1983

missing -

Men not here -

Only you:

A fat man on fire and on his feet -

Melting -

A pool of piss on a patterned carpet.

You say: ‘I’m sorry.’

Their four eyes behind their metal frames -

Silent.

You push your way along between the settee and the table, edging towards the door, your shirt wringing, sticking to your stomach and back.

‘Mr Piggott,’ says Mrs Myshkin again. ‘He did not do it.’

Men not here.

You stop just to say again: ‘And I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be of any use.’

The two little women in the little front room with its little photographs and pictures of men gone, men gone missing -

Not here -

The two little women watching another man go.

In the doorway, you turn to say goodbye but Mrs Myshkin is on her feet:

‘Mr Piggott,’ she says. ‘I knew your father.’

You stand in the doorway with your back to her now, your mouth dry and your clothes wet.

‘He was a good man,’ she says. ‘I can remember him with you and your brother, playing football on that field over there.’

Men not here.

‘It’s not enough,’ you tell her. ‘Not enough.’

‘No,’ she says, a hand upon your arm (upon your heart). ‘It’s too much.’

You walk out into the hall.

There is an evening paper sticking through the letterbox. You pull it out and open it up.

There’s that photograph of Hazel Atkins, that word:

MISSING -

You turn back to hand the paper to Mrs Myshkin.

‘It’s happening again,’ whispers her sister behind her.

‘Never stops,’ says Mrs Myshkin. ‘Not round here.’

Not here -

‘You know that,’ she says, her hand squeezing your hand (your heart) -

Here.

Chapter 6

Phone is ringing and ringing and ringing -

Come on, come on, come on -

Hopping from foot to foot in a Bradford Bus Station phonebox -

Please, please, please -

And Clare picks up and BJ know she knows -

Knows her sister is dead, slurring: ‘What now?’

‘It’s BJ.’

‘BJ love,’ she’s sobbing. ‘Gracie’s dead.’

‘I know,’ BJ say. ‘I was there.’

‘Bastards,’ she’s howling. ‘Bastards!’

‘Clare, listen to me,’ BJ whisper. ‘You’ve got to get a cab and come and meet me.’

‘Fucking filth are sending a car over, aren’t they?’ she’s crying. ‘Got to go and fucking identify -’

‘You got to run -’

‘I’m too fucking tired -’

‘Clare, listen to me -’

‘Paula and now Gracie -’

‘And it’ll be you next,’ BJ shout. ‘Come on.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Bradford Bus Station,’ BJ say. ‘Cafй opens in an hour.’

‘But they’re coming -’

‘Well, fucking run -’

‘…’

‘Hello? Hello?’

Line dead, BJ hang up and dial again but it’s engaged, again but it’s engaged.

BJ stand in phonebox freezing BJ’s tits off, staring at season’s greetings:

Derek Shags Convicts Wives.

BJ dial one last time.

BJ hang up and turn and open door.

A man is sat on bench next to phonebox.

BJ look at BJ’s watch:

Four in morning.

Man on bench says: ‘Excuse me?’

BJ look at him: ‘Yes?’

‘Do you have the time?’ he asks.

‘You’ve got a watch.’ BJ nod at edge of sleeve of man’s coat.

‘So I have,’ he smiles. ‘Silly me.’

BJ smile back: ‘Silly you.’

He is middle-class and middle-aged and most likely married or recently divorced, dressed in corduroy trousers and an anorak. He says: ‘I’m Jim. What’s your name?’

‘BJ.’

‘That’s a nice name.’

‘BJ’s name, BJ’s game.’

‘I like games,’ says Jim.

‘Me too,’ BJ say. ‘But they’re not cheap.’

‘I didn’t think they would be,’ he sighs.

‘Ten pounds.’

He nods.

BJ look around bus station -

It’s empty.

‘I’ve got my car,’ says Jim.

BJ shake head: ‘Follow me.’

BJ and Jim walk across deserted platforms and into toilets and into far cubicle -

BJ put bog lid down and tell him to sit down.