if I didn’t, there was never going to be an opportunity like this again. I’m not stupid and naive enough to believe New Suffolk is going to be paradise, but it has the
As for Jannette… Well, I’m afraid, as far as I’m concerned she hasn’t been a proper mother to the kids for years now.
‘Let’s go,’ Zoe said. ‘We chose a long time ago.’
So I turned the ignition, and pulled out of the drive, the overloaded horsebox rattling along behind.
‘What’s that ring?’ Steve asked suddenly.
That’s my boy: sharp and observant.
‘This?’ Zoe held her finger up.
‘It’s an engagement ring!’ Olivia squeaked. ‘Are you getting married?’
‘Yes,’ I said. It was the first thing we wanted to do on the other side.
‘Does Mum know?’ Steve asked.
‘No.’
Abbey was waiting for me at Liverpool Street Station. It was a miracle I ever found her. The concourse was overrun by backpackers. I’m sure there wasn’t one of them over twenty-five, or maybe that’s just the way it is when you’re looking at young people from the wrong side of thirty-five. And I certainly hadn’t seen that much denim in one place since I went to the Reading Festival in the early nineties. Their backpacks were
I gawped in astonishment as the youngsters jostled around me. Nearly all of them were couples. And everybody had a Union Jack patch sewn on their clothes or backpack. I don’t think one in ten was speaking English; and under half of them were white.
Abbey yelled a greeting, and walked towards me, pushing her way aggressively forwards. She’s not a small woman and her progress was causing quite a disturbance amid all the smiley happy people. Her expression was locked into contempt as they flashed hurt looks her way. It softened when she hugged me. ‘Hi comrade darling, our train’s on platform three.’
I followed meekly behind as she ploughed onwards. The badges on her ancient jacket were clinking away; one for every cause she’d ever supported or march she’d been on. The rusty Pearly Queen of the protest nation.
Half the station seemed to want to get on our train. Abbey forced her way into a carriage, queuing being a bourgeois concept to her. We found a couple of empty seats with reserved tickets, which she pulled out and threw on the floor.
‘I don’t know where this lot all think they’re going,’ she announced in a too-loud voice as we settled in. ‘Murray doesn’t approve of poor foreign trash. There’s no way he’s going to let Europe’s potheads live in stoner bliss on his liars-paradise planet. They’ll get bounced right off his hole for middle-class worms.’
‘His restrictions are self-perpetuating,’ I said. ‘He doesn’t actually have lists of all the people he doesn’t like. And even if he did there’s no way of checking everyone who goes through. It’s pure psychology. Tell Tory tax- dodgers that no big bad pinkos will be allowed, and they’ll flock there in their hundreds. While the rest of us see who is actually going and we steer the hell clear. Who wants to live in their world?’
‘Ha! I bet the security services sold him our names in return for a nice retirement cottage on the other side.’
You can’t argue with Abbey when she’s in this mood, which admittedly is most of the time.
She pulled a large hip flask out of her jacket and took a slug. ‘Want some?’
I looked at the battered old flask, ready to refuse. Then I remembered I didn’t have the kids tonight. I wasn’t stupid enough to take a slug as big as Abbey’s. Thankfully. ‘Jesus, what the hell is that?’
‘Proper Russian vodka, comrade,’ she smiled, and took another. ‘Nathan went through last week,’ she said sourly.
‘Nathan? Your brother Nathan?’
‘Only by DNA, and I’m not even certain of that after this. Little prick. He took Mary and the kids with him.’
‘Why?’
‘Why do any of them go? The economy, sticking with their fellow traitors, blackouts, global warming, pay cuts, taxing the poor, NHS collapsing. Or in other words, the real world that everyone actually has to live in and try to make work, that’s what he’s running away from. He thinks he’s going to be living in some kind of tropical tax haven with fairies doing all the hard work, the dumb shit.’
‘I’m sorry. What did your mum say? She must be devastated.’
Abbey growled, and took another slug. ‘She says she’s glad he’s gone; that he and the grandkids deserve a fresh start
‘I know. Steve’s school is talking about classes of sixty for next term. The remaining governors have been having emergency meetings all summer, so I know how many staff have left.’ I hesitated. ‘It surprised me, I thought they were more dedicated than that.’
‘They would be if they were paid properly.’
‘The principal has to recruit another fifteen teachers before term starts, or they won’t be able to open at all.’
‘Fifteen? He wouldn’t have managed that many in a normal year.’
‘He said he’s quite confident. There’s all sorts of new placement agencies starting up to source overseas professionals for the UK. A lot of people are coming in to fill the gaps. Life’s going to go on pretty much the same as before once the exodus is over.’ That last was a straight quote from Gordon Brown last week.
‘Great,’ Abbey grunted. ‘Just what we’re fighting for.’
Our train started to pull out of the station. The backpackers were squashed down the length of the aisle,
