Is (5 page)

‘You'd have a job!'

‘You know what I mean.'

‘Yes, but it doesn't matter. Really it doesn't. I don't have to prove anything to Mr Phillips. What's he know about bridges anyway?'

‘Not as much as you, obviously.'

‘Precisely.' The way she said the word sounded so smug that if it had come from anyone else I'd have thought they were being really big headed. But somehow, with Is, I didn't think that of her. Coming from her it was, well, very natural. She wasn't boasting, simply stating a fact.

‘Like I said,' she continued, ‘when that bridge was built, there were loads of people as stupid as Mr Phillips. They said the whole thing would collapse of its own accord, before a train even went over it.'

‘But it didn't.'

‘No, course not. It has the widest and flattest brick arches in the world. But it's been standing for more than 130 years, no problem. And it has to contend with much heavier trains too, far heavier than the ones it was originally designed for.'

I looked at her with a mixture of admiration and astonishment that she should know so much about something which seemed to me so unimportant.

‘It's funny, you being interested in things like that, bridges and trains and all,' I said.

The minute the words passed my lips I regretted them.

She bristled. Her eyes darkened and her mouth set in a hard line.

‘Why? Because I'm a girl? You don't think girls should be interested in “boys' things”, is that it?'

‘I didn't say that.'

‘No, but it's what you meant.'

‘That's not fair!' I exploded. How strange that I could lose my temper so easily with her. I never did with anyone else.

It was my turn to apologise.

‘What's this idea you've got then?' I asked, remembering what it was she came over to say in the first place.

Her face brightened immediately. ‘Come outside, I'll tell you there.'

‘Why the mystery?'

‘I don't want anyone to hear.'

So I followed Is out into the playground and we pulled on our coats. By then most of the class had disappeared off home. All except Clever Trev who was being a right toady and sucking up to Mr Bartholomew about something.

‘Do you fancy bunking off tomorrow?'

‘What?'

‘Do you fancy…'

‘Yes, I heard you. I mean, what are you talking about? Why? I mean where?'

‘It's an idea.'

‘Pretty stupid idea if you ask me. What's the point?'

‘I want to show you something,' said Is. ‘It's to do with the bridge. Except it's under the Thames, not over it.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘You'll see! Come on, say you will! It'll be exciting! It'll be much more fun than going to boring old school!'

‘All right.'

What made me agree, I'll never know. Just the thrill of it, I expect. It was like a game, a dare. Isabel could be like that. Making me do things for the sheer hell of it. I would never have dreamed of bunking off school before I met her.

‘Where are we going then?' I said, as we walked across the playground towards the gates.

‘Surprise.'

‘Where will we meet?'

‘Corner of Willis Road and Lavender Hill at eight-thirty. Oh, and you'll need some money, the place we're going to is in London.'

‘London! Oh, no I don't think we should Is…'

‘Eight-thirty, all right?'

The next morning I turned up as she asked. I didn't give a moment's thought to what excuse I was going to give Mr Gregory the next day. I was going on a mystery tour.

I'd had to borrow £1.50 from Mum, saying I needed it for a school trip we were going on. I'm not that good at lying, so when she started asking me about it I got flustered and said London, since at least that was the truth.

‘But I've already paid for that,' she protested. ‘I'm not made of money you know. Anyway, you're going to London next month aren't you – to the Science Museum?'

‘This is for History,' I lied. ‘It's another trip, I forgot about it until just now.'

‘You seem to have an awful lot of school trips suddenly,' said Mum with a puzzled look on her face. ‘And I suppose you'll want a packed lunch, won't you?'

‘No, it's all right, they're providing it.'

‘Providing it? They never usually do. Where exactly are you off to then?'

‘Oh, some boring old museum, more than likely.' I tried to sound nonchalant.

That didn't convince Mum in the slightest. ‘I hope you're telling me the truth, Robert.'

I think I must have blushed at that point, but she gave me the money anyway and I ran out the house shouting ‘Thanks Mum'.

‘You're late. I've been waiting for ages.' That was the greeting I got from Is.

‘What?' Is was in one of those moods, I could tell.

‘You said 8.30. It's nearly quarter to nine.' 

‘I had to borrow money from Mum, okay? It took time. Look, I can always just carry on to school you know.'

‘No, it's… I thought you weren't coming that's all.'

Then she brightened up instantly as if she were suddenly a different person. ‘Come on, race you to the station!'

The railway station was quite a long way by road, but there was a short cut along a path that ran through some allotments and over a footbridge leading straight to the station.

We got our tickets and amazingly a train turned up in about five minutes. But that was the only thing quick about it. It seemed to stop at every station all the way to London.

All the time I kept my head down in case I was seen by someone I knew. I found myself staring at the huge platform shoes (they must have been three or four inches high at least) of the girl sitting opposite me. In the 1970s shoes like that were the in thing; girls wore them with skimpy hot pants or mega-wide bell-bottomed trousers.

Another thing that was in fashion was smoking. Everyone seemed to do it and it was perfectly legal to smoke on trains and buses and anywhere. I really couldn't stand it or understand how anybody else did. Everyone apart from Is and me seemed to be smoking and it was really foul. I couldn't wait to get off the train before I suffocated. Eventually, however, it pulled into Waterloo where I found myself being dragged straight down the steps into the Underground. Is seemed to know exactly where she was going but to me it was a maze of tunnels. Talk about a rabbit warren, I would have been lost in two minutes had I been on my own.

We hopped on one train, only to get off at the next stop and rush along tunnels to get on another train. As each station name passed by I followed our progress on the map above the windows in the train. Temple. Blackfriars. Mansion House. Cannon Street. Monument (for Bank). Tower Hill. Aldgate East. Whitechapel.

‘We get out here,' announced Isabel. The doors slid open.

‘Whitechapel, that's where Jack the Ripper lived in Victorian times, wasn't it Is?'

‘Know him, did you?'

‘Not personally, he was a bit before my time!'

‘You're lucky,' she said.

‘Yeah, must have been terrible around here then.'

‘It wasn't all bad.'

‘No, I suppose not,' I said as we got on yet another train, a really filthy old underground train going I didn't know where. I was beginning to regret coming with Is at all. I thought it'd be fun. But by now it struck me as totally pointless.

At that moment the train rattled to a halt and the doors opened with the ‘psst' noise of air.

‘This is it! Wapping!' Isabel sprang from her seat and headed for the door.

‘This is what?' I answered, following her blindly. ‘You'll see.'

We both jumped out on to the platform of Wapping station. It was unlike any underground station platform I'd been on before (not that I'd been on that many, I admit). But it was incredibly narrow, I know that. Probably no more than a metre and a half across – half the width of normal platforms.

‘See?' persisted Is.

There was nothing to see. It was a filthy old underground station, that was all. Everywhere it was old bare brick, really ancient looking. And there seemed to be cables trailing in great loops along the walls, dozens of them.

Overhead the brick roof of the tunnel we were in was grimy black. It looked like it was covered with soot, which I suppose it could have been because they used to have steam trains on some of these underground railways. It must have been awfully old soot though because the trains have been electric for ages and ages.

The other funny thing about the station was this enormous tunnel we were in (a Wapping great tunnel you could say!), not like modern tube lines, which are in much smaller tunnels. And here we were facing the other platform, instead of staring at posters on the tunnel wall opposite like you usually do.

Right at the end of the platforms the tunnel divided into two and, as we were watching, a train came roaring out of the one heading back towards Whitechapel.

‘What are we doing here, Is?' I shouted above the sound of the train braking.

‘Come up here,' she replied and disappeared up some steps behind us. It turned out this was the Way Out – though you'd never have guessed. Like the platform the steps were narrow and, instead of going straight up, they snaked out of sight around the corner.

When we got to the top of the steps we emerged into a vast vertical shaft. It was like being inside a castle turret. In the middle were the lifts and I went over to them.

‘Are we going up then?' I asked.

‘If you like,' Is answered and I pushed the button to call the lift.

‘No, not that way!' she laughed. ‘Up the stairs!'

‘Stairs?' I looked up dismayed. There were the stairs all right and Is was running up them like a rabbit.

I've seen stairs in tube stations before. They call them the ‘Emergency stairs' because no one in their right mind would bother climbing them unless it was an emergency. They spiral up like a never-ending helter skelter.

The stairs at Wapping weren't like that. They went up one way, then the other, then like a spiral staircase for a bit; then a straight bit, and so on. Is clattered up them ahead of me and I realised she was far fitter than I was. Every now and then she would turn and laugh as I panted after her.

‘Wait for me…' I gasped after a couple of flights.

‘Come on slowcoach!'

‘Oh, wait Is, please…'

‘All right.'

When I got to her she was actually sitting down! They'd put a bench for you to rest on one of the landings and Is was stretched out on it with a broad grin across her face.

As I got to her she jumped up. ‘Right! Ready for the rest are you?'

‘Oh, do we have to, Is?' I groaned.

‘No, not if you don't want to.'

‘I'd rather not.'

‘We'll go back down then,' she said.

‘We should have got the lift in the first place, instead of climbing all these stairs.'

She looked at me amazed.

‘What for? I don't want to go up the top. There's nothing up there. I just thought you'd like to see this shaft, that's all.'

What was she talking about? She thought I'd like to see a hole in the ground somewhere in east London? She must be mad.

‘What do you mean? You brought me all this way to show me the bottom of a filthy old underground station? What's so great about that?' The whole day was a waste and I was starting to feel annoyed.

‘It's not just a filthy old underground station. It happens to be very important.'

‘What's so important about it that you drag me halfway across London, Is? Eh?'

‘It's important to me.'

And then, before I could answer, tears began running down her nose and she tried wiping them away with her hand. But her hands were so dirty from the station that she left smears down each cheek.

I felt an absolute git.

‘Come on, Is. Don't cry. Please.' I tried my best to console her. ‘Come on, I'm sorry. If it's that important to you, tell me about it. Please.'

‘All right,' she sniffed.

A minute later we stood right at the end of the platforms peering into the gloom where the horseshoe-shaped tunnel snaked away from us.

‘You're looking at the first tunnel ever built under a river in the world,' announced Is proudly. 

‘Really?' I answered, not knowing whether to look impressed or not.

‘It was a tunnel for foot passengers originally. Then they used it for the trains.'