Where the Rain Gets In (5 page)

Once Katie turned eighteen, she was free
to live where she liked – or wherever the council would allocate her a flat.
This was another huge step for her, but by now Katie had learnt to recognise
the decisive moments for what they were. She was able to jump the queue on the
housing list, though in truth there wasn’t that much of a queue to live in
Hulme; you had to be pretty desperate to want to live there – or a student, of
course.

It soon occurred to Katie that she was
clever enough to go on to college, if that was what she really wanted to do.
She was too late to apply for that same year, immediately after taking her A'
levels, but her grades were such that she’d be accepted anywhere. There was no
question of her leaving Manchester, and it was typical of Katie that she chose
to study law. It was one of the hardest subjects to get into – as though Katie
was deliberately putting it up to herself – but it made sense in other ways
too. There was no A level she could have taken that would have particularly
equipped her for a degree in law; even those applicants that had already
studied law were told to forget everything they’d been taught, and to start afresh.
And if Katie was to sell herself as a model of self-improvement – and she could
see in the interview to get on the course that this was what everyone wanted of
her – what better subject than the law? Her social worker was happy, the
university were happy, and she received an unconditional offer of a place to
start in October of 1979. She was frustrated with the wait, and asked for a
reading list well in advance.

Katie grew to like the mix of people
around the flats. Hulme was very different to its more famous neighbour Moss
Side, both racially and architecturally. A few terraced streets remained but
Hulme was dominated by the crescents of flats, a nightmare vision of planning
more suited to Ceausescu’s Romania than inner city Manchester. Moss Side had an
identity, whatever you thought of that identity; it was compact and defined.
Hulme was a sprawling mess, with traces remaining of all the many failed
attempts to provide housing that people could afford.

There were Irish pubs, there were black
pubs and there were student pubs; there were pubs that managed to be all three
at different times of the day, or on different days of the week. There were
families still around from when the flats were first built; there were business
types who liked living close to town and paying so little rent; and there were
untold numbers who had opted out – from work, from college, from what was left
of society. There was a drug culture, but it was a laid-back drug culture; it
was nobody’s business but your own if you chose to get wasted. Katie wasn’t
stupid or careless; she was a woman, alone – a beautiful woman, alone, however
hard she tried to hide it. There were times and places to avoid but generally
she felt safe. She had a way of walking – invisible walking, she called it –
ghosting through the streets at all hours, to and from the Law Library. She
heard things at night-time but nothing like what she heard as a little girl.

It was at most a ten-minute walk from
Bonsall Street to the Law Library. Katie heeded the young lecturer’s advice and
made the library her second home. She was happy to return to the discipline of
studying. The Law Library was closer and convenient, with a much wider range of
case law than either the John Ryland's or the Central Reference Library in town.
It was also possible to use it at any time, day or night, and Katie took full
advantage. She had only herself to please. Once she knew her timetable, she
adjusted her work-study and sleep accordingly. The library was naturally much
quieter at night time – though Katie was rarely alone – and sleeping through
the day in Hulme wasn’t unusual, it was the norm. By early November of that
first term, she had a steady routine that allowed her to follow the course
without becoming at all involved in university life.

Katie was invisible walking along Oxford
Road towards the library one night when she heard someone shout her name.

“Hey, McGuire.”

Katie hesitated for a second, and then
walked on.

“Hey!”

She knew it was Mike from the day of
registration. She remembered how badly she’d handled meeting him that day, and
this made her stop and turn around. Mike held open the door of a black cab, and
spoke instructions to whoever was inside.

“Stay there,” Katie heard Mike say, like
he was training a dog. He left the cab and walked over to Katie.

“Where are you going?” he asked. “It’s
Katie, isn’t it? I’m Mike, remember, from the first day of term?”

“Yes,” said Katie. “I remember.” She
thought for a second that he might offer to shake her hand again, but Mike had
obviously learnt.

“Where are you going?” he asked again.

“To the library,” said Katie.

“At this time – it’s almost midnight.”

“It’s quiet,” she said. “I prefer it
with fewer people around.”

“But what about sleep?” asked Mike, “Or
recreation and fun – things like that?” He grinned up at Katie.

“Which are you about to do,” she asked,
“sleep or recreation? Your friends are looking for you, by the way.”

Back at the cab, two students stepped
out from the cab and on to the pavement.

“No,” shouted Mike. “Eugene, Rory – get back
in the cab. Just – wait in the cab. I’m coming now, okay – don’t let the cab
leave, whatever you do.”

But it was too late. One or the other,
Eugene or Rory, reacted to something the driver said, and closed the door of
the cab. The two of them stood and watched as the cab drove away.

“Oh Jesus,” said Mike to Katie, “this is
harder than I thought it was going to be.” He called over to his friends again.
“Look, just stand there, okay? We still have to wait for Bruno – just, stand still
and don’t move.” He turned back to Katie and smiled. “Mathematicians,” he said.
“They don’t get out too often.”

“But they’re out with you tonight?”

“Something like that, yes. We’re going
to the casino.”

“The casino?” asked Katie. “How old are
you?” As soon as she said it, she regretted it.

“Eighteen,” said Mike. “Well, almost,
anyway. Rory tells me – I know Rory from home – Rory tells me Eugene has
something wonderful to show us.”

“At the casino?”

“It’s to do with playing cards –
blackjack, actually.”

“And where’s home?” asked Katie.

“Belfast,” said Mike. “Can you
understand what I’m saying yet?”

“Barely,” said Katie. “I thought you
were Scottish.” She was still ashamed of how she’d behaved when they first met.
“I’ve never been out of Manchester,” she said.

“Never been out of, or lived out of?”

“Been out of,” she said. “Is that what
you do – play cards? When you’re not studying?”

“It’s what I’m doing tonight. What about
you – what do you do when you’re not studying? Or are you like these guys and
never leave the library?”

“I – I think your friend’s arrived.”

“Bruno!” shouted Mike. “Where the hell
have you been?” He turned back to Katie. “I’m going to have to go, but you’re
more than welcome to come along.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, “but
thanks anyway.” She looked across to where Mike’s mathematician friends were
waiting. The new arrival – Bruno – was repeatedly jabbing at the upper arm of
one of the others with his fist. “Is he hurting that boy deliberately?” she
asked.

“I think I’m needed,” said Mike. “I’m
going to have to go, but I’ll see you around, okay?”

And Katie did see Mike around more often
– in the library, in lectures – whether by chance or design, she didn’t know.
They didn’t share any of the same seminars or tutorials – perhaps Katie just noticed
him more? Mike was rarely alone, even in the library, and always seemed to have
at least one or two hangers on. Katie was curious – and also a little envious –
to see how easy Mike was with other people. She began to see a pattern amongst
Mike’s friends; he was a magnet for students who would otherwise have found it
hard to socialise in college. Katie recognised the type because she was one
herself. Social misfits were comfortable in Mike’s company. And not just from
the Law department. Eugene and Rory, Katie knew, were mathematicians, but she
often caught sight of Mike outside the Medical Building, surrounded by students
in white coats, and laughing, as ever.

Yet Mike never hit on Katie; there was
just the occasional smile, or a wave across campus. When they spoke again, it
was Katie who approached Mike; she saw him alone, for once, surrounded by bound
case histories in the library.

“So you do actually study law, then?”
she asked.

“Tell me about it,” said Mike. “Look at
all this stuff! And getting your hands on it is impossible; people are ruthless
when it comes to hiding these case files – just so they know where to find them
for themselves.”

“It’s worse than that,” said Katie. “I
think they’re deliberately trying to sabotage any hope we might have of finding
them.”

“Is that why you come and study in the
middle of the night?”

“Partly,” said Katie, “yes.” She smiled.
“How was the trip to the casino? Did you lose all your money?”

“It was disastrous,” said Mike. “We
never even got as far as hailing another cab. Bruno wouldn’t leave them alone,
and in the end I had to take Eugene and Rory home.”

“So you didn’t get to hear Eugene’s big
secret?”

“No,” said Mike, “but I didn’t lose any
money either. There’ll be another time, I guess – so long as I can persuade
Eugene to meet me again, that is.”

“And would you do that often – go
gambling, I mean?”

“Well, not so often,” said Mike, “but
you have to do something, don’t you? It can’t all be work and no play. What
about you – what do you do when you’re not memorizing cases of English law?”

For the past three consecutive
Saturdays, Katie had gone on her own to the White Horse pub in Hulme. There was
something about the place that gave her the confidence to go in and, once
inside, she felt so comfortable that she stayed. There were a few raised
eyebrows – she was, after all, a white girl on her own in a black man’s pub –
but she was left alone. It was actually quite a mixed crowd and everybody was
there for the music – a black dude of a DJ in a white suit and hat who played
his favourite records on an old twin deck. Some people danced, but most just
sat and listened and talked; it was a place where you could just be. It wasn’t
entirely a student-free zone, but it was good enough for Katie – she thought of
the people drinking at the White Horse as real people. She drank vodka with
orange and was happy; she gave off an air of self-containment and nobody
bothered her.

She hesitated before letting Mike in on
her secret, but went ahead anyway.

“If I ask you to meet me . . . ” she
began.

“I’d love to meet you,” said Mike.

“I can’t . . . do anything,” said Katie.

“You wouldn’t have to do anything,” said
Mike. “It’ll be nice just to meet you away from the library for once.”

Katie smiled. She knew this was what she
wanted, but it didn’t come easily. But then she thought, well, she had to start
somewhere – it might as well be with Mike.

“What are you doing with all those
people?” she asked.

“All what people?” asked Mike.

“All the people you hang around with –
am I going to be an addition to your collection of freaks? Am I a weirdo too?”

“No, you’re not a weirdo,” said Mike,
“and neither are they. They’re all remarkable people, that’s all.”

“Including that Bruno?”

“Bruno’s . . . different, but still
remarkable in some ways. He’s troubled, I would say, rather than remarkable.”

“And me?” asked Katie. “Am I
remarkable?”

“Yes, I think so,” said Mike. “I don’t
know why yet, but I think it’s remarkable for some reason that you’re here.”

“And you – how are you remarkable?”

“I’m remarkable in that I recognise
remarkable people; it’s very easy to miss them, you know.”

They agreed to meet the following
Saturday.

But when it came to Saturday, Katie had
a crisis and cut herself so much that she couldn’t stop the bleeding. She hadn’t
been able to study all day and in the end had given up and gone to the gym, but
however hard she pushed herself, she couldn’t get meeting Mike out her mind.
She told herself it was no big deal; there was no pressure and that Mike was
safe – he wouldn’t try anything. But telling herself was one thing, believing
it was another. If she’d had a way of contacting Mike she would have cancelled,
but she had no idea where he lived and hoping to see him around the campus was
hopeless.

So at about eight o’clock she started
getting ready and that was when the trouble began. Part of the problem was
familiar to her – she was sick of her punk gear, or rather, she was sick of how
the designers and copycats had hijacked what she liked to wear. Her clothes had
once meant something to her, but now they were just a fashion statement. She
went to see The Clash the previous year in the Apollo and she thought even they
were a watered down version of what she hoped they’d be – more or less inviting
the audience to storm the stage during White Riot, manufacturing an event and
packaging it for the press. Katie looked around her and saw all these other
Katies falling for it - replica Katies from London who would be back in college
tomorrow. And now here she was, doing exactly the same, dressing for rebellion
while studying for a law degree. Part of Katie wanted this – to be just like
everyone else – but what she really needed was to prove she was as good as
everyone else – if not better. She wanted to be normal, and yet somehow
different.