Part 25 (1/2)
Thank you. Had he said the words or merely thought them? I have to eat. Had he said the words or merely thought them? I have to eat.
Retrieving the money, he jammed the cap on his head, and pulled himself up. His legs were soft, his knees painful. He made himself walk. Soon he was pa.s.sing a row of shops, and in one doorway, a young woman kneeling on a grimy blanket. On her neck was a medical dressing, stained with pus. She was sobbing in near-silence.
No one was pausing to look at her.
That's not right.
He pulled out his coins, squinted as he counted, then put one third of the money back in his pocket. The rest, he carried over to her, and held out.
”Oh,” she said. ”Oh.”
”It will get better.”
”Thank you.”
”Yes.”
And then he walked on.
Finally, he pa.s.sed a burger joint from which amazing smells drifted. He went inside, to where the fries-andburger aroma was so strong, he wanted to cry. He stood at the counter.
”No, mate. Sorry.” The woman pulled back the basket of sauce-sachets, which were supposed to be free. ”Not in here.”
”I wanted to buy”
”You're disturbing the customers.”
Richard bowed his head, and shambled out.
At some point in his wandering he pa.s.sed MI6 headquarters, familiar from movies: the sharp-lined ochre-and-green building, the laser turrets on the armoured gates. How could it be a Secret Intelligence Service if everyone knew where they worked? Then he stumbled on, pa.s.sing beneath an old steel railway bridge, and found a stallholder who sold him a bar of Cadbury's and a bag of locust-flavoured crisps. The salt and sugar tasted fantastic; but afterwards, his background headache worsened, filling his skull, dampening his vision.
At some point, as he crossed a dirty park away from the shops, a girl's voice sounded. The effect was like a giant hand swatting him, making him stumble.
Opal?
”that way,” she was saying. ”Like this. When your hands. .h.i.t the wall, your hips are still well back, so there's time to get your knees up to your chest.”
It was a big rubber-coated block she was vaulting over, not a wall. Other blocks stood around the gra.s.s, along with crash mats. Opal made it look easy, going over with her legs pa.s.sing between her hands, landing in a quarter-crouch.
”If we had gek-gloves” someone started to say.”Freerun first, gekrun later.” Opal slapped the rubberised block. ”If you can't do a Kong vault freehand, you'll never manage the gloves and skates.”
She looked around her small group of trainees. A couple looked about fourteen, her age; some were younger, some older. One lad might have been seventeen, starting to bulk up with muscle; but he stared at Opal with awed concentration.
”All right,” she said. ”Next we try to push our legs out into a pike, right? It's like a Kong, but you doubleslap and kick through into a Kash.” She took several steps back. ”When you start your run, make sure you're looking at Richie?”
Faces turned towards him.
”Uh. Hi.”
”Richie, you idiot idiot.” She was in front of him and grabbing his upper arms, as if she had teleported from where she had been. ”What happened to you?”
”I don't... They got. Took. Jayce.”
”He was bound to get arrested sooner or”
”Not police. Someone else.”
”Forget him. Have you been eating?”
”I” He shook his head.
Her arms were holding him up. When had his legs grown so soft, unable to take his weight?
”Paul?” she said to the seventeen year-old. ”Take over.”
”Me?”
”Show 'em Cat, then dismount from Cat. Then a three-sixty Cat, all right?”
Paul's lips moved, and he nodded.
”Got it,” he said. ”Maybe a TicTac afterwards?”
”If you like, for fun. Only keep 'em safe. Everythingon the equipment, nothing on the street.”
”OK. All right, everyone...”As Richard left, guided by Opal, the group began to jump at the upright blocks and cling like a kitten on a curtain who suddenly doesn't know what to do. It was a feeling that he knew inside out. But Opal's thin body felt strong as stone as she half-carried him towards the squat that suddenly was home.
In her consulting room in Elliptical House, Suzanne used her phone to contact the Brezhinski family. It was Mr Brezhinski who answered, his image brightening in the small display. He was probably thirty-something, made older through the facial lines of stress.
”Mr Brezhinski,” she said. ”Did you come to a decision yet?”
”If you could come here tonight... my wife will be home, because her bridge club cancelled the usual meeting.”
”My expenses will”
”We're not rich, but it doesn't matter. Please help her.”
”Then I'll be there.”
”Thank you. Thank you so much.”
After a moment, his image cleared.