Chapter 11: West Ferry Road

Jack took Phil’s advice about Mudchute. He’d asked Ashran if he wanted to come too but he’d had a lecture he couldn’t avoid. Jack wasn’t sure if that was true or whether Ashran thought the trip was just too risky.

The Underground and then the Docklands Light Railway took him there. He dropped off the train at the Island Gardens DLR station. It was as quiet as he had hoped. There was no sign of any Male Control Force officers. He found that a relief even though, as he kept telling himself, he had every right to be where he was. He had his ident card and his student travel permit.

He looked up and down the road. There didn’t seem to be any restrictions on this street. The last thing he wanted was to attract attention by walking up the street on a pavement designated for women only.

It wasn’t far to the park. The old railway viaduct ran along one side, its red brick was dingy, its archways cluttered with rubbish and the carefully stowed belongings of rough sleepers. Jack guessed that these days they were likely to be sponsorship absconders but Jack didn’t think that made it look very promising for finding someone that might help him.

He sat down on a bench. A football match was in progress on one of the pitches in the park. Two teams of men were being encouraged by a group of women standing and watching. The referee was a woman of course, Jack noticed. There was a whooping cry from the spectators as a goal went in.

As he watched, he became aware that someone was standing behind him. “Your sort of sport?” a man’s voice said.

Jack looked around. The question came from a small, swarthy man in a shabby but warm looking coat. “Nah,” said Jack, “if I want to run around while a woman shouts at me, I don’t have to do it on a fucking freezing football pitch.”

“You’re right there,” the man said. He made no move to continue the conversation but he didn’t seem to be planning to leave either.

“I was looking for someone in the railway arches.”

“Did this someone have a name? Plenty of people use these arches to keep out of the way.”

“No,” Jack responded. “Bloke I know, Phil, suggested here.”

“And you’d be?”

“Jack, Jack Toven.”

“Well, Jack Toven, you’re in luck. Phil told me you might fetch up here. Seemed to think you’d be interested in helping us out, making life a little harder for the bitches in government. Come on over.” He nodded towards the railway arch farthest away from the road.

The two men wandered off together. None of the group watching the football seemed to take any notice.

It wasn’t quite what Jack expected the headquarters of an undercover anti-government movement to look like. Under the railway arch a couple of old sofa’s offered somewhere to sit out of the wind. Upturned beer crates made tables. An old paraffin lamp stood on one of them.

“Phil’s a friend. Known him for quite a while. He’s happy to steer people my way if he thinks they might like to help. Have a beer.” Jack’s contact pulled out two cans from a bag in one corner. “What’s your story?”

“I don’t know that I’ve got a ‘story’,” Jack responded. “I’m studying engineering at University College and I’m not too happy that I’m going to get fuck all to do with my qualification when I finish. I’m fed up with women on the course getting preferential treatment from the tutors. I’m fed up with the fact that I can’t get a work experience placement because of ‘gender ratio constraints’, I’m fed up with having to wait hours for a bus while woman-only services go sailing by. I’m fed up with women trying to proposition me in the college bar and not being able to complain about it.”

“You sound like you’re thoroughly fed up.”

“Well, yeah. I suppose it sounds sort of trivial alongside people who say we should be outraged at having our human rights trampled on. I’m more bothered by having my feet trampled on by some over-aggressive bitch in high heeled shoes.”

The man he was talking to grinned broadly. “Ain’t that true,” he said. “You can call me Gerry. There’s someone else here that I think you know too.” He nodded towards a dark area close to the back wall of the arch. A figure got to their feet in the gloom and stepped forward.

“Hello Jack,” a slightly familiar voice said. It came from a tousle haired girl in a leather jacket and jeans.

“Hello Daisy,” Jack replied. “I guess we’re both a bit away from our normal patch.”

“Well, it does seem like someone’s got to do something and it doesn’t look like anything Spencer is doing is likely to result in much. He’s well intentioned but I don’t see anything coming from his non-confrontation tactics.”

Jack turned to his host. “Well,” he said, “it looks like you’ve got two willing recruits. How can we help?”