Trust (2 page)

        Regardless of what I knew I’d seen, the reality was too incredible to believe. `Aliens? Fucking hell, there’s no way that…’ `So what was it then?’ `I don’t know. It could have been a prototype for a new type of plane or an airship or something like that?’ `Bollocks,’ he snapped.

        I knew he was right but I still instinctively tried to find an alternative explanation. It just sounded so damn implausible. I mean, aliens and spaceships for Christ’s sake? And anyway, why would any alien in its right mind choose to make its debut appearance here out in the back-end of nowhere on a miserable Friday afternoon? `Thousands of people must have seen it,’ Rob continued. `There’s no way the authorities can try and keep this quiet, is there? They’re not going to be able to come up with a good enough story to cover this up. How can they expect…’

        `Bloody hell, be quiet will you?’ I snapped. My brother was getting on my nerves. Whenever he became excited he would talk incessantly, and that really pissed me off because my natural reaction was to do the opposite - I just wanted to shut up and concentrate and try and make some sense of what was happening. I switched on the television and sat on the floor in front of the screen. `Jesus…’ Robert whispered as he sat down on the sofa behind me. `It doesn’t look like they’re even going to bother trying to hush it up, does it?’ I said.

        Virtually every channel carried the same picture - a direct live feed from the bobbing deck of a boat which swayed and rocked with the waves of the sea some fifty miles off the coast. The unsteady camera work revealed the huge ship we had seen in all its dark glory. Enormous and impervious, it hovered silently hundreds of feet above the restless water. A fleet of boats were dotted around the scene. Countless helicopters and planes buzzed and fluttered relentlessly through the swirling skies on all sides of the mighty craft. When one of the helicopters flew towards the camera from close to the hull of the ship its relative insignificance made the massive machine’s vast proportions instantly and incredibly apparent. The camera pulled back again to show more of the ragtag flotilla of cruisers, ferries, tugs and other ships (most obviously military, others apparently more industrial in their design) that had gathered in the shadows of the mysterious titanic. `I just don’t believe this,’ Robert mumbled under his breath. `They’re here. They’re actually here…’

        I had given up trying to shut Robert up and I turned up the sound to try and compensate. The unsure voice of an obviously dumbfounded commentator was speaking. `…just to remind you that for the time being we’ll be staying with this live coverage,’ the woman’s voice said, `and to repeat once again that these are genuine pictures. This is not a hoax.’

        I looked over my shoulder. Robert had a dumb, childish grin plastered across his face. I turned back and continued to stare into the screen, hypnotised by a combination of bewilderment, disbelief, nervousness and utter amazement.

        It was one of those life-defining moments.

        Like watching the Gulf wars kicking off live on TV.

        Like watching the space shuttle explode in the sky.

        Like hearing that the princess had died in the tunnel.

        Like watching the World Trade Centre collapse after the terrorist strikes.

        I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

        A stream of information ran across the bottom of the television screen which read; `Confirmed arrival of alien ship.

        First official word from the Government due shortly. Downing Street spokesman advises population to remain calm. No evidence of hostility…’ `Can you imagine what Dad would have made of all of this,’

        Rob whispered. I nodded and smiled. My brother’s fervour and wonder would have paled into insignificance next to that of our dad. He had been a keen kitchen-sink scientist and amateur astronomer for as long as I could remember. He’d always seemed to be more interested in what was happening in space than in his own home and I would have given anything to have had him sitting next to me and watching the television now. He would have been so bloody excited. It all would have meant so much to him. `So what do you think the politicians are going to say?’ Rob asked. `Don’t know,’ I replied. `You would have expected them to try and play things down but I don’t see how they can now.’ `Why?’ `Because so many people have seen so much, that’s why.

        They’ve got to come clean and tell us everything they know.’ `Everything?’ `Well they’ve got to make the population believe that they’ve been told everything, haven’t they? They’ll do more harm than good if they don’t. The more they tell us, the less there is for people to make up for themselves. And the less people make up the…’

        The picture of the ship on the television screen disappeared and was replaced by a news reader’s face. The Government’s announcement was imminent. The speed of events only served to emphasise the potential gravity and scale of our situation. For me the appearance of the first grey-suited politician on the screen instantly took away the edge of excitement and replaced it with a sobering degree of nervous uncertainty. I sensed that the words I was about to hear would set an important tone. Any hostility or fear in the diplomat’s voice would indicate that our safety was not as guaranteed as we might naively have presumed in the bewilderment of the afternoon.

        The official walked towards a speaker’s plinth and as he did so he was showered with a relentless stream of light from a hundred camera flashes. He paused for a second to collect himself and then cleared his throat before speaking. `Earlier this morning,’ he began, his voice initially unsteady, `various observatories and scientific outposts around the world and in space were made aware of the presence of an unidentified object on the outskirts of our solar system. As the progress of this object was tracked it changed course several times before finally heading towards Earth.’ He paused for a moment and shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot. `Although no direct contact has been made as yet, the ship has broadcast a continual signal which, to all intents and purposes, seems to be a distress transmission.’

        A second pause, this time long enough to allow the assembled reporters to fire off a volley of desperate questions at the politician while their associated photographers launched another barrage of flashes. The defenceless spokesman lifted his hands in an attempt to restore some order. `The ship has been led away from land and is currently holding a position some fifty miles from the east coast of England. No resistance was offered to the armed air escort which guided it out over the ocean and, despite continual attempts, no contact has been made with whoever, or whatever, is piloting it.

        There’s really nothing more I can tell you at the present time…’

        As the spokesman was hit with another barrage of camera flashes and questions I stood up and walked over to the window again. There were still flurries of activity in the village streets below. It had stopped raining and the crowds around the sea wall remained. They seemed surprisingly happy and relaxed. Even from a distance I could see that there was a surprisingly calm and peaceful atmosphere in Thatcham.

        I could identify with the people outside. Strange and pretentious as it might have sounded, each one of them was suddenly a friend and an ally. The unexpected arrival of a new and previously unknown life form to the planet already seemed to have made the indigenous human population subconsciously bond closer together. I could see it happening everywhere I looked. People were standing and talking and laughing with people they wouldn’t have even looked at yesterday. Already there were no longer black people and white people or Muslims and Christians and Jews or men and women or upper class and working class. There were just people. `Where do you think Dad would be now?’ Rob asked. I glanced over at him sitting cross-legged on the sofa. He had a deadly combination of concentration, fascination and excitement fixed on his face. If I half-closed my eyes I could see a five yearold Robert watching Star Wars, not a twenty-four year-old watching footage of man’s first confirmed contact with an alien intelligence. I half expected Dad to come into the room. `Knowing what he was like,’ I eventually replied, `he’d either be out there on a boat trying to get as close as he could or he’d still be up in the attic trying to find his binoculars.’

        Rob laughed. `I’d go for the boat,’ he smiled. `He’d have been first on the scene.’

        I’d have given anything for him to have been there watching the world change with us.

        Cold and shivering, I forced myself to move and dragged my tired body into the bathroom.

        When I moved to Thatcham I made a real and very conscious effort to try and keep myself to myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with anyone else, rather I didn’t want to be drawn into communal life. I didn’t want to become just one of the crowd or part of the fixtures and fittings. I wanted some space and some distance from the rest of the world around me. Unfortunately it didn’t work.

        Drink was my problem.

        I was developing a real taste for beer, and it was fast becoming part of the regular routine that I’d vowed never to have. Siobhan, a few friends and myself had got into the habit of going into The Badger’s Sett pub every Friday night for a few drinks. I hadn’t realised that it had become so routine until, last Friday, I’d walked in there and found my drink waiting on the bar for me. Ray Mercer - the landlord - had poured it ready.

        This Friday most people needed a drink more than usual.

        Siobhan called at the house just before eight. I watched her arrive from the bedroom window and followed her every step as she walked up the short garden path and let herself in. There was no getting away from the fact that she was absolutely bloody beautiful. The intense buzz of excitement when I saw her was as strong today as it had always been. A cliché perhaps but true nonetheless - she was an inspiration to me. There had been some dark days recently - perhaps the darkest days - and she’d been the single beacon of light that had guided me safely through it all.

        She was standing in front of the TV when I walked into the living room. I didn’t say anything. I just crept up behind her, wrapped my arms around her and held her tight. `You okay?’ I asked, whispering softly into her ear.

        She pushed herself away slightly and turned around so that she could look into my face. She smiled and nodded and we kissed with the kind of passion normally reserved for lovers who have been separated for days or weeks. It had only been a few hours since we’d last been together. `I’m fine,’ she replied, still close and with her gentle breath ticking my face. `Are you?’ `I’m okay.’

        She sat down on the sofa. Like the rest of the population Siobhan was transfixed by the activity out over the ocean and she stared at the television screen in the corner of the room. I, on the other hand, continued to stare at her. Of course I was interested and anxious to know what was happening out at sea, but staring at Siobhan was infinitely preferable. She looked incredible in a short summer dress which left little to the imagination. That wasn’t a problem, because there wasn’t any aspect of her perfect body which my vivid imagination hadn’t already explored a thousand times or more. The clouds had lifted outside and brilliant orange sunlight flooded into the room, blinding her momentarily and obscuring her view of the TV screen. I took advantage of the distraction. `You look fantastic,’ I said as I sat down next to her and pushed my head close to hers. She wrapped her arms (and then her long legs) around me and pulled me close. `Only fantastic?’ she teased, her voice deliberately low and sultry. `No,’ I replied, shuffling closer to her (and shuffling to get comfortable because my trousers were tight and were becoming tighter by the second), `you look fucking fantastic.’ `That’s better.’

        I wanted her and she knew it. She was playing with me, and she was driving me wild. `Fancy me?’ she asked. She knew the obvious answer.

        Something about the way I was literally drooling over her must have given my less than subtle interest away. `You know I do,’ I answered, my breathing suddenly shallow. `Want me?’

        She stretched her legs further round until they held me tight.

        She pulled me down until the hard bulge in my jeans was pressed tight against her. `That’s a stupid question…’

        Robert walked into the room. `Christ, give it a rest will you?’ he sighed. I rolled over and sat down next to Siobhan, instantly deflated. Out of my brother’s view she rested her hand on my crotch and squeezed. `Later,’ she whispered. `I promise.’ `Can’t you leave each other alone for a few minutes,’ Rob whined sarcastically.

        We sat and waited for James Marchant, a friend of ours, to arrive. He eventually turned up at twenty past eight (fifty minutes later than planned - something of an improvement for James) and made no apology. James was a hardworking man (he still worked for the firm I recently resigned from) and, a couple of months ago, his wife had given birth to their forth child. If anyone had a valid excuse for being late, it was James.

        The four of us were uncharacteristically quiet as we walked through the village to the pub. With everything that had happened today we had plenty to talk about but I guessed that each of us needed time to individually come to terms with the unexpected events of the day. Once we were ready, I decided, then the alien arrival would no doubt become the mainstay of virtually every conversation for weeks to come.