No Alarms (3 page)

It took ages, two weeks and three days, before Justin said anything. The whole time Sharon was dying to ask but she knew better than to go opening her big mouth. Him and Simon were pros, they wouldn’t even think about working with some little girl who all the time was asking about the next job. That’s what she told herself anyway, while she waited, watching him whenever he came within view, all the time wanting to run over and grab him, all the time terrified they’d forgotten all about her. Then he walked up beside her in the corridor, on the way to Tourism, him doing his glide thing so she didn’t know he was there till he spoke.

‘Wanna wag and come for a smoke?’ he said, and she said ‘sure’ although at exactly that moment her stomach turned upside down and the noise never made it out. He must have understood though, because he waited for her at the doors. She was silent the whole way up to the trees, trying to think of something cool to say but coming up blank, feeling the nervous sweat building up beneath her armpits.

It took forever for Justin to locate his cigarettes and even longer for him to take out two and light them. Sharon knew it was just the nerves making everything seem slow motion, slower even than Justin’s usual wound-down speed. There was a time at the school athletics, in the fourth form, when she’d seen him in the 100 metres. All these other guys hissing and straining, giving it everything and him, eyes half-closed like he was nodding off, but somehow gliding past them all. It was a school record too, the coach came into the class the next day and tried to convince him to enter the regionals.

‘Nah,’ he’d said, ‘I must have just got lucky, got myself caught up in some different sort of time zone.’ Except that’s where he always was, and now everybody called him Glide, the most relaxing person in the world to be with. Most days. Not now. Now Sharon wanted to take hold of his scrawny neck and squeeze the question out. ‘Hey Shaz, will you help us?’ so she could scream back ‘Yes!’
A thousand fucken times. Yes.

‘There’s a test,’ is what he finally said, easing his voice into the silence like he was afraid of offending it. ‘It’s Simon’s idea. He says you might be useful, sometimes, when we need a girl. But there’s a test.’

‘I’ll do it.’

‘You don’t know what it is yet,’ he said, like that might matter.

‘So?’

‘You’ve got to steal some mail.’

‘Easy. Whose?’

‘Doesn’t matter, it’s just a test. Twenty pieces from twenty different addresses, that’s all. To show you know how to do stuff without being caught. To show you’ve got the smarts.’

‘I have, no worries. I’ll show you.’ She knew she was being way too eager but she couldn’t help it. She would have gone right then, stealing mail, that was too easy, anyone could do that, but he made her listen some more while he told her all about it. How they’d started out that way, when they were little. How you needed a bus timetable and a map, so you could do a street and get out of there, before anyone called the cops. How you needed a paper delivery bag, so you’d look like you were delivering pamphlets, how parcels and coloured envelopes were best.

Sharon sat and listened to it all, sitting on her hands to stop them doing anything an overexcited little girl’s hands might do, to give her away.

‘When do I do it?’ She asked, when he’d finally stopped making it all sound harder than it had to be.

‘Tomorrow. Then Wednesday you can bring it round, so we can check. Come for dinner.’

It wasn’t easy, getting it exactly right. That night Sharon stayed up late, with the bus timetable and a map of the city she took from Geography spread out on her bed, feeling like some geek straining hard on a piece of assessment. It was too, an assessment, and she knew they were expecting her to fail, like people always did. Just some clever way of getting rid of an annoying little girl. Not this time though. There was way too much to lose.

By the time she went to bed she had it all planned out, and having a day planned before her felt so strange she couldn’t sleep.

She started early, way before Kaz or Zinny had crawled out into the day. It gave her time to walk to her first target suburb, a chance to clear her head, settle the nerves that were going crazy. When she got to the streets she’d marked out the night before they looked just like she’d imagined. Big hedges, mown lawns and wide drives. Rich places, where they’d get rich mail. It should have been easy. It wasn’t like she hadn’t stolen things before, and harder stuff than this too. She’d once managed to get the bladder out of a cask of wine in the middle of a busy supermarket and breezed out past the checkout without even missing
a beat. Only this was different. This had her stomach tied up in the sort of knots that get honest people caught every time they try to do something wrong. This wasn’t stealing. This was a test. And passing a test like this, it could change your whole life.

So she passed the first five houses by, even though there were trees everywhere and no one was ever going to notice, and she could see the mail sitting there, waiting to be lifted. The sixth house she took the plunge, and felt herself walking way too fast towards the white iron box, like she was suddenly in Justin’s world, where everything else got slowed down. She took the first thing she felt and backed up quick, not checking what it was till she’d turned the corner into the next street.

Some sort of bill by the looks, with a window envelope and typed address. She threw it into a hedge. It didn’t matter. It had broken the ice, like the first punch at a party. No stopping her now.

‘Nice day.’ An old fella out of nowhere, walking one of those pathetic little not-quite-dogs that Lennox would eat if he ever got the chance. The guy was wearing an old brown hat, like he was off something on TV1, and when he smiled Sharon smiled back.

‘Yeah, not too bad.’
Might steal your mail later,
she added to herself as he walked away.
Hope you’re expecting something
special.

Trouble came near the end, the way it often does, like it can tell you’re starting to relax. Sharon was two hours into the job and already she had the twenty pieces she’d been set. Good stuff too, coloured envelopes and a few parcels, all from different addresses. They’d have to be impressed when they saw. But there
was no point being careful Sharon figured, when the piece that could clinch it was waiting in the next box. And anyhow, it was way too late to be thinking about making it back for afternoon school.

So she walked up one too many paths. It was the perfect box, stuffed to overflowing like just there the mailman had got sick of his run and dumped what was left. Two packages and a heap of cards. A birthday for sure. Sharon was lingering, like she’d started doing, deciding which piece looked best, when she heard the voice.

‘Oi you. What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Delivering pamphlets,’ she said, not even bothering to look up, cool as. She wished Justin and Simon could see it, the way she didn’t crack under pressure.

‘Let’s see. What pamphlets?’ An old guy, pensioner age only dressed like he still had a job somewhere, trousers and a shirt and tie. He had a long egghead, bumpy on the top like bits had collapsed, and a black patch covered one eye although Sharon had to look twice to be sure she wasn’t imagining that. What sort of person wore a patch? Probably he was once a bit of a hard bastard, or thought he was.

‘Fair enough. If you don’t want any.’ Sharon shrugged like you would if you were delivering. ‘Your business.’ And then she turned to walk away, not even thinking it might be a problem.

‘Oi no, no you don’t. What’s in that bag? I’ll call the police you know. Come here, show me.’ He was shouting, probably just pissed off with being old, and the noise of it brought someone out from next door. This guy was less promising, only half the age and wearing shorts and a singlet. Sweating too, and maybe a bit pumped, like he’d just been going hard-out with some
weights. Sharon got ready to run.

‘What is it Jack?’

‘This little bitch, should be at school. I caught her going through our mail.’

‘Were you?’ the man stepped forward and the angle for escape closed up.

‘No.’ Sharon tried to trick herself into believing she hadn’t done it, so they might believe it too. She thought of her bag, the whole morning’s work. Would she have to dump it, if he chased her? ‘I’m just delivering pamphlets.’

‘Get her to show you then,’ Jack crowed, looking much younger now he knew he was winning. ‘Go on, show us these pamphlets of yours.’ And he edged closer too, like he was starting to think what he’d do, if he got his hands on her.

‘You said you didn’t want any,’ Sharon said. ‘Here, look then.’ She put one hand into the bag, watching them both, but the young guy especially, waiting for that moment when he might relax. It came, just a second when he looked down to the bag, all she needed. She was halfway back down to the road before the yelling started.

‘Get her! Get the cheeky little cow!’ Sharon could hear the other guy’s footsteps behind her, gaining like she knew they would. The bag swung wildly about, crashing against her hip while she pumped hard with her free hand. Her lungs started to burn. She cut down a path and launched her body over a hedge, not thinking about anything except getting away, tumbling down into a bank of overgrown bush. He’d have to be desperate to follow her in but Sharon didn’t take any chances. She slipped and crashed her way down the slope like some wounded animal using up its last chance. There was blackberry at the bottom,
doing its bit for law and order. It ripped at her clothes and scratched her face but by then it didn’t matter. She’d made it for sure. She’d won. A good story to tell the guys too, if they needed more impressing.

Sharon took a moment when she reached the path at the other side, just to let her breath find its way back in. The sun was out again and it made her feel like a smoke. She got through twice as many in the summer. She was just lighting up when the car slowed beside her and her heart stopped again.

‘Afternoon.’ A too-young face smiled out above the blue uniform. Through the open window he looked sort of bored. Trouble for sure. Sharon thought about the blackberry. Nah, he’d chase her all the way, just for the fun of it.

‘Hi ya.’

‘Shouldn’t you be in school?’

‘Yeah.’ Sharon nodded, relieved. Just truancy shit. Too easy. ‘Had to go home to pick up an assignment.’

‘Sure you did.’ He smiled again, to show her how clever he was. ‘What school?’

‘Parkland.’

‘Thought they had uniform.’ Yeah, he’d be a detective in no time this one. Except he hadn’t noticed the scratches, or thought how it was a pretty funny looking school bag she was carrying.

‘Seventh form.’

‘We’re going that way. Can we give you a lift? You’ll have to put that out of course.’

‘Oh right.’ Sharon flicked her last cigarette onto the pavement and ground it beneath her shoe. Why not? This was a real story, would get the guys laughing for sure. Not just finishing the job but getting a ride away from the scene with the cops
themselves. The whole way there the cop in the passenger seat turned round and asked stupid questions about school while Sharon sat smiling to herself, holding her illicit haul close to her chest. It was a couple of bus trips back from Parkland to her own school but it was worth it, just for the way that felt.

GETTING READY TOOK FOREVER. Kaz tried to help, once she’d calmed down from realising her own plans for the night would be upset.

‘Pub’s not plans,’ Sharon told her.

‘Close as I get.’

But they managed to work a compromise. That was always the way out with Kaz, she couldn’t resist doing a deal. Tonight Sharon got to go to Justin’s and in return Sharon promised to babysit Friday. Fridays were special and Kaz knew she’d got herself a bargain.

‘You’ll want something sexier,’ Kaz said, looking doubtfully at Sharon’s latest attempt. No, Sharon thought, not sexy. Capable is what I want, the look of someone who doesn’t fuck up. I want to look hard.

‘How about those black jeans you used to wear all the time? They show your arse off. You’ve got a good arse.’

‘I don’t want to look like a slut,’ Sharon said.

‘Don’t want to look forty either.’

‘Like you you mean,’ Sharon said, because she had to hassle, couldn’t help it, wouldn’t want to if she could.

‘I’m nothing like forty, cheeky bitch. Nowhere near and you know it.’

Still, there was something cool about Kaz helping, like it
showed how important this was. Sharon ended up in her favourite blue jeans, close to needing a wash, and Kaz’s favourite brown leather jacket. Kaz tried to help with make-up but Sharon wiped half of it off. There was nothing subtle about her mother. That was her trouble most of the time, and her charm. Sharon had already stashed the bag out the front, so she wouldn’t have to lie about it.

‘That’s you girl. You look worth the effort now. Don’t be late eh?’

‘Not as late as you would. Hey, don’t go taking Zinny down the pub again. You know how he hates the smoke.’

‘What are you?’ Kaz asked. ‘My mother?’

‘Could be. Got the jacket for it.’ Kaz grinned, the same good looking grin she’d rode through life, and Sharon had to give her a hug.

‘Growing to be quite a smart arse you are,’ Kaz whispered and when they came apart Sharon had to work to hide how much she liked hearing that.

Outside it had been raining again. The place smelt warm and clean, like it understood what was happening, could recognise a fresh start. Sharon looked along the street at all the lit up windows, made different colours by their worn out curtains. She knew the name of every person who’d be inside; pick the house, any one, there wasn’t much she missed. And if they happened to be looking out at her, maybe stretching during the ads, they’d know her name too. They wouldn’t be able to guess where she was headed though, to some place they’d never know. She felt it
with every new step she took. She was on her way outta there.

It was Simon who answered the door, and Sharon recognised him straight off. Different jacket this time, some American sport thing, and a hat, but it didn’t stop her seeing. She was good with faces. It was him that morning, at the park, watching her. Not that he said anything about it, or even made out he knew who she was, or why she was there. The way he looked down, not moving out of the doorway at all, she might have been a stranger come to sell him something out of her bag.
Hey mister, want to buy some mail? Lucky dip. Take your pick.
Or she might have come to buy drugs. He had that look about him, trying to seem tougher than he really was. No brother of Justin’s could be that hard.

‘Hi,’ but he didn’t answer, just kept looking her up and down. Sharon didn’t say any more either, in case this was some sort of test too. She wasn’t going to be intimidated, if that’s what he was thinking. Justin broke the stand-off, appearing behind his brother’s wide profile, looking younger and friendlier than Sharon had ever seen him look, just by not being Simon.

‘Hey Sharon, how are you? Sharon, this is Simon. Ah, come in.’

Only she couldn’t, not with Simon still standing there; and when he did finally move he didn’t hurry, just turned and swaggered off to some other part of the house, leaving them alone. Anyone else acting like that, coming on all heavy, Sharon would have taken them on.

The kitchen was just like Sharon remembered, only bigger somehow, and when Justin invited her through into his room she remembered the bag she was holding, and the place felt bigger again, like she was shrinking. She should have handed it
over straight away, while Simon was still there, got the business dealt with early. Now she didn’t know whether to put it down or take it with her, and it didn’t matter how things went, she knew all evening she’d be thinking about it, wondering when the right moment would come to mention it.

She carried it through, slung over her shoulder like it was part of her, and Justin didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he didn’t make anything of it. Instead he went straight to his computer.

‘Look at this.’

‘What?’

‘See? You can order pizza over the internet. Delivery in twenty minutes guaranteed. All you need’s a credit card. And luckily enough, I just happen to have one here.’

He passed her the gleaming gold piece of plastic, holding it out like maybe she was meant to get down on her knees and kiss it. Sharon took it, turned it over in her hand and passed it back.

I don’t want to talk about credit cards,
she thought.
I
don’t want to eat either. I don’t even like pizza all that much. I want to talk about mail. Get Simon in here. Let me show you what I’ve done.

‘Gotta love technology don’t ya? Here, what flavour do you like?’

Sharon heard the front door slam.

‘Who’s that?’

‘Simon, he’s going out. It’s just going to be us.’ Not said sleazy, or hopeful, or anything. Just said.

‘But I thought…’

‘What?’

‘Ah, nothing.’ Sharon looked at the bag, full of stories of
keeping cool and blackberry bushes, that somehow no one wanted to read. There were messages here, something going on, but she kept missing it.

They ate the pizza in the lounge. Mostly it was Justin who did the eating. He didn’t eat that fast, but he didn’t stop either, or even slow down. By the time Sharon had finished her third slice both large boxes were empty.

‘Wanna play some pool?’

Nah, I wanna talk about the stuff I stole. I wanna talk about how I can help.
‘I’m not very good.’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

Yeah it does. Everything matters. Don’t think I don’t get that. Go on, ask me how many suburbs I did. Ask me about running away. Let me tell you about the cops. Let me make you laugh. You look good, when you laugh.
‘Okay then.’

‘Rules are different, because you can’t get round the table. So if you get a shot from that side you can call a double shot. Get it?’

Yeah, I get it. I’m not thick you know. Don’t get why Simon went out though. Don’t get why you’re not mentioning the bag. Look, we’re playing pool and I’m still fucken wearing it. You have to have noticed.
‘Sure.’

There were other special rules too, that Justin kept pulling out. Sharon tried to let him win, and got the feeling he was doing the same.

Then they talked, same as they’d talked the other time. Justin had a way of bending conversations round, so they didn’t go anywhere in particular, and most times that would have been good, except half Sharon’s head was with Simon, and when he’d be back, and what he’d say when he saw she’d passed the test.

He got in just after ten. They were in the kitchen by then, eating ice-cream straight out of the container. He brought the smell of beer in with him but his walk was steady and his voice sharp.

‘Any left?’ He looked at the empty pizza boxes by the rubbish bag. The room suddenly felt crowded and instinct told Sharon she should be standing. Simon stared at her as she pushed her chair back behind her.

‘Didn’t know you wanted any,’ Justin said, and Sharon thought she noticed him back away slightly, till the bench stopped him going any further.

‘What are you still doing here?’ Simon turned to Sharon. She waited for Justin to rescue her, answer on her behalf, but the only sound was her swallowing hard. He was the stranger again, the one from the park, and again she felt the warning, louder this time, with him so close.

‘Um, I’m Sharon.’ She leant back against her chair. She could see straight off that every word was making her mistake bigger but she couldn’t stop talking. ‘Here, I brought this. The mail I stole. You know, as a test. Coloured envelopes mostly, like you said, and some parcels. Easy. I can help you. You won’t regret it.’

She held out the bag but he didn’t take it. He didn’t even look at her, his glare went straight to Justin. Sharon recognised the danger in the silence. It wasn’t so new. She looked to Justin, nervous, but Justin didn’t look back.

‘What have you been saying now, you fucken little idiot?’ Simon managed to shout without being loud. His eyes jumped back onto Sharon. ‘Go on, get out. You never heard anything about any of this. You understand?’

Sharon tried to nod but her head wouldn’t move.

‘I said do you fucken understand?’ This time she managed a quick jerking movement, only it didn’t feel like her head at all. It was an unfamiliar weight on her shoulders, in this unfamiliar room. She wanted out, wanted it so badly she didn’t even think about Justin and what this had to mean for him. Not till she saw him, still trying to press back through the kitchen bench.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed but Simon caught the sound before it reached her.

‘You fucken will be boy. You bet you fucken will be.’

Sharon ran out of there, blocking her ears to any sound she might have left behind, the tears in her eyes competing with the sick feeling in her stomach. The further she ran the sicker she felt and the faster the tears flowed, like her body was trying to get rid of the whole stupid evening. She stopped at the empty section just before the railway track and puked her guts out, seeing the two toppings they hadn’t been able to choose between all mixed together, steaming there beside the line.

Back down the end of Hardy St, Tom was having a car party. He was a mechanic at a haulage firm until a couple of years back when they went broke. These days he kept his hand in stripping old cars for spare parts. Round here there was no shortage of raw material. People would turn up with this ‘old wreck I come across’. ‘Yep,’ Tom’d say, rubbing the grey stubble on his dark chin, ‘needs stripping for sure I reckon. Not much good for anything else.’ And no one’d discuss any of the problems with cars that could just be found, with no ownership papers, no keys, and one time even someone’s shopping still locked up in the boot, because really they weren’t problems at all. The person who’d brought it in would be offered a few bucks, never anything much, and a few beers too, and being Hardy St the
next thing there’d be a party happening on the front lawn, while Tom’d set about his work under the power of the diesel generator that had gone missing the day the haulage company closed.

Normally Sharon would have thought about hanging round, just to catch up on the goss, and to be seen. It didn’t do to drop out of sight for too long on Hardy St. People noticed. Not tonight though. She could still taste the acid of thrown up food in her throat and she couldn’t trust the tears not to start again. She dropped her head into her shoulders and quickened her pace, so if anyone saw her they’d understand.

‘Hey Shaz!’ It was Tom. ‘Wanna beer?’

‘No thanks.’ But she had to stop and look up, and even across the street he noticed. He put down his wrench and ambled out onto the road. No one else seemed to pay him any attention. Just old Tom, looking out for that Sharon kid again. Nothing new there.

‘How are you girl?’ One arm draped around her and she felt his full weight as his feet shifted beneath him. ‘How’s my special girl?’

Special because once, years ago when Sharon was too little to remember, there’d been a few of them round at Kaz’s place, and there’d been this little blow-up pool where Sharon had been left to cool off. Only then she’d tripped and gone face down and it was only Tom who noticed. Just in time too, so the story went. There was a trip in the ambulance and a night over at the hospital and a childhood of never being able to walk past Tom’s house without having to call in, to see the guy who’d saved her life. Only Kaz had explained it differently, later when Sharon was old enough to see the way one event could have so many different stories.

‘It’s you saved his life,’ she’d said. ‘Doesn’t matter how much he fucks things up, he’s always going to be able to look at you and see the one good thing he’s done.’ To Sharon that felt like a lot of pressure and it seemed to make it even more important to treat him properly, even times like this, when he’d drunk so much the liquid sloshing about inside was close to toppling him.

‘Hey, what’s with all these tears?’ He wasn’t so far gone he couldn’t notice. ‘Some fella is it? Being bad to you.’

‘Nah,’ Sharon said. ‘Just one of those days Tom. You know.’

‘Oh sure. I know.’

Just another good reason to get out somehow. Fuck Simon.

‘Hey, you need my help any time girl, you just say the word eh?’

‘Sure. Um, I’d better be going now Tom. Thanks.’ She removed herself from under his arm carefully, as if it belonged to some monster she was afraid of awakening.

‘Later then. Take care.’

‘You too girl.’ And as she walked on down the street she knew he’d be watching her the whole way, and that thought was almost enough to make her smile. Almost enough to make her forget how life was always doing this, keeping all the good things out in front of her, just out of reach, so if she had any sense she’d learn not to look at them.

Thursday afternoons were never good. Maths straight after lunch, when Mr Jenkins was always at his most unreasonable. There was no way it was Sharon’s fault. She had no reason to be stuffing about. They were doing trigonometry and she wasn’t
bad at trigonometry. In the fourth form when they put her in the withdrawal room for a week, she’d spent a whole day on trigonometry and now it was easy. So she knew she hadn’t been doing anything, just sitting there staring through the haze of hot air and deodorant spray, looking at the familiar shapes on the board. Opposite over Hypotenuse, stupid word, Sin, easy. It was Lisa’s fault really. It was Lisa who spoke.