Read The Bombs That Brought Us Together Online
Authors: Brian Conaghan
The Bombs That Brought Us Together
For Rosie
1
Under the Covers
It was hard to remain silent. I tried. I really did, but my breathing kept getting louder as I gasped for clean air. My body was trembling, adding noise to the silence. Mum pulled me closer to her, holding tight. Dad cuddled us both. Three spoons under one duvet. With the summer heat and us huddled together the smell wasn’t amusing. I shifted about.
‘Shhh,’ Dad whispered. ‘Try not to make a sound.’
Mum kissed the back of my neck. Her wheezing chest blew out little puffs of air on to my head. ‘It’s OK, Charlie, everything’s going to be all right,’ she said.
‘Promise?’ I said.
‘Promise,’ Mum said.
‘Shhh,’ Dad said again, firmer, like an annoyed schoolteacher.
‘Mum, I’m really scared.’
‘I know you are, sweetheart, I know you are.’ Mum squeezed my bones.
‘We’re all scared, Charlie,’ Dad said. ‘But we need to hold it together. It’ll be over soon.’
Dad was scared, which increased my own terror levels. Dads aren’t meant to get scared. Dads protect. Dads make things better. But I guess there are some things in life even dads can’t affect. Bombs, for one.
The first pangs of nerves had begun as soon as the newsreader on the television stared out at us:
We expect this criminal act to be catastrophic for some of our residents.
The poor guy had looked stricken.
In Little Town, where I live, people know that something dreadful might happen to them one day; they realise that our Regime has infuriated some other Government, and that Government – specifically, the one over the border in Old Country – don’t like how certain things are done here: the way of life, the beliefs, the strangleholding … They think it’s all wrong, undemocratic. Inhumane. Pot and kettle springs to mind! Let’s call a spade a spade: Old Country’s Government thinks Little Town is just plain bad. Funny thing is we’ve heard that things over there aren’t much better (they don’t exactly welcome people speaking out either), but no one really knows for sure, because no one ventures across the border. Ever! In school everyone is told
that many moons ago Little Town belonged to Old Country and that it was inevitable that they’d come knocking – or bombing – to demand it back. But who knows for sure? What we do know, however, is that
our
Regime isn’t liked, even by us.
I know Little Town isn’t exactly a barrel of laughs, and we did expect some repercussions for various disagreements, but not this. Never this.
We were under that duvet for a whole twenty minutes before the first explosion. It was far away yet made my entire insides bounce. Mum’s body tensed. I heard Dad’s teeth grind together.
There was another crack; it seemed closer. A third quickly followed. It
was
closer. BOOM! The house rattled. I heard screams and cries from outside. Curfew breakers? People who hadn’t seen the news? Who hadn’t heeded the warnings?
These bombs sounded like a fireworks and thunder combination; human squeals echoed, cries became howls. Another bomb.
Then another.
And another.
‘I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die.’ I turned to face my parents. No duvet could save us. What was Dad thinking when he said,
Well, I suppose we best do something about these bloody bombs then
? Why didn’t he have a bunker or a shelter? What good was a duvet?
‘I’m not ready to die,’ I cried.
‘We’re not going to die, Charlie.’ Dad’s voice sounded unconvincing, wavering a bit. I fought for air. Mum wheezed. Here we were, the Law family, waiting for the ceiling to cave in on us. Waiting for the great leap into the unknown. These bombs that had brought the Law family together were about to blast us apart.
I glanced at my watch. Six minutes of relentless bombing.
A declaration of war? No army as such existed in Little Town – just some Rascals running around in military boots – so what was the point?
It’s funny the things you think about when you’re frozen with fear. I kept hoping that our shed wouldn’t be damaged. I had big plans for that shed. But the main thing, I suppose, was at least we weren’t dead.
Well, not yet anyway.
Our Education
In school when we’re being told all this stuff about Old Country my mind wanders a touch. Now, I’m not usually a mind-wanderer but sometimes, just sometimes, I think about schools over there in Old Country. I wonder if pupils there are being educated about Little Town.
No doubt.
THINGS WE ARE TAUGHT ABOUT OLD COUNTRY
•
They have buckets of money.
•
Their army has tanks, wagons, helicopters, flying bombers, a trillion guns and loads of soldiers.
•
Boys AND girls have to do Old Country Service in the army.
•
Old Country Government wear silly military gear.
•
You can’t exactly vote for who you want this Government to be.
•
It’s not easy to enter or exit Old Country.
•
Everything is big over there. EVERYTHING.
•
If people don’t conform, well …
•
They despise all things Little Town.
•
They despise me.
THINGS I IMAGINE ARE BEING TAUGHT ABOUT LITTLE TOWN
•
Little Town is filthy.
•
They are totally and completely skint.
•
People can’t wander the streets willy-nilly.
•
It’s hard to find jobs in Little Town.
•
Their society is full of murky, backhanded, dirty, double-dealing thugs.
•
Little Town’s Regime couldn’t run a raffle in a three-man tent.
•
A bunch of raggle-taggle Rascals run the place.
•
If people speak out, well …
•
Little Towners despise all things Old Country.
•
There will not be a Little Town much longer.
Once I told my history teacher that I wouldn’t mind spending a few days in an Old Country school – like, for a sociology spying mission – just to try and
understand
the similarities and differences, sir.
‘There are no similarities, Law,’ he said, eyes bulging and steam seeping out of his nostrils. ‘None at all!’
I guess not!
The Rules
It breaks my heart to see what’s happened to this place.
Before the bombs came Mum would say this at least once a week, no joking. Sometimes three times. When I came home from school without any homework to do, she’d say it. When I had to walk three miles to the only chemist in Little Town who sold her asthma inhaler, she’d say it. When I returned from the shops with an incomplete list of supplies, she’d say it. I got used to hearing this phrase.
Dad directed his annoyance towards the newspapers and television, scoffing and mocking all the stories of the day. This was
so far removed from the balanced, non-prejudiced news
that he wrote
back in the day
when he was
taking chances, being brave, standing up for honesty and transparency.
It was funny seeing Dad shout at rival newspapers.
‘You know you can get an inhaler any day of the week in Old Country,’ I informed Mum one time, as she had only three puff days remaining until I had to go and get her another. Dad flipped his lid, flashing his eyes above his paper and locking them on me.
‘Does that school of yours not teach you anything, son?’ I didn’t want to rhyme off what we actually learnt in school so I let him go off on one of his flips. ‘Old Country is out of bounds for us; you need papers to go over the border, a passport, a specific reason. We don’t have any of those things, so why bloody mention it?’
‘But I was just –’
‘OK, Charlie?’ Dad dropped his paper to his knees. ‘Are we clear about that?’
‘Crystal,’ I said.
Dad could be very sensitive about the political situation. He wanted nothing more than for everyone to come and go as they pleased, to live in perfect harmony and all that. But at the same time he didn’t want to attract trouble; he wanted to do his job without any hassles. That’s why he kept his mouth shut.
Another time I mentioned to Mum that I’d heard about a place in Little Town where we could get quality supplies any day of the week. A bit like a warehouse where, if you knew the right people – or password, I don’t know – you’d get in. I’d heard on the QT that if you paid a little bit more than
shop prices you could get your hands on just about anything. Even inhalers. If you knew any of the top brass who ran these places then even better. I actually thought Mum would’ve been happy with this news. Shows what I know!
‘I can get all the details at school, from Norman, if you want,’ I told her. Some people at school knew the score; they had their ears to the ground. Norman would definitely spill the beans if you got him talking.
When Mum gets angry her breathing becomes heavier, like she’s trying to suck in huge volumes of air so her tirade can be more powerful.
‘Now, you listen to me, Charlie Law, and listen good: if I ever catch you going to any of those places it’ll be school, home, room, bed for you for the next year.’
‘But I was just –’
‘Are we clear about that?’
‘Crystal.’
I was certain that Dad knew about these warehouses because I’d heard him mutter things behind his newspaper like,
An embarrassment to call themselves officials
AND
Who voted for this lot, eh?
AND
Bloody shower of gangsters if you ask me
AND
Who do they think they actually represent? Not me, that’s who!
It did seem a bit unfair that people living in Old Country could get whatever they wanted whenever they wanted and we couldn’t. I bet teenagers over there didn’t have to wait
ages until their parents saved enough money to buy them a new pair of swanky trainers or a denim jacket or books. I bet teenagers over there sneaked out to late nightclubs and maybe, just maybe, they did get to stay out after dark without feeling terrified. I’m betting, of course, but truth is I didn’t know for sure.
Whenever I got them all worried, Mum and Dad sat me down to tell me (once again) the dos and don’ts of Little Town. As I got older more stuff was added to the list. After the whole thing about getting inhalers from Old Country and black-market warehouses in Little Town, we had one major parental powwow. Afterwards I formulated and constructed my own list and stuck it on the inside of one of my books.
CHARLIE LAW’S TEN LAWS OF LITTLE TOWN
1.
Respect the dark curfew. No going out after dark in groups of three or more, unless you can prove that you are with family members.
(Easy to get around: walk somewhere separately)
2.
No ball games in public places.
(Parks … I know)
3.
No pets.
(One word: disease)
4.
No boozing in the streets.
(House boozing OK, though)
