That night – the night before my mission – Mum was in a bad way. Ever since the bombs came Dad had been saying that a new chemist would open up in no time, but still there was nothing. No questions were asked when I got those inhalers for Mum. But that supply had dried up and she was struggling. Dad rubbed her back, his newspaper untouched. The television was switched off. This was serious.
‘Breathe, Maggie,’ he said as he rubbed her back. ‘Don’t talk, sweetheart; just concentrate on taking short breaths.’
Every so often he pecked her on the side of the head. It was Dad’s turn to have little red spiderweb lines in his eyes. I’d seen those eyes before. Dad was scared again. I thought back to us hiding under the duvet that night the bombs came, how the duvet seemed to protect us. How it was those bombs that brought us together. I guess the last place Mum wanted to be now was somewhere airless.
‘It’s going to be OK, Dad. Promise,’ I told him.
‘I hope you’re right, son. I hope you’re right.’
‘I think I can get my hands on some inhaler medicine in the next couple of days.’
No time for doubts, Charlie. You’ve got to do this now.
It needed to be now.
‘I don’t think we can wait a couple of days, Charlie,’ Dad said.
Mum’s face was pale and sweaty; her coughing prevented her from talking. Her chest wheezed as the pains intensified.
‘I think we need something now,’ Dad said, his mouth shuddering. He kissed Mum again and rubbed her back.
‘What about the hospital?’ I said.
‘Little Town hospital?’ Dad said.
‘Yes.’
‘Your mum can’t go anywhere in this state. If we get stopped at a checkpoint or by one of the patrols we could be there for hours. By the time we get there and by the time we’re processed it could be too late. And there’s no guarantee they’ll have the right medicine anyway – they’ve got serious shortages, Charlie.’
‘What about Old Country hospital?’
‘Old Country hospital?’
‘Yes, they can take Mum there in a helicopter.’
Dad looked at me like I was the biggest idiot in Little Town. ‘It’s too hard to organise something like that at short notice; she needs help fast. She needs help now.’
Any fool could tell that she needed help now. Here’s the stupid thing: all she required was a few deep puffs of her inhaler. That would sort her out and get her back on her feet. Before she knew it she’d be nagging at me to do some menial chore.
I missed her nagging.
You know what you have to do, Charlie.
BUGGER IT!
There was little time to think or explain.
‘Right, I’ll be back soon,’ I said, and bolted for the door. I didn’t wait for Dad’s response. All I heard was ‘Charlie’ as I slammed the front door behind me.
When I got to his block, I made my way up to the second floor. Thankfully there were no guards around. No muscle watching over the door. No sign of protection anywhere. My breathing was heavy. I put my hands on my knees to steady myself, get everything back on an even keel. Then I hammered and pounded the door.
‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ the voice came from behind.
‘Open,’ I said.
‘Who the hell is this?’
‘Big Man, it’s Charlie. Please open.’
He unclicked the lock and pulled the door towards him, leaving a gap of six inches or so. All I could see was the middle part of his face.
‘What is it, Charlie?’
‘I need –’
‘You better not have come here to pull out of our agreement now.’
‘No, I just need –’
‘You better not be playing the shitbag on me. It’s far too late for that. You know what’ll happen.’
‘I’m not. I need a favour, Big Man.’
‘Another bloody favour?’
‘Please,’ I pleaded.
‘All I do is hand out favours to you, Charlie.’
‘This is serious, Big Man.’
He opened the door wide. I entered, making sure I wasn’t being followed.
‘Get in.’
The house stank of cheap booze, fag smoke and fast food.
WHERE DID HE GET THAT FROM?
‘This better be good,’ he said.
‘It’s my mum …’
‘What about her?’
‘She’s in a bad way, Big Man, she can hardly breathe.’
‘And that has what to do with me?’
‘You’re our only hope tonight.’
‘Tell her to stick her head out the window.’
‘She’s really sick. All I need is one inhaler.’
‘I told you, didn’t I? I told you you’d get the stuff when the job was done.’
‘I know you did, and I’m definitely going to –’
‘And not a minute before.’
‘I know, Big Man, and I will. I am going to do the job, honest I am, but I just need a little something before tomorrow.’
‘No chance; she’ll have to wait.’
‘But if she waits she won’t make it; then if Mum doesn’t make tonight I won’t make it tomorrow, if you know what I mean?’
The Big Man’s eyes softened. He blew air out of his nose. He sank into his leather chair. Thinking time. Staring at me.
‘You know what this means, don’t you?’ he said.
‘What?’
‘You’ve compromised me.’
‘I … erm … didn’t … mean …’
‘And I don’t like being compromised, Charlie.’
‘Sorry, but it’s an emergency, Big Man.’
‘We live in a goddamn emergency, Law, don’t you see that?’
‘I do.’
‘And we’re going to do something about that, aren’t we?’
‘Yes.’ I did not hesitate.
‘Just as long as you know that.’
‘I do.’
‘Because we don’t want to live in an emergency any longer, isn’t that right?’
The pain was similar to badly needing to pee.
‘Big Man, I’m in a real hurry here. Can you please –’
It hit me on the chest.
His throw was strong. The inhaler bounced off me and on to the floor. We looked at it.
‘Well, pick it up, Charlie.’
‘Thanks, Big Man. Thanks a lot.’
‘Now get the hell out of here.’
‘OK, I will,’ I said, heading for my escape.
‘And Charlie?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you’re a no-show tomorrow it will be more than your mother’s air I will cut off. Get me?’
‘Get you,’ I said.
When I handed over the inhaler I went straight to bed. I lay trying not to think about it, telling myself that I was part of some sick joke. An elaborate hoax that Pav and his family, including his sister, were all in on. Or that this trip with The Big Man on his motorbike was nothing more than a great illusion I’d created. I popped my head under the covers, closed my eyes and attempted to run away from it. Scarper. Bolt. Skedaddle. Eventually I fell asleep. But I kept waking up. Suddenly I was back to square one again. My choice was simple: either I killed Captain Duda or The Big Man would bring untold pain down on my world. I think they call this a catch-22.
An effing living hell is what I called it.
Earlier, when Pav was sitting on the chair above the steel, I’d wanted to tell him everything. The lot. I had one day to go before the shooting; he needed to know the plan.
Did I say something?
Yes.
I did tell Pav.
‘Maybe you go get food, Charlie,’ Pav had said to me.
‘I think that’s a good idea,’ I’d said, and made to leave. But then the monster stopped me in my tracks. HE’S YOUR ONLY HOPE, YOU CLOWN. So I had turned to him and in all seriousness I said: ‘Pav, I’ve something I have to tell you. Something very important.’
‘What you tell, Charlie?’
‘I want you to listen and not get angry. Just listen, OK?’
‘I listen. I listen good,’ Pav had said, shifting himself into a comfortable position.
I cleared my throat.
‘Tomorrow …’
And I told him everything.
What I’d discovered about the two notes.
Everything.