The march was a long one, looping around Brighton. They made slow progress as there were so many people, and they frequently needed to wait while the police stopped traffic and cleared roads for the next section. Nicky found it tiring walking so slowly, and her voice soon became hoarse from chanting.
‘I’m going to get us some bottles of water and something to eat,’ Seb said in the mid-afternoon. He passed his placard to Nicky, and nodded at a nearby row of shops.
‘Shall I come with you?’ she asked, but he shook his head.
‘Nah, you go on. You won’t move far, and I’ll find you again soon.’ He kissed her quickly and ducked through the crowds. Nicky wasn’t tall, and she lost sight of him almost immediately. She walked slowly, letting people pass her. He’d only be a minute or two, and he’d spot her by her placard, which she held high above her head.
But she was pushed along by the masses, and time passed with no sight of him. The march moved further along the road and round a corner, and still he did not appear. Half an hour passed, then an hour. The march began gradually to break up, as those with children peeled away, followed by older protesters. And then as they approached the starting and ending point, Nicky realised there were only fewer than a hundred left but still no sign of Seb. He’d said to meet at his flat if they got separated, so that was where she should go. She was hungry, so she bought herself a sandwich and a can of Coke along the way. So much for Seb buying her something! Maybe he was at his flat now, waiting for her, with a pizza to heat up in the oven and a six-pack of beers to drink. They could have a pleasant evening together talking about the march and how well it had gone.
But he wasn’t there. His flatmates Ryan and Artie were in the kitchen making a vegetarian curry that made Nicky’s mouth water. ‘Not seen him since early morning,’ Ryan answered, in response to her question. ‘Wasn’t he going on that march?’
‘Yes, with me, but we got separated,’ she said, and the two others just shrugged, not interested. She knew Seb didn’t get on with them very well, so she decided not to ask them anything more. She took her sandwich and drink to his room. Perhaps there would be a note there. She imagined him coming back there looking for her, and leaving her a note when he failed to find her.
But, of course, there was no note. She ate her sandwich quickly. She should have phoned him, she realised. He’d have his mobile with him, and she could easily have used a call box. ‘Stupid woman,’ she told herself, as she left the flat again. At least now she’d eaten and drunk something she felt better. It was getting late, darkness was falling.
There was a pay phone in a pub on the corner of the road, and Nicky went inside to use that. Seb’s phone rang and rang, and eventually she was connected. ‘Hey this is Seb. Can’t or won’t – ha ha! – talk to you right now, so leave a message, yeah?’
‘Hey Seb, it’s me, Nicky. Where are you? I’m going to wait for you at your flat. Hope everything’s OK?’ She hung up, and cursed herself for asking was everything OK. He’d laugh at her for that. Of course there’d be nothing wrong – why would there be? He must have spent longer finding food than he’d expected, and the march had moved on, and then perhaps he spent a while trying to rejoin it. Perhaps, even now, he was with the stragglers. The die-hards would be drinking by now, having a bit of a party, probably on the beach as he’d anticipated. Seb would be with them, wondering where she was.
She decided to go to the beach and check that out. Perhaps he’d forgotten their arrangement to meet back at the flat. She’d find him by the pier with a can of beer in his hand, laughing at jokes around a campfire. Yes, that would be it. He’d put an arm round her and laugh that she’d missed him, because he’d rejoined the march at the tail end of it. It’d all be a big misunderstanding. And his phone? Out of charge, of course, as he’d been out all day and hadn’t remembered to charge it last night.
Nicky headed down to the seafront and stood on the prom, looking left and right. There’d be a large group, a fire, some music … but she could see nothing. She walked to where the march had started and ended. Surely there’d be a few still around, with placards. She could ask … though what exactly she would ask she didn’t know. Have you seen my boyfriend, a good-looking chap in a leather jacket, who was with the march this afternoon? No, he wouldn’t be holding a placard as he gave it to me …
There was no sign of any protesters at the start point. But away from the sea, up a narrow side street, there was a commotion. Noise, shouting, chanting – that was them. The remains of the march were up there. She headed up the street but after a short way she was stopped by police – half a dozen of them in fluorescent yellow jackets stood in a line across the road. ‘Not this way, miss. Road’s blocked,’ the nearest told her.
‘I’m looking for my boyfriend,’ she explained. ‘He was with the march earlier.’
‘If he’s still with it, he’s in trouble,’ the policeman said. ‘I’d keep away if I were you.’
‘I need to find him …’ She sounded pathetic, even to herself, but the policeman shook his head.
‘Can’t let you pass, miss. Go home. I’m sure you’ll catch up with him soon.’
She had no option but to comply. Was it worth looping around to the next street? Or would police be there too? It certainly sounded as though there was trouble ahead. Sounds of smashing glass and angry voices reached her. Had the last protesters become violent? Was this always the way protests ended – starting peacefully with good intentions and then descending into riots? Was it that handful of troublemakers Seb had pointed out? Surely he wouldn’t be with them.
She decided to go back to his flat. If he was there, then all was well. If he wasn’t, she’d leave a note and then go to her own accommodation.
At the flat, Ryan and Artie had the TV on in the sitting room. The local evening news was on, reporting on today’s protest.
‘Several arrests were made as protesters turned violent after the main march ended,’ the reporter announced, to a backdrop of a police cordon across a road, and a burning car. ‘A police spokesperson said that the earlier march had been peaceful but a handful of troublemakers had apparently infiltrated it and deliberately tried to start a riot.’
‘There’s always some idiots that fuck it all up,’ Artie said, and Ryan agreed. ‘Reckon it was our Seb?’ They laughed aloud.
‘Seb wouldn’t have done that,’ Nicky said. It was her duty to defend him, wasn’t it?
‘You sure about that? Look at the mess he made up at the union bar,’ Ryan replied. ‘He’d love to be arrested. It’d add to his street cred, wouldn’t it? Ha ha. I bet he was right in the middle of that riot.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’m going to leave him a note and go home. Tell him I was here looking for him, when he comes back, will you?’
‘Sure, whatever.’ Ryan waved a hand dismissively.
Nicky wrote a note and put it on Seb’s bed, then left the flat and made her way home. She’d just missed a train and at that time of the evening there was a long wait until the next one. She tried calling Seb’s number again but once more there was no answer. Could he really have been arrested? She hoped not. She hoped he was not in any more trouble. But for now, she had no way of knowing what was going on.
For all of Sunday Nicky worried herself sick about Seb. She tried calling several times but only reached his voicemail. She called at his flat again in the morning, to be met by shrugs from Ryan and Artie. ‘Didn’t come back all night. Like I said, bet he was arrested,’ Ryan said.
She told herself that he’d call on her when he could, and meanwhile, all she could do was keep trying to phone him. Sooner or later, he’d be released and would charge his phone.
It wasn’t until lunchtime on Monday that Nicky was able to get through to Seb on the phone. ‘What happened? I lost you … I was worried …’ She bit off the words, scared to come across as too needy.
Seb sounded tired when he replied. ‘Got arrested. Spent the night in a police cell. Phone was out of charge, which I didn’t realise until today.’
‘I guessed your phone was out of charge. Arrested! What for? I came looking for you late in the evening, but the police wouldn’t let me near. There was a car on fire and lots of shouting …’
‘Huh? No, that was nothing to do with me. I wasn’t arrested because of the protest.’
‘What, then?’ But at that moment the pips went, and Nicky realised she had no more ten pence pieces and no credit on her phone card. She hung up, frustrated, and even more worried than before. Seb had sounded scared as well as tired. Was he being charged with something?
She needed more coins so she could call him again. She went to one of the campus coffee bars and bought a can of Coke, paying with a five-pound note to get some change. And then she ran back to a pay phone.
When Seb answered this time, it was clear there was someone else with him. She could hear a woman’s voice in the background. She sounded upset. There was a man’s voice too. ‘Seb? I had to get more change. Are you all right?’
‘Yeah, Nicky. I’m fine. Tired.’
‘Who’s there with you?’
‘Parents.’
‘Oh! You said it wasn’t the protest …’
‘No. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ll come and see you … in a few days, when this is sorted.’
‘It’ll be more than a few days, my lad,’ the woman’s voice said, sounding as though she was suppressing anger. His mother, Nicky supposed.
‘Sebastian, whoever it is that keeps calling you, tell them to stop. Or turn your damned phone off.’ This was Seb’s father.
‘Got to go,’ Seb said, and hung up.
Great. Nicky was left none the wiser as to what had happened. But it was obviously serious, if both his parents were there, on a work day.
For now, there was nothing she could do, other than do some studying in the library and prepare for her next trip to Ireland, which was only a few days away. The university Easter break had begun so there were no lectures or tutorials to attend.
Nicky left it until the evening of the next day before trying to contact Seb again. But once more his phone went straight to voicemail. She decided to go into Brighton and call on him at his flat. Surely his parents wouldn’t still be there? It was raining, but no matter. She had to see him and find out what was going on, discover the truth about what had happened after the march on Saturday.
When she rang the doorbell at Seb’s flat, Artie answered and looked surprised to see her.
‘Is Seb in?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t seen him since Saturday, though I spoke to him the other day.’
‘He’s not here, no. Um, you’d better come in for a minute.’ He showed her through to the sitting room where the TV was on, showing an episode of The Bill.
‘You back again?’ Ryan said, with a frown.
‘She’s still looking for Seb.’
‘Hasn’t he told her?’
‘Told me what?’ Now Nicky was definitely worried.
Artie sighed. ‘He’s not living here anymore. He moved out on Monday. His parents were here, furious with him. He got arrested and they had to bail him out. He’s been dragged back to Hertfordshire – seems he hadn’t even told them he’d been kicked out of university.’
‘He’s a pillock,’ Ryan said, with a sad smile at Nicky.
She was shocked to hear it. Why hadn’t he told her? If only she had a mobile phone and he could have called her. He could have sent a letter … maybe he had, and it just hadn’t reached her yet. ‘Do you know why he was arrested?’
Ryan nodded. ‘During the march, the dickhead spotted the vice-chancellor getting out of his car in the town centre. He smashed the car window and pissed into it. That’s what he was arrested for – criminal damage. He’s been charged, he pleaded guilty, and is just awaiting sentencing. He might get off with some community service and a fine but he’s likely to have to do time.’
Nicky sat down heavily into an armchair. She shook her head. ‘What an idiot. I thought he had got caught up in the violence at the end of the protest.’ It must have happened shortly after he left her, she thought. So … in broad daylight. Somehow that made it worse.
Ryan laughed wryly. ‘Definitely an idiot. Fucked up his future, hasn’t he? Listen, it’s not my place to say, but you’re better off without him.’
She nodded slowly. He was almost certainly right. ‘Well, thanks for telling me. I can’t get through to him on the phone.’
Artie got up and went into a bedroom, then returned with a piece of paper. ‘Here. His parents’ address and phone number. You can contact him there, if you really want to.’
‘Ah, cheers. Thank you.’
She left the flat, feeling shocked at what she’d heard. She would write, she decided, and give him a chance to reply, to tell her himself what had happened. But as far as she was concerned, this was definitely the end of the relationship. However aggrieved he’d felt at his treatment by the university, causing criminal damage to the vice-chancellor’s car was not justified, and not something she could defend or accept.
Conor would never have done such a thing, she thought. He wouldn’t have staged the sit-in either. He’d have gone on the protest march, chanting slogans and trying peacefully to save the woodland, but he would have stayed well away from any trouble. And he definitely wouldn’t have smashed a car window and then peed into it.