While the TV muttered senselessly on its cheap stand between the two plastic windows, I sat on the sofabed, still untidy with sheets that had covered me and Angie.
Will and Grace were prattling about some matter of vital urban concern—like whether to wear high heels to interviews. Or about sex or money.
My cheeks were still wet and occasionally another tear fell. When I left I was told I was too young to go, I was just a kid. And here I was blubbing like a baby. But crying because my teenage girlfriend was pregnant and her mom had taken her from the trailer to get an abortion?
I was living in a Country and Western song.
I’d been good. I lived under the eye—or ear—of a truth god. I’d been honest. She had nothing to complain about. Was she punishing me or just ignoring me? Maybe that was the trick: all stick and no carrot. Misbehave, and it’s a Hi-Lux on the head. Torture by Toyota. Live a good life and she just lets you get on with it. Maybe it is all down to what she’s paying attention to at any particular moment and whatever catches her attention. I was too sick and angry to spend time caring.
When the ads came they were asked to wait a moment while the local news station gave a special weather broadcast.
The storm raging across Southern Arizona has increased in intensity, exceeding all predictions. Significant damage to buildings is being reported in the Tucson area. State and County officials are advising people not to make any journeys unless absolutely necessary. They also advise that you make your doors and windows secure, and where possible spend the night in your cellar or beneath the stairs. Reports from CNN…
The room exploded. Everything that wasn’t fastened down left the ground. There was a massive shower of sparks and the temperature dropped. I was blown over the back of the sofa. I stayed there for a minute or two, and when the noise and the rushing air started to slow, I thought it was safe to look.
There was a hole in the roof the size of a small wardrobe, immediately above where the TV had been.
Where the TV had been there was a heavy steel tool chest, the kind that people bolt into the back of their pick-up so no-one can get all the goodies. It was on its end, like a small fridge. No, As I walked around it, it wasn’t so small. A tool chest for people with a whole stack of big power tools. The door gaped open. Inside, piled up, spilling out, and filling the air and slowly floating down, were banknotes. Untold banknotes. I was no bank teller, but I knew this was no small fortune. This was a real fortune. This was millions. I felt very calm. That day my life had turned to shit. But I had done nothing to upset Balarubu. And now this. I was calm and unruffled.
The money wasn’t dropped in casually. Apart from what was fluttering around my trailer and covering every surface, and spilling out of the front of the chest, it was tightly stacked piles of properly banded notes, and I could see much more in high numbers, 100s and fifties, than 10s and 20s.
I collected the money together, put a fat wedge in my pocket, stacked and packed the rest and closed the tool chest as best as I could, considering how it was bent out of shape. I left the mobile home and walked towards town.
The wind was up, but it was falling fast. Pretty soon, remarkably soon, it was still, and the traffic started back. I jumped a bus and then took another out of town to the north, until I reached Jake’s 24hr AutoMall. There was one guy there, and I suspect it was Jake because no-one else wanted to work in a small trailer based sales office in weather like that, but Jake refused to close, because if he did, then he wouldn’t be 24 hour, and because you never knew when someone would roll up and buy a car. And here it was, a kid off the bus with money to spend.
‘Can I help you young fella?’
‘I need something tough and reliable—I want to go for a holiday, see the road, hit the highways.’
‘I guess we’re not talking too much money neither.’
‘I like a bargain.’ I said, not exactly willing to answer the question, and certainly not so explicitly as to say, ‘well I don’t want to spend too much of the several millions of dollars sitting under the table in my mobile home.’
He showed me a few ratty looking saloons and I didn’t look too enthusiastic. Then we stopped next to a Toyota Hi-Lux. I smiled and being a professional salesman he saw it. I knew destiny when I saw it and so did he. I looked it over and it was fine—airco, stereo and, amazingly, a big, supersized tough yellow toolchest bolted in the back of the cab. It was bolted to the body from the inside of the chest so there was no way anyone was getting it out of the pickup without substantial power tools and an almighty racket.
‘You got a nice solid padlock for this chest?’
‘It closes the sale, then sure I do.’
I went off to the men’s room and counted the money I had in my pockets. Plenty.
I held out his wad when I came out.
‘One more thing.’
‘You do like to horse trade, don’t you kid.’
‘I drive back home, but you come alongside, give me a lesson.’
‘You can’t drive?’
‘I’ve driven around a parking lot, but not on the road, and anyway, that was a stick shift.’
Well this is auto, point and go. Give me an hour to get someone to sit in the office for me and we can go. Get yourself a coffee in the diner over the way there.’
The first few miles were a little freaky but I soon got the hang. How hard can driving be? Look at some of the people who do it. Back at my trailer, I packed my new tool chest with my money. There was masses of it. I had no idea how much, but every time I looked at it, it seemed like more. How much money can it be when it fills a tool chest and takes you half an hour to move. The most money I’d had previously fit in my wallet and didn’t even make much of a bulge in my pocket.
I called Don from my mobile and told him I was leaving. I also told him about the hole in the trailer roof and the demolished TV. I just told him it was storm damage. I didn’t mention that it had been done with a tool chest because I didn’t want any stories floating around. It doesn’t take much imagination to realise that someone would be missing that much money. Thinking about that, I clipped the tarpaulin over the back of the pickup. No point taking chances.
Don said he was sorry I was going. I’m sure he was, I was a good worker, but no-one runs a kitchen that long without getting through so many people they get to lose count.
‘Be sure to call mom though, eh? She has a soft spot for you and I wouldn’t like to see her hurt.’
‘I wouldn’t want to hurt her. I promise I’ll write or call.’
‘That’s good enough for me. Where do you want me to send this week’s wages?’
‘Drop them in the tip pot.’
‘My, you’re going to be one guy gets remembered with a smile.’
‘And I’ll call in a couple of weeks, you can tell me what it cost to fix the trailer roof, I’ll send it on.’
‘No need, Micky. You were staying there, not making the weather. That’s what insurance is for. And say, do you want me to say anything to Angie? I thought you two were pretty close?’
I hesitated. Balarubu won out. She thought, I was sure, that on big things, the truth is more important than ever.
‘We are pretty close. She’s having mom problems.’
‘I’ll bet she is. Her mom’s something else.’
‘But I want to get her out of all this, take her somewhere far away and put her through college, take her of her the way she deserves.’
‘Hey good on you kid, do the right thing eh? You sound like you’re more than close.’
‘I love her, Don. I’ll do whatever it takes.’
‘Well get on there kid. Go do your thing.’
I stood in the empty room, aware that I’d spoken the words, wondering when Angie would be back, wondering when and how we’d put the abortion behind us and then maybe put it right and start again.
‘Did you mean all that stuff?’ Angie asked.
She stood framed by the moonlight in the doorway.
‘Every word. Are you OK? How was it?’
‘It was just fine. I told a nurse I was there because of my mom. I wanted to find a back way out. She did better. She took me to a private room, then she gave me a drink made me feel a bit sick, look all pasty, then she took me back to mom, told her it was all over and to take care of me for a couple of weeks. When I got home, mom got drunk so here I am. But I’m going to grow.’ She stroked her stomach.
‘Because baby’s still here. So the next couple of weeks, we have to make a move.’
‘You ready to go? I asked. ‘Anything here you can’t bear to leave behind?’
‘Not a thing. Nothing that’s so important I can’t leave it behind.
I crossed the room and hugged her tight, then I pressed the Hilux keys in her hand.
‘I knew you’d come back some time and when you did, I wanted to be ready. The truck’s packed. Let’s go.’
She looked up at the hole in the roof, around the trashed apartment and the exploded TV.
‘What happened here?’
‘The storm, it’s nothing.’
‘I don’t know what the weather’s like in England, but that’s not nothing. I never knew a storm blow over so fast.’
‘So weather, whatever.’
We set off, headed north towards Tucson. We had to stop so Angie could go to the bathroom, so we decided to eat while we had chance, then we could get some miles under our belts so we felt like we had achieved something, then we could take our time, two or three hundred miles a day. I just told Angie not to worry about money. She knew I’d been putting in good shifts on better than her hourly rate for months, and that I didn’t have much to spend it on. She thought I was spending my way through that. I didn’t see good reason to contradict her.
In the diner, she decided not to eat. It was freaky. Three grown men were in the corner, yelling and shouting in what was obviously supposed to be a meeting. They all wore cheap, plain suits that looked like government employees—like tax inspectors like my dad. But when the owner asked them to quiet down, one of them flashed a badge at him. DEA. Drug Enforcement Agency. They were cops, which maybe explained why they were so loud and pushy. It didn’t explain why two of them were crying though. So we left. Left them to their misery. We could eat later and then crash for the night.
We passed through Tucson then at a major junction, we took the easiest option which was the biggest road. Once we’d picked our direction we stopped for the night, got a good night’s sleep, and in the morning we stopped at a couple of stores, got a couple of changes of clothes and underwear and toiletries and stuff for Angie.
Our road happened to be Highway 10, up to Phoenix and then on to California, eventually heading in to LA. We left it before that, scooting round LA and following the Pacific, a little at a time. We liked the Pacific. I told her I’d worked in a ship’s kitchen on a Pacific container ship. She shook her head as if it was hard to believe, but she knew I’d never told her anything that turned out to be untrue.
‘You’ve done so much, Micky, and you’re still younger than me. I’ve been no further than Nogales Mexico and Tucson.’
‘Doesn’t matter. You’re going to do stuff, yes. We are, us three.’
Eventually we hit Seattle and stopped off so we could apply for a passport, which was tricky because Angie had no more paperwork than her driving permit. At first we were worried that someone might tip off her parents about the applications. But Angie pointed out that sure it was a small town, but her mom didn’t have a lot of friends or admirers, and the few she did have were hanging out in bars not working in local government. We rented a chalet on a pretty lake a half hour north of Seattle, nearby the Canadian border. It was beautiful. We were rarely apart. We listened to music on the radio, and drove around the mountains in the Hilux. Watched sunsets and looked at bears and deer with the binoculars we borrowed from the man who rented us the chalet.
‘What are we going to do when the papers come through Micky, when I have a passport? Do you want to go back to London? What’s your mom going to say when you tell her you girlfriend’s having a kid? Your good Catholic parents?’
‘They’re going to love you and look forward to being grandparents, that’s all. And we’re both going to go to school if we want to, go to University if we want to, then we’re going to make home. In London if you want, anywhere you want.’
‘Are your parents rich, Micky? I thought they were civil servants.’
Dad is, mum has some other kind of office job. In England, it can be expensive being a student, but not as bad as here. And you can go now and pay later if you want. But I can work it out. Trust me.’
Eventually, after a month in the mountains, watching spring come in, and some warmth feel its way back into the sun, we were sent a card that Angie’s passport was ready for collection. We went to Seattle to pick it up and sign for it. Then Angie was going shopping for spring clothes for us both, while I told her I would arrange transport: tickets home.
Angie hadn’t asked once about the tool chest. I hadn’t refused or anything, and I didn’t suppose her not asking really had to mean anything at all.
For one thing, down in Nogales, big, tough beaten up old pick ups were the most common kind of vehicle, and seeing anyone can just scoop whatever they want out of the back of a pick up, most of them have a pretty solid tool chest with a good lock; not always for tools, sometimes just as a boot—a trunk. Next thing I thought was, Angie’s pregnant, and I do the lifting and carrying. She likes it when I do the ‘man of the house’ type stuff—lifting, shifting, opening doors. Even, it seemed, making decisions. She didn’t really say whether or not she wanted to go to England. She just went along when I said it would be OK and my mum and dad would be cool with it. I wish I felt as confident about just how easy going they would be, but then a giant box stuffed with currency has a way of taking the edge off your anxiety about the future. With or without the truth. Strike that. Balarubu was mean. I felt safer with the money and the truth.
Passport in pocket, Angie headed for the shops. We agreed to meet at a hotel later. I’d booked us lunch, which I expected to be pricey, but I needed a way to park in the hotel’s secure parking lot. I wasn’t about to park my tool chest in a wide open public lot.
I still hadn’t got used to the idea that things like cheap and expensive really didn’t mean much anymore. I was a kid. First I’d had pocket money, then some earnings from hobbies, knocking up cheap and cheerful websites, then real wages from working at Painted Wind. But never more money than you could blow through in a couple of days if you wanted to be silly. Now money was something I had, just like that. Something I needn’t ever worry about. Except I wanted to go to England, so I did have to worry because I needed to get the money there.
I headed for the docks. In our village by the lake I’d already done some research online. I’d found my old ship, and at the docks I could make a ship to shore call by satellite. He was outbound from Osaka and would be in Seattle in a week, but was then on his way back to Punta Arenas. I needed advice about shipping. The way a young man does. He was the only person I could trust. Face it he was the only person I knew who had the faintest clue. I found the location of the ship and the contact details through a shipping agent, who then offered to put a call through—for a fee.
The line was clear as a bell. I’d been expecting some kind of ‘Moon calling Houston’ effect.
‘Micky, I’m not surprised to hear from you.’
‘You’re not?’
‘You’re an unusual young man. When I gave you my card, I was confident I would hear from you again.’
‘Here I am. I need your advice. I need to get a ship to London.’
‘You’re a smart young man. What you really need first is a better ocean. The Pacific is a fine ocean. I’ve made my life on the Pacific. But when you’re after a ship to London, it runs a poor second to the Atlantic. You need to take yourself to the Atlantic. New York maybe. Or Quebec, or the Caribbean perhaps.’
‘Thank you, Captain.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
I wasn’t at all sure if he was being sarcastic or not.
‘But when I get there? To the Atlantic?’
‘Then you find a ship.’
‘I thought perhaps I could work my passage again. But I have a girl with me. A woman. And I don’t want her to work.’
‘You have no money?’
‘That’s not the problem. I have a box. It has nothing illegal in it. But it is big and I don’t want anyone to look in it.’
‘Micky, you never fail to intrigue. You say the most interesting things in the most straightforward ways.’
Again I had the feeling that the Captain knew something about me. Maybe that he knew about Balarubu, but like me didn’t like to speak her name or even to refer directly to her ways—to her annoying little hang-up about the truth.
‘Thank you Captain. What I need is advice about what kind of ship I should look for: an old trawler that will slip into the North Sea…’
‘A girl getting off would undoubtedly be noticed; and talked about too.’
‘An old container ship?’
‘The first option of the rogue.’
‘An oil tanker?’
Without both of you getting full seamens’ tickets you would never get on board, and even then they rarely take a woman.’
‘So how?’
‘You said you were not looking to cross by working your way because money isn’t a problem.’
‘That’s right Captain.’
‘Is it really not a problem?’
‘No problem.’
‘Take a cruise liner. Hide in plain sight. You will be expected to take lots of luggage so your box will be one among many. Customs officers rarely search all of someone’s bags unless they know something. When they choose at random, they choose one or two bags for a quick look. If you have eight cases, your chances are improved. If you can take a boat to your Southampton, on the seas it is known for having very light staffing of the customs. If you can find a sailing that arrives on a Sunday, your chances are improved further. Overtime rates mean yet fewer officers.’
That all made sense.
‘Thanks Captain.’
‘Keep in touch Micky. Call when you need something.’
‘You do the same, Captain. I may be able to do you a favour one day and if I can, I will.’
‘Thank you Micky. I’m sure your promise is a good one.’
He hung up. The sat-phone left no dial tone but I was left with a plan.
I tried three travel agents before I found one who didn’t have a problem with cash. I’d had to go away and come back with a bundle.
The sailings were perfect. Set off on Monday, arrive Sunday. Lots of time to slowly ease our way over, arrive when customs are quiet, lots of people with lots of bags. Tickets started at nineteen hundred dollars a person, but they were booked up. And besides, after months of travelling like a backpacker, it would be cool to finish with a big flourish, so I booked a stateroom, which had lots of views out, on the cool, shaded side of the ship, with a bedroom, and a comfortable lounge on the first class deck. That was a modest six thousand bucks each, and I was sure there would be more to spend on the way, but if it got us in, with the money safe, it was a bargain. When I told Angie about the cruise she was ready to choke. It occurred to me that pregnant women aren’t supposed to fly, and by the sailing date, in a couple of months, she would be pretty well along the way. And if it wasn’t for Balarubu, that would have been a pretty good excuse for sailing. ‘If it wasn’t for Balarubu’ was fast becoming my motto. When we got on board, it was going to be very clear very quickly that these rooms had cost plenty. She knew I’d worked a lot of hours at Painted Wind, but never enough to earn that kind of money. I had to come clean about the money. It was an incredible story—just falling out of the sky from an unexpectedly strong wind that vanished almost as soon as it had dropped my delivery. I only believed it myself because I had the money and because I was convinced it was somehow the work of Balarubu.
Did that mean that if I was to tell her about the money I would have to tell her about Balarubu too? That is a pretty big burden to put on someone and I wasn’t sure everyone could handle it. But if I didn’t, my story felt like it had a pretty big hole in the middle of it. Maybe I could finesse the story so that truth came in but Balarubu didn’t.
However it happened, she was going to have to learn at least about the money.
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