The Dying Fall
Chapter 7: Confrontations
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Chapter 7: Confrontations
Carrie got off the bus at the square and buried her chin in the upturned collar of her jacket. Even though a boisterous wind was chilling the evening air close to freezing, it was a relief to be out of the Plant after her overtime shift. Overtime work was always allocated to the plastics line, and, whilst the work was much easier than electronics, it was incredibly dull: there was nothing to distract from the slow counting of the clock, the hum of machinery and the ache between her shoulders and in the soles of her feet—except for the melody that now simmered permanently in her head, ready to spill out of her fingertips or lips in any unguarded moment. It was time to face it: she had to get this song out of her head and onto paper.
But Carrie had no idea how to do it. The lyrics weren’t a problem, but the how of capturing a melody, and all the other layers that had become the flesh of the song, eluded her. She knew it was possible because it had been done in the past: an entire industry had been birthed from it. Books containing such knowledge came through the Plant every hour of the day on the paper line—Carrie just needed a way of getting hold of the right one. If she could learn what she needed from a book, she could get Savannah’s song out of her head and focus on something other than the fact that her father was out and about in the world, close by, but apparently not close enough to try and make contact with her. Did he know what had happened to Savannah? Had he seen it in the news? Did he care? Or had he moved on without them, content to leave her and her mother to deal with their grief on their own?
Carrie abruptly banished those thoughts as she headed to the railway bridge, keeping an eye out for the Patrol. It wasn’t curfew yet, but it was that time of the evening when she was more likely to be stopped, searched and asked where she was going. She hoped Nano would be at the bridge at this time of day. She knew he moved between several dealing spots in the day, but was counting on the market as his choice of location for catching clients on their way home from work.
As Carrie approached the bridge, she heard voices in the shadows under the arch. The area was poorly lit by the lights from the railway track above and a lamppost next to the closed oatmeal van, so she could only make out a pair of silhouettes under the archway. She recognised Nano’s voice and realised, from the tone of the other, that he was dealing with an angry customer. Suddenly, one of the shaded figures lashed out and there was a brief scuffle before an effective punch was thrown. The figure who had been struck swore and stumbled back.
“I told you, Krev,” Carrie heard Nano say coolly, “You’ll have to take it up with Dryce.”
Krev spat and reached for his back pocket. “I’ll deal with you first, you little rat!” he snarled as he swung his arm towards Nano.
“Patrol! Patrol!”
Carrie wasn’t sure what prompted her to shout out but it had the desired effect as Krev stopped mid-swing and fled down the tunnel, away from the market. Nano was already leaping back in anticipation of the attack as Carrie’s shout echoed under the bridge so it took him a second longer to realise one danger had passed and another was coming before he also spun round to escape in the same direction.
“Nano!” Carrie half-hissed, half-called, as she hurried to the brick foot of the arch.
Nano hesitated, half-turned and then stopped short when he saw her figure in the gloom. He swore and Carrie heard the alarm in his voice.
“What are you doing?”
“It’s just me,” Carrie explained. “No Patrol.”
“Are you trying to frighten the shit outta me?” he chastised, starting to stalk back towards her.
“Looked like you were in trouble.”
“I could have handled him,” Nano said, giving her a relieved grin all the same as he reached where she was standing.
“Used to people trying to stab you?”
“It’s not the first time,” Nano admitted.
Carrie’s stomach squeezed uneasily. “Was that Krev Angelo from school?”
“Yeah, still trying it on as usual.”
“Couldn’t pay for a hit?”
“Krev can’t handle his addiction,” Nano said dismissively, “He can never pay for his hits.”
“What are you going to do? Won’t he come back?”
“Dryce will deal with it.”
Carrie wasn’t sure if Krev Angelo deserved her disdain or pity. He’d always been a bit of a chancer but he was obviously desperate enough to risk getting on the wrong side of Dryce. Carrie had never met Dryce but she knew of him by reputation. She had no doubt that being ‘dealt with’ by him would not go well for Krev. But then he had tried to knife Nano, so he probably deserved what was coming to him. Although, as Carrie looked now at Nano, already wearing his usual, confident leer, she wasn’t surprised that someone had tried to wipe that look from his face.
“So,” Nano said, folding his arms, “What do you need? After a new hit? I’ve got a DANCE compilation you haven’t had yet—I can do it for seventy.”
“I’d never pay that, even for a compilation,” Carrie scoffed.
“Doesn’t have to be paid in cash.”
“I’m not here to be ripped off.”
“I’m gonna let that slide because you did me a favour getting rid of Krev. So, what do you need then?”
Carrie bit down her embarrassment and folded her arms across her chest. “I need a book.”
“I assume this is a book you can’t get from the public library?” Nano smirked. “What sort of book are you after?”
“Does it matter?”
“It might.”
Carrie gave Nano a cynical look and he shrugged.
“There’s a bookseller in Carsle who might have what you want. It’s a genuine, registered bookshop but the owner has a storeroom of alternative literature that she’ll let you rummage through for the right password.”
“What’s the password?”
“It changes every month. I’ll find out what it is and let you know on Saturday.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in this DANCE compilation?”
Carrie unfolded her arms and shoved her hands purposefully into her pockets. “I’m sure.”
“What about an undersound?”
Carrie shifted on her feet and dipped her chin into her collar for a second as she hesitated. Nano didn’t wait for her answer.
“There’s one on this Friday,” he said. “If you decide you want to check it out, meet me behind the theatre at 10.30 p.m.”
He began to turn away but Carrie stopped him quickly.
“How many people go?”
The corner of Nano’s mouth twitched provocatively. “You’ll have to come to find out.”
“And how much would that cost me?”
“You can have your first entry for free.”
Carrie was sure he’d said the same thing the first time she’d asked to buy a bud. That was how it started—with a one-off ‘try it for free’ offer that soon became an expensive habit. It would be easy to blame Nano for her problem but the truth was she had come to him already addicted and knowing full well the path she was choosing. It was the same with the undersound. She was already so hooked on the idea of it, it was only a matter of time before she caved to it too.
Carrie jerked her shoulders in a noncommittal manner before turning to leave. As she did, a thought occurred to her and she paused to cast Nano a curious look.
“What are you listening to at the moment?”
Nano frowned and shuffled his feet, caught off-guard for a second. “What?”
“What are you listening to when you hit up?” Carrie asked again.
“The DANCE compilation, obviously,” he admitted.
Carrie nodded and started walking away. “See you Saturday.”
“Or Friday night?” Nano suggested.
“Don’t get stabbed.”
“Thanks for caring.”
“I want to get paid,” Carrie called back.
She heard Nano utter an amused “Huh!”, but didn’t look back as she slipped back into the market.
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Molly was preparing dinner when Carrie got home. Carrie peeled off her jacket, made herself a drink and sat at the kitchen table, trying to stretch her legs and back as the warmth and odours of the kitchen enveloped her.
“How was overtime?” Molly asked.
“Long and cold.”
“That’s Plant work for you.”
Carrie ignored the comment and closed her eyes as she held her mug to her chin. She was too tired to talk and definitely too tired to argue. Her head was swimming with thoughts that needed settling. Was she going to risk attending the undersound on Friday? Was the man she’d seen on the television really her father? What if she didn’t pick up something decent on the line tomorrow? She’d have to meet Nano emptyhanded on Saturday. Would he have the password for the bookshop? How much did illegal literature cost? All of this needed dealing with, some of it sooner rather than later, and yet the thought that dominated her mind the most was how badly she wanted the DANCE compilation Nano had offered her.
Not yet, she told herself. That’s not what the money is for.
“Are you okay?” Molly asked as she set the plates and cutlery on the table.
Carrie opened her eyes and wriggled into a more upright position. “Just tired.”
Molly dished up their dinner and they ate in their usual strained silence. After dinner, Carrie set about clearing up as quickly as she could. She was just wiping down the draining board when the doorbell rang. She heard Molly answer the door and speak quietly to someone on the doorstep. After a couple of minutes, the front closed and Molly came into the kitchen, holding the pile of clothes Carrie had taken over to Mrs Giles the day before.
“Mrs Giles says you already paid her for the repairs,” Molly said slowly.
“Yes,” Carrie admitted.
“Where did you get the money?”
“Work made a mistake with my last pay packet so they gave me the difference on Monday,” Carrie said with practised nonchalance. She hung up the tea towel and moved to the door.
Molly shifted to one side as Carrie brushed past her into the hall. “You didn’t mention it on Monday,” she said.
“I forgot.”
“How much was it?”
“Sixty. After I paid Mrs Giles, I put the rest in the money tin,” Carrie said, making her way upstairs.
“Did they give you a new payslip?”
“Not yet.”
“You should make sure you get one.”
“Sure.”
“Where are you going?”
“To bed—I’m tired.”
“Carrie—” Molly’s voice was sharp and a little desperate.
Carrie paused, nearly at the top of the stairs, and half-turned.
“Where did the money really come from?”
“From work,” Carrie replied firmly. She reasoned that this wasn’t a lie since she’d originally bought the buds she’d sold back to Nano with her savings from her pay packet.
Molly wasn’t convinced. “Really?”
“Where else would I get it from? I didn’t steal it.”
“No,” Molly said carefully, “But did you earn it by some means other than your shifts at the Plant?”
Carrie realised her mother suspected her of dealing buds. The thought made her scoff rather loudly. “I’m an addict—I buy highs, I don’t sell them.”
At least that was true.
Molly turned pale. “Are you an addict?”
“That’s what you think, isn’t it? You think I’m like Savannah. Why else would you question me about where I got the money when I’ve already told you it came from work?”
“Can you blame me?” Molly replied, blood flushing back into her cheeks. “You’re always late home from work, or out early at the weekends—and when you are here, you shut yourself in your room. I don’t know what you do with your savings but you certainly never usually have anything left over at the end of the month. But now you suddenly seem to have plenty. Highs cost money and addicts never have enough, so, yes, I’m suspicious.”
“I’m an adult,” Carrie protested. “I don’t have to give you an account of my finances. I pay my half of the bills—what I do with what’s left is my business. And you’re right,” she added, her tone becoming cold, “Addicts never have enough money—so why would I put extra in the money tin if I needed it to buy illegal highs?”
Without waiting for a response, Carrie stomped to the top of the stairs and slammed into her room. Immediately, she shoved her winter coat at the base of the door, and retrieved her MIX bud and controller from the wardrobe. Sticking the bud in her ear, she turned off the light, cursed under her breath as she stumbled to her bed, threw herself onto it, and squeezed the controller.
Next: Chapter 8: The Undersound
The Dying Fall: Index
Welcome to the index page of The Dying Fall. Please scroll down to find links to each published chapter. If you need any help, let me know via the message button at the bottom of the page.
Author’s Notes:
See you next time, behind the theatre at 10.30pm. Don’t get caught by the Patrol.
Chapter 8: The Undersound, coming next weekend.
PJ