school musical that Fi had been in two years before.
‘Once again you find me,
The place you always find me,
The very very coolest place in town.
You see the blah blah blah blah blah…’
And then a bit later there was something like:
‘You see the bright lights burning,
A thousand heads are turning…’
But the rest was mostly blahs. I didn’t do very well on that one and I definitely wasn’t in the coolest place in town. Still, it worked as far as distracting me went. I started in on ‘Time of Your Life’, which I knew a lot better, and had the right kind of mood for where I was and what I was doing.
I had to do something. The darkness was so total that I didn’t bother holding my hand up in front of my face. I knew I could stick a finger in my eye socket and I wouldn’t see it. All I had was my mind and I had to keep that busy. I tried naming all the countries in the world. That got too complicated, so I did them in alphabetical order, and got to forty-three, then decided I had to reach fifty. Portugal. Forty-four. Oh, of course, those Pacific islands. Tonga, Fiji, Samoa. Forty-seven. Was New Caledonia a separate country or part of France? I wasn’t sure, so it got disqualified. Malaysia, of course, stoopid me. Forty-eight. Iceland, forty-nine. It took another, I don’t know, six or eight minutes to get to fifty. Time loses meaning when you’re in total darkness with your senses getting almost no input except the vibration of the truck and the sweet smell and prickly feeling of hay. Aaaggghhh Switzerland! I hugged myself with a feeling of triumph. How could I forget Switzerland? Maybe it was because they’d never been in a war. If the history of the world is one long series of wars interrupted by little moments of peace, then that could explain why I’d overlooked Switzerland. Still, a long moment of peace would suit me pretty well right now.
I started working out long complicated maths problems in my head. 316? 8. It’s not so hard. The way I do it is just eight 300s, 2400; eight 10s 80, add them, 2480; eight 6s, 48, add that as well: 2528.
Then I fell asleep.
CHAPTER 10
When I woke the truck had stopped. I didn’t know how long it had been stopped for. Nor why it had stopped. I kept thinking of the Scarlet Pimpernel, the actual book, about as ancient as the Bible. They’d smuggled people out of Paris in carts during the French Revolution, and the soldiers would stop the carts and search them… Was that happening right now?
I was hot and very thirsty, and could smell my own sweat. I longed to stretch out my legs before they cramped. The poly pipe wasn’t much use as a periscope because I couldn’t twist it to get a view. All I saw was the sky. It was still dark outside though. I rubbed the backs of my legs, trying to get some circulation happening. The more I thought about it the worse it got, like with everything. Then I felt the truck shake, as though someone had just got on it.
I could feel the bales being thrown off. It was scary. I didn’t know what I’d see, or who would be there. It was a bit like being born, I guess. I’d been in this little womb a long time and I’d had enough, I wanted to get out, but I had no idea who would be waiting and what the world would be like. Would they hold me upside down and spank me on the bum? Or worse? Anyway, this was a caesarean, not a natural birth. I didn’t have to do anything, just lie there curled up and wait till the doctor opened up a gap.
Cold crept in when the bale above me lifted off, but more like a sweet coolness, a refreshing wave of beautiful air touching me everywhere. It wafted around me, tickling and comforting. God I needed it. I looked up. Just the night sky and a couple of stars. Another bale went. The man was taking them off one by one, completely ignoring me. I climbed out and off the truck but didn’t try to help him this time. Sometimes doing nothing can be exhausting. I’d done nothing for a long time and I was totally stuffed.
We were in some sort of barn and the man was stacking the bales, starting a new pile beside the ones he already had. Probably a thousand bales in the barn altogether and nice stuff too, first-cut lucerne maybe, but you could see plenty of clover in it. He continued to ignore me and I continued to ignore him. I walked around trying to get my legs working, and more importantly trying to get my brain working. It was strange being in a place and having no idea where I was — literally no idea. Farm or city, mountain or desert, coast or inland, heaven or hell, take your pick. We were probably on a farm, obviously, and I don’t think we’d gone up or down a lot of hills, but we might just be in a grain storage place or a feed merchant’s. I drifted towards the door, thinking I’d have a peep outside, but also curious to know whether the man would acknowledge that I existed if I did something a bit more extreme. Sure enough, as soon as I got close to the door he hissed at me like a goose, and gestured for me to get back. I veered away, smiling to myself. It was reassuring to know that I existed, that I had substance, that I could be seen by others. If someone else acknowledges me then I must be real. I am seen, therefore I am.
Someone else existed too apparently — we were not alone in the world — because at that moment I heard a motorbike whirring towards us. It sounded, I don’t know, like a cicada having an orgasm. OK, yes, I’ve never heard a cicada having… but anyway, it was a motorbike that badly needed tuning. I looked at the man, expecting to see him waving wildly at me to take cover, but he carried on throwing bales off the truck. Now that his stack had grown he was trying to land them directly on top of the pile from the tray of the Acco. Obviously the motorbike didn’t represent danger.
It made me nervous though and I stood out of sight behind what looked like a very old threshing machine. The motorbike engine stopped and there was a pause before the door was suddenly thrown open. I could see the grey of first daylight behind the man who came in. He was a big guy, young, and as he took off his helmet I saw a huge row of perfect white teeth and heard a loud laugh. He spoke in another language to the man, but I was willing to bet he said, ‘Where is she?’
The man wasn’t sure himself now and he peered around looking for me. I came out from behind the thresher. The young guy heard me, turned, looked me over, and said in almost perfect English, just a trace of an accent: ‘Oh, nice, we got a good-looking one. About time.’
The older man didn’t react. I gave a weak kind of smile. The motorcyclist said, ‘You should have seen the last female we helped. We nearly turned her over to the police for being so ugly.’
I couldn’t help but give a bigger smile. I’d expected an atmosphere of secrecy and terror and here was another version of Homer, larger than life, outrageous and, to be honest, better looking. And here was the kind of humour I’d grown up with, the humour I was used to, the jokes that, for better or for worse, I’d been hearing all my life. For worse, actually, but that’s another story.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘I’m Toddy.’
‘Hi. I’m Ellie.’
‘Well, we got no time to waste. Here, we cover your beautiful face with this.’ He handed me a wig of black hair and a white mask, adding, ‘Don’t mind me, you get used to me, everyone does, sooner or later.’
I put the wig on carefully, tucking away any loose strands of my own hair. It came down below my shoulders, quite a long way, about fifteen or twenty centimetres. It felt weird. I’ve never had long hair. But I love black hair and was quite happy to get some suddenly. The mask was one of the ones you see people on TV wearing when there’s a plague, or nurses if they’re in an infectious area. Just a tissue-paper thing with a string. It was a clever disguise. Two items, both so easy to find, and my whole appearance was changed.
Or I assumed it was. I didn’t have a mirror, and although I went around the barn looking for a reflective surface, I didn’t find anything much. It was a pretty dusty old barn, and most of the metal surfaces were blotched and worn. Dust and rust, that was the story of that place.
‘Come on,’ said Toddy, ‘we don’t have time for you to go staring at yourself. You women, all the same, it doesn’t matter what you look like, it’s the personality guys go for, don’t you understand?’
I laughed. It was hard not to, even in such an unfamiliar and dangerous situation. I picked up my bag and followed him outside, calling out ‘Thank you’ to the older man, and waving. As before he said nothing, didn’t look at me, showed nothing. He was probably keen to wipe me from his memory, as fast as possible. I guess that reminded me just how dangerous everything was, the risks that he and this Toddy guy ran.
