Chasing Freedom Home (Malinding) (13 page)

30

'Where can I buy plastic board? I think it's called floatoplast? You build small boats out of it. Plastic sheeting stuff? I saw a video on You Tube. You mark your boat out on the stuff, score the joints then fold it out like origami, when you make a swan out of a sheet of paper…'

'Isn't that a herb?'

'Probably. Sheets of plywood then? That would do, especially if we can buy the waterproof sort. Lots of two by ones for the chines and gunwales and ribs. Glue, nails, screws, a small outboard - an old Seagull would do, they last forever. A pole for a mast and some nylon sheets for a sail. Paint; we'll need paint. And ropes.'

'My dad like painting things. He used to drive my mum mad. She'd get him ready for a village meeting and something would catch his eye; he'd disappear then turn up minutes later covered in black paint. Usually it was black. The mechanical girl rescued him once when he was making a mess of that gate into the compound. She got him to show her how it should be done and she pretended to be so pleased and delighted with her new skill he gave her all the paintwork jobs from then on. She was good at it too.'

'Good at painting or good at pretending?'

'Both, I suppose. You'll meet her before long. She's a senior lecturer at the Craft and Technology College. She married a weaver, Sam's brother, when she lived in England. They came back to The Gambia before the troubles started in England.'

'Who is Sam; what does he do?'

'She, not he. Samantha. Ex-British MP, came out here years ago to trace her family, I think. Met her partner, Izzy, split up from her, met up again years later. They live at Mussukunda. It started off as a feminist refuge, I think, but it's an international centre of excellence now; world famous.'

'Can we get there by boat?'

'I don't think so; it's too far in land. Oh: you want some plywood?'

'Well-done, lover. You can multi-task after all.'

'Like you could last night?'

  'I want to introduce our child to boating before he's born. We may have to rely on his skills as a fisherman when we're old.'

'I want to be old with you. We can sit on the veranda and watch our forty-seven great-grand-children playing.'

'Maybe your very first child, the one you had with Jane, maybe he or she will be living not faraway with his or her family. I know you think of Jane, and the life you would have had with her. I wish she had lived: I'm not used to having friends but just for those days on the boat I knew what it's was like to have a friend.'

'And now you've got a family full of friends. Especially Binta, I think? You two spend hours together.'

'Binta is my teacher; cooking, gardening, sewing - she's teaching me so much. She's even teaching me about sex - what I can do to interest you and keep me interested too.'

'Rachel! You're discussing our sex-life with my stepmother? I thought you were a nice girl!'

'I was a nice girl. Then Binta showed me how to cook Atayah properly and you drank all of the glass full and my evil spell enchanted you, and we made a baby and now we're going to build a boat together. Let's go and buy some plywood. I'm not sure about plastic boats on the great River Gambia.'

'I'll try to call the Mechanical Girl. She'll know the best place to buy the things you need.'

'Has she got a normal name? Fatou or Sirra or Tida or Walton or something?'

'Of course she has, but there are hundreds of girls and women called Fatou, but if you mention the Mechanical Girl everyone knows who you mean. Like you and your nick-name.'

'I haven't got a nickname. I've never had a nickname. Oh. Oh, no. Not?'

' 'fraid so. Fatou Manneh is the Mechanical Girl because she invents things and you're the Singing Girl because you sort of sing when we …'

'I don’t. Well, maybe a little.'

'You blush too. It starts round your belly button and it spreads all the way up your chest and out to your nipples and up to your throat. Next time I'll check how far down it goes. I'll bet your…'

'Shut up, or I'll never sing again. Ever.'

'Nor blush?'

'No. I'll do like medieval virgins did - I'll go and live in a monastery.'

'I think you mean "nunnery" darling. And you're a bit far-gone now to qualify as a virgin, maybe? Not that I understand these things but I do know a girl who knows where to buy wood! Ow!'

He made the call as his lady went off to share giggles with her stepmother-in-law. He found them crouching over a flat area of sand, drawing vague boat shapes with a stick. He stood watching for a moment. The two women, as far apart in origin as racists could imagine, worked together as a team. One taught, the other learned, questioned, suggested, and agreed. There was far more that linked them, united them, than could ever divide them. Love and friendship and respect could change the world. He tiptoed away, too full of emotion to speak. His life had been forfeit, ripped apart and nearly lost, in what had been supposed to be one of the most civilised countries on the planet. Yet here, in the cradle of human life, he had been given another chance. The tears came unbidden, in broad daylight, and he was fortunate that it was his mother who found him, racked by sobs, unable to speak. She led him to her compound, and when the door of the house closed behind them, hugged him to her, silent, as she waited for the calm which must come. It's like a fever, is grief, she thought. It must break; achieve its crisis, climax, and break. Rachel has worked a miracle, and she did it without speaking a word till it was time to speak. God must indeed love my son, to guide him to two such women as Jane and Rachel. She waited and, when the sobbing had ceased,

'Take a shower, my son; go to her clean and enable her to sing again. I remember when your father mourned his first family he lived again in my arms, in my bed. It became his bed and the song became you, my first son. The plans for your boat will keep till another day and Binta will remind you of them.'

31

The Lord Protector sighed and pulled the documents towards him. His new playmate was far from satisfactory. Young firm flesh was all very well but the stupid girl didn't seem to know what her bits were for. He missed Theresa. He'd received her message, "Complete" but was he wise to trust her? That doctor at the clinic had been dispensed with - he was the first candidate, a test pilot, for the IP67 treatment. He drew the top sheet of paper from the file.

IP67

Assisted death sentences for selected enemies of the State.             

Introduced this day: Unrepentant criminals will be placed in large, airtight, glass display stands located in provincial zoos. They will be displayed alongside carnivorous animals and, when dead, they will be fed to them. This is a merciful and practical method of dealing with potential recidivists.

Chester Zoo was near to the clinic; the man would be displayed there. He wouldn't last long. Doctor Annutt was a diabetic with a wounded foot. He'd make a useful snack for the last lion in the zoo. Maybe there was also a place for a few death displays at selected intervals along the Embankment? He strolled to the window and looked down. A few pedestrians plodded along the footpath, not daring to glance up at the Palace of Westminster for fear of attracting unwelcome attention. The Watchmen had eyes everywhere. Still, a glass death box would take their minds off their individual worries. He added the instruction to the document. He would deal with one more Act of Government then call for the girl.

IP66

Progress Report.

As we promised, and the PPP keeps its promises, here is a full and honest report of our progress to date.

The PPP has been your government for only six months but, with your help, already 293,849 illegal immigrants have been deported from our shores.

The majority of these criminals had been employed in the places where they could have done you most harm.

Believe it or not they were working in our hospitals; many in trusted and respected positions such as doctors, midwives and nurses.

Your PPP cares for you, protects you and is ever awake to the enemy who seeks to harm you.

Our economy was beggared by the burden of supporting these people who, like leeches, sucked the lifeblood of our nation.

We have a saying about 'being murdered in your bed' - if you had found yourself in one of those hospital beds staffed by immigrants you may well have been murdered in your bed!

If you think that a relative or friend of yours died unexpectedly in hospital please report the facts of the case to your regional Watchman.

Help your PPP to care for real hard-working English people.

That looked perfectly satisfactory, although, on second thoughts, the statistics could be improved. The Protector of all England thought for a moment, and then added the figure 3 in front of the other numbers. Three million undesirables deported; better, and, as a bonus, automatically reduced the numbers who had perished in the death camps. He shook his head and smiled; he must remember to call them clinics or re-habilitation centres. He signed both documents with a flourish and called for his whore.

She tiptoed into the room, trying as always, to be invisible. She was already naked, crying and frightened. It was good when they were frightened, he thought, but it was better when they pretended they weren't. He stared at the girl with disgust. What sort of an adversary could she be? He had done everything to her that a man could do to a woman and all she could do was to cry. She even cried before he touched her; where was the triumph in that?

'Here girl, come and sit beside me.' He placed another chair alongside his, but just out of arm's reach. 'Listen, I'm not going to do anything to you; I just want to talk to you. I'll ask you a few questions and you must answer honestly? Understand?' The sobs re-doubled.

'For fuck's sake, stop that racket; shut up. What's your name?'

'Donna, sir.'

'Donna? You can speak then? Right Donna. Do you love me? Tell the truth. Do you love me?' Everyone loved the Lord Protector; there were huge placards at mile intervals along every road and motorway proclaiming this simple truth. Everyone loved him. It was death not to do so.

Donna remained silent. It was the only answer. She tried to stop the sobs, and failed. She had been excited and frightened when the matron of the orphanage had told her that she had been selected to work as assistant to The Lord Protector. Fright was the correct response. She had assisted him with every orifice but he could not be satisfied. She had everything a girl desired; she knew this because everybody told her so. All the clothes a girl could desire, the sexiest dresses and the highest heels. Her room was beautiful. The most modern furniture from Scandinavia, smuggled especially for her. The bed was king size and she dreaded it. Her narrow bed in the orphanage, with its lumpy mattress, had been a refuge; this bed was a desert where terror reigned, not sleep. There were only nightmares here. She risked looking at him. God save her! He was smiling. He must have thought of some especially horrible way of disposing of her.

'Donna, listen. I will have you one more time and then you are free. You saw Theresa leave? She is still alive. I will take her back, recall her to my bed. You can leave, or I could find you a nice partner. Come on, let’s go to bed. He stood up and walked to the door of the daybed room. He glanced back; she was following him.

'Doesn't know what else to do, poor little cow' he thought, and decided exactly how he would kill her.

32

Theresa ditched the Range Rover at the side of the M6 just north of Stafford. It proved more difficult to burn than she had imagined.  When it did burst into flames the blast knocked her off her feet. A few vehicles drove past as she escaped but none stopped. Asking questions or offering to help was a dodgy business nowadays, she thought. It saved her from nosy parkers and she made her way across the fields to the canal. Very few people could afford to keep a narrow boat as a holiday home now and she expected to be able to find a deserted one which would shelter her for a night or two while she concocted the next stage of her plan. There was no guarantee that any boat she found would not be bugged as a trap for people in exactly her position, but she had never heard Geoff mention canals or boats in the years she had served under him. At the end of the day, she reasoned, she would be either dead or free and just at the moment she didn't much care which it would be.

All the boats were moored on the opposite side of the canal. The cameras picked her up as she crossed the bridge which carried a disused farm track across from the towpath side. She struggled through long grass and finally reached the boats. From closure inspection they looked a sorry armada. The prettily painted roses and castles had faded. Some windows were broken, some doors hung open. One boat, a little less shabby than its rivals, seemed inviting. "Gladstone's Recall" almost glowed in the intermittent sunshine. The windows, so far as she could see, were unbroken. The door was closed but the lock surrendered to a cleverly wielded credit card. She was in, not daring to look over her shoulder. The interior was dusty but the expected smell of damp failed to greet her. The cushions felt dry. She tested a bed which proved supportive as she stretched out on it. There was water, neither slimy nor smelly, in the tap. Gas hissed as she tested a burner on the cooker. She sat at the table and surveyed her new home. There were matches and fire lighters beside the coal scuttle, which was half full. A shiver ran down her back.  Somebody had left teabags in the tea caddy. There was a gadget which emitted sparks when she squeezed it, and five minutes later, there was a mug of tea in her hand. This was too good to be true. She finished the tea and started to leave. The voice stopped her. A slightly metallic voice, crackly amplification.

'Theresa, don't go. Stay the night and I'll come and collect you myself in the morning. You've done a good job. There's a vacancy; you can have your old job back and I'll throw in another promotion for you. You get to keep the title and the money. OK? See you in the morning. I know you won't try to make a run for it, you're too clever for that. I might have to spank you though - I was fond of the Range Rover. Nice car. You didn't have to treat it like that. Naughty girl, but we'll soon be friends again. Good night, sleep tight. Bugs won't bite - I had the boat fumigated last week.'