‘That and other stuff, yeah.’
‘Is he OK?’
‘He’s fine, I reckon. Thanks for asking.’
It was cola-flavoured Hubba. She’d never had a cola-flavoured Hubba before. She hadn’t known it was a flavour they did.
Being together in the dark. It reminded her of sleepovers, camping. The way your eyes scanned around in the dim, waiting for some creepy shadow to be cast, ears attuned to outdoor sounds, some real and some imagined. Looking at Susie now she felt something. Not a rush of love, but a definite trickle. The start maybe of a reasonable flow. Nothing but bubbles emerged from their lips. It was all in sync and quiet. With a couple of side glances they decided which policeman was the best-looking of the group. With a smile they located the worst. Freya wanted to say I’m sorry I’ve ignored your messages, and I’m sorry I told the security guard about Sebastian, but hoped it was enough to think it, feel it.
She drew Susie in for a hug, a bony body pressed against hers. Funny how good a simple hug could be. Susie’s hair smelt of herbal stuff.
‘My dad found out he’s not going to be the next general manager.’
‘What? Oh.’
‘Yeah.’
Susie’s eyes were shining. ‘He wanted that, didn’t he?’
‘Really bad, yeah.’
‘Brutal,’ she said.
‘Yeah.’
‘My mum says it’s a week of bad news. Did you hear about Wendy?’
‘Hairdresser Wendy?’
‘Yeah. She’s really ill.’
Freya laughed. ‘Always.’
‘No, seriously. They scanned her head and found this growth. She’s going to need a load of treatment. An operation.’
‘Wendy Hoyt?’
‘Yeah. A tumour. Apparently she’s been having headaches for ages. They didn’t spot it. My mum knows her husband.’
‘That’s terrible. That’s really … it’s awful.’
‘Yeah, I know.’
Could it really be true? Wendy?
For a few minutes they talked about how awful it was and then, with frowns and headshakes, conceded that they’d run out of ways to talk about it. They’d buy flowers tomorrow, take them to the salon, ask the staff if there was anything they could do.
‘Are you still seeing that guy, Frey-Hey? I heard that you might be seeing a guy. Stephanie’s cousin, the spotty one … he lifeguards at the pool.’
‘I’m … yeah, not seeing him any more.’
‘Bothered?’ Susie said.
‘Nah.’
‘He was a bit gross, I expect, was he?’
She chewed. ‘No, he wasn’t gross. He was Surfer John.’
‘Nooooooo.’
‘Yeeeeeeess.’
‘What were his nipples like?’
‘His nipples?’
Susie shrugged. ‘I always imagined they’d be cool. You didn’t sleep with him, did you?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Good.’
Susie raised her banner. The banner bore the slogan ‘Only Machines Should Be Made of Iron’. It was a very low-cost banner. The handle part seemed to have been constructed from several dozen ice-lolly sticks wound together, possibly the Mini Milk ones. It was such a hopeless effort that you couldn’t help but feel a bit proud of Susie, the makeshift commitment she showed.
‘It’s a play on a lyric from one of the Red Wedge bands.’
‘Clever,’ Freya said.
‘Yeah. There were more of us last night, a lot more. Mainly Irish Freedom Movement guys. We were up there, the coast. Protesting at this meeting by these right-wing people called, like, the Monday Club. They threw coins at us. I kissed this guy, actually. He was married, which was cool. All this stuff is quite good for meeting guys. Not a Monday Club member, obviously. A fellow protester. But he was the guy who was in charge of letting off our stink bomb, and he dropped it and it went off early, when we were still in the hall. Whole room hummed of rotten eggs.’
‘Turn-off.’
‘Yeah.’
‘And his poor wife.’
‘Huh?’
‘So you’re not going to throw a stink bomb in there, while Thatcher’s in bed? You’re not going to get someone else to do Sebastian’s job?’
‘Nah,’ Susie said. ‘I told them I had a friend who worked at the hotel, and that it would be horrible for the people working there, so.’
‘Did you?’
‘Well, that’s what I hinted at, yeah. They take my views on stuff pretty seriously.’
Raised voices, a laugh. Two of the policemen were arguing about how long it would take to walk from here to Upper Beeding. One of them had a proper beer belly, his shirt buttons undergoing some major strain, and he was saying it would take at least two and a half hours. The slimmer one seemed to be saying only two. Possibly they were both right: a belly like that could easily cost you thirty minutes. It felt at times like people in Brighton, and maybe in the UK as a whole, were only interested in distances — how far one place was from another, and how long it might take to close the gap given selected variables. Weather. Quality of roads. The narrowness of lanes and the quota of slow-moving tractors. She listened to the sea, the lovely lucid wash of it, coming in, going out, coming in, going out.
Susie said, ‘Is your dad still no closer to getting dirty with Marina?’
‘Actually —’
‘No way.’
‘Well, I’ve just got a feeling, that’s all. Who knows. The hospital stuff seems to have made them closer, and apparently she’s just split up with someone. A guy who sounds suspiciously like Mr Barry from English.’
‘Barry Balloon Eater?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Brutal. I don’t know how Bazza does it. But you’d feel all right about it, would you? If your dad and her got together?’
‘I actually really like her.’
‘You do? You never seemed to.’
‘No, she’s good. She sort of always says what she thinks.’
‘So do I,’ Susie said. ‘I mean, that’s what people say about me, anyway.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you see her? Mrs T?’
‘No. You?’
‘Few seconds,’ Susie said. ‘Threw an egg.’
‘As in stink bomb?’
‘As in free range.’
‘Three points?’
‘Got the bodyguard.’
‘Ah, two points.’
‘One max.’
‘No splat?’
‘Hard-boiled.’
‘Ah.’
‘I wasn’t sure how long to keep them in for,’ Susie said. She nodded at a couple of the other protesters, packing up to leave. ‘We could have one of our beach walks, Frey-Hey?’
‘Now? It’s pretty dark.’
‘Only if you want to. It was just an idea.’
Freya twisted on the ball of one foot, a soldier type of thing. An idea. ‘OK then. Yessir. Let’s go.’
She began a slow march in the direction of the sea, wishing she had her warm jacket to hand. It was the kind of stupid walk Moose used to do to amuse her when she was small, ill, afraid, totally snot-soaked or bogged down in fever. He did it while her mother fetched a cool damp facecloth.
She paused to give Susie time to slip her rucksack on. Stared into the dark. Brown leaves patterned the pavement. They must have blown a long way. There were no trees along this part of the King’s Road. There was the smell of turning earth and –
For some reason she was in the road, on her stomach, in the road. Hands gritty, stinging. On her belly on the ground.
There was noise all around her. Not quite a thunderous rumble, not quite a shattering crack. It was a single deep sound with an unbotched quality, the force of a command, and it stretched out and out, thinning into a vicious whine, and Susie, incredibly — Susie was lying on the other side of the road, against the iron railings.