I see is Andy still that half a stride behind.
âJust run!â
Andy is right. If youâre being pursued, you should never look back. Never. Just keep looking forward, concentrate on escape. Even so, I glance to my left and through the trees and beyond the railings, I can just about see that there is a bus coming up. Suddenly I veer to the left and Andy doesnât question, he just turns to follow me. I throw my hands out in front of me and Iâm ripping at thick prickly branches that scratch across my face as I burst through a slight gap in the privet trees uncaring. I grab the railings and haul myself up, and all the while the branches contrive to hold me back. Iâm too strong for them though. I can hear them crackle and break and splinter as I swing a foot up to gain purchase on the horizontal wrought-iron top beam, while I grab the spikes to pull myself up. Iâm over and dropping to the pavement on the other side in one fluid movement, hearing a tearas a jacket pocket snags on one of those spikes and rips. I hear a heavy thump as Andy lands beside me, rolling involuntarily like a paratrooper.
Fifty metres down the road, the bus is at a stop. One elderly woman is stepping onto it and Iâm flying down the pavement, waving my hands in the hope that the driver will see me in his mirrors and wait, even as I hear a thump at the railings behind me, and foul threatening curses burning my ears. I donât turn to look for Andy; I donât turn to see if any of that crew is climbing over after me. I have just one focus. Get to the bus.
My lungs are burning and I can see that the old woman has just waved a bus pass at the driver. Why the bloody hell canât she have paid with a note and needed change? Anything to hold the bus up for a second. I could just about cry, expecting to see the bus doors close with that hydraulic hissing sound. But Iâm halfway along the side of the bus now, waving like crazy.
âWait, wait!â
The scream is mine, and this must be a kind driver because the doors stay open. I almost tumble onto the step and reach into my pocket to fish out my travel card. I flash it at the driver and pile on up to the back of the bus, with Andy panting fit to spew right behind me.
Even before we reach the back seat, we hear the hydraulic hiss as the doors slide shut, and the jerk as the bus pulls into the traffic nearly spills us onto the deck. But we catch the backs of some seats and steady ourselves. We throw ourselves down on the back seat of the bus, panting and unable to speak. But we look at each other and just grin. Itâs not a grin of happiness though; more of relief.
Iâm sweating as I turn to look out of the rear window. I donât know what Iâm expecting to see, or even what I want to see. Iâm relieved to see nothing. They havenât followed us over the railings. One thingâs for sure. I wonât be taking any short cuts through The Gardens again.
CHAPTER 6
Someone to watch over me
Jason Bourne does not carry a Ruger. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t have a particular gun at all. He uses whatever happens to come to hand. I realise that it’s ridiculous that I should feel somehow disappointed. But the fact is that I do. It’s like a little bit of my identity has been sucked into that Ruger and now lies wrapped in a plastic bag shoved far under my bed.
The movie is over and we’ve spilled out of the multiplex with a load of other people and we’re standing just outside, beneath the bright lights. There’s a lot of noise – people talking to each other, people jabbering loudly into their mobile phones, the sounds of theadjacent video arcades and cars. Always, there is the sound of cars on the retail park. This is where the dreamers congregate – the lads who spend every penny and every minute on their pitiful little hatchbacks with loud after-market exhausts and under-sill LED lights that glow green and purple and orange and red
âJust run!â
Andy is right. If youâre being pursued, you should never look back. Never. Just keep looking forward, concentrate on escape. Even so, I glance to my left and through the trees and beyond the railings, I can just about see that there is a bus coming up. Suddenly I veer to the left and Andy doesnât question, he just turns to follow me. I throw my hands out in front of me and Iâm ripping at thick prickly branches that scratch across my face as I burst through a slight gap in the privet trees uncaring. I grab the railings and haul myself up, and all the while the branches contrive to hold me back. Iâm too strong for them though. I can hear them crackle and break and splinter as I swing a foot up to gain purchase on the horizontal wrought-iron top beam, while I grab the spikes to pull myself up. Iâm over and dropping to the pavement on the other side in one fluid movement, hearing a tearas a jacket pocket snags on one of those spikes and rips. I hear a heavy thump as Andy lands beside me, rolling involuntarily like a paratrooper.
Fifty metres down the road, the bus is at a stop. One elderly woman is stepping onto it and Iâm flying down the pavement, waving my hands in the hope that the driver will see me in his mirrors and wait, even as I hear a thump at the railings behind me, and foul threatening curses burning my ears. I donât turn to look for Andy; I donât turn to see if any of that crew is climbing over after me. I have just one focus. Get to the bus.
My lungs are burning and I can see that the old woman has just waved a bus pass at the driver. Why the bloody hell canât she have paid with a note and needed change? Anything to hold the bus up for a second. I could just about cry, expecting to see the bus doors close with that hydraulic hissing sound. But Iâm halfway along the side of the bus now, waving like crazy.
âWait, wait!â
The scream is mine, and this must be a kind driver because the doors stay open. I almost tumble onto the step and reach into my pocket to fish out my travel card. I flash it at the driver and pile on up to the back of the bus, with Andy panting fit to spew right behind me.
Even before we reach the back seat, we hear the hydraulic hiss as the doors slide shut, and the jerk as the bus pulls into the traffic nearly spills us onto the deck. But we catch the backs of some seats and steady ourselves. We throw ourselves down on the back seat of the bus, panting and unable to speak. But we look at each other and just grin. Itâs not a grin of happiness though; more of relief.
Iâm sweating as I turn to look out of the rear window. I donât know what Iâm expecting to see, or even what I want to see. Iâm relieved to see nothing. They havenât followed us over the railings. One thingâs for sure. I wonât be taking any short cuts through The Gardens again.
CHAPTER 6
Someone to watch over me
Jason Bourne does not carry a Ruger. As a matter of fact, he doesn’t have a particular gun at all. He uses whatever happens to come to hand. I realise that it’s ridiculous that I should feel somehow disappointed. But the fact is that I do. It’s like a little bit of my identity has been sucked into that Ruger and now lies wrapped in a plastic bag shoved far under my bed.
The movie is over and we’ve spilled out of the multiplex with a load of other people and we’re standing just outside, beneath the bright lights. There’s a lot of noise – people talking to each other, people jabbering loudly into their mobile phones, the sounds of theadjacent video arcades and cars. Always, there is the sound of cars on the retail park. This is where the dreamers congregate – the lads who spend every penny and every minute on their pitiful little hatchbacks with loud after-market exhausts and under-sill LED lights that glow green and purple and orange and red
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