Tom Graham: Blood, Bullets and Blue Stratos

Sam had tried to find a moment to speak to Mary, to tell her how brave she’d been, to wish her well. But the girl had shrunk away from him when he’d approached, howling and hugging her father.

‘She still doesn’t like my accent,’ Sam said.

‘Neither do I,’ Michael Deery had replied. But something about him had changed. Perhaps he’d lost his belly for fighting and bloodshed — God knew, there’d been enough of that aboard the Capella . Perhaps he’d turn away from the armed struggle, and encourage his daughter to do the same. But, if that was the case, he wasn’t about to admit to it, not here, not with his IRA unit looking on.

Now, in the smoky snug of the Railway Arms, Sam clinked glasses with Annie and the boys, and secretly toasted a better future. The world’s troubles were too big for Sam Tyler to sort out, and even too big for Gene Hunt. All they could do was play their part, however small, and hope for the best.

From the loud speakers above the bar, Lennon urged them to keep playing those mind games, to have faith in the future …

‘You said it, John.’

‘What was that, Sammy-boy?’

‘Nothing, Guv.’

Nelson kept the pints coming and the evening got boozier. Gene and Ray got louder. Chris got unsteadier. Annie made her ghastly wine last for hours, and was obviously keen to be with Sam in private. Sam was about to suggest that the two of them sidle over to a quiet corner away from the boys, when he caught sight of something at the window. It was a small, pale face, looking in from the night — a little girl’s face, with a teardrop painted on each cheek. The girl pouted and lifted her hand. She held up a limp length of string, on the end of which dangled the popped remnants of her black balloon.

Sam looked across the pub at her, but this time he felt no fear, no panic, no suffocation. He even smiled.

What’s done is done, he thought. I’ve made my choice, and no one can change that. The future Sam Tyler is asleep in his grave, but that’s not me. I’m here, I’m awake, I’m alive — I’m alive, and I’m going to stay that way for as long as possible.

The girl in the window slowly shook her head as she retreated and vanished into the darkness outside.

I’m free now, Sam thought. That feeling of not belonging, of needing to be somewhere else — somewhere important — has gone. It was the call of the future, trying to drag me into the grave. But I resisted. And I won! I can be me now. I can be at home here. I can live.

He looked at Annie and smiled. She smiled back.

We can live. Together. Me and Annie. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to better than fine. It’s going to be wonderful!

He opened his mouth to speak, but as he did he felt a sudden iciness sweep through him. The sounds in the pub receded, became muffled. Everything was running in slow motion. The light became hazier. Behind the bar, Nelson turned and fixed Sam with a strange and knowing look.

As if moving through treacle, Sam struggled to turn to Annie — but, as he did, he glimpsed something that made his heart freeze in his chest. Annie was sitting right beside him, holding her glass of wine; but now the glass was filled not with wine but with blood. It curdled and began foaming over the edge of the glass, pouring over Annie’s hand and running down her arm. Still smiling, still looking right at him, Annie lifted her glass in slow motion and took a drink. The thick blood gushed down her chin, drenching her blouse. Over her shoulder, a black balloon bobbed at the window.

‘No!’ Sam cried, and he lunged forward.

White wine went flying all over Annie’s blouse. Everybody stopped and stared. Sam froze.

‘What the hell was that ?’ Annie cried at him, leaping to her feet. Her drink was dripping off her. Where it had drenched her top the fabric clung to her body, clearly revealing her bra beneath.

‘I can see her bazookas!’ Chris shouted, gawping without shame.

‘If you just can’t wait, boss, at least take her off to the bogs,’ grinned Ray.

Gene said nothing; his expression was inscrutable.

Annie flashed a furious, confused look at Sam, then grabbed her handbag and made a dash for the ladies’.

His head still spinning from his vision, Sam called after her, ‘Annie! Annie, I love you! I don’t want to lose you! I’m frightened that’s what I was seeing — that I was losing you! I panicked! Don’t go! I love you, Annie! ’

The door of the ladies’ banged shut. Sam found himself standing in the middle of a now silent pub, surrounded by staring faces. He turned, very slowly, and faced his work colleagues at the bar. For once, they said nothing — just stared, a row of wordless faces. Silently, Sam stared back.

‘White folks!’ said Nelson, shaking his dreadlocks, and he whacked up some Bob Marley to get everyone back in the drinking mood.