Peter Hamilton - Misspent Youth

It wouldn’t be long until another full-on clash, Jeff knew. The distance between the two sides was already closing.

“Now,” he called out to Annabelle. He stepped over the crouched policeman, shoving the shields aside like some kind of jammed door.

“Hey, what the fuck—”

A big gauntlet closed around Jeff’s shoulder. He snapped his head around and stared directly into the goggles of a big policeman who’d grabbed him, seeing the confusion in the other’s eyes. “Take your hand off me, sonny boy, or I’ll smash your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be eating with your ass.” The fingers lost their grip. Probably due to surprise rather than the threat, Jeff reckoned.

Jeff stepped out through the gap in the shield. It was one of those moments where a single rational thought would have sent him racing back behind the police, desperate for sanctuary. Instead, he just made sure Annabelle got clear all right, then started to walk, striding along as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

It was only when he’d covered half the distance that he realized what he was actually doing, and muttered: “Oh shit, oh shit.” The youths ahead were the kind he’d spent most of his adult life trying to avoid. Hard-faced and cruel, brought up on some terrifying lawless sink estate, they’d stab him for a single euro. Meeting one was every middle-class boy’s nightmare.

“Jeff?” Annabelle called.

“Nothing, it’s okay.”

Someone up ahead pointed. “Oi, it’s Jeff Baker.” The name rumbled along the crowd like a small roll of thunder.

Jeff directed a modest shrug toward them. Quite a few people were staring at him now. He was closing the gap quickly, not giving them any time to react, keeping them off balance. The strategy seemed to work: He could see a lot of puzzled frowns above the bright triangles of cloth they wore over their lower faces.

Just before he reached the first of them, he turned around. With a broad grin, he raised a single stiff finger to the massed ranks of the now-silent riot police.

Cheers and whoops of delight rolled out from the protestors; several of them started clapping. Someone flung their arms around Jeff in greeting. More hands slapped him on the back. Annabelle was kissed several times. Dozens of people crowded around, wanting to say hello, to welcome him, to say thank you. “We knew you were all right, Jeff.” “You’re one of us, mate.” “This’ll show the bastards.”

They made their way slowly through the protestors, an osmotic process gradually filtering them away from the front and along the bridge. It was like some campaign rally; he had to shake hands with everyone they passed, to smile and say how much their cause meant to him. He’d never realized the bridge was so long.

Angry shouting broke out behind him. The distinctive dull thud of tear gas canisters reverberated through the late afternoon sky. Jeff and Annabelle both flinched, ducking down. Nobody was paying attention to them anymore. The conflict had resumed.

“Come on.” Jeff took her hand and they jogged away from the disturbance. With the other hand he fumbled his PCglasses on, and called Tim.

“You did it,” Tim cried down the link. “You really did it.”

Jeff dodged aside of a team of ten or so men with intent faces hurrying toward the skirmish; they looked like military types to him. “Of course I did it. Now where are you?”

They managed to find each other by shouting locations and directions in a farcical manner. Jeff would have laughed at how bizarre it was, not a hundred meters away and having to go: “Where? How far? Which way?” Except it was all too tragic for real humor.

Tim, Vanessa, Colin, Simon, and Rachel were all sheltering at the top of the circle’s slip road. Looking at them, Jeff remembered that last barbeque at the manor when they’d all fooled around in the pool and on the lawns. Happy youngsters keen for what the future might hold. It was as if a decade had passed. Tim’s hair was greasy, plastered down on his skull. Misty green dye had settled on his clothes in long streaks, staining his neck and fingers; a long smear covered his nose where he’d wiped a hand. His eyes were dark and very tired. Even his fancy Hi-shot PCglasses were bent.

He managed a forlorn little smile when Jeff and Annabelle emerged through the running throng. Jeff gave him a quick hug. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Tim was reluctant to let go; he held up his PCglasses. “We watched it, all of us. Every news stream showed you walking across. I couldn’t believe it.”

“You’ve got balls of steel, Jeff,” Simon said, grinning with admiration. “I would never have done that.”

Jeff didn’t take his eyes off Tim. “I had to.”

“You really came. I…I don’t know what to say, Dad.” He peered around Jeff’s shoulder. “You too, Annabelle. Thanks.”

“Hi yourself, Tim.” She sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. Jeff put his arm around her, stroking in concern. Rachel was giving them a sardonic look, unnoticed by Simon.

“So, are you going to live up to your side of the deal?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah,” Tim said weakly. “None of this is what I expected.”

“Life never is, son.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

SUE BUZZED THE OUTSIDE LOCK as soon as she saw them on the porch’s CCTV monitor. She was waiting in the vestibule when the lift arrived. Jeff was first out. She gave him a quick smile, then looked anxiously behind him. Tim was standing there, looking exhausted. His clothes were filthy and messed up, with broad smears of green dye. She flung her arms around him and squeezed tight.

“I’m okay,” he said. “We’re all okay now.”

Sue nodded welcome to the other youngsters. The three girls looked wrecked. The boys weren’t much better. “Come on in,” she said.

Vanessa, Rachel, and Annabelle claimed the master bedroom with its en suite bathroom. Sue gave them a pile of her casual clothes, and found them some extra soap and shampoo, though she doubted that would be any good against the dye. The boys had taken over the biggest guest bedroom, and were soon larking about as they got ready to shower. She called at Tim through the door, telling him which wardrobe had his old clothes, and that he was to share them out. As she walked away she heard Colin and Simon joshing him about being told what to do by his mum. A secretive grin lifted her lips; it actually felt good looking after them all, as if she’d become some kind of earth mother.

She found Jeff in the kitchen, swigging down a bottle of premium-strength lager.

“That was quite something you did this afternoon,” she said.

He handed her a second bottle. She expertly snapped the top off against one of the granite work tops, then smiled, wishing Tim had seen her do that.

“Second scare he’s given me in a month,” Jeff said.

“First one you’ve given me in quite a while. I watched you on the news streams.”

“Have the government put their spin on that yet?”

“I think they’re a little busy blaming Brussels for the riot right now.”

“Never mind, I’m sure they’ll get round to it.”

“Everybody saw you, there’s not much they can change in people’s minds. And when they find out you did that because you were concerned about your son…You really could run for president, you know.”

“What a ghastly thought.”

“And Annabelle went with you. I’m going to have to revise my opinion about that one.”

Jeff took a big swig. “Go easy on her tonight, she’s had a hard time.”