“Stick the radio on. Find some music.” His voice broke into my thoughts.
I looked across at him. He was fizzing with energy, loving the buzz of it all – running away, driving through London. If he’d been a dog, he’d have had the window down now, with his head out and his ears flapping in the breeze. I flicked through the radio stations. It was all rubbish, so I opened the glove compartment, looking for CDs. There was a pretty tragic selection: the Bee Gees, Elton John, Dire Straits. There was all sorts of other crap in there, too – receipts, an old hairbrush, some papers. I fished out one bit of paper, just a boring bill. I was about to chuck it on the floor when something caught my eye. At the top, it was addressed to Mr. J. P. McNulty, 24 Crescent Drive, Finsbury Park, London.
“Oh, my God, Spider. This is the Nutter’s car! Have you completely lost it?”
His eyes were shining. “Couldn’t resist. Neat, eh?”
“You been up the school?”
“Yeah, just sneaked in. They were all in last period. Didn’t take long – you might as well not lock an Astra.”
“He’ll have reported it stolen by now. They’ll all be looking for it.”
“Yeah, I thought about that. Guess we should avoid the motorways – all those cop cars and security cameras. Give us a bit longer before we ditch it and get the next one.”
I was impressed – he had thought about it. He kept glancing up into the rearview mirror. Every time he did it, the car swerved a bit.
“What you doing?”
“Just checking we’re not being followed.”
“We’d hear the sirens, wouldn’t we?”
“It’s not just jam sandwiches, Jem, there’s unmarked cars, too. There’s all sorts…”
“Where are we heading, anyway?” I hadn’t questioned this before, I’d just let Spider take charge – he seemed to know what he was doing.
“I don’t think it’s worth trying to get out of the country. They’ll be watching all the ports. We just need to keep moving ‘til we find somewhere we can lie low for a bit. I thought we’d head west – might end up at the seaside.”
It dawned on me: His BEST DAY EVER. “Weston-something-or-other?”
He smiled. “Yeah. We could aim for there, anyway.”
“Where the hell is it?” I admit it, my knowledge of geography is nil.
“Out west. Head for Bristol and keep going. I might buy a map book when we stop for gas. Not that I can read a map, but how difficult can it be?”
“You got some money, then?”
“Oh, yeah, I got plenty of money.” He put his hand up to his jacket. “We got the cash, the wheels, we’re on our way!” And he let out a ridiculous whooping noise, then laughed like a maniac.
And just for a moment, I forgot the bomb, and the police, and the fact that I was in a stolen car with a guy whose pockets were full of dodgy money. It seemed like, after waiting for fifteen years, my life had finally begun. I was in a real-life adventure, and I was enjoying the ride.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The road out of London was like something out of a science fiction film. We went up on a kind of ramp, drove through blocks of space-age office buildings fifty feet up in the air. It was all concrete and glass and sky. We were part of a stream of cars spewing out of the city. As I watched the taillights stretching out ahead, I thought about how each of those cars contained someone with their own story. People on their way back from work, glad to be heading away from the bomb and the mayhem, back to their two-point-four kids in the suburbs. None of their stories could be anything like ours, could they? Two kids on the run from the police in a stolen car. I was living out a dream: Spider and I were movie stars; it was exciting, dangerous, too cool to be true.
Spider pulled out to overtake a van. Out of nowhere there was a blaring horn, something was right on top of us in the outside lane.
“Shit!” Spider yanked the wheel and we veered back over. The car in the outside lane drew level with us, the driver making gestures and shouting as he eyeballed Spider.
“Up yours, mate!” Spider responded. The other bloke was going mad.
“Just leave it, Spider. Don’t look at him. For God’s sake, keep your eyes on the road, or we’ll crash!” Spider was driving wildly, his steering completely random. Eventually, the other guy accelerated away, still going nuts, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“We don’t want to draw attention to ourselves. Just calm down.”
“Yeah, I know, but he was a complete wanker. Winding me up, man.”
“I think we should get off this road, find somewhere quieter.”
“Yeah, we’ll take the next exit.” He was still agitated, but at least he had both hands on the wheel now.
Before long there was a sign showing an exit coming up. We moved over into the slip road, and the brakes squealed as Spider tried to slow down to take the bend as it curved ’round. A sign flashed up showing a traffic circle ahead, but we were going too fast to see what it said. We joined the flow, but then we didn’t know what to do. We hurtled ’round, looking at the exit signs: “Hounslow…Slough…Harrow…Christ, where do we go?” We did the full circuit, felt like we’d never get off, before plunging down one exit with car horns going off at us left, right, and center. We carried on, the traffic nose to tail.
“Did anyone follow us, Jem? Did anyone else go all the way ’round like us?”
“How would I know?”
“You need to look in the mirrors! It’s not frigging brain surgery!” There was sweat beading on his forehead. I knew he was stressed, but he was being a tit.
“Shut up!” I yelled. “All I can see is lights. They’re all the same! How the fuck would I know if we’re being followed?”
He wiped his hand over his forehead and into his hair. “Where are we?”
“I dunno, just keep going. There’ll be more signs soon.”
“I don’t think the signs help much. We need a map.”
“Won’t help me, I haven’t got a clue about maps.”
“Well, we’ll just have to learn. God, I need a break.” Spider turned off onto a side road and pulled over. He switched off the engine and stretched out as far as he could in his seat, then rubbed his face with his hands and exhaled hard through his fingers. “Shit! That’s hard, man.”
“Driving?”
“Yeah, there’s so much to think about; everything’s coming at you from all sides. Whoa.”
He wiped more sweat away from his forehead with his sleeve, put his head back, and closed his eyes.
“Spider,” I said slowly, “you have driven before, haven’t you?”
“Sure I have,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I had a go in Spencer’s car down by the warehouses.”
“But I thought you’d done this tons of times, nicked cars and all that…?”
“I have, Jem, but I was always the starter. They never let me drive.”
I looked at him sharply. “I don’t believe you…you’re a head case! We’ve just driven through one of the busiest cities in the world, and you’ve only driven a car once before. Oh, my God…” I found myself laughing, relief teetering on the edge of hysteria.
He opened his eyes now. “What? What you laughing at? I got us here, didn’t I?”
I paused for breath. “I’m not laughing at you. Honest, I’m not.” He looked so offended, I put a comforting hand on his arm. “You did get us here. You were awesome. You were awesome, Spider. Here, let’s have a look in the bag your nan got ready. Have a snack.”
He got out, went ’round to the trunk, fetched the bag, and slung it onto my lap. I fished into it. It was pretty pitiful – crackers, chocolate biscuits, some cans, but no can opener. There was a pack of cigarettes, at least, and something heavy at the bottom. I reached farther in and put my hand around the neck of a bottle. I drew it out. Spider’s face brightened up.