The Drowners (22 page)

Brian Morris stopped at the threshold and looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes dark with resentment.

‘Mine is all done,’ he said.

Alex walked over to the workbench, which was, indeed, clear, clean and seemingly untouched by anything remotely like work.

‘Show me your bike,’ she said, smiling at him to take the sting out of any perceived reprimand. Brian scowled, returning reluctantly to the back room where the bicycles, all unclaimed and unwanted models donated by the police, were packed.

‘That ’un,’ he said, pointing towards the far corner.

Brian’s bike, if it was his bike, was lodged under several others, seemingly untouched and certainly unloved. Inside, Alex sighed. Eddie’s idea for the bike project had seemed perfect at the time – a chance to teach some practical skills, the opportunity to engage this most disaffected of groups and a way to provide free transport at the end of it. They had visions of young men riding their bikes around town, proud of their own work. Brian’s rusty hulk, on the other hand, suggested not all were taking to the idea with quite as much enthusiasm.

‘Are you finding this a bit difficult?’ she asked him, keeping her voice down in the hope of avoiding attention from the rest of the bunch.

Brian shrugged, his attention already wandering to the door and freedom.

‘Brian,’ Alex persisted. His eyes turned back towards her. ‘You get to keep the bike so you can choose any of them, you know. It means you can get around a bit on your own.’ She felt like an aunt, wheedling a grown up nephew into taking her out for the day. Brian shrugged again.

‘Don’t matter,’ he said finally. ‘Can’t ride no bike. Never learned.’

‘It never occurred to me, some of the lads might not be able to ride a bike,’ said Alex, exasperated by her own assumptions.

‘We could arrange to teach them,’ suggested Sue. ‘Or maybe get someone in. They could do something like the cycling proficiency test.’

Alex groaned and rolled her eyes in disgust. ‘I can’t see a hulking great hooligan like Brian Morris doing the cycling proficiency test. Riding round cones, giving hand signals – and it’s run by the police.’

‘Umm …’ Sue wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right. I dread to think what sort of hand signals he would give under those circumstances. It’s a bit of a shame though, makes it a bit pointless if he can’t ride the bike at the end of it. Couldn’t you teach him, in the evening when everyone’s gone?’

Alex shook her head firmly. ‘There’s no way I’m spending my evenings in the yard teaching Brian to ride a bike. Anyway,’ she held up her newly liberated arm for inspection, ‘what the hell do you think would happen if I tried riding a bike with this?’

‘You is lucky,’ came Lauren’s voice from behind them. ‘At least you got the choice. I can’t ride no bike, no matter how I try. Bikes ’ent made for people my shape.’

Alex was surprised by this. Lauren rarely referred to her diminutive stature and even more rarely admitted it stopped her doing anything. She was actually one of the most positive and capable people Alex had ever met.

‘You’ve never ridden a bike?’ Sue asked.

Lauren shook her head and settled herself on a spare chair at their table.

‘Always wanted to,’ she admitted, as she unpacked her lunch. ‘I tried a couple of times but first I couldn’t reach the pedals and when I tried standing up, I just kept falling off. And them levers on the bars …’

‘The brakes?’ suggested Sue.

‘Yeah, them. Couldn’t get my hands round ’em to pull properly.’ She held one hand up, looking at the short, stubby fingers sadly. ‘So was one of them things I never got to do. Seemed wonderful, to be able to just get on a bike and go off somewhere on your own. ‘Course, Mum wasn’t too keen on that anyway, so I think she was pleased, secretly like, I never
managed it. Anyway,’ she continued, changing the subject entirely, ‘what do you reckon on Garry then?’

‘Garry? What about Garry?’ asked Alex, who was still musing over the problem of Brian and the bikes.

‘Well, we’s got a little competition going. Five to one, he comes back in a month, three to one he comes back in a few weeks but cracks up again, ten to one he goes somewhere else, fifty to one he gets sacked.’

Sue shook her head, torn between amusement and shock. ‘That is unbelievably callous,’ she said. Then after a moment, ‘Put me down for back in a month.’ She fished in her pocket and pulled out a crumpled pound note.

‘What about you Alex?’ asked Lauren, taking Sue’s money.

‘I really don’t think we should bet on something like that,’ Alex protested. ‘The man’s ill – it seems wrong somehow.’

‘Come on, he’s done nothing but pick on you since you started here last year,’ Sue pointed out. ‘What do you care – he’s a bully, he’s stupid and he’s totally lost it as far as the work is concerned. Honestly, Alex, sometimes you are just too forgiving for your own good.’

Despite her reservations, Alex was tempted.

‘All right, I’ll go for several weeks and then off again. Probably because that’s what I’m hoping will happen, if I’m honest.’

‘Now who’s being callous,’ muttered Lauren as she scribbled their bets in a small notebook.

On her way back to the day centre Alex bumped in to a surprise visitor – two visitors, to be exact.

‘I’m wondering if you can spare a moment,’ came the unexpected and rather unwelcome voice of Ada Mallory from the corner. Alex jumped, lost in her own thoughts and oblivious to her surroundings as she pondered the Brian Morris problem.

‘Oh, hi Ada,’ she said, forcing her face into something resembling a smile. Her eyes darted towards a second figure sitting in the gloom, a diminutive woman who looked older
than Ada, though there was something familiar about her, as when she stood and walked forward she seemed to radiate the same determination.

‘Lily Dodds,’ said the woman. ‘Charlie’s grandma.’ With unexpected formality she held out her hand and Alex shook it, wondering what she had done to deserve this deputation.

‘Look, I’m sorry,’ said Alex, ‘but I’m a bit busy at the moment – can this wait?’

‘Would appreciate a few minutes,’ said Ada firmly. ‘We come in on the bus, special to see you. Got to be off soon or is a long walk home. Bus leaves at three and ’ent another till Friday.’

Alex knew better than to argue with Ada when she was in a determined mood. With a shrug of resignation she led the women through the main room and into her tiny office. Ada looked around and sniffed.

‘This don’t look much,’ she said disparagingly. ‘Why ’ent you in that nice room upstairs?’

‘I need to be on hand,’ Alex muttered, annoyed and embarrassed in equal amount. ‘Here.’ She pulled out a folding chair and set it by the desk next to the others. ‘Please, sit down. How can I help?’

Ada settled herself on the ‘client’ chair with Lily depositing her bulk rather gingerly on the other.

‘We got some information as might be helpful,’ said Ada. Alex looked at her blankly as she continued, ‘About these drownings and such. All them strange goings-on out round Shapwick.’ Nodding with satisfaction, Ada sat back looking very pleased with herself.

Alex sighed heavily and raised a hand in protest. ‘Look, I appreciate you coming all this way to see me but it’s really nothing to do with me,’ she said wearily. ‘I think you should talk to the police if you have anything to help them. They are investigating this – that’s their job.’

Ada glared at her across the desk and leaned forward, tapping one finger on the desk between them.

‘Well, firstly I don’t know as I want to talk to no police, after the way they treated my Kevin, and secondly we figured you would want to know, seeing as is a couple of your young lads is mixed up in it all. Still,’ she sat up and folded her arms, ‘if you think I should go tattle to the police afore you’ve had a chance to talk to them, well ’tis up to you.’

Alex gave Ada a hard stare, but she was hooked and her visitors knew it.

‘I suppose this has something to do with Charlie?’ she said turning to Lily Dodds.

Lily had the grace to look a little uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and clutching her handbag more tightly to her bosom.

‘He’s a good boy,’ she said with a touch of defiance. ‘He means well but – well, he’s too easily led and – a bit idle really. If there’s a chance of making a few bob without having to put hisself out he’ll take it. He don’t mean no harm.’

Alex considered this statement for a moment.

‘Would this be related to his hand?’ she asked. ‘I saw it was bandaged up this morning, in the workshop. What happened?’

Lily Dodds made a hissing sound, sucking the breath in through her teeth. The transformation was startling as in an instant she changed from doting grandmother to avenging fury.

‘Don’t know who it was,’ she said. ‘Just some bloke from Bristol called Max. Charlie wanted to stop, see. This Max, he seems to have taken offence at that. Rob, he left sharpish but Charlie, well he was stuck there.’

‘And if they ’ent stopped, is possible there’ll be more people hurt, maybe killed,’ added Ada.

Once more Alex found herself adrift in the strange, illogical world of half-truth, rumour and assumptions that always seemed to surround her encounters with Ada and the other Levellers. Some of her confusion must have showed on her face for it was Ada’s turn to sigh impatiently.

‘Was them as gave your lad the stuff to bring in to town. You know, that poor boy, thinks he’s a lorry.’

‘Simon?’ said Alex. ‘I spoke to him, just last week. I think he knew he shouldn’t have anything to do with it but he said he needed the money.’

‘Well, we all need the money,’ snapped Lily. ‘The way things is, ’ent nobody got nothing no more.’

‘Right,’ said Ada. ‘Everyone needs the money but there’s some things you don’t do. Don’t matter how much you needs the money, some things is not worth it. ’Cos they’s just wrong.’

‘And no good’ll come from ’em either,’ finished Lily.

The women stood in unison and nodded their thanks to Alex. It was like being confronted by two Russian dolls.

‘So you’ll sort it then?’ said Ada, standing in the doorway.

Alex managed a rather sickly smile before flopping behind her desk. She hadn’t a clue what she’d agreed to. Suddenly Ada’s head popped back round the door.

‘So you’ll let us know what we’m should do, yes?’ and she was gone again.

Not for the first time, Alex wished she had a stiff drink secreted somewhere in her desk.

Derek Johns woke, cold and stiff, to the sound of footsteps outside his hidey-hole. Moving very slowly, he got up out of his camp-bed and slid across to the slatted window, peering out into the early morning. A mist was rising from the
surrounding
marsh, drawn by the warmth of the rising sun. The light fractured in the moist air, sending miniature rainbows glittering across the landscape, and outside in the
surrounding
trees the birds lifted their heads and sang for joy. Scowling with anger at this interruption, Derek stepped over to the false wall, leaning his head against the boards that covered the entrance to his hidden room. Several voices and the sound of heavy items being moved around seeped through the partition. Police, he wondered, or someone looking to make use of the abandoned factory? Could even be thieves after anything saleable – metal scrap or old tools maybe. The scraping stopped and then he heard knocking on the wall, up
at the far end he reckoned but moving in his direction. Time to leave. Again.

Gathering up his bag and his increasingly meagre
belongings
, he turned his attention to the slatted shutter covering the window at the back of the room. Originally designed to lift out in an emergency, it was swollen from rain and exposure to the relentless environment on the Levels and despite his considerable strength Derek could not make it budge. He grimaced as a flash of pain shot through his hand and up into his elbow, making the whole arm throb. The tapping was getting closer and it was only a matter of minutes before the searchers found the hollow section covering his room. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Derek shoved as hard as he could, forcing a section of the shutters to splinter noisily. There was silence in the main building behind him, the searchers presumably looking around for the source of the sound. Using his shoulder to push a big enough hole in the ruined window, Derek scrambled out into the cool morning air, hauling his bag behind him.

Not waiting for the intruders to locate him, he stumbled across the strip of yard to the back hedge, pushed his way through and plunged on towards the surrounding marsh. Derek was a Leveller, born in a small hamlet and raised in the watery landscape. From the moment he could walk he had picked his way through the water meadows and canals, and the treacherous land held no fears for him. Risking a glance behind him, he spotted the flash of a uniform and cursed softly. Police or the bloody plastic security men – either would be bad news. Distracted by the threat behind him, stiff and a little dizzy from lack of sleep, he slid down the incline from the old factory keeping the surrounding shrubs between him and the pursuers. Splashing round the edge of the marsh, he edged out towards a thick clump of reeds that offered firm ground and cover knowing if he could get out of sight they were unlikely to chance coming after him. The muddy ground sucked at his feet, slowing progress and making it impossible to move silently. A shout from behind indicated he’d been
seen but his best option was to continue, pressing on through the swamp of the West Waste and hoping they were too afraid to follow. As the two uniformed men halted at the start of the mud, their voices fading into the distance, Derek pushed on across the treacherous landscape, a feral grin on his face. This was his land, his home and he had little to fear.

Suddenly his foot slipped and he lurched to the left, sliding towards a pool of stagnant water. The bag swung round off his shoulder, threatening to pull him over and, instinctively, Derek put out a hand to steady himself. His arm slid beneath the surface, up to his elbow, before Derek could throw his weight in the opposite direction. Moving as slowly as he could he tried to extricate his arm from the mud but his left foot was firmly mired and sinking, pulling him over, face down towards the marsh. As the cold struck through his soaked clothes, Derek tried not to panic. Thrashing about was a sure way to get yourself killed out on the Levels. His only hope was to distribute his weight and work his left side free without breaking the surface mud – unless he was going to call for help from the police. Not an option, he thought, wriggling his way out of the strap holding his bag. Loath to lose his remaining few possessions, he shrugged it away to the right where it landed in another puddle of water.