87 per cent satisfaction rate, as you’re asking, 94 per cent in the arts. We lost a lot of lecturers, though, when the new system came in. They said that the criteria meant they had to be nice to their students, instead of making them learn. They said that the less homework they gave, the better their overall assessments. The better their overall assessments the more money they could make. Everyone’s gotta eat.
Ginger biscuits? Really? Well as you’re offering I mean don’t tell anyone it’s just
oh thank you these are the best they just really
look, I don’t mind you staying but the evening shift guy he’s going to be because this is a protected space it’s a place of safety so
just to let you know.
And don’t cross to the other side.
They moved the boat away from the bright glass walls of the business school, the men in black who prowled its edges. At the mooring point they found the narrowboat they’d seen a few nights before, an old woman stood with a blowtorch pressed against the air intake, cursing under her breath.
Neila went to help, smiling, hello again, and revved the engine as the woman pushed fire into the intake, and after a little while the engine reluctantly spat into full, chugging life, and the woman said thank you kindly but it’s getting dark now
can I offer you tea
and Neila said thank you but no, no, I’ll be all right, I’ve got…
And stopped herself before admitting to the existence of Theo, making a brew in the Hector.
In the evening, barely an hour after sunset, there was a sound like the howling of wolves.
It came from the darkness to the left of the canal and filled the sky above the streets where the lights had been cut off.
Blood between their teeth, chins craning to the hidden moon the children raised their heads and howled
howled
howled!
And in the darkness the others answered and shrieked their darknesses to the sky, the sound echoing off the water, the cry of the hunter, the predator that drinks the hot fresh juices from a still-beating heart
hoooowwwwwwlllllll!!!
Around the business school, the security men shut their students in and told them to wait until the buses came, secured with metal plates against reflective glass, a driver who kept a stun gun lodged between handbrake and gear stick
hoooooowwwwlllll!!!
Neila did not sleep, and neither did Theo.
At 1 a.m. they met each other, both going to the kitchen sink for a little more water.
Theo said, “There’s a queen of the patties. They say she was one of the first, the oldest—the first woman they ever condemned to make burgers on the patty line. Half the meat they use is wasted anyway, but it doesn’t matter. The government subsidises the companies that run the prison, to make sure they make a profit so they can carry on being efficient rehabilitators, says it’s better that way, cheaper in the long run, so the companies don’t worry if they waste stuff. There’s mountains of minced meat at the back of the yard, the flies are so thick it looks like a living thing. My dad died on the patty line, but the contracts say that the government can’t sue for negligence and why would they? Only a patty. Only another patty.”
Little bodies darted by the window, little figures ran along the canal.
They sat together, close to the half-orange embers of the stove, as the voices were raised around the town, screaming at the dark.
“The queen says it’s good to scream. Good to rage. If you don’t get it out of your system then you’re not being honest to yourself. You’re just pretending that everything is okay. That this… this shit, this nothing-nowhere you’ve got, this dream that you swallowed whole when you were a kid because dreams weren’t for the likes of you… you pretend that’s okay. You live your life as a grey one, one of the zeroes who’ll die alone begging for Company scraps, because you didn’t have the guts to look at yourself and say yes. Yes. This is fucked-up. And no. No. This isn’t my fault. This was done to me. The world… did this to me. Accept that, she says, and you have seen the truth of the patty line, and the only thing that is right is the screaming, the raging, the burning and the truth of the flame. And when you’ve done that, then you can find yourself again, and the quiet place inside that will let you take control. That’s the creed of the patty queen. That’s what she told them, that’s why they have these prayers…”
Blessed are her hands blessed is the water beneath her fingers blessed are the ones who blaze blessed are those who wait in shadows…
Neila warmed her hands by the stove and murmured, “All it is is screaming. That’s all they do. It doesn’t change anything.”
They sat in silence a little while.
Theo said, “You sleep, and I’ll wake, and in an hour I’ll sleep, and you wake,” and Neila nodded and lay down on the couch without another word, and pulled the blankets that covered Theo over her head, and didn’t notice his smell on them, and slept for an hour, and woke feeling refreshed, and they swapped and just after 4 a.m…
…little hands thump thump thumping against the side of her boat thump thump thump not hard just a patter of flesh thump thump thump palm against steel, a dozen, two dozen, three, the children went running
the youngest barely three years old, carried by her elder sister they ran along the pavement in their torn shoes and flapping rags, not howling now, but tip-toe tapping in the darkness
The slapping of their hands against the boat woke Theo, a jump-start, and he pulled the blanket tight and looked like a man in search of a weapon, but Neila shook her head and whispered:
“It’s just the children. Just the children. They’ll pass. They’ll pass.”
And the children did, but before they went
A smash in the night!
Something metal!
Someone fell
a squeak of voices and
another crash, hollow across the water, and more disturbing perhaps a ripple against the boat, a gentle rocking, what has disturbed the surface of the canal so much
but then that too passed.
And Theo slept, and Neila waited, watching, until it was her turn to sleep again.
They rose at sunrise and found a child, dead, face down in the water. Where she’d fallen the thin ice had cracked, then begun to seal back around her, keeping her in place where she’d landed. She wore blue rubber boots and a huge red puffer coat. Her hair was black, in two bunches held up with plastic dragonfly-adorned clips. The blood from the wound in her scalp had been trapped in the ice, retaining its crimson brilliance. Neila stared at the corpse and thought she was going to cry. Theo stared at the body and thought: probably about £120,000, £130,000 at a pinch, depending on her manner of death, add an investigation cost of course these things can spiral out of control unless you’re thoughtful about the fiscal consequences of…
And stopped.
And for a moment thought he saw Lucy there.
Thought he was going to be sick, and despised himself and everything he had become.
The locks on the doors into the narrowboat moored beyond theirs were broken. Potted plants on the roof had been smashed, spilling black, rich soil down the sides and onto the towpath. Someone had cut the rope to one bollard, but missed the second or not been bothered by it, so the boat drifted, bum out, away from the child in the water.
Neila went round to the prow, knocked tentatively on the half-open metal door, called out the old woman’s name, pushed the door back, peeked inside.