much catching Billson red-handed – now that I fixed it so that Marcy will denounce him – but getting believable witnesses to denounce the adjutant.
That
is going to be
very
difficult. He's a powerful person around here and he'll back Billson. If any prisoner denounces
him
, they'll be sorry.'

I sigh. I didn't realise we'd have to oust the adjutant as well.

‘But I've got one main man in Barrack Five who'd very much like the adjutant's job and is ready to risk everything to get it. He's put his squad of soldiers on watching this place round the clock from now on. The official excuse is that I've told them you intend to do a runner.'

‘
What?
'
I rise to my feet, suddenly angry.

‘Calmness,' says Harold quickly. ‘That's only the official reason. It works in my favour, so when you go missing, they won't think I'm involved. On the contrary they'll know I tried to raise the alarm.'

‘So how does it work in
my
favour?' I can't believe it. Harold is just taking care of Harold.

‘Just hang on,' says Harold. ‘First things first. Marcy Bruttlesworth, on side. I've informed her of the intended theft. She's enraged. She's going to sit guard over every wine bottle as if it were made of gold.

‘But I've told her not to interrupt the theft. Because we want to trace the bottles to the soldiers who're behind it. I frightened her a bit, told her it's part of a coup being planned against the General, and the major in Barrack Five wants to expose the conspirators.

‘So when Billson takes the bottles, she's to let him get away with it. I will have him followed by the Barrack Five squaddies. When he delivers the bottles to the soldiers at the truck station, I will get my wannabe adjutant to inform the inspection team that the current adjutant is allowing theft and profiting from plunder.

‘Marcy will denounce Billson and will point a finger at the current adjutant as planning a coup.

‘The inspection team will descend on the truck, find the bottles and arrest everyone.

‘And finally, Marcy will tell the General. Swear blind she heard them plotting against him, and I will be nominated by every main man I've got for promotion to internal manager. Barrack Five will provide a new adjutant. Marcy will be reinstated in the General's good books and –'

‘Yeah,' I say, ‘and what about me?'

‘That is the beauty of this plan. You won't have to wait for my ascent to power. Tomorrow evening the coal train goes to Newcastle. While everything is in uproar you will go to the prison cells and use your charms, a bottle of brandy and a forged release order, “signed” by the soon-to-be disgraced adjutant.' He produces a bottle of brandy, a piece of paper and some clothes. ‘And get your young man out.'

I take the bottle and look at the release paper. It looks genuine. I shake out the clothes: a top and a very short skirt. A kid's track suit. A hoody and jeans for Tarquin.

‘What about Lenny?' I say.

‘I will be being busy and honest and fully alibi-ed, between Biome Thirty-four with a soldier (who owes me a few favours) and Lenny – who, by the way, I've just had identified for a transfer – and Biome Sixteen, which is right beside the train station. I will escort young Lenny between the two biomes during the late afternoon shift.'

‘O-K,' I say carefully.

‘So I'll meet you all out back as the train's leaving, hand Lenny over, and my man in Biome Sixteen will swear blind I delivered him, but that he ran off on his own. All that's left then is for you to get on the train.'

It all seems very easy. Bit too easy.

‘And how are you going to get us on the train?'

‘Leave it to me,' says Harold.

I pray to God it'll work.

‘Only one snag,' says Harold.

‘What?'

‘You mustn't let the charge officer at the police cells check that release paper.'

They make their move quickly. I'm almost off guard. One minute I'm running up and down in the big house, cleaning, sorting, chopping endless vegetables, washing endless plates till I'm sick of it. The next minute there's the internal manager with two others at the front door.

‘Who are you?' says Billson. Like he doesn't know.

The second one goggles at me.

‘Answer him,' says the third.

‘Look, be quick,' says Billson, tapping his wrist like he's got a watch there. ‘We're here on business.'

I don't say anything. I bob a real old-fashioned curtsey like Nan showed me. She'd learned how to do it for a play once, in her school.

They like the curtsey. The second one still can't take his eyes off me. He's staring. I don't like him.

‘Who are you?' repeats Billson.

‘I'm new here,' I say.

‘Where's Marcy?' says Billson.

I think of Marcy sitting guard in the cellars. ‘Gone out,' I say.

‘Gone where and for how long?'

‘I don't know. She didn't tell me. Ages, probably.'

One of the men laughs.

‘Well, we'll need her,' he says. ‘So you better go and find her.'

‘What'll I say?' I ask.

‘Just that she's supposed to be here to report, and she knows better than to leave a new girl on her own in charge of the big house.'

I clock what they're up to.

‘OK,' I say. ‘But who's going to be in charge, if I'm off?' I look at them like I don't know what they're planning.

‘You better be quick then,' says one man, ‘because nobody will be, and you'll be for the high jump if something goes missing.'

I'm right. I'm almost surprised. They're so bold. As soon as I'm down the drive fetching the elusive Marcy, they're going to be into the house and out with the crates.

But nevertheless, I curtsey again and bob up and down like I'm a bottle fallen into a bloody river, and then I'm off down the long drive.

And I'm smiling.

I'm smiling for real, because they don't know Marcy's watching everything. They don't know the Barrack Five boys are clocking them this very minute.

I remember Harold's words.

‘Those barrack boys will be on duty. Any bottle that goes in or out from now till the General returns will be witnessed.'

I step out down the lane. The way's clear then. Get to the first hedge and duck behind it. Wait. Wait until they've loaded up all those crates of wine and left.

Retrieve the bottle of brandy and bag from their hiding place in the ditch. Change into escape outfit.

And set out to rescue Tarquin.