David Peace - GB84

‘I’d love to,’ said Terry, ‘but I have neglected the wife and kids this Christmas.’

Len stopped outside the President’s office. Len turned to Terry Winters. Len said, ‘Just put the boxes down there then, Comrade. I’ll take them from here.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Terry. ‘I can bring them in for you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Len. ‘But you’ve done enough, Comrade.’

‘Merry Christmas and happy New Year then,’ said Terry. ‘And to the President.’

‘And to you and your family, Comrade,’ said Len. ‘Theresa and the kids.’

Terry Winters walked back down the corridor. Terry took the stairs two at a time. He went back into his office. He picked up his briefcase. He locked the door behind him. He switched off the lights as he went. He took the lift down to the ground floor –

There were no Tweeds. No Denims –

Just the Red Guards on the door.

Terry gave them a tenner for a drink and wished them season’s greetings.

Terry clutched the briefcase. Terry walked quickly to the car.

Terry drove to Hallam Towers. Terry went straight up to Room 308 –

Terry had an erection and a briefcase full of cash.

Terry Winters knocked on the door. Terry said, ‘Room service.’

Malcolm caught red buses. Malcolm took black taxis –

The streets quiet, the city dead. The trains empty, the ghosts overground –

From station to station. Place to place —

The lights blew in the wind. The lights fell in the rain –

His shoes full of holes on pavements full of holes. His dirty raincoat in a dirty doorway —

Hobart House and Congress House. Claridge’s and the County Hotel —

The buildings quiet. The buildings empty.

Malcolm had his key. Malcolm took the lift –

An old black man pushed an industrial vacuum cleaner down the seventh-floor corridor. There were rope marks around his neck. There were scars across both his wrists. The light flickered on and off, on and off. The lift door opened and then closed —

Deserted silences. Deserted spaces —

From place to place. Room to room –

The bodies hiding in the fixtures. The bodies hanging from the fittings.

A young Asian woman washed industrial-strength bleach down a seventh-floor wall. There were whip marks across her backside. There were wounds around her vagina –

She was naked from the waist down. Bleeding from the waist up.

The television in the corner switched itself off and on, off and on —

The Prime Minister talked of resolution. The Prime Minister talked of exorcism.

‘Everybody’s saying it’ll soon be over,’ said Diane. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

‘I know,’ said Terry.

‘Two months, maybe even less,’ she said. ‘That’s what they’re saying.’

‘I know,’ said Terry again.

‘The finances won’t recover,’ she said. ‘The Union will split in two.’

Terry’s stomach tightened. Turned and emptied. Terry nodded.

‘They’ll look for scapegoats,’ she said. ‘They’ll look to you.’

Terry nodded again. Empty and turning. Terry felt sick.

‘You need an escape plan,’ said Diane. ‘Funds.’

Terry got out of bed. Terry opened his briefcase. Terry put the money on the bed –

‘Will you help me?’ said Terry. ‘Help me escape? Disappear? The two of us?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you really want.’

land in World War One — In end there were quite a few at hut for countdown. Everyone was upbeat and positive. Difficult to tell how they really felt, though. Lot of us stopped on right through until sun came up. Took it in turns to get warm in hut or go across road to one of houses. They kept an open door for us, did some of pensioners who lived up there. Not just on New Year’s Eve. There were two who’d been in last big one. Back in ’26. They’d soon get going. Tell you who’d scabbed and who’d stayed out. Folk had long bloody memories and when sun did come up there was a bit of emotion. I know I felt it. I got off home pretty sharp after that. Mary and our Jackie were asleep. I sat on settee downstairsfor a bit. Just me and tree and all cards. I’d be glad when tree came down and it got put away for another year. Just didn’t seem same this year. Ironic really, because I’d never been to so many bloody Christmas parties in my life. I didn’t usually bother about it much. I couldn’t remember what I’d done last New Year. I went up to bed. Tried not to wake Mary. But it was too light to sleep now and she’d be up to make dinner soon — I start running. Running and running — I pushed chicken round my plate. Every family had been given a free chicken — That’s all I’d done this bloody Christmas, give out free fucking chickens. Make sure no one got two and someone got none. I shouldn’t have taken off that Father Christmas hat — Mary had made a big effort today, though. Made us put on paper party hats — I wanted to enjoy it. But one look at this bloody roomsaid it all — Lights were all on in kitchen and dining room. Bloody tree in corner flashing away. Heating on full. Cooker on all morning. Radio. TV–It were all bloody on. Everything that could be and there still wasn’t so much as a flicker — Not a single fucking flicker after ten bloody months. Not one power cut — Just more fucking bills we couldn’t pay. Fuck — How much was it fucking costing them to do this to us? How bloody much? They’d sit on their fucking hands and watch this country crash before they’d break and give us even an inch. Fuck me . I pushed that chicken round through gravy and knew I should have been more grateful. Tried to smile for Mary and our Jackie. Brave face and all that bollocks — There were them that would have no special dinner this New Year, I knew that. Not just them in fucking Ethiopia or Sudan, either — Here in South bloody Yorkshire. Then there were them lads starting five-year prison sentences down in Kent — It was then that it dawned on me. Hit me for first time — That it was over. All over now. Finished. Bar shouting — Just a matter of time. Be like waiting for end of bloody world — I looked up from chicken. From trimmings — Mary and Jackie were watching me. Our Jackie holding a cracker out for me — I didn’t want to let her see what I was thinking. I closed my eyes — Deeper and deeper — I lay on bedafter lunch. Listened to match on Radio Sheffield. Wednesday bloody beat Man United two-one. Two-fucking-one! Put us up to fifth. Final scores were coming in, Mary sticks her head round bedroom door. Big smile on her face, scrapbook in her hand. Never know, she said. Might be an omen. I laughed. I gave her a big kiss as I went down stairs. I loved her. I really loved her. Her and our Jackie. Didn’t know what I’d have done without them — Not this. I couldn’t do this without them, I knew that — I was a lucky man. I knew that — Faster and faster. I turn corner — There were six front gatepickets up by hut on Pit Lane. There were also a fair few out today down road and all. Police had got hundred lads surrounded at junction by post office. Krk-krk. Not as many police as usual, either. Bit of snowballing going on, which was pissing them off. They got on their radios for cavalry. Krk-krk — Transits appeared full of riot squad. Then scab bus came up road at usual eighty mile an hour and into yard — Got welcome it deserved and all. I had a good look to see how many they had this morning — It didn’t look any more than before. Just usual wankers — Big two-fingered salute from two of them. One lad drawing his finger across his neck — I had a meeting with Panel over in Silverwood, so I walked back down to Welfare with some of lads. Most of