I could tell by the way Brownie leaned on me that his legs weren’t functioning. His knees weren’t locking, his entire body trembled. I pulled his arm tight around my neck.
‘Hold me. Shut up.’
I put the knapsack on my back and half-dragged Brownie out of the car park and up against the wall. I thought about which way the driver of the car would expect us to go and turned the other, keeping us up close against the brickwork. The water rushed past, creating enough noise to mask the sounds of our feet. A positive, but one that worked both ways – I couldn’t hear whoever was following us either.
Intermittent, low-level security lighting lit up some of the arches. As we entered the maze of tunnels, I could see the headlights of the car to the right of us, still blocking the entrance.
I pulled Brownie close to me as I heard the scuttle of a tin can. Brownie’s breathing in my ear reminded me of the film Jaws. Fear prickled my neck. Not the absence of fear, the mastery of it. Channel the energy, make it work for you.
We went deeper into the tunnels. There’s loads of small rooms, like mini brick caves, all with arched ceilings, that have been turned into lock-ups – each housing ten or so cars. Plenty of places to hide. I didn’t want to hide. I didn’t have time to hide. I needed to escape.
The River Aire is huge – it crashes through four parallel tunnels, the noise echoing off the walls. Was there someone waiting in the car, as well as someone following us?
‘We’re going that way,’ I whispered to Brownie, pointing to the nearest tunnel. He stared at the river cascading through.
‘You’re taking the piss?’
The current was strong enough to wash away elephants. ‘There’s a ledge.’ I pointed over the side of the bridge. I slipped my hand into Brownie’s. His was colder than ice. An old metal gate blocked the pedestrian entrance to the bridge. The car was still parked across the road side, its headlights off. No one was in it, at least not that I could see. I pulled the gate open, cursing the squeaking noise it made. A train rumbled overhead, and I hoped it masked the noise. We climbed over the metal railings, down onto the thin stone ledge that ran alongside the inky blackness of the water. I prayed Brownie was stable enough to walk along the thin strip without falling in. If he did, I doubted I’d be able to save him. The water looked freezing, smelled cold and dark. At the end of the tunnel, a few hundred yards away, I could see the first light of dawn.
We crept along the ledge. A rat ran out of the shadows, more alarmed by us than we were of him, but I saw Brownie react, jerk. He called out, ‘Shit,’ and something else but his words got lost in the rush of the river.
We’d got halfway along when something made me turn around. I’m not sure whether it was a faint shout, a noise of some kind. I turned in time to see the outline of someone climbing over the railings of the bridge. He had a torch – a really powerful one, and the beam snaked its way towards us. I prodded Brownie in the back.
‘Faster. He’s seen us.’
Brownie speeded up, but this made progress more frightening. At one point his right foot slipped over the side and I had to grab his left wrist. The ledge was uneven and slippy and the rush of the water meant I couldn’t hear the guy behind me. I didn’t want to waste time by keeping on turning round but the temptation was awful. By the time the tunnel opened out, I glanced back to see a hooded figure only a hundred or so yards behind us.
‘Is that him? Is that T?’
‘Dunno. Never met him.’
The path widened, became like a towpath outside the tunnel. I spotted a half brick on the floor. A metal set of steps up to the road. I pushed Brownie towards the metal frame and up the first few steps.
‘Wait for me at the top. Stay out of sight.’
I turned back towards the man following us and yelled: ‘Stop.’
I held the brick up in one hand. He was caught, still too far away for me to make out much, except that he wore a hooded top. I was willing to bet he wasn’t a policeman, which meant that if he wasn’t a force for good, then he was probably a force for bad. Whatever, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. I mean literally, and I think he knew it. The stone wall of the tunnel to his left, the river to his right. The ledge only a couple of feet wide. He held up his hands in surrender as I threw the brick with all my strength towards him, the hatred of a dozen fascist PE teachers infused in my arm. He ducked, and the brick hit the water. There was nothing for him to grab hold of, nothing to steady himself against. He squatted low, too far away for me to get any clear idea what he looked like. I was fairly sure it was a man, from the way he held himself, the curve of his shoulders. He remained squatted, eighty, maybe ninety yards inside the tunnel. I turned round. Brownie had made it to the road.
‘Turn back,’ I shouted down the tunnel again.
He didn’t move. I found a glass bottle on the floor and lobbed that at him as well. Anything to keep him off balance. Anything to keep him crouched and trying to cling to the ground for safety.
‘Turn round,’ I yelled again.
Someone or something was on my side – I had what looked like an entire junkyard at my disposal. I threw another couple of half bricks, a tin can full of water. My hand lit on a piece of rock that had a piece of metal bar embedded in it. I balanced myself and threw it as hard as I could. It pirouetted in the air, two or three complete turns, before arching up and catching the guy on his shoulder. He yelled out and I felt a momentary rush of pride. I was always shit at rounders. And that was some distance. But my pride turned quickly to worry as he stumbled backwards, tried to stand and his left leg slipped from under him and went over the side. He grabbed at the ledge. I watched for a moment to see whether he could hold on. I didn’t fancy his chances if he went over. The river raged beside us. Cold and inky. He clung to the rocky ledge, gathering the strength to pull himself back up.
Could I leave him there? If he fell in he had no chance. The water battered the tunnel walls, smashing anything that got in its way. I thought of Jo, of what they might be doing to her while I stood wondering whether to save a man who wished me harm. I took a step towards him, then another.
‘Leave him,’ Brownie yelled from the top of the metal staircase.
‘You think he’ll make it?’
‘Not our problem,’ Brownie said.
I glanced back at the man. He’d managed to get his right knee up on the ledge and was hauling the rest of his body up. I turned and ran, threw myself at the metal stairs as Brownie reached an arm down and yanked me up.
Together, we legged it to the station entrance. Sweat beaded on Brownie’s forehead as we ran, and I knew exercise wasn’t part of his daily routine. My lungs were bursting by the time we reached the departure boards, and I swore I’d give up smoking if we got out of this alive. I scanned the information in front of us. There weren’t that many trains at this time of night, only the sleepers going up to Stirling and down to London, so it didn’t take me long to find what I was looking for. The Manchester airport train. On time. I checked the clock on the board. Three minutes.
I raced Brownie across the station towards the entrance to the platforms.
‘We’re getting a ticket on the train,’ I yelled to the disinterested guard, who was reading his paper in the booth.
We pegged it across the station forecourt and I dragged Brownie up the stairs. The Manchester train always went from the far end. My legs burned as I yanked us onwards over the bridge. As we crossed the tracks I saw our train at the platform.
‘Faster,’ I shouted to Brownie.
‘Leave me,’ he said, his legs crumbling under him.
‘No fucking chance.’
The guard stood by the train, whistle in mouth as we fell down the stairs. ‘We want that one,’ I yelled, somewhat unnecessarily. He nodded, held up a hand and we threw ourselves through the open door and into a carriage. A second later the doors closed, and the train’s engines fired up.
I pushed Brownie into a seat. ‘Keep your head down.’
The train rolled off a moment later. I sat down and kept my eyes fixed on the window. As we pulled out west of the station, I saw a figure burst through the entrance gates, running as fast as we had. The train lurched forward, gathering speed. I peered as hard as I could through the window, but it was no good. He was too far away. His hooded top was grey, and he wore boots the colour of sand. I saw him yell something, but the train gained momentum and I knew enough to know it wouldn’t stop now.
I got up and flopped into the seat next to Brownie. ‘It’s OK. We made it,’ I said. I checked the time. I felt Brownie lean his head on my shoulder, and as the adrenaline seeped from my body with every chug of the wheels, I felt giddy, high with relief.
‘I’m starving,’ said Brownie. He checked the timetable on the wall. ‘Twenty minutes till Huddersfield.’
I hitched the knapsack higher over my shoulder. ‘We’re not going as far as Huddersfield.’
He turned and checked the timetable again. Then frowned at me. ‘That’s the first stop.’
‘Not tonight it isn’t.’