“You get him settled down in here, Nox. I’ll go and dump my stuff down in the sleeping quarters while you make this place habitable.”
Due to the sensible use of the railway line from Tottenham Court Road, our strange, incongruent little group had arrived back at Holborn Station about an hour before sunrise, all the better to buy us a little time in order to give our new partner, the young urban nomad from Fouberts Place, a habitable home in the station. Victor’s office wasn’t exactly the most homely of rooms – to be honest; it was an ugly, despondent symphony in sterile white – but it was, at least, a safe haven.
“Are you sure you don’t mind losing your office, Victor?” I asked as I hung a sheet of cloth from the only upright structures in the entire room. “I mean, if there’s anywhere else I can set him up…”
“I don’t mind at all,” he replied calmly. “Besides, I hardly ever used this place anyway. I only really used it to make videos, and I don’t really do that often. He can keep it,” he continued, ruffling the young boy’s hair, “as long as he wants.” The boy retreated, shuffling into a corner in the shape of a ball with silent tears in his eyes, looking visibly petrified. He obviously didn’t like human contact, then.
“I think I’d better be getting on with setting this place up, then,” I said, in order to cut the awkward silence which had descended upon the room. “You’ve got work to do anyway, haven’t you? You have that Operation of yours to plan.”
“True,” he replied, pulling his cardboard Underground map out. “I’ve only got a few more movements to plan, and then all that remains is trying to convince Jamieson to put the plan into action.”
“You ain’t still worried about him, are you?” I asked, rising to my full – but nevertheless still tiny - height. “I’ve said this a few times now; you’re a fantastic military planner. Why should you even be bothered about Jamieson? Take matters into your own hands for once. Rally the lads. Take control.”
Victor shuffled a little nervously on the spot as he considered his next words. “It-It’s not nearly as simple as that,” he stuttered. “I-If I try to take control of this place outright then I may end up creating a split in the camp. Okay, so Jamieson may be a complete bloody idiot, but he’s still admired and trusted around here.”
“Feared, more like,” I interjected. “They only hang onto his every word because they’re afraid of the consequences of stepping out of line. To be honest, they should be more afraid of the consequences of actually following his orders.”
Victor chuckled a little then turned from his old office, saying “I’ll think about it” almost under his breath. I turned back into the room and noticed that, throughout the entire duration of my conversation with Victor, the boy we had rescued from the shop on the junction in Soho hadn’t moved an inch from the corner he shrunk into when Victor touched his hair. I tiptoed over to him and, rather maternally, knelt down beside him. “Are you okay?” I asked. It was a good place to start.
The young boy’s head emerged from the ball, but no words of any use came from the mouth which was embedded within it. “What’s wrong?” I asked in the quietest voice I could manage without whispering. “Have we done anything wrong?”
“It felt strange,” he whispered shakily. “It’s been so long.”
“It’s been so long since what?”
“It’s been so long since I last felt human contact,” he said, slumping into a melancholy crouch. “They never allowed us to come into contact with anyone.”
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Take Back The City - Part One of the 'Life in London Town' series
ActionThree years have passed. I'm still trapped, imprisoned in a city which is slowly crumbling around my eyes. My family - if there's anything left of it - haven't seen or heard of me since its members fled. Every day of my life, if I can even bring mys...
