Heaven Eyes (4 page)

“Good. Then come back and watch again.”

I moved away from him and went to January. Fat Kev came into the doorway.

“Hope you two’s not planning somethin’,” he said.

“As if we would,” I said.

“As if we would,” said Jan.

Kev swiped his fist across his nose and shook his head. He shrugged. It wouldn’t matter to him what any of us did, as long as he didn’t have to lumber after us, and as long as he got his pay and his big free dinners. I looked at him and giggled at the thought of the way his belly squashed against the table, the way he snuffled as
he shoved the food in. He stared back with his piggy eyes.

“Little madam,” he said, and I thought of the way he was with the scared ones, the way he pushed his face so close to theirs, the way he said he knew ways to fix them if they didn’t learn any manners.

“Pig,” I whispered.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

He turned his face away and muttered some filth about me and went out again.

“Pig,” I breathed. “Pig, pig, pig.”

I kissed Maxie Ross and then Jan and I headed out. Skinny Stu was leaning on the house wall, hiding a cigarette in his fist. He had his shirt open and his skinny rib cage glared in the late-afternoon sun. He shoved his greasy hair back.

“Oh, aye?” he said.

“Aye,” said January. “We’re off for a little picnic.”

“Be back for supper, Stu,” I said.

Stu flicked his ash. He pointed into the sky.

“Hey, you see that?”

“What?” said January.

Stu laughed his dry rattly laugh.

“That flying pig there, son.”

He took a drag.

“See you for supper, then,” he said.

I turned and looked back as we went through the
iron gate. I wanted to see Maureen watching us. I wanted to see her weeping as we left. But there was only Wilson. He watched from the poolroom, leaning close to the panes, staring at us through his glasses, or at something far beyond us. The sun was falling toward the rooftops. We headed through the houses. We came to the street above the river where I’d lived with Mum. We passed by our house. The garden was all overgrown. The front door was covered in scratches from a dog or something. Music was screeching from inside. I turned my eyes away and we hurried on. On the other side of the river, the city roared. The bridges gleamed in the sunlight. The river glistened. We moved into the waste ground outside St. Gabriel’s where all the warehouses and terraced streets had been knocked down.

January clenched his fists and thumped the air. I kicked the ground and sent dust dancing around us.

“Freedom!” we shouted. “Freedom!”

We started running and skipping down toward the river. Then we heard Mouse Gullane.

“Erin! January! What you doing? Where you going?”

H
E WAS SITTING ON AN OLD CURBSTONE
, digging in the dirt with a battered spoon.

January cursed.

“Not him,” he said. “Come on. Take no notice.”

Mouse jumped to his feet.

“Erin! January!”

He came running toward us. His hands were filthy from his digging. His face was all smudged. Squeak was balancing on his shoulder.

“Look what I found, Erin,” said Mouse.

It was a little blue plastic dinosaur.

“And this,” he said.

He pulled a tiny toy car from his pocket. No wheels, dried dirt clogging the inside, the paint all flaked away.

“And money!” he grinned, showing a five-pence piece.

“Great,” I said. “They’re lovely, Mouse.”

He was always digging for things, collecting things. His room was filled with his discoveries, cleaned up and laid out on his shelves and floor. He said the earth was filled with objects from the past and that one day he’d find real treasure, something really precious in the cold dark earth.

January cursed.

“Come on,” he said.

“Take me with you,” said Mouse. “I know you’re going away.”

“We can’t,” I said.

“Please, Erin.”

“It’s dangerous. We’re going on the river. We might bloody drown.”

“Please, Erin.”

January tugged my arm. He cursed again.

“Get lost!” he hissed at Mouse. “Come on, Erin.”

We turned away and continued heading down. Mouse followed, close behind. We walked over great piles of rubble, all that was left of the warehouses and workplaces. We walked over cinders and blackened earth where kids’ bonfires had been. The ground was ruined, cracked, potholed. Crows hopped across the debris. A rat scuttled across our path. There was barbed wire. There were signs telling us to keep out. We
scrambled across the fences and kept on walking. “This way,” Jan kept saying. “This way. This way.” We walked quickly. We swaggered and swung our arms. Soon we had left Mouse behind. We picked up half-bricks and bits of broken concrete and slung them high into the air and heard them crashing down again. The sun sank further. The distant moors were outlined darkly against the sky. We could hear the river now, a hundred yards away. It splashed and gurgled against the ancient quays. It caught the falling sunlight. It was like hammered metal, gleaming, with long slow swells that surged toward the distant sea.

“This one,” said Jan at last.

He crouched at a pile of broken bricks and splintered timbers. He started pulling the bricks and timber away.

“Come on,” he said, and I started digging, too.

“There she is,” he whispered.

We saw the corner of a door, the raft’s edge. January giggled.

“Come on, my beauty,” he said.

We dug. We threw the rubble aside. We lifted the edge of the raft and tipped it so that the last of the rubble just fell away. Then we hauled the raft free and let it fall with a crash to the earth.

January laughed with joy. He brushed away the dust with his hands.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Erin?”

The raft was made of three doors laid flat and nailed
down onto planks. On the doors were written the words, in cracked gilt lettering:

ENTRANCE DANGER EXIT

Right across the raft, January had painted a curse in red:

“Isn’t she beautiful?” he said.

“Yes,” I said. I turned my head to the darkening water. “Yes, she is.”

T
HERE WAS A LONG TETHERING ROPE
fastened to one corner. There were two paddles carved from window frames. We carried the paddles across our shoulders. We hauled the raft across the broken ground. From somewhere in the ruins, kids appeared. They stood on the heaps and watched. The raft squeaked and cracked as we dragged. The sun fell. My heart thundered. We came to the quays and looked down at the churning filthy river.

“Hell’s teeth,” I said.

January grinned.

“Scared?” he asked.

“No. Petrified.”

He giggled.

“We just drop it, then we jump. Then we go. Easy.”

“What if it sinks?”

“You can swim?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

“Hell’s teeth, January.”

His eyes were devilish.

“Hell’s teeth, Erin.”

He laughed. He kicked the raft.

“Look at it. Solid as a rock. This thing won’t sink.”

I didn’t know if I could do it. I looked downriver, saw the mist rising as evening approached.

“We could just walk,” I said.

“Walk! Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

We crouched close together. He stared into my eyes.

“What we got to lose?” he said.

My life, I thought.

“Nothing,” I said.

“And we’ve got each other. We’ll be in this together.”

“Yes.”

“Well, then.”

I took deep breaths.

“Okay,” I whispered.

Then Mouse was beside us.

“Take me,” he said.

“Go home,” said January.

Mouse pulled his sleeve back. He showed us his tattoo.

“Please,” he said.

I looked at Jan.

“Hell’s teeth, Erin,” he said.

“Can you swim?” I asked.

Mouse shook his head.

“Please, Erin. Please.”

“Jan,” I said. “What d’you think?”

He cursed. He spat.

“Hell’s bloody teeth,” he hissed.

He grabbed Mouse by the collar.

“What you brought?” he said.

“Brought?”

“Food. Money. Clothes. A knife.”

Mouse showed the dinosaur, the car, the five-pence piece. He took out the cracked photograph of the men in overalls from his back pocket. He held Squeak in his loosely closed fist.

“Eek,” said Squeak. “Eek, eek!”

“Fantastic,” said Jan. “These’ll all come in very handy when the going gets tough.”

He shoved Mouse.

“Go home,” he said. “You’ll just be in time for one of Kev’s ghost stories.”

“Home?” said Mouse. “I’ve got no home. I’m just like you. I’ve got nowhere. I can go anywhere. Please.”

“You’ll drown,” said January.

“I don’t care. I don’t blooming care. Please. Please.”

He held out the five-pence piece.

“I’ll pay you,” he said.

“Pay!” said January, laughing.

“Go on,” said Mouse. “Take it. Please. It’ll be my fare. Take it and take me with you.”

Dusk was coming. The sun was a huge orange ball sliding down behind the moors. The sky over the city was starting to burn. The mist downriver thickened. We stood there on the quay in silence, lost in our thoughts.

“The raft’s big enough,” I whispered. “Three people. Three doors.”

I touched January’s arm.

“I’ll look after him,” I said.

“Hell’s teeth, Erin,” he said.

Then he shrugged. He took Mouse’s five-pence piece and grinned. He stooped to the raft again.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s do it. All aboard.”

We slid the raft over the edge. It balanced there, then crashed down into the water. Jan held on to the tethering rope. The raft disappeared while the water seethed above it. Stay down, I thought. Don’t come up again. Then it rose and rested bobbing on the water.

Jan grinned and squeezed my arm.

“Go on,” he said.

He laughed at Mouse.

“Go on. Go on. You as well. All aboard.”