35
Paul was shaken. He had to sit down.
They had let him go. They’d had to. Couldn’t even keep him as a witness, because he’d seen nothing. Or at least nothing he wanted to tell them. Because if he did, he would have to think about things too much and it would all start to fall in. No more sun on his face, no more breathing in the open air. No more relaxing. No. It would be back in the cave for him and he didn’t want that. Didn’t want that ever again.
But they had kept on. And on and on. And on. They had told him things, waited for him to respond. To make their minds up about whether he was telling the truth from what he said and the way he said it. And he didn’t want that. He couldn’t have that.
Because if they didn’t like what he said or the way he said it, they would put him in a cell and never let him out again.
And that would be as bad as the cave.
Or nearly as bad. At least he might be on his own there. Just Paul. No Gardener. That would be something.
But he had said nothing. Given them nothing. Because they were the dogs. The earth. He was the wind. The butterfly.
‘I’m the butterfly… ’
He hadn’t realised he had spoken aloud. People tried to pretend he hadn’t said anything, that they hadn’t seen him. Just glimpsed him out of the corners of their eyes and hurried on by. Made him invisible.
He didn’t care.
He walked up the street. Shops and people with bags. Going into shops to get more bags. And more. Hurrying before the shops closed, said they couldn’t have any more stuff till tomorrow. They would wait and then start again. That was their lives.
But not his. Never his. Because he had a joy within him they would never have. Could never know.
He said all this to himself as he walked up the street. Words coming out between his ruined teeth. Words only he knew the meaning of. Words they would never understand.
Up the street and away.
He could hear the cave calling. Knew who was there. What he would do. But Paul was soft. That was his trouble. He would go in, see if he was all right. See if he had changed, if he was ready to come out and be nice. Go from Cain to Abel. And sometimes he would say he was. But he was tricking Paul. Being nice just to get out. Then he would be the same as he always was. Bad. Bad man. Evil. The serpent in paradise. And he would throw Paul in the cave. And Paul would sit there in the dark. Crying, wailing. Feeling guilty for what he had done. Trying to find his way out. To see the sin and breathe the air. But there would be no way out. Not until the Gardener decided to let him out.
And Paul fell for it every time.
Every time.
Like this time. He knew he would fall for it. He always did. Because he was weak. He used to think it wasn’t weakness, it was meekness. For they shall inherit the Earth. But he had tried that. And look what had happened. That was where the Gardener had come from. And the rest of them.
So he hurried away from the people.
Because as hard as he tried to resist it, the cave was calling.
And he knew he would have to open it.
36
Donna closed the door behind her, hard. It felt loud. Final.
She looked down at Ben standing beside her. The little boy was wearing all his best clothes, his new – or new to him – coat on and fastened up to the neck. He looked up at her, eyes uncomprehending but trusting. A shiver of maternal feeling ran through Donna. It was one thing to look after herself. But now she had him to think about.
‘You all right, then?’ she said to him.
He nodded.
‘You remember what to do?’
Nodded again. ‘What you do,’ he said. ‘What you tell me to do.’
She managed a grim smile, hoped it didn’t scare him. ‘Good. Come on.’
She had packed a holdall with as much stuff as she could manage. She slung it over her shoulder, kept it in place with one hand, held Ben’s hand in the other. She looked over at the car. It was still there, the two men sitting in the front, pretending not to look at her.
Donna set off down the road, away from the main entrance on to Barrack Street. It was starting to get dark. The grey in the sky deepening, the sodium lights casting the street in pools of orange.
They passed the car, Donna looking through the windscreen at the two men. Both big, both wearing suits.
Just like Faith had said.
She swallowed hard, gave Ben the signal and started to run.
Initially, nothing happened. Then she heard car doors opening, slamming closed. Feet running behind her. They were coming.
Still gripping Ben’s hand hard, Donna ran down the road and round a corner. There were no houses down here. It was a walkway, a cut-through to another street. Bushes pushing against a chain-link fence on one side, the high wall of a graffitied garage on the other.
She raced down the cut, still holding the bag on her shoulder. Glad she was wearing trainers. Ben was running as fast as he could, trying to keep up with her. They reached a corner, ran round it. Stopped.
It was a longer alley, bushes on both sides, fast-food debris, plastic bottles lying around, broken glass sparkling like uncut diamonds in the weak reflected light of the occasional street lamp. It was deserted.
‘Get behind me. Quick.’
Ben obeyed, holding on to Donna’s leg, gripping it tight.
‘Don’t cling on to me, just stand there.’
He dropped his hands, did as he was told.
Donna waited, flattened against the fence, chest heaving from the exercise. If she got out of this, she told herself, she would never smoke again. Or cut down at least.
All she could hear was her own breathing.
She felt inside her jacket pocket, did an inventory with her fingers. All there. Good. She took out a small cylinder, held it tight in her hand.
Then she heard them, above her own ragged breathing, the pounding of feet on tarmac. She braced herself. Knew she would get only one chance at this, had to do it properly.
The first one arrived. She didn’t even stop to look at him, see if she recognised him. She just pointed her pepper spray, let him have it full in the eyes.
It took him a couple of seconds to realise what had happened, but once the shock subsided and the pain kicked in, he flung his head back, clawing at his eyes. He dropped to his knees, head forward. Gasping, screaming.
The other one arrived then. She turned to him, ready to give him the same treatment. But he was too quick for her. He had quickly sized up the situation, decided the same thing wasn’t going to happen to him. He looked straight at her, anger in his eyes. Punched out his fist. Knocked the can flying from her hand.
Advanced on her.
He smiled. He had her.
Or so he thought.
Heart beating so fast she thought her chest would explode, she reached into her pocket for Plan B. Brought it out.
