The amount of things Astrid needed was staggering. Charley had sent a list, and it was a lot for a little person. Nappies, changing mat, spare clothes, baby bottles and tippy cups, a high chair, baby food and fruit juice, toys and books and bricks and puzzles: he’d had no idea, he realised, reeling, how much there was, and how much of it she had already done without him.
He wanted to say sorry, and soon, he was going to get the chance to.
‘Card.’ It was the table-chested man with the thick beard. ‘There’s a computer free now, if you hurry up. Here’s your code – it’ll only work today. So, no point trying to use it to try and log in again tomorrow. Computer 14.’ He raised an arm at the bank of computers in the corner. ‘If you get stuck, just give me a shout and I’ll try to help.
‘Oh – also,’ he said. ‘There’s a note for you, from upstairs.’
Fox-Eyes’ writing. Come up and see me, it said. Did you manage to find them?
Samhain clicked around all of his usual websites. MySpace, Yahoo! Mail, Red and Black News:
Call out for action in the G8!
Join us for dissent and protest at next year’s G8, to be held in Seattle. We say NO to neoliberalism. NO to a world that benefits corporations and the wealthy. NO to global warming, global poverty, and NO to exploitation of the working classes.
Contact us here if you are planning an affinity protest.
Samhain looked, and was exhausted. Days in a camp. Beards and dogs. Going out with a rucksack packed with gaffer tape, goggles, and tools and scissors and market pens, all the things you’d need on a protest. Leaving your passport back at the meeting point in case you were arrested.
He could stay home instead. Where it was comfortable. Where there were cushions, a duvet, a kettle. Where there was no danger of being arrested or sprayed with tear gas.
But he wanted to do something. He closed the tab, and browsed over to the social club website.
Cafe volunteers wanted!
We always need people to help out in the cafe. Can you cook or wash up? Would you be willing to give a few hours every week to help run our vegan cafe? Get in touch!
This was something he could do. Something useful, close to home, and without the element of danger.
The entry was dated two months ago. He started typing an email:
Stef,
Are you still looking for volunteers for the cafe? Reckon I could do one evening a week. Is it still on a Tuesday? I’m not the best cook but I can do a not-bad punk stew. Also can wash up. Could you text me back? I’m working a lot at the moment and don’t get to check my emails all that often.
Samhain
Upstairs.
She looked different today: pinched cheeks, slack striped dress, drooping on one side.
‘Sam!’ An exclamation given quietly, the most excited you were allowed to get in a library. Face brighter than a warm cake.
‘Hey, Alice,’ he said.
‘It’s been ages.’ She turned a little away from him, rummaging under the desk. Looking, he supposed, for the small key on the large fob that opened the door into the back. ‘How’d you get on? Aha!’ Lifting it, its teeth twinkling, she got out of her chair. ‘I was thinking about you,’ she said. ‘After that last CopWatch meeting. Wondering what you’d done afterwards.’
She climbed from behind the desk as though competing in an obstacle race. Everything got in her way. The chair, the desks. The returns shelf, a metal trolley on wheels.
‘They should have been a bit more accommodating,’ she said. ‘People going to the meeting are bound to have issues. They’re supposed to be for anybody.’ Fox-Eyes was heading for the back of the room. The rack of leaflets, the concealed door. She already had her hand on it before he could stop her.
‘Hold on,’ he said.
‘I thought you might want to look some more stuff up,’ she said. Her hand dropped to her side.
‘Don’t need to.’ They were standing by the last desk in the room, which was empty. Highly polished wood, a copy of the day’s Daily Mail on a stick. The yellow-jacketed Council Vacancies booklet on the desktop beside it. ‘Let’s sit here.’
He dropped his books on the desk. Covers with smiling babies, and titles like Development: A Parent’s Guide and Growing Up: What To Expect.
‘Are you taking a course?’ she asked.
‘No. These are for me.’
‘Huh.’ She seemed less certain now, sliding into the seat opposite. ‘What for?’
‘So I can look after my little girl,’ he said.
‘Huh.’ She spun the books around, glanced at their covers. ‘Didn’t know you had a daughter,’ she said. There seemed to be something uncomfortable about the bench on her side: she shuffled around on it, one side to another, one side to another, as though being poked.
‘Well, I do.’ Samhain took the books back, and straightened them into a pile. ‘Haven’t met her yet, but that’s only a matter of time.’
‘I’m sorry about your dad,’ she said. ‘That he passed away before you got chance to meet him.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Samhain levelled the corners of his books. ‘I don’t think we would have got along.’
‘You know, you could go back to CopWatch,’ she said. ‘Challenge their decision. Ask them to let you go to their meetings. They’re looking for people to help bring a case against the Met–’
‘No.’ Samhain was shaking his head.
Behind them, a clearing throat. The accusatory rattling of a newspaper page being turned loudly, pointedly, signalling the act of being interrupted.
Samhain whispered: ‘I don’t want to bring a case. I’ve got other stuff to think about.’ He said: ‘Thanks, though. You did everything you could.’ ‘Yeah, well,’ her cheeks burnished. ‘It’s wrong, what the police have done. To people like you and your mum.’
‘It did help,’ he said. ‘And I got to meet my brother, which I couldn’t have done otherwise.’
‘Really?’ she said. ‘Samhain, that’s great. Are you going to keep the contact going?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘He’s a total dick.’
Silent giggles. Shoulders juddering like an old car trying to start. ‘Sam!’
‘You can’t have everything.’
She was pretty when she smiled, the way her whole face opened.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘It didn’t totally work out, and I’d never say this to my mum, but I’m glad I got to know who he was. At least I’ve got a picture of him. To know his name.’
She leaned back. ‘Well, that’s great, Sam. And if you ever want to find out anything more...’
‘I know where you are.’
Sam got up, lifting his books, propping them under his arm.
‘Thank you, Alice. For all that you’ve done. I’ll see you.’
He went downstairs, and got on his bike, and cycled all the way home, rain falling lightly on the backs of his hands.