Henry cocked his head, his dark twists of hair flopping with him. ‘It’s not just about what we do on the demos, or even from here. There are people out there, doing vital work. Lucy is one of them.’
‘And she’s back now?’
‘Yes, she’s back, because the time is getting nearer for positive action.’
‘How do you know?’
Henry’s eyes showed his excitement. ‘I just sense it. Don’t you?’ He banged his chest with his hand and grinned, his teeth bright white, matching the gleam of his eyes. ‘If you have belief, you know it. Do you have belief, John?’
‘I believe in you, Henry.’
‘That’s all you need,’ Henry said, and grinned again.
‘So what do we do?’
Henry looked back across the fields, towards Oulton. ‘You stay here, John, because I trust you to keep watch. When they come for us, fight them. We have a message, and they will try to stop it being heard. We have to be ready.’
John smiled. ‘Whatever is coming, Henry, I’m with you.’
Charlie tried to focus but the movement behind the bar seemed blurred, patches of light shimmering in front of him. He lifted his nearly empty glass, drained it and went to put the glass on the table, but misjudged it, so that the glass made a bang. The landlord looked over.
He was in The Old Star, a low-ceilinged pub of small side rooms that had avoided the open plan craze of the eighties. The lighting was subdued and the place kept warm by log fires. It was too easy to fall asleep there after a long day at the office.
He put his head back, closed his eyes and the sounds of the bar went distant. The smell of stale beer filtered into his nose, what used to be hidden by cigarette smoke before the smoking ban. He almost laughed. He knew this was too much for a Monday night, but it didn’t feel like the evening would get better if he went home. Then he realised that he was laughing, just a chuckle, but he was on his own, his eyes closed.
Charlie stopped himself as he thought of the message he’d had from Julie that morning, complaining about his Saturday night call. He felt for the phone in his pocket. Perhaps he ought to give her a ring, just to say sorry. But something stopped him; a last shred of common sense still making itself heard above the jangle of drunken musings.
He picked up his glass again. There was solace in there.
There was a noise in front of him. He knew who it would be: the landlord telling him that he’d had enough. He wasn’t interested in hearing that, and so he kept his eyes closed. Then he heard someone say, ‘Mr Barker?’
That ruled out the landlord or any of his clients. He was Charlie to everyone.
Charlie opened his eyes slowly and then waited for them to adjust, as the bar seemed to focus in and out and swirl in front of him. Then he saw that the person who was in front of him was Ted Kenyon.
Charlie closed his eyes again. He didn’t want an argument. He had left his job behind when he locked the door to the office.
‘Mr Barker, please wake up.’
He sighed. There was no escaping it. He sat up and moved around the side of the table. ‘I wasn’t asleep, I was resting my eyes,’ he said, his head bobbing as he spoke. When Ted didn’t respond, he added, ‘I’ll need a drink for this. Can I get you one?’
Ted looked uncertain at first, and then he nodded. ‘I’ll join you.’
Charlie went to the bar. The barman gave him a look as if he was about to refuse service, but then he glanced over at Ted and poured Charlie the same again, along with a pint for Ted.
When Charlie sat down, slumping back into his seat, Ted said, ‘Don’t you think you ought to slow down?’
Charlie lifted the pint to his lips, let some of the beer swim into his mouth, and then put his glass down. ‘Yes, I do, but I’m not making plans for it yet,’ he said, his voice coming out with more of a slur than he expected. He smiled. ‘I’m guessing this is no coincidence. Twice in one day. How has it been for you?’
‘Mixed.’ When Charlie frowned, Ted added, ‘The man I blamed for Alice’s killer still being free is dead, and so I should be happy, even though that is a bad thing to say, but I’m not.’
‘Perhaps because you’re a good man.’
‘That’s not what people think anymore.’
‘What, the girl in the car?’
Ted closed his eyes for a moment. ‘That was a set-up. I wasn’t doing anything.’
Charlie shrugged. He had stopped being a judge of human behaviour a long time ago. He helped to clean up the mess, not wonder how it happened.
Ted didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and Charlie thought he was going to leave, but he didn’t. Charlie gave it a few more seconds before he said, ‘You haven’t come here to watch me drink. So what can I do for you?’
‘I want you to tell me about Billy Privett.’
‘I can’t do that. It’s confidential.’
‘But Billy is dead now.’
Charlie sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but the Law Society won’t see it like that.’
Ted looked down at that, and suddenly Charlie felt shitty. He leant forward.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so blunt, but what did you expect me to say?’
‘You know things about how my daughter died,’ Ted said quietly, still looking at the floor. ‘When Billy was alive, I didn’t have to think about you, but now he is, well, you are all I have left.’ He looked up. ‘I know things that I’ve been told, but not the full story, and that’s what I need to know. I won’t tell anyone.’ Then he shook his head, answering his own query. ‘This was a stupid idea. I’ll go,’ and he stood as if to leave.
Charlie shook his head. ‘Sit down. Finish your drink.’
Ted looked at him unsure, and so Charlie said, ‘I don’t know anything about Alice’s death. Amelia looked after Billy Privett in relation to Alice’s case. She knew it would get media attention and we decided that she would be better for the interviews.’
Ted looked dejected, and for a moment, despite the boozy fog, Charlie saw his turmoil, that he just wanted answers.
‘I can tell you one thing, if it makes you feel any better,’ Charlie said.
Ted looked at him, expectant.
‘I have never heard anything from Amelia that suggested that Billy killed your daughter. I don’t know what part he did play, but if he murdered your daughter, he didn’t blurt it out to Amelia.’
Ted considered that for a moment, and then said, ‘Do people ever lie to their lawyers?’
Charlie smiled ruefully and took a drink. When he put his glass down, he replied, ‘All the time, Mr Kenyon. All the fucking time.’
Ted sighed and got to his feet. Charlie could tell that he wasn’t going to hang around anymore.
‘Thank you for your time, Mr Barker.’
‘It’s Charlie,’ he said.
Ted nodded at that but didn’t answer, and then turned to go.
Once Charlie was alone again, he looked at the full glass Ted had left behind and then wondered about what thoughts he was taking home with him. He could only guess at the injustice he must feel every time he woke up. Then Charlie thought of how he must have looked to Ted, drunk on a Monday night. Charlie felt the creep of self-pity, knowing that he was just avoiding an empty house.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. He thought again about calling Julie, but stopped himself. He put his phone away and tried not to think about her. Instead, he picked up his glass.
He would have just one more and then go home.
The night crept into early morning as John did what Henry had asked him: be a lookout. He had spent the evening sitting in a plastic chair with one of the old man’s shotguns in his lap. He had watched the night turn dark, the spread of stars take over the valley sky and the hill opposite turn into silhouette, just the occasional bleat of a sheep or the sweeping beam of a car interrupting the solitude.
Henry had left the house again, along with Arni, Gemma and the new woman, Lucy, all out for some fun. The ones who were left behind had been drinking home brew, some mixture Arni made from potato peelings that burned John’s throat, along with whatever the group had managed to steal on outings. People were sprawled on the floor, on cushions, glasses next to them, smoke drifting from ashtrays.
There was the sound of an engine. John got to his feet, his hand gripped around the shotgun. Was this what Henry had talked about, people coming for them? Then he relaxed as the engine noise got closer and he recognised the rattle of the Transit van. As he watched it approach, the headlights were off, and there was laughter coming from an open window.
Dawn appeared behind him and handed John a spliff. He took a long pull, grinned as that leaden feeling crept through his body. As the van rumbled to a halt, everyone jumped out, Henry from the passenger seat, Gemma and Lucy from the back. Lucy was carrying the face masks. Five of them, one for each of them and a spare.
Henry walked quickly, and he looked restless, excitable, wide eyed.
‘How was it?’ John said.
Henry didn’t speak at first. He just walked quickly to the living room, accompanied by the crackle of logs and the smoke that drifted in the light from candles flickering in each corner. John followed, and everyone sat upright when they saw Henry, who paced up and down and rubbed his hands, his gaze filled with concentration.
‘Henry?’ John said, smiling now at Henry’s excitement.
‘It was exhilarating,’ Henry said, grinning. ‘But we need to be careful. We have just brought everything closer. There’s not much left of tonight, and so we need to party.’
Whispers went round the room.
‘So where did you go?’ John asked. ‘Why have you brought everything closer?’
Henry shook his head. ‘When the truth needs to be told, it will be told. Have faith in me, that’s all you need right now.’ He hopped onto a stool at one end of the room and snapped his fingers. John went over to pass him the spliff. As he got close, Henry moved quickly. His hands clasped the back of John’s neck and pulled him in, so John could smell the staleness of his breath. ‘No more questions, John. There are too many.’
John nodded, wincing at the grip. ‘I just want to know things, that’s all. For me, it’s all new. I’m not questioning you, Henry. I feel something here, like a bond, a brotherhood, but I don’t know everything about us. I want to know everything.’
Henry sucked hard on the spliff in his hand, so that John’s eyes stung from the smoke and the tip glowed hot close to his skin. Gemma appeared alongside him, and so Henry passed the spliff to her.
‘What do you think we are about?’ Henry said. Smoke seeped through his grin and his hand relaxed on John’s neck.
John stepped back. Henry’s words seemed slow to him, as if he couldn’t process them quickly enough, and the people in front of him seemed to sway. He looked down for a moment. His head felt heavy. ‘We are what you said – that we are a freedom movement, where there will be new rules, and the rule will be that there are no rules. And I believe that Henry, I really do, but I need more answers.’
John thought he saw Gemma tense, but when Henry grinned, she relaxed.
‘You know why we came for you,’ Henry said. ‘Because you shared our ideals. I remember what you sprayed on the walls. That was a cry for help, and we heard you.’
‘What made you first think like you do?’ John said.
‘Just a developing truth. It is something you feel, but then things happen that makes it clearer, that the little mutters you hear rise above the doubts and you begin to understand the message you’ve always heard. The world was changing, and when I wondered why, I realised that I had the answers all along, had always known them. I first knew it back on the eleventh September.’
‘The Twin Towers?’
Henry nodded. ‘What do you think happened?’
‘Two planes flew into them. I saw it.’
‘You saw what they wanted you to see,’ Henry said, shaking his head. ‘You saw the planes, but that’s just deflection, because you saw just the obvious. Who was flying the planes?’
‘Terrorists. Islamists.’
‘Why? Because
they
told you? Corporation USA? And you accepted that?’ Henry laughed. ‘It’s bullshit, man. Half the hijackers are still alive, working in other countries. One is a pilot in Saudi Arabia. And what evidence have they produced? A charred passport below the towers? What about the flames it went through, the crash? What did it do, just fall out of his pocket?’ Henry gripped John’s shoulder. ‘It’s crap, all of it. People made money on the stock exchange on those airlines just before the crash, betting that the stocks would go down. People knew, John.’
Henry let go and whirled around, animated now. ‘Look at the Pentagon, just over the river from the centre of the Western world, but there are no cameras anywhere showing a fucking jet flying at ground level. And we’re supposed to believe that someone could hit the Pentagon, which isn’t a high building, after a few lessons in a tiny plane and playing computer games? Come on, John, that’s precision flying. The hole in the Pentagon wasn’t big enough for a plane. They were on long-distance flights and had just set off, but the rooms around the site don’t show fire damage. They were filled with fuel, kerosene, which goes up like a fucking bomb, and what do you get, apart from a hole? Nothing, that’s what. It was a missile, John, and it was the beginning of the end, and I saw that. Everything came together that day for me.’
‘But I saw the planes, on television.’
‘You saw planes, but you didn’t see the passengers. If they can send a probe to a dot on Mars, they can fly planes into high buildings, by remote control. It was like the veil slipping away and I saw everything with such clarity.’ He stroked his beard. ‘Look at everything since. What did we do? We used it to invade other countries, to take over oilfields, and faith turns on faith, West against East. They told lies to spread their power, but people fought back. They thought it would be easy, but it wasn’t, and now it is our turn to fight back, because all they fought for has crumbled. The banks, the money men. All busted.’
‘So what can we do to fight it?’
Henry grinned. ‘We move the battle on. Direct action.’