Faithless (57 page)

             
"Sure. Sounds great," said John.

             
"Want one Robbo?" asked Frankton.

             
"No sandwich. But I'll have a cup of tea." 

When Frankton went out to make the tea and bacon sandwich. John
sat back, not having the energy to make conversation. Robbo looked shyly at him as if in the company of a celebrity that he recognised but didn't know. At one point a word formed on his lips, but he let it die, not sure if he was allowed to mention the obvious truth. John said nothing. He didn't know if he was safe.

             
Frankton came back. "You lads are quiet." He handed them a mug of tea each. "Robbo's local branch secretary. He's sound. This is John Gilroy. He's been on the news."

             
"Aye, I thought it was him," said Robbo.

             
"I take it you don't want us to let anyone know you're here?" said Frankton.

             
John nodded.

             
"Well the secret police won't get it from us," said Frankton. "I admire you by the way. You've been braver than I ever was."

             
"How long were you doing it?" asked Robbo hesitantly. John didn't answer.

             
Robbo coughed. "Sorry, mate. Listen I'd better get off. Leave you two to it." He got up, leaving his tea undrunk.

             
"Ok, mate. Listen, catch you tomorrow night. Fancy a pint at the Apple Tree?"

             
"Aye sure. See you Billy." He paused. "And good luck mate."

When Robbo had left, Frankton turned to John. "Well mate, I say again - 'fuck me'. Who'd have thought?"

              John shrugged.

             
"I knew you were one of us back in the day. Thought that all went out when the pay checks started coming in. Seen it happen many times."

             
"I'm tired," said John. "Sorry to arrive and then want to crash out, but I'm knackered."

             
"Yeah, there's a spare bed upstairs. You can stay as long as you want."

             
"It's not safe for you. Or for me. I need to keep moving."

             
"They won't expect you to come here. I didn't."

             
"They know you're a party member. Your branch will be infiltrated, but they don't know we're connected. I don't want to put you at risk. You could go down for helping me so let's keep it short and sweet," said John.

             
Frankton pushed his glasses up his nose. "I mean I have my differences with the CPSU. Especially after Prague in '68, but it's them versus the Yanks and their Conservative poodles. At least the Sovs are socialists for all their faults."

             
"I feel the same."

             
"You're either with Reagan and Thatcher - warmongers for Capitalism. Or you're with the Soviets."

             
"Listen, I'm a bit too tired for dialectic materialism. I can't think."

             
"Sure, go to bed. Just saying I appreciate you did. It's heroic."

             
"I need to get to Ireland. I thought via Stranraer."

             
Frankton looked at him. "You must be mad. The boat to Belfast is crawling with Special Branch. You won't make it. Plus you have to make your way round the Solway. Easy if you're a seagull but a long way to Stranraer by road from here."

             
John exhaled heavily. "I'm out of ideas mate. Out of plans. I've got to get out of this country."

             
Frankton nodded. "Sure, sure. I have a way."

             
"You do?"

             
"I have a mate who has a boat at Whitehaven. It's just a small boat called the Solway Star. He often crosses to the Isle of Man. They won't expect that. And you can get a ferry to Dublin from there. I'll bet they won't be looking that way."

             
John suddenly felt elated. He went and hugged Frankton, who backed off with embarrassed surprise. "You've been down south too long John. Men don't hug each other up here."

             
John laughed. He finished his bacon sandwich and gulped down his tea. " Can I get a shower before I sleep?"

             
"Sure. I'll take you to Whitehaven tomorrow. I'm going to ring him now. He won't mind. He just loves to sail. Any excuse."

John went upstairs and took a
long shower. When he felt clean and dry he walked into his bedroom draped in towels. On the bed were some of Frankton's clothes. They were about the same size. There was an old Thin Lizzy
Johnny the Fox
t-shirt with some clean blue jeans and a black pullover. He lay on the bed and fell into a deep sleep. Downstairs, Frankton phoned his friend with the boat. Then he came in to check John was ok. When he saw he was asleep he didn't disturb him. He went back downstairs where he read
Out of the Night
until he felt his eyes closing and fell asleep in his chair.

00:10, 10th November
. Frankton woke suddenly to the unaccustomed bright flashing lights as the police vans pulled up outside. He jumped out of bed and ran upstairs to snap the light on in John's room.

             
"Dress! It's the filth."

             
"What?"

             
"That little fucking rat Robbo. He must have dobbed you in. Come on."

             
John pulled on Frankton's t-shirt and jeans. He struggled with the pullover as they hurried out of the room. 

             
There was a hammering on the door downstairs. "Open up! Police. Open up now or we'll put the door in."

             
"All right!" shouted Frankton "I'm coming. I've just woken up." Then he whispered to John. "Take my coat. Out of this window."

             
John looked at him incredulously.

             
"The extension roof's below - not a long drop. Then into the garden and over the back fence. You'll get into the neighbour's garden and from there you can get to some back streets. It's a long way round by road for them."

             
John nodded. He shook Frankton's hand, opened the window and climbed into the darkness, feeling his way as he dropped onto the flat roof.

             
Frankton went downstairs. The police were shouting their final warning. He calmly opened the door and was blinded by police flashlights.

             
"Armed police stand back!" they shouted, pushing him out of the way.

             
"What the hell are you doing?" said Frankton. "I hope you've got a warrant."

             
The leading officer in full riot gear said, "We have and we're executing it now."

             
The armed police filled the house, running up the stairs, going into the kitchen. Behind them came a plain clothes Special Branch officer. "We have reason to believe that you are harbouring a wanted criminal."

             
Frankton shook his head. "I don't have a clue what you're talking about. No criminals here all night."

John found that the police had stupidly not covered the back garden and in a rush of adrenalin he was over the fence and running through the garden of the house behind. He ran alongside the house and onto the back street. All was quiet there. From behind he heard the commotion of the police, but in front, just empty streets in the long dark before dawn. He began to run until he was streets away and out of breath. Then he had to walk, gasping. Frankton's coat had a hood. He pulled it up against the cold breeze and headed in the direction he felt would lead him to the sea. He saw a bedroom light flick on in a house he passed. He heard the cry of a child and silhouettes cast on the bedroom window while a mother went to comfort the little one. He thought of his own and hoped that they were dreaming of Mogg the Cat.

It was a long walk through the dark town. He didn't know where he was going and went back on himself. Once he waited by a dark bridge, holding his breath, trying to see through shadows where he thought
someone lurked. There was no one. Another time he found an empty caravan on derelict land. The door was open, the inside filthy and broken. For several hours he waited there as if for the world to forget him.  When it didn't he moved again. Eventually he found his way to the station and waited for the first train as if he was a worker going to the first shift. The train was packed with people heading to the nuclear plant down the coast. It took fifteen minutes to get to Whitehaven. The station was near the harbour and he walked to where the yachts were moored. The dawn was grey and low in the east as he searched for the Solway Star. Seagulls fighting over last night's chips flapped away as he approached. Then he saw the boat, small and dirty, bobbing in oily water.  It hardly looked seaworthy.  John walked along the floating jetty to where the yacht was moored. He was half surprised to see someone was on board. He tried to get the man's attention by shouting. Whoever was in the boat heard and after a shuffle and a delay the hatch opened and a bearded face popped up. He looked more like a hippy than a sea captain. He was wearing a pirate style bandana and smoking a roll up cigarette.

             
"How do?" the man shouted. "You're Billy's friend?"

             
"Aye, I am."

             
"I heard you were a Jock. Still-  not prejudiced. Come on board."

John stepped on board the boat and it sunk underneath his weight and swayed  in the swell of the harbour waves. The man came up onto the deck. He was wearing a faded t-shirt with a marijuana leaf des
ign. He extended his hand. "I'm Daz."

             
John nodded. "I'm Joe."

             
"Aye, Joe, whatever you say. Don't care really. Come in."

The yacht was cramped. It was packed with cases of cigarettes. Daz nodded. "I've got a lot of friends on the Isle of Man. They like to
smoke."

             
"You're a smuggler?"

             
"I help people get things they want at a good price. And no money goes to the government to buy nuclear weapons. Win win, I say.  And you? What are you? Something." He shrugged. "Don't give a fuck what really. As long as you pay."

             
John wondered how such a man knew Billy Frankton. But it was a small community. Not enough people to separate out by tastes and interests; you were bound by birth and geography even if nothing else. John nodded.

             
"Right Joe," Daz coughed. "£200."

             
"Seems a bit steep."

             
Daz smiled. "Take it or fuck off. I don't think you've got much option myself. I watch the news." He tapped his nose as if he had said something profound.

             
John took out his wallet and counted the money he'd got from the Soviets.

             
"Very nice doing business with you. Feel free to sleep. It'll be some hours before we dock in Douglas."

John went and lay down on the berth. He could hear Daz above him starting the engine to get them out of the harbour. Then he felt the heavier swell of the
open sea, tilting him from one side to another. He was tired and even in the company of an unknown criminal felt safer than he had for days.

When he awoke he had no idea how long had passed. He sat up on the berth banging his head on the woodwork. Then he
found the steps to the deck. The sail was up. Daz looked magisterial at the helm. Seagulls flew above the wake that streamed behind them in grey and white lines of froth. Behind he could see Whitehaven and the Cumbrian mountains. The sky was blue but heavy with cumulus clouds. The sun lurked somewhere behind them out of sight. Ahead he could see the Isle of Man on the horizon, Snaefell pointing upwards - too peaked but otherwise resembling a grey blue fried egg.

             
"26 miles from Whitehaven to the Isle of Man. It still takes about five hours in this," said Daz.

             
John turned again to look back at England - Ireland out of sight beyond the horizon - then Scotland to his left. The Galloway mountains lifted up to the sky. Scottish mountains. He thought of Ailsa. He longed for her like a compass needle longs for north. But she would never be his now. He turned to look back to the bow and felt its spray on his face. The past was burned out and dead. There was only the future.

He couldn't face talking to Daz and went down below again. He dozed for a long time. He woke as t
he movement of the boat changed. There was a different quality to the sound around and outside. He got up and went on deck. They were in the shelter of Douglas harbour. Daz was still smiling. "Nearly there mate."