Numbers

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I lay awake in the soft gloom of Britney’s room. Britney, curled up on her bed, had her eyes closed. She was breathing evenly, but I couldn’t tell if she was asleep or not. I was exhausted, but wide-awake. I didn’t want to bother her, but it was pretty much torture lying there.

After about fifteen minutes, I was relieved to hear her voice, a soft whisper in the dark.

“You awake?”

“Yeah.”

“Me, too.”

“I just can’t sleep.”

“Look, get in here. Put your pillow down that end – we can top and tail.”

There was no way I was going to get any sleep on that beanbag, so I did as she said, gratefully tucking in, curling up my legs so as not to take up too much space. A few days ago, I’d never have done this, got into bed with a stranger, but now it felt OK; OK to be close to someone; OK to trust them.

“I used to do this with my brother, when we were little – top and tail, and my mum would read us a story. You got any family?”

“I live with my foster mum and two little boys, twins.”

“What’s she like? Your foster mum?”

Straightaway, the words shot out – sheer reflex. “Karen? She’s a bitch.”

“Yeah?”

Then, just for a minute, I thought about Karen. What was she actually like?

“Well, I suppose she’s not a bitch. She’s been pretty kind to me, tried to help. Except…it wasn’t the kind of help I wanted. She doesn’t get me, doesn’t understand.”

In the soft darkness, Britney nodded in agreement. “Tell me about it. I don’t think my parents were ever young – I think they were born middle-aged.”

“But they’re alright, though.”

“Yeah, they’re alright. They’ve been through a lot. S’pose I should cut them some slack, really.”

“Britney, tell me to shut up if you like, but…but…if you’d known that you only had a few years with your brother, would it have made a difference?”

She sighed, and I thought I’d overstepped the mark again, but then she said, “We pretty much did know. At least my parents did – they didn’t tell me until near the end. But I don’t think knowing exactly when would’ve changed anything. Even with him ill, we still did things, had fun – between treatments, we went places, had holidays, all the usual stuff.” She paused, but I didn’t jump in – I could tell there was more to come. “And we worked out the important stuff – Jim knew I loved him and I knew he loved me. Not in a stupid way, hearts and flowers, just normal, brother and sister. He could still wind me up something proper, right up until, until…”

“Sorry, you don’t have to…”

“No, it’s OK to talk about it. Death is so normal, I don’t know why everyone gets so hung up about it. We all have to deal with it. Most people you talk to have lost someone, but nobody talks about it.”

It was easier talking in the dark. I didn’t feel so self-conscious, the words just tumbled out. Or perhaps it was just Britney; she was a good talker and a good listener. I felt like I could say anything to her.

“My mum died,” I heard myself blurting out, “when I was six, but I don’t feel anything like you do. I just feel…I dunno…empty, angry. Like she left me. She chose to leave.”

“Was she ill?”

“No. Overdose. It was an accident. At least I’m pretty sure it was. I don’t think she wanted to die, but then again, I don’t think she was that into staying alive, either. The next fix was the most important thing. I’ve always known that, but I’ve never said it to anyone before. I was always way down on her list, never first. She chose heroin over me.”

“But she didn’t make a choice, Jem. You’ve just told me – she was addicted. It was out of her control. She was ill, like Jim was ill.”

“I still hate her for leaving.”

“That’s a long time to hate someone. Maybe you need to let it go.”

I let her words sink in and felt them settle within me. Sounded like she’d been watching too much Oprah to me. Life’s not that simple. Not so easy to move on when the anger you’ve got is what keeps you going.

But it wasn’t the only thing I had now. Spider – the need to see him again, the need to save him – had given me something else.

There was a noise then, a sharp bang from downstairs, and we both jumped out of our skins.

“It’ll be Dad home – I’ll just go and see.”

Britney clambered out of bed, put on her bathrobe, and went downstairs. She left the door slightly ajar, and I picked up the alarm clock from her bedside table and angled it in the light coming in from the landing until I could make it out. Two-fifteen. Their voices were floating up the stairs now; Britney’s soft burr and the deeper bass notes of her dad. I could only make out a few of his words, but the ones I heard made me jump out of bed and crouch down behind the open door, my heart jumping around in my throat.

“…went berserk…eight of us…bloody strong…”

I opened the door a bit farther, straining desperately to hear more. The voices downstairs were competing with Spider’s words in my head: “I won’t go quietly, Jem. I’ll fight them, Jem. I will.”

What had he done?

“…died in his cell…investigation…”

Oh, my God. He’d kicked off like he said he would. I’d told him not to. I’d told him it wasn’t worth it. How could this happen? How could everything be brought to a big dead end, three days early? I wanted to scream out – I didn’t care anymore if I was found. If Spider was gone, I had nothing left. My whole body was a scream, my skin electric. We’d been cheated, cheated of our last few hours, cheated of the chance to say good-bye – it was unthinkable.

The voices were nearer now, right outside the door. I hadn’t noticed them come upstairs.

“Good night, love. Try and get some sleep. I’m just going in the shower.”

“OK. Night, Dad.”

Britney came back into the room. She was carrying a mug, and gave a little gasp as she spotted me behind the door. I saw her eyes widen and she quickly held her index finger up to her mouth. She closed the door, and I slumped back against it, silent tears running down my face. She crouched down next to me.

“What is it?” she hissed.

I couldn’t get any words out.

He was gone.

It was all over.

“Listen, tell me in a minute, when my dad’s in the shower. Get back into bed – I’ve brought you some tea. Here.” She’d put the tea down, and now she was helping me to my feet and shepherding me back to bed.

I couldn’t drink the tea. It was all I could do to keep breathing, black grief pulsing through me. After a minute or so, we heard the bathroom door close and the shower start up. Britney shuffled forward in the bed and put her hands on my legs.

“It’s OK to talk now, but quietly, still. Now what on earth is it?”

“He’s dead, isn’t he? I heard you. He’s dead.” The words were distorted, blurry, but somehow she understood.

“No, you turnip, it was the other one.”

“What?”

“The other bloke they arrested. A big bloke, Dad said, covered in tatts.”

Tattoo Face?

“He went mad in his cell, started smashing everything up. Took eight of them to stop him, and he died in the middle of it all.”

“He died?”

“They don’t know if someone hit him or if he had a heart attack or whatever. All hell’s broken loose down at the station, anyway. Dad was one of the eight – he’s been suspended for the time being.”

Tattoo Face, not Spider. 12112010.

“Britney?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know when it happened? What time?”

“Just before midnight. Just before the end of Dad’s shift.”

It was like things were slotting back into place again. The ground had shifted beneath my feet for a while, rules bending, but now we were back on solid ground: sickening, nightmarish, but solid ground. The numbers were real. Spider was still alive, but he only had three days to go.

“You OK?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Need a hug?”

I didn’t answer, but she leaned forward anyway and put her arms ’round me. I stiffened, and she must have felt it, but she didn’t let me go.

“It’s alright,” she said. “Everything will be alright. Here, have some of that tea.” She handed it over – hot, sweet tea, best thing I’d tasted for a long time. I drained the cup and we both lay down, curled up at opposite ends of the bed, legs hooked into each other’s. The tea had soothed me; my mind was so full I couldn’t think anymore. I was completely exhausted now; I could feel waves of sleep starting to wash over me.

“Britney?” I said quietly into the darkness.

“Mm?”

“Thanks.”

“You’re alright.”

“I mean it.”

“Shuddup, and go to sleep.”

That made me smile; it was like listening to a reflection of myself. And I did go to sleep, an instant, dreamless sleep, away from the world for a few hours, away from the tick, tick, tick of the clock.