S.O.S (11 page)

She turned into his road and approached his front door, knocking and standing outside, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. The door opened and his tall frame leaned out, his face breaking into a smile. He stooped still further and suddenly kissed her, his lips brushing her own.

“Hi,” he said when he broke away, stepping aside to let her indoors.

“Oh, erm, hi...” Molly was blushing.

“Dev, who is it?” came a woman's voice from inside the house, interrupting their private moment together.

“It's my friend Molly, Mum,” Dev replied, shooting an apologetic look at Molly as he did so. “Sorry,” he said in a hushed tone, “I thought they'd have gone by the time you arrived.”

“It doesn't matter,” Molly replied, reaching out and squeezing his hand to reassure him.

“Well for goodness sake Dev, bring her in!” called his Mum from the kitchen. “Don't leave the poor girl standing in the hall in the cold!”

Dev looked almost pained, unwilling to move.

“Dev, Dev, Dev!” His mother appeared at the kitchen doorway. She was dressed in a turquoise sari and had yellow rubber gloves on. “Where are your manners?!” She stopped and Molly saw her face change. There was surprise and an edge of disappointment in her look.

“Please bring Molly in to say hello,” she said, but it was less insistent than it had been.

Molly heard Dev sigh as she followed him into the kitchen. She stood awkwardly just inside the door while his mum looked at her, a fixed smile on her face and his dad, half concealed behind his newspaper, lowered it and glanced at her. Molly tried to pull her tee shirt down over her denim shorts and wished that she'd worn anything other than those with black tights and biker boots. A dress would have been good maybe?

Eager to break the silence Dev cleared his throat.

“Erm, Mum, Dad, this is Molly,” he blurted, “we're off out.”

His parents said nothing, but merely exchanged a look, and in that moment Molly realised that she wasn't what they had expected or hoped for.

“Nice to meet you,” Molly said nervously. Dev's dad nodded and raised his newspaper again. From behind it he made a comment in Hindi and Dev's mum responded sharply. Dev turned and taking Molly's hand left the kitchen.

In the hall he grabbed his coat and without saying anything to his parents, he opened the front door and ushered Molly out.

“Bye....” She called over her shoulder. Dev shut the door firmly behind them. He marched up the road, holding Molly's hand and she had to walk fast to keep up with him. Halfway up the road, Molly stopped and turned to face him. She fixed him with a furious stare.

“What was all that about?” she demanded, hurt and bewildered.

“I'm sorry,” Dev said. He dug his hands in his pockets.

“They didn't like me, did they?”

He said nothing.

“What did your Mum say?”

Again he said nothing.

“Dev?!”

He faced her. “Look, my parents are old fashioned and out of touch with reality. They expected you to be Indian that's all. They were just surprised.”

“And disappointed.”

“They don't like me mixing with girls from other cultures. It's ridiculous! The whole thing is ridiculous! It would have been fine if they'd gone out when they were supposed to!”

Molly stared at him. “Are you trying to keep me secret?” She shook her head. “You're ashamed of me aren't you?” her voice rose.

Dev tried to backtrack quickly.

“No, of course not! It's just that my parents don't see things the way I do, they...” But he didn't get to finish his sentence. Molly turned on her heels and stormed away.

Dev didn't go after her. He knew that anything he said now would just make the situation worse.

He sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. Apart from maths and physics, why did everything have to be so complicated?

*

The two police officers drove through the north London streets, siren blaring. They had been called out to investigate a disturbance that had been reported on one of the housing estates – these things needed to be put down quickly before they got out of hand, especially here. This estate was notorious, ever since the riots fifteen years ago when several young people had been killed. It wasn't a good place to be and both officers were nervous.

As they turned into the estate they saw a hooded youth with a brick in his hand. He was in front of a ground floor flat, shouting at the people inside. The driver cut the engine and they eased into a space at the back of the estate, unseen. One of the policemen climbed out, the other radioed for back up.

The boy lobbed the brick, smashing the window clean through.

“Come on out! Come on, come and fight!” The youth was taunting, pacing like a killer cat ready to pounce. From behind the car the first officer crouched down. There was something in the air, something sinister. This wasn't just a disturbance; this was something else, he could feel it. He held his breath.

Moments later all along the row of flats on the ground floor doors began to open and hooded teenagers emerged from inside, some carrying knives, others bottles; petrol bombs. Most of them had their faces covered. The taunting youth darted towards a side alley and disappeared. Still squatting, the officer outside the car moved back round to the passenger side and eased open the handle. No-one had spotted them yet.

Then from behind the car, on the opposite side of the road still more youths emerged from the alleyways and paths, these differently clothed in balaclavas, the mark of a different gang, a rival gang. The officer crawled inside the car. He looked at his colleague; he was sweating, it ran down the side of his face.

“Christ...” he murmured as the horrific realisation that they would be caught in the crossfire dawned on them both.

Suddenly a bottle flew through the air, across the roof of the car and landed about ten feet from them. It burst into flames and a roar went up. Missiles began to fly, there was shouting and bricks hit the car. People were running, a car nearer the flats was torched, the flames inciting more violence. Both officers crouched down in the car, still, sweating as the crowd closed the gap between them.

Then the mood changed again, swiftly and without warning. One of the youths motioned to others of his gang and their focus altered. They had spotted the police car. A shout went up.

“Filth! Filth!”

The car began to rock as bricks and rocks hit the bonnet and the roof. The windscreen shattered. Moments later the crowd was upon them, rocking the car. Someone carried a lighted torch.

A huge boy, head wrapped in a black scarf smacked on the window of the car with a baseball bat, threatening. The smacking became more and more insistent, the rocking more violent. Neither officer moved as the car swung back and forth. The boy raised the bat high above his head ready to smash it through the side window.

And then suddenly at that moment a light, bright and dazzling flashed in the dark, blinding everyone. It was almost as if lightning had struck. It illuminated the ugly, angry scene in one extraordinary glare. It lasted long enough to suspend the violence, long enough to glimpse the faces behind the masks, long enough for one person to make a run for it, shouting as he went.

Seconds later others followed. The crowd dispersed almost instantly, like cockroaches in the light, disappearing into the cracks of alleyways and stairwells of flats. The officers sat motionless. The radio crackled with voices. The car up ahead burned with angry flames and black, choking smoke.

In the icy darkness of a foreign country, Zack sat alone amidst the unfamiliar surroundings. He perched on the edge of a public bench in the park for a short while, building up his energy force, trying to get his bearings. He knew what he was looking for but he hadn't found it yet, despite walking round the park several times. He drew his hoodie closer about his ears, not wanting to be noticed, the old habit of making himself as small and as invisible as possible kicking in. He was glad he couldn't feel the cold; the ice on the bench beside him was glinting in the moonlight.

He watched a small gang of boys skateboarding along the paths towards the entrance and decided to give his search another go. He followed them, jogging alongside, smiling when one of them stopped to zip up his jacket, suddenly feeling an icy chill in the air.

“Es wird kälter, lasst uns nach Hausekommen!” he shouted to his friends.

He skated faster to catch them up and at the entrance they disappeared. Zack looked at the park map. He decided to start from the beginning and scour the entire place one more time. The park was creepy though and there was no shifting the feeling on the back of his neck that made the hairs stand on end. He set off and wished he wasn't alone – a strange thought for a boy who'd spent his entire life as a loner.

He walked through the entire German park, which was neater and tidier than any of the parks he remembered from his childhood in Newcastle, keeping to the paths and found himself back at the entrance before long. He checked the map again; he must have missed the path off to the right. It didn't help that the place names were all in German. He set off, deciding that this would be the final time, and followed the path, slowing right down when he came to a small patch of woods, searching the ground for any sign of a path off to the right. He stopped. There it was. He followed it, into the dark woods and finally he emerged at a small area designed to be a children's playground.

Gosh this had been difficult to find – and it was really creepy. No wonder this was the place they'd chosen to... He stopped himself thinking about what had happened and walked across the play area to the wall at the back of it marked with circles for throwing tennis balls at. He walked along the length of it and there, right at the bottom, near the ground, were the strange markings that he had flown over to see.

Reaching into his pocket Zack took out his phone, bringing up the newspaper article that he had found in his search of the British Library. He read it again and the story was very strange; strangely connected. It was about an incident where a child had been brutally mugged at the exact spot where he was standing. Nothing particularly headline grabbing about that, muggings were common wherever you went in the world. What was weird, however, was that the child, a young girl of nine, had said that she'd seen a strange white light appear. She thought she was going to die, that they were going to kill her, the gang of three, but the light appeared and her attackers ran. Simply dropped their knives and ran.

Coincidence or connection? Zack was here to find out. Squatting down so that he was at eye level to what he wanted to see, he ran his finger over the etchings in the brick; a series of symbols that now looked familiar. The article had reported the strangeness of the light, but it hadn't mentioned the symbols. Zack was here on the hunch that he'd find them and it had paid off. They were almost the same as the ones that priest had been talking about – star shaped. What had Dev called them? Constellations? Zack lifted the iPhone and focused really hard. He took a photograph of the markings, put his hands either side of his head and willed it to send. Falling back onto the ground he felt himself fade.

It was nearly dawn when he stirred. The first thing he saw was Molly's number on the screen – the message had been sent. He got to his feet, noticing that the park didn't look as tidy or neat in the dull grey light of morning. He made his way back to the entrance and out of the park towards the bus stop for the bus that would take him back to the airport.

*

London

Jenny answered the phone and spoke briefly to her husband. Since Chris had died and he'd gone she didn't want to talk to him at all. She passed him straight over to Sophie and left the room.

Jake, Jenny's husband and Chris and Sophie's dad, waited on the end of the phone for his daughter to speak. He hated these calls; they emphasised his distance from his family and it made him feel sad.

“Hello Daddy.” Sophie came on the line and he thought that his little girl sounded older. He wished he was there to see her grow up. He buried this feeling inside for the moment.

“Hello sweetheart, how're you today?” He smiled. She always sounded so serious and grown up.

“Fine thank you Daddy. How are you?”

“I'm fine,” he said. “What have you been doing?” He could see her in his mind, sitting on the sofa with the phone in her hand. He wanted to be at home – he wished that things were different.

“We went swimming,” she said, “after school, and we had crisps and some sweets, but Mummy was crying on the way home so we had to stop.” He listened to her day, a jolting pain in his chest as she described Jenny crying in the car.

“I'm sorry that Mummy was upset,” he said. “You have to be patient, it's very hard for her, without Chris.” It was hard for him too, that was the reason he'd left, the reason that he couldn't stand being in the house a moment longer – the memories of their son were too painful.

“But you enjoyed the swimming did you?”

Sophie babbled on for a while, describing how many times she'd jumped in from the side of the pool and what sweets she'd chosen. He let her talk run over him like water.

“Daddy, I'd better go now,” Sophie said. Jake focused his attention back.

“OK, where's mummy darling?” he asked, “Shall I have a quick word with Mummy?” He wanted to talk to Jenny, just check that she was all right and that the upset that afternoon was under control.

“She's talking to Chris,” Sophie replied, “she's with him now.”

Jake hesitated then said; “Chris who?”

“Our Chris.”

Jake shook his head and wondered for a moment if this was a joke. “Sophie,” he said, “Chris is dead. Don't say things like that. It's not nice Sophie, it's very upsetting.”