The Cruellne by James Clammer Page A

is nothing to do there unless you have money, we will fry in the streets and there will be thousands and thousands of people everywhere, getting in our way.
    Both mother and I had agreed long before that we did not like people very much.
    Just get dressed, Samuel, she said. Put on your cleanest clothes. Get yourself ready. Then come down for breakfast.
    So I did as she said, I complied, leaving the safety of the sweaty mattress and the tangled topsheet.
     
    On the way to the railway station, mother walked faster than I have ever seen. Usually she would plod twenty yards behind, content to move at her own tick-tock pace, which she never varied from. But on that day she raced ahead. It was all I could do to keep up. The sun was high and hot already and the thought of a day in London made me want to cry. I could only guess that she had received some money and wanted to go shopping, that was the only thing she really liked to do. The idea tortured me. But every time I slowed she would stop and tell me to hurry up. Usually it was the other way around!
    At the ticket office I started to think differently however. Now I understood, from her conversation at the plastic screen, that she was excited about something. I had no idea what but because it was so unusual, this excitement, I decided I must stop acting like a spoiled brat and go along with whatever her plans were. I did not want her to be unhappy and I did not want me being the source of her unhappiness. So I said, What are we doing? What's the plan?
    She shrugged; she did not want to tell me. And once we got on the train, she became quieter and calmer anyway, more like herself, which is to say she talked about nothing much, just the usual things that came into her head or the things she saw out of the window.
     
    In London we took the Underground to G___. The first thing I saw when we reached street level was the Post Office tower. It loomed over everything, bristling technology in the midday heat. We must have been very close to it and I thought of all the people at the top, looking down on us, knowing nothing of our mysterious mission.
    We stood for a minute or two on the busy thoroughfare outside G___ in order to get our bearings, or rather to allow mother to get our bearings, since I had never been in that part of London before. Then we set off. Mother has always said you do not need to go very far in London to get away from the people and she is right. After we had turned three or four corners the crowds were gone and we walked streets that were empty except for parked cars. There was no tranquility though. The sun bounced and burned off the concrete and metal and my head started to swim. Corner after corner we turned, and whenever I asked mother where we were going, she would say: It's at the end of this road. Or: It's just over there. Or: Nearly there now.
    I badly needed a drink but we had not brought any water and mother refused to stop. Still, I did not want to spoil her fun, so I said nothing.
    Finally we came to a long street with an ancient brick wall on the corner. When I say ancient I do not mean properly ancient but 1940s maybe. It was old enough that the bricks looked out of place, rounded at the corners and grainy-textured, like you could dig them out with a few swipes of a long nail. They were good prison-escape bricks. That's what I called them in my head. The Post Office tower looked sharp and defined and I could see the individual aerials and dishes, sending their messages across London and to the world beyond. This is it, Samuel, mother said. This is where we need to go, I didn't think I could find it again but oh here it is.
    What is it? I said. What?
    I tugged at her sleeve like a very little child and she pushed me away gently. Down the street we went. There was nothing unusual about it, just that old bit of brick wall on the corner. There were cars and flats and a brown patch of enclosed grass where swings and roundabouts stood motionless. It was