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Oh No, Not My Baby

(Oh No, Not My Sweet Baby)

When Zane spoke, Shiel was peeling potatoes. Zane said, "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, 'I'm a decent guy. I don't want to kill innocent people. It isn't right.' You don't feel good about it. Just now you said, 'Every man's death diminishes me. No man is an island.' Are you still brooding about that?"

"No," Shiel said. "These are awful potatoes."

"I know you," Zane said. "I can read you like a book."

Shiel dunked his knife in the water.

Zane said, "You're having second thoughts. People have to die, Shiel, so they see the point. Otherwise we're just another lost voice in the wilderness. We're looking at a dozen lives maybe, to save millions."

Shiel shook his head. "Half these potatoes are black to the core and the others have such deep eyes I have to dig out lots of little holes. How come they can be so different?"

"Different types."

"They're just rotten potatoes."

"From different places. Potatoes nowadays come from all over the world. It was Jersey last week, Egypt this - next week, who knows? A great ship comes in from South Africa. It's no surprise they are different."

"I remember when potatoes were just potatoes."

*

He had been waiting half an hour. In the car parked outside the yard, Nick blew on his hands. It wasn't particularly cold but after half an hour in the dark a chill had set in, the cool damp breeze moving across from the Severn estuary. His fingertips were like balls of ice. To warm his hands he slid them beneath his thighs.

Though it was approaching midnight the plant was still working. From the ground floor windows, lights shone through wraiths of steam floating across the yard. The high wire netting fence made the plant look like a prison, and from what Babette had said, the level of security on the front gate would reinforce that impression. She was inside somewhere. In the quiet evening Nick could hear machinery humming, occasional clanks, and once or twice the machinery groaned like a heavy lorry with a rickety gear. Little jets of steam came from escape pipes scattered up the wall. Ten minutes earlier he had heard a muffled hooter, and two women had come from a side door and stood in the dark to smoke a cigarette. They had worn white overalls and white tied-on hats. After they had finished their cigarettes and had wandered back inside, the yard was empty. Nick wondered whether the women would find time to grab a mug of coffee or milky tea before the hooter sounded again at the end of their short break. It sounded a grim way to earn a living.

The humming stopped.

From where he sat in the car the noise humming not seemed loud, but now that it had stopped it left a silence like dead of night. He could make out fainter sounds: the squeak and rattle of a metal trolley on a concrete floor; some tinny music, even the factory hands' voices from inside. Somebody shouted something and someone else called back. That tinny music was probably a radio. There came another shout. Then from inside the building a bleeper started - not loud, but irritating, he thought - the kind of noise that pricks at your ear and makes you narrow your tired eyes.

Nick exhaled, making a slight film of mist across the windscreen.

The bleeper changed pitch and became a continuous but oscillating howl. He saw someone run out of one side door and into another. Two men trotted across the gloomy compound in front of the building, looking like hospital doctors in their trailing white coats. Everyone had to wear some kind of overall. Even Babette had worn one, an oversize white coat on top of her red blouson and matching jeans. Another door opened, and about a dozen people emerged into the yard to stand milling about as if on an unexpected fire practice. If everyone was going to come out and be checked off by the fire wardens, Babette would be in trouble - she wasn't supposed to be in there. Perhaps she could hide inside the factory and not come out. It might even be an advantage: with everyone out in the yard she'd be free to roam around taking photographs. Maybe she had set off the alarm - that would be a neat trick.

But no one was behaving as if on fire practice. They had drifted out from the building, and now most of them were milling around, clearly unsure what to do, while a couple of supervisory types buzzed between them as if they had some idea. Nick wiped the car's side window and squinted through. Though the yard was poorly lit and the small crowd had a shifting, anonymous look, he could see well enough to tell that Babette was not among them. He wouldn't have expected her to be.

He had begun chewing at his lip. She hadn't explained everything she meant to do inside, though how much was there she could say? She had the camera, and it wouldn't be hard to find the dumping ground where the carcasses waited to be processed. Starkly lit, no doubt, bodies sprawled across the floor - bound to make good photographs.

Babette had seemed unconcerned about the risk. The worst that could happen was she'd be evicted from the premises. The company weren't going to make a song and dance or complain to the police. They'd want the whole affair kept quiet. Their own need for privacy would work in Babette's favour if she got caught - which she wouldn't, she had assured him. She'd been in there before.

Nevertheless, it was worrying. The people in the yard seemed uncertain what to do - and how was he feeling? Sitting in the car made him feel so helpless, yet he couldn't climb out and go inside the yard: he wouldn't be allowed in. Babette had told him to come back half past eleven and wait inside the car, ready, if necessary, for a quick getaway.

The bleeper stopped.

That silence again - except for a slight ringing in his ears, and this time he could hear voices more clearly from the yard. He wound the window down.

It was like hearing a radio from another room. Their rolling, almost rural Bristol accents carried in the night air, but though he could make out an occasional word he couldn't get the full gist of what they said. He wanted to get out. He could stroll across to the wire netting fence but ... if people saw him hanging around outside the fence, nearly twelve o'clock at night, they'd be bound to ask why he was there. Perhaps he could claim to live in one of the nearby houses, but it would be better not to draw attention to himself or to Babette's car. He watched the people in the yard. Was it his imagination or were they more agitated than before? Had something happened in the factory? Was Babette safe?

*

It was when the police arrived he really began to worry. First the sickening heave of a distant siren - that nagging fear as he tried to tell himself it was heading somewhere else - then suddenly the noise was louder, the light flashing, the white panda car arrived. Its treatment at the gate was impeccable: even as it approached, the barrier rose, and the car glided through without breaking stride. Straight to the main door. Straight inside.

This was looking bad. And if Babette had been caught, there was nothing he could do. Again, that helpless feeling - though he could only stay in the car in case she needed him. He began to wonder if he should back it further away. No, the police might start looking around for her confederates, and see his car - her car. If he started it up ...

Please don't let it be Babette. Let it just be some kind of fire practice. Maybe the police have to come, as if this were a real emergency. Though in that case, wouldn't there be a fire engine too? No. He looked at the milling workers. This wasn't a fire practice.

And yet -

Another siren. A different sound - faster, more urgent. It was coming closer. An ambulance.

Again, the barrier was lifted and the vehicle sped through. Two men jumped out and rushed inside the building. What the hell had happened there? Had Babette been caught as she tried to get away? Had there been a struggle, a fight? Nick knew that whatever was going on just had to involve Babette. It was too much of a coincidence to assume that on the very night she had slipped inside, some other drama had arisen which required them to call the police. And an ambulance.

Another siren.

Nick realised that several people were appearing in the street, drawn from their houses by the sirens and flashing lights. Nothing like an accident on your doorstep to pep up the night. Because it had to be an accident, didn't it, if there was an ambulance?

Another police car arrived, and that guy on the gate must be aiming for his good service award. Nick wondered what would happen if he were to drive across in Babette's car - would they let him through as slickly as they had the others? Don't even think about it.

And yet another police car. Three? This was serious. Nick got out of the car to join the onlookers now emerging from the drab surrounding buildings. For a few moments, silence returned. Comparative silence. People chattered in the darkness as if at a theatre before the house lights dimmed. The engine of the ambulance continued to drone. Inside the compound small groups of white-coated staff drifted aimlessly - low-grade factory staff. Knowing the work they did he looked for blood stains on their coats, but he couldn't see any.

Beside the fence a woman called through to those inside: "What's happened, darlings? Been an accident?"

Though a few glanced over at her, no one answered.

"Elsie!" the woman called. "Anyone hurt?"

From the far side of the compound a thin sliver of a woman wandered over to her. Her voice was deep - a croaky, comfortable West Country burr. "Nothing to worry about. No. Well, I'm all right, anyway."

"That's all right then," the woman laughed. "We can go back to bed!"

Elsie shrugged. "Just a practice, I expect."

"Not with three police cars."

Nick had joined them at the fence. He noticed that some of the bystanders had their overcoats over pyjamas. Although Elsie's friend outside the wire was fully clothed, even she was wearing slippers. She said, "Better than working. You can have a fag."

"Left my bag in there, haven't I?"

"Just like you."

The woman took out a packet and passed a cigarette through to Elsie. They both lit up. As if this had given permission to the others, the night air began to flicker with tiny flares. Other workers came to the fence. None knew why they had been sent outside.

"Some kind of emergency," someone suggested.

"Someone been eating one of your old pies."

"It wouldn't have been none of us!"

Several people laughed.

Each worker inhaled air that tasted different to that left inside; either the cool, smoky damp night air or the sharp narcotic of a cigarette. Nick glanced along the front fence to where Babette's car waited at the kerb, but there was no sign of her. She must be stuck inside. A factory door opened and the two ambulance men appeared. One was carrying the empty stretcher. As he slid it into the back of the ambulance some of the women in the yard drew closer for a word. Those by the fence paid little attention. But Nick watched and saw that whatever the ambulance men had told them caused a stir. One of the workers immediately broke away and scuttled across to another couple to spread the news. Irritatingly, no one came across to the fence. Out of earshot, the groups seemed to be in animated discussion. To the disinterested smokers at the fence Nick said, "Someone's heard something."

"That'll be right."

They glanced across the compound but stayed put.

"Can't be much," a woman said. "Looks like that ambulance is going home."

The driver had slammed the rear door but instead of getting back inside he and his partner returned to the factory door. Someone closer to them called: "Who was it then - anyone we know?"

If the driver replied, Nick didn't hear it. They both disappeared again indoors. One of the smokers called: "What's up then - a false alarm?"

"Bit more than that," someone called back.

"Oo!" One of the women laughed.

Elsie said, "I think I'll stay and finish my fag."

No one at the fence was in any hurry to move away. As they stood chatting, Nick felt increasingly anxious. What had happened in there? He stood among the idlers outside the fence, wondering if he looked as conspicuous as he felt. All the others seemed to live in the nearby houses. He'd be the only stranger.

The door opened again and a man in a crumpled suit came out accompanied by a policewoman. One of the workers groaned. "Tea break's done," she muttered as they approached.

The manager spoke quietly, ignoring the watchers outside the fence. He said, "Right, everybody, if you'd all like to come on back inside. Please?"

Nick could see them peering into his face, as if the manager didn't always look this glum. The policewoman addressed those beyond the fence: "There's nothing to see, so you lot might as well go back to bed."

"I wasn't in bed, darling, I was watching a video," said Elsie's friend.

"I'm sure that'll be a lot more interesting than what's happening here."

"What's is happening, then?"

"Nothing." She raised her face to the other watchers. "You've all got homes to go to."

She might as well have spoken to the fence.

Inside the compound, the workers began straggling back indoors. The policewoman gave a final, "Don't hang around here all night," and turned away.

Someone called at her back, "Why not? We live here, don't we? We do as we please." The policewoman didn't turn round. As she paced across the compound, she passed Elsie running back to the fence. "Here," called Elsie. "You'll never guess."

"What?"

Elsie had reached the wire. "Someone's only fallen into the pulveriser."

"No!"

Everyone crowded in to her. Everyone except Nick. He stood stock still. It was several seconds before he began to make sense of their gabbling voices.

"Well, they think it was an accident."

"Of course."

"You'd have to be bloody stupid to fall in that."

Nick wanted to ask something, but he couldn't trust himself to speak. Elsie rushed back across the compound and reached the door as the ambulance men came out. They were talking with the policewoman. Nick stared at them, as if by staring at them hard enough he might hear their words. He felt like a robot whose rusty mechanism had seized up.

*

The policewoman wanted the small crowd to clear, and because nothing happened she had her way. The ambulance left, as did one of the squad cars, leaving the compound empty of people. The factory doors stayed closed, and after a while people wandered off.

Nick returned to the car and sat inside. Of course, there was no reason why the accident should have been to Babette - indeed, there was no confirmation that any accident, especially one as horrific as Elsie had described, had happened at all. The ambulance had left. No one had confirmed what Elsie had said. But the factory now stood locked behind its fence and closed front door. One other car had arrived, and had been let straight through. Management, presumably. Though if management had come, and if two of the police cars were still on site, it did not seem likely that nothing had happened. Perhaps Babette had simply been caught. Perhaps she had come out earlier. No: whatever had happened in there, Nick knew that it had to involve Babette. She was the stranger, who didn't fit. He tried to obliterate Elsie's words. The thought was too terrible to contemplate. Babette could have been caught by Security, yes - she could even have struggled and been hurt - she ... No. She could not have died as Elsie said. Nick got out of the car. Though he had only been back in it ten minutes the night air seemed colder now and damper. There was no one in the street. He walked beside the fence to the security hut at the front gate.

"Excuse me for bothering you, but I wondered if there was any news ... about what happened inside."

"What would that be, sir?"

"You know, the accident."

"Accident?"

"Yes, when somebody was hurt."

"Don't know anything about that, sir."

"Look, I saw the ambulance go, but the police are still inside."

"Yes, sir?"

Nick glanced across the half-lit compound to the unrevealing building. "I don't want to be a nuisance but, you know, I live here. We heard about what happened and we're worried. You know, if someone's hurt, well, it could be someone who lives round here."

"The ambulance has gone now, sir."

"Look, I'm bloody worried."

"And why would that be, sir?"

Nick sighed and walked away.

*

It was when the staff were sent home that he knew for definite it was bad. He had been sitting in the cold car for twenty minutes, playing the radio low in the hope it might provide some distraction, when suddenly the factory doors opened and people began to mill across the yard. They no longer wore their white coats. They were dressed for home.

Even as he ran back to the gate he was joined by several of the original onlookers from the houses. When the factory workers came through the gate, Nick feared they might have been instructed to stay shtum, but they hadn't: they talked both among themselves and to those waiting. What had happened was too out of the ordinary to be contained. They talked so freely that Nick at first thought they might have been briefed on what story to release outside, but he told himself not to be so paranoid.

Someone was saying that it had not been a member of staff. Someone else argued they couldn't be sure. Either way, because of the accident the factory was shutting down for the night.

"God alone knows about our wages."

Here was a point on which they could agree. One of the women shouted back to the man inside the security hut: "I suppose you'll be staying on all night?"

"That's right, darling, but if you don't want to go home I can find room for you in here. I've got it nice and warm."

"I bet you have."

They laughed. Nick wanted to strike out at them. But instead he asked, "Is it true - did someone really fall into the pulveriser?"

"Seems like it," someone replied.

"And she's dead? - I mean, it was a woman who fell in, wasn't it?"

"God knows. Whoever it was, they're going to be dead."

An older woman added, "But it wasn't staff, don't worry. We're all accounted for."

The other sniffed. "Perhaps it was a tramp come in to keep warm."

"How's a tramp going to get in here?"

The woman indicated the man in the security hut. "He wouldn't notice anything in trousers. Thinks he's guarding a beach hut, him."

The man leant from his window: "Listen, you've got a night off now - and the old man still thinks you're working."

One of the women laughed. "He'll get a shock when I turn up."

"You don't know what you'll find," another added.

"When the cat's away ... "

The security guard said, "If you're looking for a tom cat - "

One of the women reached up and prodded him. "She'd make Kit-e-Cat out of you, darling!"

The others laughed. Nick stood among them as if invisible. Every word they said was like a whiplash. He saw the policewoman approaching them across the yard and he tried to read her face.

She said, "Come along now, please. Time we all went home."

"What happened, Miss?"

Everyone was interested.

She said, "There has been an accident."

"We know that, dear. But is someone dead?"

"We're looking into it."

"Well, either they are dead or they ain't, darling. It can't take long to find that out."

The policewoman paused. "There does appear to have been a fatality."

"But it wasn't one of us, dear, was it? I mean, we're all right."

"First indications are that it was not one of the staff."

"Of course not, we're not bloody stupid. Wouldn't go up on that gantry."

"Not when the machine's working," another agreed.

"Wouldn't go up whatever."

"Anyway," put in the policewoman, "it's best if we all disperse. You're just drawing attention to the place."

One of the women asked, "Did they get the body out?"

The policewoman shrugged.

The woman said, "It wouldn't be easy. I mean, if it had slipped right down inside ... "

"Ugh!" someone exclaimed, and a younger woman laughed nervously.

The first woman added, "Because all the bone and meat and stuff is crunched up together. I mean, that's the point."

"Oh, don't," someone said.

Nick put a hand against the wall. "You mean someone fell into the meat pulveriser and ... "

"Seems that way."

He shook his head. "With all the meat?"

"Not just meat, love, is it? It's where they tip the carcasses in."

He slumped against the wall.

The policewoman asked, "Do you know someone in the plant - perhaps someone who went inside?"

He opened his mouth but couldn't say a word.

"You don't work here, do you, sir?"

He was feeling faint.

"He don't work here," someone answered. "You don't live round here neither, do you, son?"

A large woman asked, "You know something about it, then?"

Nick raised a hand as if to fend off their blows. "No ... I'm just ... I'm just passing by."

He made to leave but the policewoman stepped up to him. "Could you tell me, sir, what you are doing here?"

"I was just ... "

He stopped.

"Passing by at this time of night?"

He had to have a drink. Water. That was what he needed. Water.

"What's your name, sir?"

"No ... I've got to go. It doesn't matter."

"I think it does, sir. Now, what's your name?"

He looked about him, but the group of women were drawing tighter now, and the policewoman was waiting. He said, "Chance."

"Chance of what?"

"Mr Chance."

"Mr?"

"Nick, then. Nick Chance."

"I see. Do you have some identity?"

"Look, what is this ... Why should I produce some identity?"

"Do you have some identity, Mr ... ?"

"Chance. No."

"What's your address?"

"Brendon Road. 30, Brendon Road."

She was writing it down. "And where is that exactly - in Bristol, is it?"

"Clifton."

"Then you're some way from home, sir, aren't you?"

He no longer knew what he was saying. "No, for Christ's sake, it's only ... three or four miles away. I don't know. I mean, have you found a body in there?"

"And whose body might that be, sir?"

"I don't know. But have you got her out?"

"Her, sir? A young lady, is it?"

He stared helplessly at her.

"And what was the name of this young lady, sir?"

*

Zane said, "You shouldn't swear so much. It demeans you."

"Ah, to fuck, you know, that's a load of shit."

When Shiel looked up, he realised that Zane was pointing a pistol at his heart. "Jesus Christ, Zane."

"I asked you not to swear."

"But for fuck's sake - "

Zane cocked it.

"Put the gun away."

As Zane studied him he said, "You're like all the other heathens out there: you won't listen, and you won't do as you are told. No one nowadays responds to a reasonable request. People think they can do anything they like. Regardless."

He raised the gun till it was pointing at Shiel's face.

"To get what you want, you have to show that you mean business, right?"

"Right. OK, Zane. Now put the gun away."

Zane smiled. "Well, I mean business," he said.



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