district, starting with this grubby, downtrodden estate?
The thought terrified me, but made complete sense. There had been an intense
paranoia and distrust of the asylum seekers who had been shipped into the area
for quite some time now, and such reactionary groups feed off negative emotions
like hyenas at a rotting cadaver.
I left the car, making sure I locked
it up, and headed towards the black maw of the alley. Straggly bushes, like
clasping skeletal fingers, had stretched across the entrance, forming a natural
barrier that I was forced to duck beneath. It was dark in there, the solitary
streetlamp shedding no light. Had it been sabotaged, or was I just tapping into
that vein of paranoia and distrust? I stepped gently along the length of the
alley, expecting dark shapes to jump out in front of me, their slack limbs
waving at me, blanched hands grabbing for my throat…
But I reached the other end without
incident, and found myself in a small square surrounded by shabby box-like
cluster homes that had probably been grafted onto the estate in the mid 1970s.
I registered movement at the periphery of my vision, and spun around to face
whatever had caused it; a dark blur slipped away into another narrow alley,
followed by two more. It was them, the same lurching figures I’d seen that night.
I followed, keeping to the edge of
the square, hugging the rough outlines of privet bushes and lopsided garden
walls. The figures were turning right at the other end of the alley, and I
waited until they were out of sight before following any further. My heart beat
double-time and my mouth went very dry; I felt afraid yet exhilarated. I was
doing something.
I stalked the men through the estate
- I could now tell that they were male by the clothing that I glimpsed beneath
the muted orange glow cast by the few working sodium lights: hooded
sweatshirts, baseball caps, gaudy tracksuits. They shambled through
labyrinthine passages and beneath arched stone walkways, never speaking, not
even glancing at one another. I treaded oh so softly, but still the crumbling
concrete beneath my feet seemed to mock me: shifting like tectonic plates as I
walked and crunching loudly in the heavy silence of deep night. The men didn’t
hear me; the forces of good seemed to be on my side.
The vast night sky pressed down on
me like a huge sheet of black ice, threatening to trap me in the moment until I
could be discovered shivering in the pale dawn. Stars blinked out one by one,
like heavenly lamps being switched off. The men entered a boxy flat somewhere
near the heart of the estate, not far from those glowering grey tower blocks
that watched dispassionately from so many broken and boarded windows far above.
I hid in a garden in sight of the flat, and waited for inspiration.
Much later I woke without even
realising that I’d nodded off. I was cold and my lips were beginning to chap.
The estate was in total darkness, and I estimated the time to be well into the
ungodly early hours. The sky was still pitch-black, but the stars had turned
themselves back on. I let go of the hedge that I’d been cuddling, and climbed
over the low garden wall, making no sound and feeling justifiably proud of my
stealth. Not once did I stop to ask myself what I was doing; I didn’t even
pause to think of what might happen to Tanya and Jude if any foul deed befell
me. I was focused, determined to do what was right.
I inched across to the building the
men had entered. It was a ground floor flat, with dirty net curtains barely
visible through the crudely whitewashed windows. The small front garden was
weed-choked and littered with empty beer cans, takeaway wrappers, clots of old
food. I spotted a thin strip of flagstone walkway along one side of the
building, and followed it round to the back. The rear door stood ajar, hanging
from rusty hinges. Obviously security wasn’t a priority here; but, saying that,
they were safe on their own ground, surrounded by their own people, so
The thought terrified me, but made complete sense. There had been an intense
paranoia and distrust of the asylum seekers who had been shipped into the area
for quite some time now, and such reactionary groups feed off negative emotions
like hyenas at a rotting cadaver.
I left the car, making sure I locked
it up, and headed towards the black maw of the alley. Straggly bushes, like
clasping skeletal fingers, had stretched across the entrance, forming a natural
barrier that I was forced to duck beneath. It was dark in there, the solitary
streetlamp shedding no light. Had it been sabotaged, or was I just tapping into
that vein of paranoia and distrust? I stepped gently along the length of the
alley, expecting dark shapes to jump out in front of me, their slack limbs
waving at me, blanched hands grabbing for my throat…
But I reached the other end without
incident, and found myself in a small square surrounded by shabby box-like
cluster homes that had probably been grafted onto the estate in the mid 1970s.
I registered movement at the periphery of my vision, and spun around to face
whatever had caused it; a dark blur slipped away into another narrow alley,
followed by two more. It was them, the same lurching figures I’d seen that night.
I followed, keeping to the edge of
the square, hugging the rough outlines of privet bushes and lopsided garden
walls. The figures were turning right at the other end of the alley, and I
waited until they were out of sight before following any further. My heart beat
double-time and my mouth went very dry; I felt afraid yet exhilarated. I was
doing something.
I stalked the men through the estate
- I could now tell that they were male by the clothing that I glimpsed beneath
the muted orange glow cast by the few working sodium lights: hooded
sweatshirts, baseball caps, gaudy tracksuits. They shambled through
labyrinthine passages and beneath arched stone walkways, never speaking, not
even glancing at one another. I treaded oh so softly, but still the crumbling
concrete beneath my feet seemed to mock me: shifting like tectonic plates as I
walked and crunching loudly in the heavy silence of deep night. The men didn’t
hear me; the forces of good seemed to be on my side.
The vast night sky pressed down on
me like a huge sheet of black ice, threatening to trap me in the moment until I
could be discovered shivering in the pale dawn. Stars blinked out one by one,
like heavenly lamps being switched off. The men entered a boxy flat somewhere
near the heart of the estate, not far from those glowering grey tower blocks
that watched dispassionately from so many broken and boarded windows far above.
I hid in a garden in sight of the flat, and waited for inspiration.
Much later I woke without even
realising that I’d nodded off. I was cold and my lips were beginning to chap.
The estate was in total darkness, and I estimated the time to be well into the
ungodly early hours. The sky was still pitch-black, but the stars had turned
themselves back on. I let go of the hedge that I’d been cuddling, and climbed
over the low garden wall, making no sound and feeling justifiably proud of my
stealth. Not once did I stop to ask myself what I was doing; I didn’t even
pause to think of what might happen to Tanya and Jude if any foul deed befell
me. I was focused, determined to do what was right.
I inched across to the building the
men had entered. It was a ground floor flat, with dirty net curtains barely
visible through the crudely whitewashed windows. The small front garden was
weed-choked and littered with empty beer cans, takeaway wrappers, clots of old
food. I spotted a thin strip of flagstone walkway along one side of the
building, and followed it round to the back. The rear door stood ajar, hanging
from rusty hinges. Obviously security wasn’t a priority here; but, saying that,
they were safe on their own ground, surrounded by their own people, so
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