Subway 4 Read online

  Subway 4

  Violet Hunter

  Copyright © 2016 Violet Hunter

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Matador®

  9 Priory Business Park,

  Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,

  Leicestershire. LE8 0RX

  Tel: 0116 279 2299

  Email: [email protected]

  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  Twitter: @matadorbooks

  ISBN 9781785895814

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  To my sister Lucy

  Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  Acknowledgements

  1

  JIMMY

  I turned the corner and a blast of freezing cold air slammed into my body. The estate’s three tower blocks looked as if they were leaning in, like people talking. A metal grill covering the car park made a loud humming sound and rancid air rose up from the bins. Some old geezers were standing around outside the betting shop, trying to pretend it wasn’t freezing cold. This country was crap.

  Pushing open the door to the newsagents the headline, ‘Migrants Blamed for Surge in Crime’, jumped out at me. Yeah, that was true and they were stealing all the jobs.

  Ahmed said, “Alright Jimmy?” handing me my usual packet of fags.

  I grunted, “Not bad.”

  Ahmed was OK, the only one who was. Mum had fainted in his shop once and he brought her home.

  I walked through the playground, with its scabby swings and roundabout, green paint peeling, rusty metal underneath. The path by the tracks was brightly lit then it got darker. A streetlamp was broken, no one bothered about fixing it. I got to the pub and went straight to the bar. Behind me I heard a loud croaking laugh. I bought a pint and went over.

  “Alright mate,” Chris said.

  “Yeah.”

  Gary was slurping lager. He stuck his thumb up in greeting.

  Dean just nodded.

  “We heard Wayne’s back,” Chris said.

  “You’re joking.” I put my pint down hard, spilling some on the floor.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Nige told me. You heard him, Gary, didn’t you?”

  Gary nodded. “Said he saw him in the pub on Springer Street, looking like he’d never been away.”

  “Fuck.”

  “If things kick off we’ll be here,” Chris said.

  “Thanks mate, I appreciate it.”

  I hadn’t seen Wayne for a long time. I’d almost forgotten about him. Fucking bastard. For two years it’s been like he’s dead then he turns up again. My stomach started tensing up with dread, familiar, the same feeling I had all the time he was around.

  I went to the bog for a piss, breathing in hard, trying to get rid of the tension.

  When I got back Gary was reminiscing.

  “Remember that beggar we done, Chris? You missed out there Jimmy. How come you’re never around when there’s any real action? Anyway I bet he’s not swaggering around like he used to. Crawling more like.” Gary had a big head and bulging eyes. “Oh no, don’t hurt me please,” he mimicked, looking at us, begging, like a dog. They rolled about laughing and I half joined in, pissed off with Gary for making out I was too scared to fight.

  The fruit machine winked and flashed. There were two old girls sitting in a corner; apart from that no one else was there. It was the last pub left open near the estate.

  “Watford on Saturday then,” Chris said.

  “6/0, I reckon,” Gary said.

  “We might let them get one past us in the first half, just so they think they’ve got a chance, losers,” I said.

  “Reckon we’ll be going up soon,” Chris said.

  We got more drinks and the talk got cruder. Chris was telling us about two girls who he was seeing.

  “I’m not that interested in either to be honest but they’ve both got big tits so I can’t complain.”

  Finally the barman said, “Time you were going, boys.”

  On the way home I took a short cut through the alley. There was someone playing an accordion, a white cup in front of him. High notes were sounding through the passageway. He was getting into it, playing some foreign tune, like he was sad and homesick. Why didn’t he go back then? I thought about what Gary said. He meant it as a kind of challenge. I’d had fights for sure, maybe not as many as Gary but it wasn’t like I was trying to avoid them. Alcohol burned in my stomach and I thought with hatred about Wayne. I’d show them all.

  I walked towards the beggar, my head down as if I was going to go past. His fingers were flying over the buttons. As I got close I aimed a kick at his body and he fell forwards. The accordion made a loud sigh as it crashed to the ground.

  “No, please,” he called out, trying to grab the instrument.

  A feeling of power surged through my body and I kicked him again in the stomach. He groaned and made a weird gurgling sound, curling up trying to protect himself. Blood oozed from his nose.

  Someone shouted, “Oi, stop that!”

  There was a figure at the entrance to the alley. I ran, crossing the road, dodging a car, then raced into the park. I reached the far gate and headed for the car park behind the flats. I leant against a garage door, breathing hard to stop myself throwing up. Fuck, that felt good, scary but good. I waited until I’d got my breath back then started walking, darting looks behind to see if anyone was following, listening out for sirens but for once it was quiet. The adrenaline stopped pumping and the sweat on my back was going cold.

  When I got in Liam was on the sofa watching TV.

  “Alright? What you watching?”

  “Good film. Where’ve you been?” He glanced my way.

  “Just down the pub.” I thought he might notice something but his eyes went straight back to the screen. It was OK anyway – he’d never grass on me. Me and him got on.

  Mum came out of the kitchen and said, “Have you eaten, Jimmy?” She s
ounded tired.

  “I’ll make some toast.”

  Later in the bathroom I looked in the mirror. My face was whiter than usual. I studied my hands – nothing on them – looked at my clothes – no blood. I wondered what I’d have done if the person hadn’t shouted at me to stop. I was angry and ready to really go at him. What did that mean? I still had the sick feeling in my stomach but there was something else as well – a sense of satisfaction, because for once I had power over someone else.

  * * *

  Next day Chris and me were in the cafe on the high street. It was just us, plus some old guy, chewing chips with his two teeth. The area was shit now, foreign food shops spreading out onto the pavement, polluting our streets.

  I told him about the beggar.

  “Good job mate,” he nodded. “While we’re on the subject, I’ve got a proposal.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “We agree that Pakis, niggers and immigrants should be sent back, right?”

  “Yeah, they’re taking over this country.”

  Mum hadn’t had a holiday for years. The shop she worked in made her go part-time because foreigners wanted her job, so now she had to do office cleaning as well.

  When I was at school there was loads of shit about people being equal; some of the teachers went over the top about how black people had a hard time but I didn’t see it that way. Seemed to me they got all the privileges. There was a gang of them at my school. They were arrogant, went around intimidating us. Some of the white kids sucked up to them, tried talking the same and doing the swagger but I kept out of their way. Once they’d cornered me. Two of them stood with their feet on my arms, pressing down hard so the blood drained out of my fingers. The other one pulled a knife out of his pocket. He said he didn’t like the way I looked at him and I needed to watch it or I’d be dead meat.

  “It’s time to take action, we can’t just sit around on our arses doing nothing. The New English Right wants more people; I’m joining, you up for it?” Chris said.

  I remembered Dad telling me stories about being in the National Front. The demonstrations they used to go on were massive. Black people were really scared. It sounded like a good time.

  “Count me in.”

  Chris gave me a playful punch on the shoulder.

  “Great. Next meeting’s Thursday, 7.30 p.m., the Swan in Denham Street.”

  2

  VALERIE

  If anyone asked what my job was I told them I was an actor but right then I was behind a counter, coffee machine on my right, a row of cakes on my left. It was my fourth shift that week. If it went on like this I’d have to give up on my dream of becoming a great Shakespearean actor. My plan had been to start with characters like Rosalind, Juliet and Miranda, then move on to playing Gertrude and Cleopatra. So many great roles. I loved the hugeness of his plays, the wars, the death and the madness. One day I wanted to play Lady Macbeth.

  It was quiet in the cafe. Like a tide everyone had flowed back to the office. Teresa was out the back having a break. I was thinking about the audition next week, my fourteenth since leaving college. Sometimes if I was nervous I spoke too fast or fluffed a line but other times I knew I’d got it right and still the answer was no. It was getting difficult to keep faith in myself.

  This play, Wounded Home, was about the effects of war, not just on the men but on the rest of the family, particularly the women. The main character was Paul, a soldier returning from Afghanistan. I was trying for the role of his girlfriend, Chrissie, who was twenty-four, exactly my age. I really wanted the part.

  I was wiping down the coffee machine with my back to the counter when someone said, “Skinny cappuccino please.”

  Turning I saw Anton, a big smile on his face. He was wearing a dark blue jacket and an orange shirt. Compared to the drab brown furniture in the cafe he looked amazing.

  “Hey! Great to see you.”

  “Thought I’d check out how you’re doing. I was going to phone to say I was coming then thought I’d surprise you instead.”

  “It’s been ages, what’ve you been up to?”

  “Seeing my aunt and uncle in the States. I got back a couple of weeks ago. How are you doing?”

  I shrugged and looked around at the crowded tables and chairs, the plates with crumbs on, the photos of snow-covered mountains on the wall. “This is my stage now.”

  He looked sympathetic. “You’ll get something soon, you’re too good not to. It’s only been a few months. Talking of stages – I’ve got a spare ticket for Twelfth Night on Friday. Leila can’t make it and I thought of you. It should be good.”

  “Thanks so much. I meant to get a ticket but I left it too late and it’d sold out.”

  “Have you had any auditions recently?”

  I told him about my failures and about the part I was preparing for.

  “The play sounds great – I can imagine you as Chrissie.”

  “Hope they can too. I’ll go mad if I work here much longer.”

  “I’ve got some news,” he said, leaning across the counter.

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ve been offered a part in a musical.”

  “Fantastic,” I said, genuinely pleased. Anton’s passion was musical theatre whereas I really struggled with singing. “What’s it about?”

  “A group of prison inmates form a band inside then try to carry on playing when they get out. The company’s based in Sheffield. I’ll be moving up there temporarily.”

  I felt a pang. “That’s a long way to go.”

  “It’s only a short run. I’ll be back again soon.”

  My hand was on the counter between us and he rested his briefly on mine. It felt light as a feather.

  “See you Friday then,” he said, waving as he went out the door.

  When he’d gone I realised I’d been missing him. We’d been close at drama school but now work or other things got in the way and we saw each other less often.

  Teresa came in from the back room.

  “Everything OK? Who was that you were talking to?”

  “My friend Anton, from college.”

  We were only friends but when he was talking I felt something more and wondered whether it was coming from him or me. There was something about the way he’d looked at me when he left. I shook off the feeling. I was probably imagining it. He was going out with Leila and I’d decided never to get involved with a man who was with someone. It wasn’t really a moral thing just that life was complicated enough without that.

  * * *

  Anton’s success inspired me and I used every spare minute I had to rehearse. By the time the audition came I was ready. I could have spoken the lines hanging upside down if they asked me to.

  At the theatre I found the toilets, checking that I looked OK. I was wearing eyeliner but no other make-up, my hair was shoulder length and I’d had it straightened. I was turning from the mirror to leave when a young woman came through the doors. She was panting a little.

  “Do you know where the auditions are?” she asked.

  “I’ll show you if you like.”

  “Thanks, if you’re not too busy.”

  It took a moment to realise what she meant, then I noticed a broom leaning against the wall near me and felt a jab of pain.

  I said straight away, “I’m here for the auditions too.”

  “Oh sorry, I didn’t realise. It’s just that…”

  Her pale skin went pink and she turned away, unable to look me in the eye. Fumbling with the door handle she went out. I stood still, feeling humiliated, tears coming into my eyes. She really thought I was there to clean the toilet. I went into a cubicle, sat on the seat and wept quietly. It was like she’d told me to stay in my place, that I mustn’t step out of it, I couldn’t be somebody different or special. Acting was
for those like her, not black girls like me.

  I thought about my dad. He’d have put his arm around me and said, “Go ahead and cry. Cry as hard as you like, then go out and do as you intended to do.”

  I blew my nose and went to the mirror to check my eyeliner. It had run so I wiped it away and reapplied it then I drew myself up and went out of the door.

  Auditions were being held for several parts and nearly every seat in the green room was taken. I sat in the opposite corner to the girl, avoiding her eye. A name was called and she got up. As she went out the door I wondered if she was auditioning for the same role as me.

  Two more people were called then it was my turn. I stood in the wings and took a deep breath then walked onto the stage. Three people were sitting in the front row, a man and two women. I told them my name and the piece I was going to perform and one of the women said, “Please begin.”

  The monologue I’d chosen was by Irina, from Chekhov’s Three Sisters. Pausing for a moment I let the character wash over me. The words came easily. My body stayed loose as I moved around the stage. I was still upset by the incident in the toilet but I used some of the emotion I felt and put it into my performance. I could tell it was good.

  At the end of the speech I gave a bow. They thanked me and smiled but gave nothing away. When I left the theatre the blonde girl was nowhere to be seen.

  3

  JIMMY

  Liam wanted me to go fishing with him. I hadn’t been for months so I said yes.

  We left the house as it was getting light and got the bus to Clear Water. The place was deserted and we found a good spot with two wooden platforms. Liam had dyed the maggots with turmeric and inside the bait box were hundreds of gold wriggling creatures. I screwed the sections of my rod together and began threading line through the rings. I was out of practice and Liam was ready first. He stood at the side of the lake, paused for a moment, then with a quick flick cast out the line. It whipped through the air, landing close to the centre of the lake. He turned and grinned at me, as if to say beat that. I moved to the edge and did the same but it was a crap attempt and I only just missed an overhanging branch.