If You Were Me (18 page)

DAN

 

 

 

I
knew that noise. It was the click and fizz of a beer can spurting open. There it was again. Weird. Voices too, and footsteps, the hiss of an aerosol, the smell of paint and . . . what was that? Crisps. Yeah, that was it. Salt and vinegar, and something else. Something foul and rotting, like ditchwater. I was on my side, in darkness, stiff and heavy. I couldn't move. Not my hands or my feet or my head or my eyelids. Had I been run over? Or beaten up? Why was I so cold and numb? Why was the world rocking and creaking? The emptiness in my head was terrifying. Black and sticky, smothering any memories of how I'd got there. I concentrated on my eyes, straining to force them open. The left one felt like it had been glued shut. The right one drooped and dragged, then fluttered
a little, letting in a dim slit of light. Figures flitted past, chucking litter around, smashing bottles, opening beer cans, spraying a fat blue tag on the wall, trashing a low-ceilinged dimly lit room while my numb, useless legs were slipping sideways, dragging my top half with them. My mind churned, searching for a shred of reality that would make sense of any of it. ‘Help me!' The howl stayed inside my skull, my tongue and lips too bloated to move. Suddenly I was crashing to the floor. My arms couldn't move, couldn't reach out to stop my head hitting something sharp or protect me from the weight smashing across my legs and clamping my foot in iron jaws. Footsteps. Someone kicking my ribs. A voice swearing in my ear. A sharp prick in my arm. A moment of helpless fear. Then the blanket of sticky blackness, wiping it all away.

ALIYA

 

 

 

I
hobbled along a ditch at the edge of the towpath, frantically rubbing my legs to get the blood flowing. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I made for a shed on the far side of the allotments that was bleeding light through the cracks around its door. In my head I pictured the freckled man killing the boy in that cramped space and burying his body in one of the vegetable patches, where nobody would ever question a heap of newly turned earth. I tripped and stumbled among piles of rotting plants, easing on to my belly as I neared the shed. There were voices coming from inside and movements causing the light to flicker. Shielded by a clump of bushes, I wriggled closer, searching for a weapon. I grasped a piece of wood. I was sweating but my skin was cold and my mouth was as
dry as ashes. A scream pierced the silence. Panic squeezed my heart. The door of the shed flew open. I rose up, dropping back when a girl in shorts and a white skimpy top burst into the night, her long hair streaming out behind her. A boy ran out after her, carrying a torch. Then he kissed her. She giggled and kissed him back and they ran off into the darkness, hand in hand.

I dropped the wood, it was useless – soft and rotten – and hurried back towards the canal, angry that I had lost so much time. I moved quickly, keeping behind the hedges and fences that ran between the allotments and the canal.

Voices drifted along the water. I dropped behind a rusty water-butt and waited to see who would come. Two figures appeared on the towpath. It was them, the freckled man and his passenger, walking fast. Without the boy. Had they left him for the three brothers to deal with? I watched them hurry to their car and had to stop myself gasping when the freckled man stopped for a moment with his hand on the open door and looked back, sweeping the gloom with his eyes. And then, as if he was pleased with his night's work, he got in and drove away. I let the red tail-lights disappear before I dared to draw a breath.

The boats on this stretch of the canal were little more than wrecks, abandoned, empty and creaking softly in the wind. I moved carefully, terrified that the men would come back or the three brothers would leap from the shadows and grab me, but I felt a little better when the gravel gave way to soft mud that muffled the sound of my
footsteps. I crouched down and sparked the lighter with shaking fingers, knowing in my heart that every second, every fragment of a second, counted now. The frail light caught two sets of shoe marks. Large footprints twice the size of mine, pointing both ways. As I moved the lighter the ripples on the water caught the reflection of the tiny flame. I stared at the shifting surface and imagined the boy at the bottom of the canal, weighted down in slime. I sprang back from the edge, shaking the image from my mind. I told myself they wouldn't carry him all this way just to throw him in. Surely they'd have done it nearer to where they'd parked their car. The canal was just as deep back there. Just as deserted.

I walked on, checking the footprints for perhaps a hundred metres, and then I saw it: a swirl of wet earth, a muddle of footsteps and drag marks leading to the edge of the towpath and stopping beside the wreck of a wide, windowless cargo barge. It was as long as a bus with a deck at each end. I held the lighter high, picking out the clutter on the roof – buckets of coal, coils of cable, a small upturned boat made of some kind of plastic, and on the far deck a rusty little crane, leaning out over the water like a beaky bird. I lowered the lighter. The guttering flame caught letters painted on the side, half hidden behind drapes of rotten rope.
The Three Brothers
. I nearly cried out with relief. They weren't men.
The Three Brothers
was a barge.

I pulled on the rope and jumped, landing on the deck
with a thud that rocked the huge hull and sent a clutch of bottles rolling across the metal floor, glugging out their contents. The smell was acrid. Like medicine. I picked up one of the bottles and read the label. VODKA. I tried the door handle. It was jammed. I pulled again, heaving with all my strength until it swung open. I stumbled down the wooden steps, nearly falling when the end of the handrail swung loose from the wall.

‘Dan?'

There was no answer. My skin felt too flimsy to hold the swell of fear but I edged backwards and forced myself to pull the door shut before I flicked on the lighter. All I could see was a lake of oily water, littered with beer cans and broken bottles, stretching out to another set of steps and a door at the far end. Flashing the lighter across the brightly coloured tags on the walls, I stepped down into the water, gasping as the icy wet lapped over my knees and soaked through my jeans.

‘Dan,' I whispered again. The dying flame touched a shudder of water bubbling through a hole in the side of the boat and causing the debris to bob and dance. All of it, except for one pale mound in the middle, which broke the surface like a small island. My world slowed. As if in a dark dream, I waded forward. Something sharp smashed my shin, ripping my jeans and flesh. I toppled sideways, struggling to keep the lighter clear of the water. I moved on, shuffling between the lumps of twisted metal lurking beneath the surface, until I was close enough to sweep the
light across the mound. It was a dome of flesh; the boy's cheek and the bump of his nose, his head twisted sideways, his mouth a grey slit beneath the surface. I flung myself towards him, grasped the floating tangle of his hair and lifted his head.

‘Get up!' My voice broke apart. ‘Quickly! Get up!'

His eyes were closed. A trickle of water dribbled from his lips. I yanked his head higher. A choking retch shook his body. His eyes opened.

‘Dan!'

He stared past me, his eyes blank. Even as I looked the water was rising. The lighter flame dwindled and went out with a hiss. The darkness was shocking. Total. As if I'd been blinded. I stuck the lighter in my pocket, pushed my hands under his armpits and tried to drag him back towards the door. His top half swayed, his arms flopped loosely, then his body jerked to a stop, held fast by something under the water. I tore off my soaking hoodie, bundled it into a pillow and pushed it under his neck, raising his mouth a couple of inches above the water before I plunged my hand back down and groped along his legs. He seemed to be lying sideways across a pile of concrete blocks, with one foot trapped in the coils of a heavy iron chain. I felt around it. The chain was too heavy to lift, each link the size of my fist and tangled up in a heavy hunk of metal, maybe part of an engine. I couldn't lift it. Not on my own. But there was no time to run for help. It was just me and the boy, and with every second the
water was getting higher. Make a plan, Aliya! Think! What would Behrouz do now? A lever. He'd lever the chain up.

I staggered back, thumbing the wheel of the lighter again and again until it sparked a tiny spark that burnt my thumb but gave me my bearings. I launched myself towards the door I'd come in through, bashing my shins again as I found the steps and fumbled for the broken handrail. I twisted it free from the rotten panelling and turned back, guided by the fading image of the interior etched in my head.

‘It's OK, Dan. It's OK,' I whispered.

I dropped to my knees, crawling and splashing in the dark and wet until I found the chain. I slid the tip of the handrail between the coils, working it as deeply as I could, then I pressed down with all my strength. The links creaked. I tore at the boy's leg. I couldn't free his foot. I tried again, jamming the rail between the coils but pressing on the end of it with my knee this time, releasing both hands to pull at his leg. The chain lifted very slightly but I wasn't strong enough to yank his foot out. I could feel the rail bending, about to snap.

‘Pull,' I begged. ‘Please, Dan. Pull your foot.'

I heard him groan. The sound wasn't human. As I heaved on his leg a tiny spasm twitched through his muscles.

‘Again, Dan. Pull. I'll count to three. One, two, three!'

I wrenched hard. He let out another animal groan and,
with a muffled clank of falling chain, his foot jerked free. I jammed the rail into my belt, tied the arms of my hoodie under his armpits and used it to lug his slack, slippery weight over the scrap. I had no bearings now. I just knew the door at the far end was nearer and I kept on hauling him, praying that we were moving in the right direction. He was a dead weight and he kept sliding under the water as I slapped frantically at the clammy walls. I let out a cry when I found the steps to the far door. I strained to get him up halfway, held the knotted hoodie with one hand, wrenched the bolt back with the other and kicked and kicked until the door burst open. Thin red darkness poured through the gap, diluting the dank blackness inside. Gasping and panting, I grappled him up the last two steps and collapsed beside him on the metal deck. He was barely breathing. He didn't respond when I shook him and his damp skin felt like frozen rubber. Had I saved him from drowning, just to let him die of cold?

My eyes slid to the distant outline of Meadowview. I didn't care that the police had forbidden me to go there. If I could just get him to our flat, at least I could warm him and dry him. But I knew I could never drag him that far and I felt my last reserves of hope and strength draining away. My leg throbbed with pain, my knuckles were raw and bloody, and the whole world seemed to be tipping and spinning. I let my head drop back against the wall and closed my eyes, numb with exhaustion and defeat.

‘No!' I forced my eyes open. ‘You can't give up. Not
now.' My voice sounded so frail and cracked I didn't even think it was mine. Still dazed and nauseous, I pulled myself up, telling myself there had to be a way. I gazed round frantically and saw it as a hump at first, a black blob rising above the junk on the roof of the barge. Slowly, it took on the shape of the little upturned boat and, when I looked back and saw the lowering outline of Meadowview framed between the metal struts of the crane, the fragments of an idea began to come together through the fug in my head. Could I get the boy into the boat? Could I drag him down the canal like a child with a toy?

Holding tightly to the boat's dangling rope, I tottered along the walkway and pushed the plastic hull as hard as I could. The sinking barge was so low in the water the boat didn't have far to fall before it hit the surface with a rocking splash. I slithered on to the deck, lashed the rope to the base of the crane and ran my fingers up the struts, feeling the mechanism for cogs and winches. The boy groaned. I stopped and turned. In the distance headlights fanned and narrowed as a car pulled on to the waste ground. I felt a surge of joy. People. I could run to them, they would help me. Relief turned to panic. Who would come to this deserted place so late at night? More boys with their girlfriends? Or was it the freckled man, checking to see that the boy was dead? I couldn't take that chance.

Although the crane was stiff and rusted, I strained with all my might and managed to swing the boom around so the head hung directly above the boy. Heaving hard on the
handle, I lowered the dangling hook and jammed it under his belt. I grasped the handle with both hands and heaved again. The cogs grumbled and my muscles burned, sending sharp stabbing pains through my stomach and arms as I winched him up from the deck, his limp body twisting in the air and water dripping off him like a drowned corpse. I swung the boom back again and turned the handle to lower him into the boat. He crumpled into the bottom, face down, limbs bent awkwardly. I pulled the boat closer and dropped my feet over the side, tipping it sharply and nearly plunging us both into the water. Struggling to keep balanced, I knelt down and grappled the iron hook from his belt. Footsteps sounded on the towpath, coming closer. I threw myself down beside him and we lay in the darkness, silent as shadows. The distant scrape of gravel gave way to the closer squelch of mud. The footsteps halted. A thin torch beam flashed through the darkness. I felt for the bent rail I'd stuck through my belt and gripped it tightly in my hand.

‘Look at that. Going down fast. What a tragedy.' The freckled man's voice was sneering.

‘Do you want me to check inside?' the other man asked.

‘No, I'll do it. Give us the torch.'

I closed my eyes, listening to the clank of his feet on the far deck and the scrape of the opening door. A moment of quiet then the door creaked shut.

‘What did I tell you? He's totally submerged.'

Their fading footsteps did nothing to calm my fear. It
would take them at least fifteen minutes to get back to their car and I didn't dare move until I was sure they weren't coming back. I was cold and weary but the silence and the gentle sway of the boat were so soothing that after a while I drifted into a numb, exhausted sleep. Strange dreams came; I was falling spreadeagled from a rooftop and Behrouz was reaching from a window, grasping the tips of my outstretched fingers, calling out, ‘Hold on, sis,' as strong winds tried to suck me away. A sharp gust broke his grip and the last thing I saw as I was whisked into nothingness was the look of defeat on his face.

I sat up, blinking into the dark. The black bulk of the barge seemed further away. I tugged on the rope. It felt slack. Horrified, I pulled harder and brought the whole dripping length of it into the boat. My hurried knot had come free. We were in the middle of the canal, drifting with the pull of the water.