Song for this chapter:
Chapter 10: A New Deal
Carrie shuffled forward in the queue, her eyes fixed on Kayla’s back as the young woman raised her arms for a pat-down before passing through the metal detector. Then it was Carrie’s turn. Tossing her house keys in the security tray, Carrie raised her arms and let the guard pat around her body, checking for a suspicious shape or irregular bulge under her clothing. Once the guard finished, Carrie stepped through the arch of the detector and collected her keys from the tray on the other side. As she walked towards the exit doors, her heart began to thud a little harder. That was the easy part over. Now, she had to slip away from the bus crowd and around the back of the main block to the bush outside the toilets without being noticed.
Carrie always expected to see someone—perhaps another worker, or a guard, or a truck driver—as she crossed the crumbling concrete between the main block and the plastics unit. But once again, it was empty, and once again Carrie wondered how far her luck was going to keep stretching. Hurrying to the bush, she stood on tiptoe, reached into the branches, and pulled out her green cloth bag. It was pitifully light; nothing of worth had come down her line so far this week until today, when an old laptop had trundled along on the belt and into her hands. Immediately, she’d remembered Nano’s wish list and the deal he’d offered her in Carsle. Her hands had trembled a little as she’d slipped the central processing unit from the laptop into her overalls, and they shook now too as she secured the cloth bag in the back of her waistband and headed back to the buses.
“There you are!” Kayla said with a sigh, as Carrie joined her in the queue for their bus. She rubbed her belly and giggled as one of the lads blew her a kiss on his way to his bus. “I’ve got a date on Saturday,” she said, heaving herself up the steps of the bus and swiping her pass on the ticket reader.
Carrie followed her to a seat. “Who with?” she asked.
“Derek,” Kayla replied. “He’s going to take me out for a curry.”
“Derek?” Carrie repeated, making a face. Derek worked in the canteen and was well known for chasing girls much younger than him for all the wrong reasons. “What about Ethan?”
“He hasn’t asked,” Kayla said with a shrug. “Though he did help me pick up some shopping after work on Monday,” she added.
Carrie didn’t say anything but looked at Kayla’s bump, relieved that this unborn child had no idea its fate currently hung in the balance of its mother’s inability to distinguish lust from love. Not that Carrie could judge Kayla for her choices; she couldn’t make the right decisions for her own life either. The moment she got off the bus, she’d be heading to Reddick Hill to meet Nano and make her mid-week delivery. Carrie had been itching for Wednesday to arrive since she’d sat in bed on Saturday evening and begun reading the music theory book. She’d made notes in the back of Savannah’s journal with one ear tuned to the sounds outside her bedroom door as her mother had prepared for bed. When she’d got home from Carsle, Carrie had taken a hot drink out to her mother in the garden. The gesture had been sufficient to thaw the air between them—at least to the extent that they could speak civilly to each other. But it hadn’t been enough to prevent her mother from questioning Carrie on which friend she’d been hanging out with all day; neither had it stopped Carrie from lying to her.
“See you tomorrow!” Kayla chirped as the bus stopped in the town square and Carrie rose from her seat.
Carrie gave her a small nod and alighted from the bus, pulling her hat further over her ears as she began walking up the street. As the bus drove away, a voice hailed Carrie from across the road and she stopped to see Meg waving at her from the opposite pavement. Flicking the end of a long purple scarf over her shoulder, Meg hurried towards Carrie and gave her an awkward hug when she reached her.
“Finished your shift at the Plant?” she asked. “I’m just off to work. How is it only Wednesday, eh?” She rubbed her hands together and shivered. “Earth-love, it’s getting cold! I’m glad I’ve got some decent tracks to get me through this evening.”
“You’ve got buds on you?” Carrie asked.
“Just a couple,” Meg said, linking her arm through Carrie’s and escorting her across the square to the cobnut tree. “One is this DANCE compilation I picked up from Nano at the undersound. Wanna listen?”
She fished in her coat pocket and held out two buds on the palm of her hand. Carrie could see that one of them was coloured for a DANCE compilation and the other for DISCO-POP.
“Not here!” Carrie hissed, freeing her arm and cupping her hand over Meg’s open palm.
“No one is looking,” Meg said.
Carrie looked around at the square, where a few lone pedestrians were hurrying along the cobbles or heading in and out of shops. No one was paying them the slightest notice and there wasn’t a Patrol car or uniform in sight. Carrie slowly pulled her hand away from Meg’s and looked at the DANCE compilation bud, feeling a familiar pull on her insides. This was the same bud Nano had tried to tempt her with and Meg was offering her a taste of it for free, right here and now. Carrie had been eking out her MIX bud for weeks and she knew it had to be getting low on charge. It wouldn’t be long before it cut out on her in the middle of a track, leaving her unsatisfied and desperate for another hit. She could feel the ache already: just one track; just a few minutes to pick her up after a tedious day at work.
But then another ache called her gaze across the square to a little café next to the theatre and the cobbled pavement out front which had once been christened with Savannah’s blood.
Carrie shook her head and shoved her fist into her pocket. “I can’t,” she said abruptly. “I don’t have time.”
“Okay,” Meg said breezily. “Are you coming to the next undersound?”
“I don’t know,” Carrie replied a little bluntly, unnerved by how close she had come to putting the DANCE bud in her ear in the middle of the town square.
“Well, if you do decide to come, we could meet at mine and go together,” Meg said. She put the buds back in her pocket and flicked her scarf again as it slipped off her shoulder. “I’m number nine, Republic Street, if you ever just want to hang out. Pop by on Friday evening after dinner, if you like. I’ll be done at work by then and my sister won’t mind. If I haven’t wasted it by then, you can listen to the DANCE COMP.” She checked her watch. “I’d better go or I’m going to get shouted at again.” She rolled her eyes as if this was a regular inconvenience she had to endure, and squeezed Carrie’s arm. “See you around!”
Carrie watched Meg head off across the square, hoping she would at least wait until she got to work before she stuck a bud in her ear, and then turned her steps towards Reddick Hill.
The woods were eerily quiet this evening and even the wind that gusted through the trees and sent leaves falling like golden snowflakes had a timidity to it. To Carrie’s surprise, Nano was already waiting for her, sitting on a log with his arms folded and chin buried in his collar. He raised his head as he heard Carrie approach and gave her a grim smile.
“I hate winter,” he said.
“It’s still autumn.”
“Not when it’s this cold.”
“It’ll get colder than this soon,” Carrie said dryly. “Wait ‘til we’re in January—we’ll be knee-deep in snow.”
“I hate snow,” Nano said, his tone a little less impatient and a small smile ghosting his lips. “What have you got then?”
“Nothing,” Carrie admitted reluctantly. “At least, not for Dryce.”
A frown crossed Nano’s brow but quickly passed as Carrie took out her green bag. She took out the CPU, holding it in her closed fist and stepping forward with a pensive look.
“Can you really produce a new track?” she asked.
Nano nodded. “Once I have a few more bits and pieces I’ll be able to produce anything you like.”
“So, if I give you this,” Carrie said, holding up the CPU, “You’ll help me make a track?”
“I’ll help you make a hundred tracks,” Nano replied, his eyes fixing on the CPU for a few seconds before he met Carrie’s gaze.
Carrie could tell from the way his body straightened and his face tensed that he was trying to repress his eagerness. She wondered if she was as transparent when she negotiated for a bud.
“Just one track will do,” she said, coming closer and offering the CPU to him.
Nano let her drop the component into his hand and then gave her a look that held a thinly veiled childish delight.
“What else do you need?” Carrie asked.
“Some copper wire, a couple of connectors and an HDMI cable.”
“A whole cable?”
“Can you manage it?”
“I don’t know if I can smuggle something that big off the line.”
Nano’s response was immediate and sincere: “Well, don’t worry if you can’t—I can probably source it elsewhere.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Don’t do anything that will get you caught.”
“Your concern is a little late,” Carrie said, folding the green bag into her pocket.
Nano rose to his feet and looked at her with one of his cocky smiles. “It’s only one step from you to me,” he said.
“You think I’d snitch?”
“Loyalty tends to go out the window when people find themselves backed into a corner.”
“There would have to be some loyalty in the first place,” Carrie replied.
Nano snorted softly and took out his pocketbook. “Here,” he said, scribbling on a page and tearing it out. “Meet me at this address on Sunday morning, after ten—bring any other gear you pick up from the Plant and notes for that tune of yours. I’ll show you the production equipment I’ve got set up and we can work out how we’re going to get your track made.”
Carrie took the page he offered and glanced at the address, her heart fluttering at how much more probable her dream of creating Savannah’s song had suddenly become.
“Okay,” she agreed. “What about our usual meeting on Saturday?”
“Just bring everything with you on Sunday and we’ll sort out anything you’ve got for Dryce then too.” Nano gave her a suggestive smile. “Of course, I’ll be under the bridge early on Saturday if you want to make another sort of deal.”
Carrie gave him an unimpressed look before she turned to leave. “See you Sunday, Nano.”
When she got home, Carrie detoured around the side of the house to the back garden. It wouldn’t be long before her mother was home from work so she wanted to pick up Savannah’s journal from the shed before then. Carrie had spent Saturday and Sunday night reading the music theory book and eventually she’d been persuaded to take a look at the booklet Mrs Lewis had given her on homemade instruments. There was a section on xylophones, and, whilst a proper xylophone was beyond her skill set and resources, the booklet suggested a bottlephone as an alternative. Carrie had got to work on the project immediately on Monday and Tuesday afternoon, first rearranging the contents of the shed to create a hidden space at the back big enough to work in. Then she had raided the communal recycling bins at the end of the street for glass bottles. Removing items from the bins was almost as serious a crime as stealing from the Plant, so she’d worked quickly to collect a variety of bottles from the glass bin and carry them back to the shed. She’d got as far as filling some of the bottles with water to see if she could find the right pitch for individual notes. Without access to a tuner or another instrument, she had only her own ear and memory to find the notes she’d played on the piano in Mrs Lewis’s cellar.
Switching on a portable lamp that sat on top of a stack of old kitchen chairs, Carrie clambered behind them and hastily retrieved Savannah’s journal from inside the cover of a tatty cushion. She hesitated for a second as she saw the collection of bottles and then turned away quickly. She didn’t have time for her project this evening; if she didn’t get dinner prepared, she’d have to face her mother’s annoyance and she didn’t have the energy to endure that today.
Switching off the lamp, Carrie slipped out of the shed, shut the door and let herself into the kitchen. She went straight upstairs to hide the journal under her mattress and then returned to the kitchen to begin on dinner.
The black bean chilli was simmering on the hob by the time Molly came home. Carrie heard her mother hang her coat up in the hall and take off her shoes before she called “I’m home!” and came into the kitchen. Carrie paused in weighing rice as she saw a rosiness in Molly’s cheeks and a shy smile on her lips. Holding a small package, wrapped in brown paper, Molly moved almost secretively to the kitchen table.
“Someone at work brought this in,” she said, her voice soft as she placed the package on the table in front of Carrie.
“What is it?” Carrie asked.
In reply, Molly opened the brown wrapping to reveal a small, crumbling, yellow lump. Carrie leant forward and her tastebuds instantly began tingling.
“Is it the real stuff?” she asked.
“It is,” Molly replied, going to a drawer to get a knife. “Real, cow-produced cheese.” She sliced a corner off the lump and passed it to Carrie.
Carrie popped the cheese in her mouth and let it rest on her tongue for a moment before she carefully chewed and swallowed. It had been years since she’d tasted animal-product cheese but she had never forgotten the taste and texture of it.
“Someone at work gave this to you?” she asked, as Molly savoured a piece herself. “Where did they get it?”
“Her brother-in-law brought it with him when he came to visit. He has a senior position in the Imports Office.”
“And your colleague shared it with you?”
“Uh-huh,” Molly confirmed, idly picking a crumb off the brown paper.
Carrie didn’t think she could be so generous. This small lump of cheese wasn’t even going to last the evening between the two of them.
“Do you want it with dinner?” she asked tentatively.
Molly shook her head as she wrapped the cheese back in the paper. “I was thinking we could try it on some toast later.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Molly smiled. “Good! I’m going to get changed—no nibbling while I’m gone!”
Carrie went back to weighing the rice. “Better be quick then,” she said.
By the time Molly returned to the kitchen, Carrie was serving the chilli and they both settled at the table to eat their meal. As usual, their conversation was superficial, focusing on chores that needed completing by the end of the week. At what seemed the most opportune moment, near the end of the meal, Carrie casually mentioned she was seeing a friend on Sunday.
“Which friend?” was Molly’s first question.
Carrie knew her mother didn’t really think she had any friends. “Meg, from school,” she replied, readily enough.
The name obviously rang a bell as Molly looked up with a mild frown. “Meg?”
“She lives with her sister on Republic Street. I bump into her sometimes in town, after work. We had most of our classes together—she’s got dark hair, quite petite…”
“Oh.” Molly nodded as if she remembered. “What’s she doing now?”
“I think she works in commercial cleaning.”
“What are you doing together on Sunday?”
“Just hanging out,” Carrie replied, knowing that answer was dangerously vague.
Molly’s expression fluttered for a second between routine suspicion and cautious pleasure that Carrie had potentially found some sort of normal human company. “How long are you going to be out?”
Carrie shrugged. “Most of the day.”
This was apparently a less acceptable answer, expressed by a brief pursing of Molly’s lips. “Will you be home for dinner?”
“I expect so.”
There was an uncomfortable pause as Molly rose from the table and began clearing their plates. “Well,” she said. “Let me know when you know for sure. I don’t want to waste a portion.”
Carrie watched Molly begin organising the pans and dishes at the sink. Less than an hour ago, a piece of cheese had ignited the dying embers of amicability between them, and now Carrie had dampened them by mentioning her plans for Sunday. Of course, those plans were a lie because there was no way Carrie could tell her mother she was meeting her dealer to see if they could produce a an illegal track, largely inspired by Savannah’s secret journal that had hidden between its pages a photograph of the father who had left them to fend for themselves whilst he went on the run because his music habit had been discovered by the Patrol.
Carrie still questioned whether the face she had seen on the news report was that of her father. And if so, what did it even matter? She hadn’t seen him since she was little—he’d been absent for the most formative part of her life, so why should she care now if he was alive and living in the same region? When she had thought he was either dead or rotting in a prison cell, it had been easy to romanticise him as an absent but heroic figure. He’d been an addict like her—he couldn’t help his obsession or that he had been caught. But, now there was a possibility he might be living a perfectly normal life, not that far away from her, Carrie felt inexplicably angry. And the hypocrisy of her anger only made her guilt worse every time she lied to her mother’s face.
Yet the guilt wasn’t enough to stop her from meeting Nano on Sunday morning. Instead, it drove her to the only effective escape she had: a little black button in her ear and the melodies in her head. It was a vicious, pointless cycle, from which only the most powerful of miracles could save her. And Carrie didn’t believe in miracles.
Next weekend: Chapter 11—Music Making
Author’s Notes:
The streets where Carrie, Meg and Nano live are named after three of my favourite music artists.
Chapter 11: Music Making, coming next weekend.
PJ