Chapter 33

Holloway, North-central London. Ten days later.

“My bloody allotment’s been raided.” Mark Wilson stumped through the kitchen door in fury. “Again,” he added bitterly as his wife turned to look at him.

“Oh no,” she said, more in sympathy than in any real understanding. “What’s gone missing?”

“All my onions are gone. Most of the garlic. Carrots, parsnips, beetroot, beans, peas. Everything. The new onion sets I put in last week are still there, but all the other veg are gone. Every single flaming one.” He held out his hand towards his wife, “this was all that was left.”

Jane looked to see two good sized garlic bulbs and maybe a dozen runner-bean pods. “I’m so sorry dear,” she whispered, and gave him a tight hug.

“I had good crops of everything. What with losing the brassicas last month, now we’ve nothing for the winter months.”

For many years now, Mark had grown about one third of all the root vegetables, and about a quarter of the green vegetables the family used over the winter and spring months. His brassicas, the sprouts, cabbages and cauliflowers, had all been stolen at the end of August. Now his root vegetables and the last of his legumes, the peas and beans, were all gone. In both cases just as he was getting ready to harvest them.

Jane pushed her husband onto a stool and pushed the mug of coffee she’d just made for herself into his hands. It was very worrying, she thought to herself. For a couple of years now food had been getting more and more expensive, and anything out of the ordinary had been getting harder and harder to find, especially in the inner cities. At least her husband had had an allotment in which he could grow some of their food. It had made life slightly easier for them, as their limited amount of money could be directed at what they couldn’t grow.

“It’s those bloody guerrillas,” whispered Jane. “They’re destroying crops everywhere.”

“What guerrillas?” asked Mark.

“You know, it was on telly last night.” Twelve hours after TV’s had started to be confiscated, Graham Thorn had announced publicly that this was an over-reaction by a small number of local Patrol commanders, and that all the confiscated sets would be returned within twenty-four hours. It had taken a bit longer, and a small number, the most expensive TV’s or those belonging to people the Patrol or TaF didn’t like or mistrusted, had never been returned.

Jane in particular watched TV almost religiously every evening to see the latest news and gossip. “Graham Thorn told us about the guerrillas and terrorists that were burning and looting all the crops, and that was why there was so little food around now. That and the fact that half the farmers in the country are revolutionaries and were trying to cause problems by withholding food and charging silly prices.”

“Oh,” Mark vaguely remembered the programme, but in truth he had been too busy planning today to take much notice. “Did it? I didn’t really notice. So who stole all our vegetables, that’s what I want to know. I can’t imagine country farmers coming into the middle of London to raid a few allotments.”

“Oh well,” said Jane almost dismissively, “who knows what guerrillas will get up to.” She frowned at him. “It wasn’t just yours was it?”

Mark shook his head. “Every plot has been raided.”

“Oh well, that proves it then.”

“That still doesn’t help us. That’s food that should have lasted us well into January.”

Jane frowned. “Is it worth going to the Patrol?”

Mark paused in thought. “Doubt it. They’re not really into crime solving. Only crowd control.”

“I’ll ask Sam when he gets home.”

“No, don’t bother the lad. He’s only been in the Patrol a few weeks. Barely out of training.” Mark paused in thought. “Have you noticed a change in him? He seems to have got, I don’t know, harder? Less tolerant?”

Jane nodded slowly. “Probably his training. He’s over doing it I guess, trying to show he’s conscientious. He’ll relax and come back to being our lovely son soon enough.

“I just wish Sue could do something like this. She’s twenty now, and all she’s doing is working in that damn supermarket. That’s not gonna get her anywhere in life. Sam’s done more an’ he’s only eighteen.”

“Jane,” said Mark slowly, “have you noticed that Sue is starting to become a bit more, well, rebellious, I guess. She’s arguing more with Sam. And what she said about the Prime Minister the other day, well I’m almost glad Sam wasn’t here at the time.”

Jane looked at her husband and nodded. “Yes,” she exclaimed. “She called him a Nazi and a murderer the other day. An’ she’s been very disrespectful of Sam and the Patrol.”

“Did she now? Well I’d better have a long talk with her. I mean, I know we all used to call the coppers Nazis back in the day, but the Safety Patrol isn’t the same as them. They’re here like the name says, for our safety and security. All the police ever did was trample on our rights.”

Jane nodded her agreement, and ruffled her husband’s thinning hair. “I’m sorry about your crop love. Tell Sam anyway. He can report it or otherwise as he sees fit.”

Mark nodded and slowly stood. “I haven’t cleaned up the plot. I suppose I could go and do that, but I just don’t have the... , “ he trailed off waiving his hand despondently in the general direction of the allotments.

“Leave it love, just in case it needs to be looked at by the Patrol.”

“I s’pose. Better go and shower and change I guess.”

He stumbled out of the kitchen looking forlorn, almost defeated. Jane, smiling fondly at his retreating back, thought that for the first time he looked older than his fifty years. She had met him twenty four years ago in a night club in Bognor Regis, on her own twenty-first birthday bash, and married him a year later. He had been almost five years older than her twenty one, but it had worked out very well. They had had a hard but happy life, she thought, their only two children arriving at two and then four years after their wedding.

Until recently Jane had harboured a small hope that their eldest child, Susan, would go into the hair dressing trade that Jane had been in since she herself had been nineteen. Sadly for Jane, Sue had shown no interest or inclination. Sue had recognised that it was a valid career, and hadn’t scoffed at it, the way Jane knew others had. Even so Sue had disappointed her mother when, at just fourteen, she had told her disbelieving parents she wanted to become a police woman.

With the virtual disbanding of the police only a couple of years later, Sue had initially looked at the Patrol but very quickly dismissed it from her thoughts. Then she had applied to go to University to study criminology, just as the universities began to shut their doors to none TaF members. She had wavered for a moment, nearly joining the TaF just to go to university, but despite both her parents urging, she had instead gone down the road and started working at the local co-op supermarket.

Sam on the other hand had been a slightly more biddable child and, at his parents urging, had joined the TaF youth, and then, again at his father’s urging, the Patrol. He was now hoping to get into the Security Patrol, but for the moment was part of the Safety Patrol.

Jane sighed, picked up the half empty mug of lukewarm coffee and downed it in one swallow, placing the empty mug next to the kettle ready to refill again later. She turned to the vegetables she was preparing for that evening’s meal, and paused in worry. With the loss of Mark’s crop, she was going to have to economise. She put three potatoes and two carrots back on the rack. Dinner would have to be a bit skimpier tonight, and for the foreseeable future.

She was just finishing her preparations, leaving the prepared vegetables in a couple of pans to await their cooking, when Sue came in through the back door.

“Hi Mum, there were some pies going free so I got you a few.” Jane turned to her as Sue dumped a small pile of pies and pasties on the table, along with a larger carrier bag that obviously contained something else.

“What on Earth is that?” asked Jane. “Thank you by the way,” she added, “we need everything you can get what with what’s happened.”

“Oh? What’s happened? This is minced beef by the way. About a kilogram. Technically it’s out of date, so should have been returned last night, but there was a cock-up and it never went, so I grabbed it instead. It’s perfectly fine, it’s just not legal to sell it.”

“How out of date?”

“Only yesterday.” She shrugged. “Just cook it as you normally do, long and slow.”

“Thank you love. That’s wonderful.” Jane quickly scooped up all the pies Sue had left on the table, and put them into the freezer. She spent a couple of minutes weighing the mince, then bagging it into three portions. That too went into the freezer.

Meanwhile, Sue made herself and her mother mugs of instant coffee. Her father walked into the room, just as she was about to sit down with hers.

“Hello love,” he said absently.

“Hi Dad, here.” Sue gave her father the mug in her hand, and then turned to make a third cup. In a way it was as well that the three of them all drank their coffee without sweetener or milk.

“Mark love, tell Sue what’s happened.”

Sue looked up. “Dad?”

Mark sat and stared for a few moments over the top of his mug at his daughter. She’d never been a real disappointment to him, despite her desire to have joined the police. Whatever rebelliousness she had, she never to set out to hurt her parents, it just seemed to happen that way, and she was always generous and loving to them. He smiled sadly.

“Some bastard toe-rags stole all the produce from the allotment. Everything. All soddin’ gone apart from a couple of bulbs of garlic and a few runner-beans.”

“Oh no. Again! That’s just ... Was it every single plot again?”

Mark nodded just as Jane sat down herself.

“I reckon it was those guerrillas...” Jane started.

“What guerrillas?” asked Sue scornfully. “There’s no guerrillas around here. Only desperate people and thugs.”

“Don’t start with that, please,” Jane said, her voice sounding upset.

Sue looked at her mother and swallowed what she’d been about to say. She nodded her apologies, but all three knew she was only apologising for upsetting her mother, not for what she had said.

Sue managed to not scowl at her brother as he chose that moment to enter. Strictly she was scowling at the uniform and who and what it represented, rather than at him; but they wouldn’t have understood that, and her parents were upset enough as it was, so she held her tongue.

Sam nodded at his father, and without a word switched on the kettle.

“Sam,” said Mark. “Can you report crimes to your superiors?”

“Yes of course. Depending on the crime or the criminal maybe I can sort it.”

“That’s the problem. We don’t know who it was.”

“Oh. Well what did they do?”

“Theft.”

To Sue, watching closely, Sam seemed to lose interest. He turned back to his coffee. “Go on, what was stolen?”

Even Mark seemed to notice the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Sam’s voice. He frowned for a moment. Sam was probably just tired.

“You tired lad?”

Sam turned. “No. Of course not. I’ve just got studying to do, that’s all.”

“For the Security Patrol?”

“Entrance exam, yes. If I pass it, I’ll go for six weeks’ training.”

“When is it?” asked Jane softly.

“Dunno. Not been told.”

“Oh dear. Never mind, I’m sure they’ll tell you soon. You’ve been studying hard so they’ll know you’re keen.”

Sam shrugged.

“Look. You go study, dinner’ll be an hour.”

Sam nodded, and without removing his outdoor shoes, carried his coffee upstairs to his room. Both things that in the past would have been very much frowned upon.

Jane looked a little distraught, and Sue was about to open her mouth to say something, when she caught sight of her father shaking his head warningly. Once again she subsided, but the fury was building up inside her.

“I’ll just go see if the chickens have laid,” she muttered, before heading back outside again. The family had three chickens and usually gave two, occasionally three eggs a day. It was normally her job to look after them.

The evening meal was a slightly strained affair. Mark was still moody and withdrawn from his loss; Sue deliberately, and pointedly, blanked her brother as much as she could; Sam seemed withdrawn and slightly annoyed about something. Jane found it a struggle to keep any sort of normalcy going, as only Sue seemed to be prepared to talk to her, her two men-folk both answering with little more than monosyllabic words or grunts.

“What makes you think it was guerrillas?” asked Sue, trying to keep up some form of conversation with her mother. So far what little conversation there had been, hadn’t touched on what had happened at the allotment.

“Well who else will it be?” her mother asked simply. Sue had her own ideas, but kept quiet for the moment. “We all know the farmers and the countryside is a hotbed of revolutionaries and revisionists, Graham Thorn said so.” Sam looked up from his food, interested now.

“Do you really believe that farmers are going to come into Islington, right in the middle of London just to dig up a few allotments?” asked Sue, barely managing to keep the scorn from her voice.

“Well how else can they keep the prices so high?” asked Jane.

“I was talking to one of the farmers the co-op source some of its autumn veg from. He’s having problems. He can’t get the fuel to drive his harvesters, so crops are rotting in the fields.”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked. “There’s loads of fuel, and how can a farmer claim he can’t dig stuff up? Just get a spade.”

“You can’t dig an entire field by hand,” exclaimed Sue.

“How do you know?”

“How long does it take Dad to dig over the allotment if he’s starting from scratch? Expand that to all the allotments on the site? A single field is bigger again.”

“Well do it over a couple of days then. And what are his farm workers for?”

Sue just shook her head in despair at her brother’s ignorance and stupidity. She didn’t answer.

Sam turned to his mother. “What started that off?”

Jane waved her hand at Mark. “Your father lost his crops. They were all stolen by revolutionaries.”

Sam’s jaw dropped for a moment, then he gave a bark of laughter.

“What are you talking about Mother? Don’t talk such stupid drivel.”

“Sam!” snapped Mark. “Apologise to your mother.”

“Ridiculous. How can I when she, and you, should know exactly what happened.”

“Pardon?” Mark looked at his son in shock. “What in hell’s name are you talking about?”

Sam almost seemed to preen. He had the eyes of all three of the others on him, all of them looking at him in awe it seemed. It wasn’t awe, far from it, but he couldn’t see that.

“You had the letter weeks ago. I remember it arriving about the same time I got back from basic training. I remember you telling me about it.”

Mark’s face went blank for a moment as he thought back, then red in fury as he remembered the letter, and realised what must have happened. “You!” he gasped, pointed at his son. “You stole my crops.”

“It wasn’t theft,” Sam told them, smiling as he revealed what he knew. “That letter told you that twenty percent of all crops was to be donated to the state, to be collected by the Patrol for redistribution. Anyone who refused would have their entire crop confiscated. Well early this morning we went and took what was due, and since every single one of you refused to do your duty, every single one of you lost your entire crops.”

Mark just couldn’t say anything. His whole body just seemed to lock up as he stared at his son, his brain barely able to function.

“I told you the Patrol’s weren’t to be trusted,” Sue muttered. Fortunately Sam didn’t hear her, but Jane did.

“Shut up,” she snapped. “Don’t make the situation worse than it already is.”

“Mummy,” Jane’s eyes shot to her daughter. Sue never called her that unless she needed something, or was upset or in trouble. “What would you say if I told you that the other week three men tried to molest me? They were pawing at me, groping me, touching...” she broke off and Jane could see the glitter of tears in her daughter’s eyes.

“Oh darling,” Jane got up to come around to her daughter. “What happened? Who was it, do you know?”

Jane’s movement attracted the attention of both Mark and Sam.

“It was the patrol. Three men from the Safety Patrol were going to rape me, I’m sure of it.”

“Liar,” exclaimed Sam. “We don’t do that sort of thing.”

“Shut up Sam,” Jane said softly, still holding her daughter to her. “How did you get away?”

Sue gave a harsh, bitter, laugh. “One of them has flat balls now. I was wearing my steelies and gave him a good kick in the nuts, then ran for it.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “That was you?” he said, standing. “We’ve been looking for you. They told us it was...” he paused and stared hard at his sister’. “That’s why you changed your barnet again. To hide from us.”

Sue couldn’t help it, her hand went up to her hair briefly. She had had it cut short a couple of weeks earlier, two days after the attack and attempted rape.

Mark had finally regained his voice. “You nasty perverted little thug. Molesting your sister? I’ll have your balls for that.”

“It wasn’t Sam,” said Sue.

“Nothing to do with me, I wasn’t there. She probably led them on. You know she’s always wearing those tight fuck-me jeans and skimpy tops.”

“Sam!” snapped Jane, “Don’t be nasty. No woman ever goes asking for that. Ever. We’ve taught you better than that.”

Sam ignored his mother, and glared at his father.

Mark’s thoughts had gone back to his crops. “You stole my crops,” he exclaimed, his voice rising in his anger and fury. “You fucking thieving little shits.”

“Father. You will withdraw that slanderous statement or I will have you arrested,” Sam told his father icily.

“That was your dinner for the next three months,” Mark ground out. “How could you do that to your own family?”

Sam said nothing, just continued to glare at his father.

“I think you should leave,” Mark said coldly after a long pause. “You won’t be getting any more food from this house. Not until you apologise and give appropriate, and full, recompense.”

Sam stopped, his jaw dropping, his face going pale. He gulped for a moment, his mind completely blank, then slowly, almost dazed, he turned, picked up his coat and boots, and left.

“No. Sam! Mark, you can’t do that. Please.” Jane burst into tears, and it was Sue’s turn to comfort her mother. She hugged her weeping mother, saying nothing, just holding and comforting. She looked at her father, and could see both pain and determination in his eyes.

For Mark, there was a realisation, a dawning of understanding. “I’m sorry love,” Mark turned to his wife and daughter. Even though he was looking into his daughter’s eyes when he spoke, it was really his wife he was addressing, yet both Mark and Sue knew he was also apologising to his daughter as well.

“What will he do now?” asked Jane tearfully.

“He’ll sleep at the patrol barracks,” Mark answered her. “You know that most of them do anyway.”

“Sam’s unusual,” said Sue softly. “Most Patrollers end up a long way from home. Very few actually get to live at home, most live in those barracks.”

It didn’t console Jane. Her son moving out was one thing, but to be thrown unceremoniously out was something completely different.

“So what do we do now?” asked Mark. Unconsciously he seemed to know and accept that Sue would know what to do next.

“I don’t think he’ll say anything about me kicking that guy and hopefully sterilising him, you know what he’s always said in the past about rapists and child molesters.”

Both his parents nodded, Jane seemed almost relieved. Sam’s views on rapists and child molesters wasn’t that extreme. He didn’t want them killed, but nor did he want them segregated in gaol. Two young girls had been sexually molested and then killed earlier in the year, before he’d joined the Patrol, and Sam had been quite clear in his beliefs: “When they find the bastard that did that he should be put in with the general prison population. The other prisoners must not be allowed to actually kill him, but after that, anything goes.” The others had, at the time, agreed with him.

“I think you’re probably right,” Mark whispered, holding both his womenfolk. “I think you’re safe love, but what about the other? Do you think he’s likely to have me arrested for slander?”

“He wouldn’t. That’s just talk,” Jane protested. “He’s not really an evil boy.”

“No Mum, he’s not,” Sue said softly, “but he is easily led, and Dad,” she raised her eyes to her father’s, “with respect, you did push him into their arms.”

Mark opened his mouth to argue the point, then stopped and nodded. He knew his daughter was reminding him that he was the one to persuade Sam to join the Patrol. He nodded resignedly. “I guess,” he said, slowly, sadly.

“We know he has a bed in the barracks,” Sue said. “He used it a couple of times when he was on nights so that he didn’t disturb us when he came in.” She had a sudden thought. “Or that we would disturb his sleep come the morning.”

Fortunately neither Mark nor Jane spotted the barb in that statement. “True,” Jane said, still holding tightly to her husband. “So at least he’ll have a bed for the night.”

“That should mean we’re okay until at least the morning, we won’t have to be running during curfew.” Mark paused for a moment. “Right,” he gently pushed his wife away. “Both of you, go pack some clothes. Not so much that it looks like we’re moving out, running away, but enough to keep you going for a few days. Grab important valuables, but only,” he stared at his wife, “only if they are small and light weight.”

Jane opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. She didn’t have a lot of jewellery, but some of it was genuinely valuable, one piece was known to have been owned by her great-great-grandmother.

None of them slept well that night, all were worried about the midnight knock. In the past, Jane in particular would have denied it ever happened, but that evening she wasn’t so sure. It didn’t come and the three of them got up a little after seven am, almost before it was light. Breakfast was an almost silent affair, Jane scrambling the two eggs Sue had found the previous evening, to go with the small amount of bacon they still had left.

“I suppose I ought to do something with that mince you brought home last night,” Jane murmured.

“If you do it quickly, we could probably take it with us,” Sue suggested.

Jane turned and looked at her, distraught. “Are we really about to run?” she asked.

No one had time to answer as the back door thumped open and Sam walked in.

Jane jumped, her hand covering her mouth in alarm. There was no one with him, at least, no one that Sue could see.

Sam pointed at his father and sister. “This time tomorrow, as soon as I get on duty, I’m gonna report you two.” He looked squarely at his sister. “Last night I ended up talking with the guy you all but castrated. Turns out you may have been at least partly right. However you are still wanted for questioning, and tonight I’m gonna realise it must be you, an’ I’m gonna give you up in the mornin’.” He turned to his father. “As for you, if I report you now I’ll land Susan in trouble straight away. I’m givin’ her a break ‘cos I reckon she just might have been right. So you get a lucky break as well.” He turned to his mother. “You’re not in trouble, but it might be better if you weren’t here either when the patrol turns up.”

He turned to leave. “You have till about nine tomorrow morning to get lost,” he said curtly over his shoulder, and stamped out.

A few moments later they heard a squawking in the back garden, and when Jane went to see what was happening, she saw that Sam had wrung the necks of two of the three chickens, and was taking them with him. “This is your contribution for today,” he told them as he passed by the back door. “Be thankful I’m not takin’ all three.”

“Oh shit,” Sue said softly. “Mum. I think we’ve got to get out by about six this evening. Curfew is at nine, and we need to be,” she paused, “actually, I think I know where we can go, and it’s only half an hour from here. Uh, actually, driving it’s probably barely five minutes.” She paused again, then turned to look at her parents, a determined look on her face.

“Yes. I know exactly where we should go. It’s not far, but we’ve got to take as much food with us as possible.”

“Why?” asked her father frowning.

“Partly because there’s not that much there, and they can always use more, but mostly because when those scum arrive tomorrow morning, they’ll strip the house bare. Why leave them food if we don’t have to?”

Mark nodded his understanding. “We could just burn the gaff, that’ll mean they can’t get anything; but it’ll also tell them we’ve run.”

Sue nodded. “Yeah. Don’t do that, there’s always a faint chance we can return. We can pack the car, just so long as no one sees us doing it. I’m sure there’s enough fuel in there to get us where we need to go, and we don’t pass no checkpoints either.”

“But that’ll just tell them we’ve not gone far,” Mark frowned, “or have you thought of that as well.”

Sue nodded grimly. “I have. Come on, I’ll go wring the neck of the other hen, and see if there’s an egg or two, then Mum, sorry, but you’re, we’re, gonna be cooking for a while.”

Jane just nodded. It was not long after eight o’clock in the morning, and her whole world had just fallen apart. She could barely think straight, so it was as well for her that her husband and in particular her daughter were taking charge.

They left home just after seven pm, having just finished dining on fresh roast chicken and salad. The car was full of all the food they could carry, plus some of their clothes, along with a few blankets and duvets. Their personal valuables went as well, but the house was left as if they intended returning. Even the dishes, although washed, were still stacked on the draining rack. Apart from the lack of food, the house looked as if it was still occupied.

Sue drove, the first time she had driven the car in months. There was so little traffic on the road these days that people actually turned and looked at the car, and in some cases even scowled at them as they drove past. They arrived within ten minutes, and pulled up at their destination, a large, seemingly run-down, church hall on a narrow access road behind the supermarket where Sue worked.

“What’s so special about this place?” asked Mark, puzzled.

“You’ll see,” said Sue, grinning. “It looks like a church run refuge for down and outs, and in a way it is. But that’s cover. A few of us...” she tailed off. “You’ll see.”

Mark frowned at her curiously, before following her through the tatty side door. It was lighter, tidier, and far cleaner inside than he would have expected from looking at the outside of the building, but it was also very full and busy. Along both long walls were a row of partitions, about seven foot deep by four wide, each with a camp bed in, and separated by a canvas or blanket partition from its neighbour. Down the centre of the room were rows of tables and chairs, and at the far end, on a low dais, was what appeared to be a row of microwave ovens, gas camping stoves, and large electric urns for boiling water.

There must have been well over one hundred people in there, Mark guessed. Many were just sitting around, chatting, reading, playing cards, dominoes, even chess; but a number were over by the cooking area obviously preparing food.

“There’s no where near enough beds here for all these people,” Jane murmured.

“There’s rooms out the back and upstairs,” Sue answered, pointing to the far end.

Mark suddenly noticed a small queue by a door in the far left corner of the room. “Through there?” he asked, pointing.

“Er, that’s the loos and washing facilities.”

“Sue!” boomed a voice behind them.

They all turned to see a large, bearded, fifty-odd year-old bearing down on them with a grin.

“Father,” said Sue, smiling. She indicated her parents. “These are my mum and dad.”

“Welcome,” said the newcomer, “I’m guessing you’re all here because of... ?”

Sue nodded. “Of course.”

“Oh dear.”

“We were given a bit of advanced warning though.”

“Oh?”

“Sam.”

He just nodded and turned to Mark and Jane. “Welcome, welcome to the Ritz.” He laughed.

“Are you a priest?” asked Jane.

He smiled at her. “I hope you don’t hold that against me. Call me Father Jack, or just Jack. I don’t mind.”

“Oh. We’re not Catholics.”

He grinned. “I know. And I won’t hold that against you either.” His smile faded. “We’re completely non-denominational here. All religions and none. The only thing in common is that everybody here is hiding from The Patrol.”