Roundabout, roundabout

Usually when my phone flashes it just means one of my girls needs more weed. Usually they’re a little embarrassed, apologetic, so when I get Caz’s message I can tell something’s up:

KIZZ I NEED U HERE QUICK PLZ CUM

I’m meant to be dropping off at Ruby’s place, I’m nearly there, but something about this message seems urgent. I pull into one of the streets by the church.

WHAT’S UP HUN U OK XX

NO TIME PLZ GET HERE HAVE ½ HR MAYBE

WOT U TALKIN BOUT BABE X

I’m already getting ready to drive to Caz’s place. Ruby’s addiction is going to have to wait.

HE HIT ME AGAIN KIZZ IM LEAVIN HIM

‘About fucking time,’ I mutter as I get the car in gear and head off down the High Street. It’s the middle of the day so it isn’t busy; even if it were rush hour the traffic would be mostly the other direction. I go as fast as I legally can, watching out for the cameras – half an hour isn’t a lot of time to get there, but if I get arrested it’s too long.

I speed past Blue House roundabout, the Town Moor, thread the needle through the web of underpasses when you get to town, over the Tyne Bridge, through Gateshead, the Felling bypass, then the road to Washington, roundabouts, roundabouts, roundabouts. Heard from Val that Ruby says this place was built back in the sixties. They had ideas then. No traffic lights was one of them. Roundabouts would keep the cars in order. Pedestrians and cars would never meet. They called it a New Town, though bits of it are old as death.

Roundabout. The big one that crosses the A1 motorway heading to Shields. The sign for that place Terry calls Titty Twisters, the quarry, now a business park. No business though. It’s empty, just about. How we live these days. Little glass and brick deserts, burger vans for the damned. A Little Chef lunch on the Friday. Past the field where they have the Kite Festival.

I met Caz at Pride, couple of years back. The women’s tent, the Drag King Elvis competition, she was laughing but she seemed a little sad. I figured she could use some help. I introduced myself. She looked around and said sorry, I can’t talk. She looked over to the door and I could see him. Looking in, trying to decide what to do, fuming. Is he, I asked her, and she nodded.

Roundabout. One way, the school they turned into a college; the other way to one of the industrial estates, probably a business park too these days. Another big idea: a town made of villages, artificial ones, each one with an industrial estate where the people would work. The idea never did.

I was about to tell her to move out the back, get her away from him, when the bastard comes in. Not all aggro: calm and pleasant. Aye, I know his fucking type. Slimy. Sly. He comes up and says hi. His name is Malcolm, but everybody calls him fucking Mally. Aye, I think, I bet they fucking do. He turns to Caz, says aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?

Roundabout, overpass, roundabout. The big one, passing under the Highway. Turn off here and reach the A19, Middlesbrough, York if you carry on long enough. I’m going straight. Past trees planted to baffle the sounds of the traffic, seeing the Monument for the first time, a black version of those temples down in Greece. That thing gives me the creeps. It was built by some rich bloke, owned all of the mines. And they say you could see it from all of the mines. Fucking creepy weirdo.

Caz is gaping like a trout here because she doesn’t know my name, is worried this Malcolm will think she’s coming on to me, I’m coming on to her, I can see this ending badly, so I make the only move I can. Look, I say, just tell me if I’m being out of order but it’s a hot day and somethin’ about your missus suggested to me she might need something to chill her out, that’s all. I open my jacket, pull out some tinfoil, a ten-spot of green.

You could get in trouble for that, he says.

Roundabout. One way to the Village, one way loops back to the Highway. The joke is nobody can find their way in Washington because the roundabout signs all just say the District Numbers for each Village, which no-one outside of town knows, but no-one who lives here knows either, because they just use the names. This joke is over ten years out of date but they still make it. People like to laugh at ideas from the 60s. ‘Cause we’re so much better. So more modern. With our empty business parks.

I look him in the eye. Probably, I say, but you’ll pay a better price for my stuff than the booze they rip you off for here. He smiles. But if you don’t want any...

Mally? She asks, making puppy dog eyes at him, can I have some, and I watch the smile insinuate its way onto his face. I can see he’s about to ask how much, know he’ll use this as an excuse to barter down, so I change the game. Here, have it, I say, putting the wrap in his hand, pulling a pen from my pocket as quick as I can, sleight of hand, and he fumbles to hide it from view. They always do.

Roundabout. A smaller one, either way leads to old houses. Then the smallest yet, only two exits, the one to the left which leads to the river, the one straight ahead, where I’m going.

And if you need more and I grab hold of her hand, write my number, if you ever need anything and I look her in the eyes when I say anything. He gets the stuff into the pocket of his jeans, well nice to meet you and they’re off. I leave the site by the back entrance, get out of the park quick as I can, lucky I didn’t bring the car, walk zigzag and chaotic through the park, across the road, down to West Jesmond where I take the Metro home.

Roundabout: here. This is the place where I’m turning.

I knew that it’d be him who would text, him who’d come out to pick stuff up from me, but I’d know where they lived. Over time I relaxed him, he’d let her come out, always there, always watching, but she would emerge.

I park outside her house, keep the car running, text her HERE X and she runs out, in a hoodie and trackers, carrying a single holdall. No black eye, no sign of grab marks on her wrist. I know better than to start by asking questions. We drive off.

‘I thought you said he hit ya?’ I have to ask.

‘He’s been hittin us,’ she tells me. ‘But he isn’t like the others, he doesn’t storm off after that. This is my chance Kizz, my window. But if I told you that I didn’t know you’d come.’

‘Jesus babe, you didn’t have to say he’d hit you, y’know – ’

‘I know. Kizz, thanks for coming and I know I was probably being stupid but I had to get you here. I’m glad you are.’ She reaches for my knee.

‘You don’t have to do that to show me you’re grateful,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not fucking him.’ My hands are tight, white-knuckle, gripping the steering wheel. That fucking shitehawk.

Things go quiet for a while. Roundabout, roundabout.

‘So how’d you have a window?’ I ask her.

She smiles. ‘I shopped him to his work.’

‘You what?’

‘Relax, he doesn’t know it’s me. The stupid bastard leaves his Facebook open all the time. I took shots of his posts, in the Infidels group and the EDL pages, all that. I sent an email from the college, on a break from my employability course.’ She smiles. ‘First time that’s ever come in useful.’

‘Jesus, Caz.’

She looks over at me again, and her smile’s going manic. ‘He fucking phones me from work. Hey doll I’m gonna be late,’ she says, miming a phone by her ear. ‘Work found out about my posts and they’ve only called the fuckin’ bizzies.’ She laughs. ‘The fucking police!’

‘Aye well I’m not surprised babe. Some of that stuff that he writes is fucking vile.’ I follow him on Facebook, though he doesn’t know it’s me. I keep an eye.

Truth is, I wish I’d thought of doing this. ‘Did you expect the police to come?’

She shakes her head. ‘I thought he’d get in trouble, they’d maybe keep him back or something, suspend him.’

‘Wouldn’t that mean he’d be around more?’

‘He would at first but I know what he’s like. He’d stew for a week, then start hitting up pubs with the rest of those cunts. I’ve been planning. I knew I’d have a chance to leave sometime. I just didn’t think it’d be today.’

She unzips the bag she’s carrying and shows me what’s inside. Some pants and tampons. An old Nokia. And money.

‘I saved and I saved. I bought this with cash, pay as you go. It’s a burner. I smashed up my old phone just after I texted you, threw the SIM card down the drain. And the rest is for expenses. Some’s for you.’

‘Ah now, bollocks – ’

‘No, I need somewhere to stay and I want to crash at yours, at least for the first couple of days. I can pay you back…’

I shake my head. ‘Keep your money for someone you have to pay. You can crash at mine regardless. I’m just glad you’re safe.’

She looks out the window. ‘Well I’m not safe, not quite, not yet. But I tell you what,’ she looks at me. ‘I’m going to be.’

Roundabout, roundabout.