In Here With Us
June 18 1999 London
I arrive alone because Gaston doesn’t believe in protests and I don’t believe in him. I’m thinking the guilty thoughts of a person leaving. I walk from Liverpool St tube into sunlight. I can’t explain why I packed a bag and snuck out of the flat while he was asleep.
I’m here, this is June 18 1999; the police are about to use Section Sixty for the first time. There’s a rumour worming through the crowd, passed from lip to ear among the protestors. Not even the CCTV cameras pick up the origin. From lip to ear, “Stay off the tube tonight, the power in London is going down.” Everybody wants to spread the news, everybody feels in the know, this rumour is what joins us together; every time I say the words I make a new friend.
12:07 Liverpool St
Thousands surge across the concourse. Bewildered passengers drag roller-suitcases from a City Flier. Crowds emerge from the tube. Protesters stream from the end of the escalator, onto the street.
12:13 Liverpool St
Street level shops are boarded with plywood. Red and white barriers on the footpath. Banging drums. Boys in blue body paint pushing shopping trolleys.
13:28 Dowgate Hill
Crowds of people converging. Water spraying in the air. A nude, face wrapped in aluminium foil, briefcase in his right hand. Drums, horns, maracas, bowler wearing woman playing a violin. Arms link bodies into rows. A female stops, bends over her backpack, pulls out a handful of black t-shirts and begins handing them to people in the crowd.
13:48 Dowgate Hill
Smoke drifts from the LIFFE building. Plastic shields spray shards of light through the crowd. Blue helmets, retractable batons, round plastic shields. Thick, black gauntlets. The leading phalanx of police plough into the crowd.
14:23 Dowgate Hill
Protestors create a wedge from banners and barriers. They charge at the police line. Shields and batons fly. Riot police move out of the LIFFE foyer. The crowd slows. The police line moves forward. Men in boiler suits shout at the crowd. The police begin to reform in packs behind their line. A policeman raises a whistle to his mouth. The line begins to drive forward. The police gather momentum. A man in a white boiler suit waves the crowd back.
16:02 Finsbury Circus
Two rows of police search and process protestors at the east entrance. Mounted police patrol. Protestors sit on the grass, on the bowling green, against trees. Two police skirt the circus, they point video cameras at the crowd. A man wearing a tutu dances through the crowds swinging a draw-string bag.
Astrid assists Gillian; an arm around her shoulders guiding her through the crowd of protestors who have been corralled into Finsbury Circus. Gillian holds a black cloth against her forehead. A trail of blood cuts across the inside of her wrist.
“Don’t say anything to them.”
“What?”
“Don’t say anything to the police.
Finsbury Circus is a beautiful place to sit, to rest, to escape. It’s also a convenient place to hold a group of protestors. A ring of stone buildings surrounds an area of grass and trees, entrance and exit is easy to control. The road around the central grassed area, is swarming with police in wagons, mounted police, helmeted police. Protestors are sitting on the grass in groups, waiting to be processed and allowed to leave. Announcements have been made, directing protestors who wish to leave to the eastern exit. On exit they are being asked to provide identification and evidence of residence.
“Don’t say anything to them,” instructs Gillian
Astrid and Gillian are directed across the road that encircles the green; they step onto the grass and find a tree to lean against. Other protestors also accept the relative tranquillity offered by the grass. Gillian sits at the base of the tree, Astrid kneels beside her.
“We need to get you to a doctor or something.”
“Or something would be better.” She points at the police filming the crowd with video cameras. “If they see I’ve been hurt they’ll be more interested in questioning me. I’ve gotta get myself cleaned up and get out of here.”
“They say we can leave from the east side.”
“If we’ve got ID to show them.” Gillian looks around at the other protestors in the square. “I need to find some water.”
“Stay here, I’ll go look.”
Astrid strides off into the crowds. She returns minutes later with a bottle of water.
“A guy in a tutu gave it to me.” She laughs at the thought. “We wash the blood off, then we’ll be able to wrap the shirt around your head so it looks like a scarf or something, there’s enough hippies around here that no one’ll notice.”
“You’re pretty good. What’s your name anyway?”
“Astrid.”
“Thanks for helping me.”
Astrid nods. “You need to get out of here and get to a doctor.”
“I don’t have any ID. Listen to them, they won’t let me out without ID.”
Astrid looks at the police and the confused crowd. “They have to. I don’t care about waiting. You can take my ID, I don’t care, I don’t want it.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why not.” Astrid starts to dig in the bag slung over her shoulder.
Gillian smiles from beneath her hand. “I can give it back, we’re having a party tonight at the place where I live. Come, I’ll give it back to you.”
“OK. Where?”
“A place called St Neot, Grosvenor Avenue, Highbury. It’s a squat, you’ll know it when you see it. It’s near Highbury Islington tube, down along St Paul.”
Astrid hands her some cards and pieces of folded paper.
“I’ll give you something to hold for me.” Gillian takes the backpack off her shoulder. She unzips the bag and takes out a toy, plastic wand. “Fair swap.”
Astrid begins to laugh. “What am I meant to do with this?”
“You’ll figure something out.”
“Maybe I will, yeah.”
Gillian begins to pour water onto the black cloth. She dabs at the blood on her forehead. A gash just below the hairline is leaking blood.
“Let me try.” Astrid takes the cloth and bottle, she works the cloth over Gillian’s face. “You’re looking alright now. I’ll get this thing on your head.” She turns away, wrings the cloth onto the grass and then begins to rip the shirt along one of the side seams.
“Thanks. Remember, stay off the tube tonight. It’s good advice. Trust me it’s horrible getting caught underground.”
23:09 Inverness St, Camden
Gaston checks his watch, waiting for his slot. Still early. He sips beer and looks through the crowd. A cellar, low roof, hollow sound system. Dancers on the floor moving. A woman spins in front of her partner, head back, looking at the roof, spangles on her dress flare and sparkle.
A hand touches his shoulder. He turns; dark hair, slicked down, parted on the right; a voice saying, “Hi Gaston.”
Shock slows his recognition. “Astrid? You said you were gone.”
Astrid looks at his face. “I had to explain, try not to go scunny.”
Gaston looks across her face toward the dance floor. “What’s to explain? You took your stuff. I’m not going to hold you.”
“I want to explain. I’m not smitten with the tired illusion in this cave.” Astrid points to the dance floor. “One time it was sharp and great and real. But we were always going to move on, that’s what we said.” She kicks at the dance floor. “Now we’re becoming the slave warriors we use to mock.” Lights flare spasmodically. “The best we’re doing is showflick.”
“Is that your best wisdom?” He rubs his chin, mock thoughtful.
Tiniest nod.
Gaston shrugs all goofy. “They’re my people, even the slavies.”
“Like I was once.” Astrid looks away. “I have to change my capacity
“Always your way.” Gaston looks at the wand. “If you’re going you should leave.”
“I’ll give you something.” She lifts the wand. The star shimmers with tiny red lights and emits a long brrriinnng.
Gaston, stares.
“Thanks for stuff.” She hands the wand to Gaston.
The music jerks, slows, jerks, disintegrates to silence. Lights drop to darkness. The room disappears. For a moment, silence. Blank darkness surrounds them. Gaston feels a hand on his side, it touches his arm and moves down toward his hand, runs across his fingers, follows his hold on the wand. After a moment the hand releases, Gaston hears the body step away.
“Astrid?”
Gaston feels at the air around him. He raises the wand, holds down the button. The wand sparkles warm red light, the brrriinnng of a wish fills the music-less darkness. Light floods down his arm, flickering like fire. The sparkle fades.
Lighters begin to flicker in the dark, orange flames throw circles of light, hands illuminated, the half moon of a face. Figures move in the darkness.
00:42 St Neot Grosvenor Avenue, Highbury
Silhouettes move in front of two drums. The fire throws sparks into the air. Smoke is rushing through orange light. Astrid looks at the fire silhouettes. Acoustic instruments; guitars, tabla, double bass combine to form a primitive approximation of dance music. The sky is dark grey. Voices and laughter come from the silhouettes. She takes a tentative step from the candle lit interior of the house into the backyard.
Voices clarify around her, above the music, phrases become distinctly audible. A few people dance twitchily, hand flutters clutching at strands of music. Most people talk in chorus with voices from nearby clusters. Astrid circles, stranding between groups, catching fragments of conversation.
…they were waiting for us…
… to break up the crowd…
…had them on the run at LIFFE…
…horses and over twenty vans…
…used Section Sixty…
…wanted to search every person…
Astrid moves between the groups of people. A woman steps from one of the crowds and hugs her.
“Thanks.”
Astrid steps back from the arms.
Gillian smiles. “Did you bring anyone?”
Astrid shakes her head. “Came by myself.” She looks back at the musicians. “You guys seem to’ve been prepared.”
“We believed the rumour.” Gillian looks back at the group she has stepped from. “Let me introduce you to my friends.”
As they step through the darkness Gillian continues to speak. “You’re like me, I came here by myself, the first time.”
Astrid smiles.
“Here’s your ID.” Gillian removes cards and paper from the bag at her side. “Did they hold you long?”
“It was dark when I left, so a few hours.”
Gillian nods knowingly. “They’ll start using Section Sixty all the time now. You watch it’ll get worse.”
Astrid nods “You should see it out there, the lights are out, traffic is backed all the way along Holloway Rd. It’s madness.”
Gillian starts to laugh. “I’ve got a good feeling about you. You joined us today is what I’m starting to think.”
Astrid, without thinking, nods.
“This is a place for you, I can tell. We’re open arms so long as you can stand our chaos. It does you good to doss near people who think they’re about to change the world.”
Astrid looks across the fire. Flames finger into the runnels of wood grain, chasing dusty chaff. Gillian’s face is unevenly illuminated; round yellows of cheek, shadows of angular years.
“Cast off.” Gillian waves at the air. “We’re the scatterbugs and nobodies of the city. Get caught up with us.”
Rico Craig is a Sydney based writer. His stories have appeared in numerous print and web publications. In Here With Us is part of a short story suite linking two generations of polito/druggo/muso characters from Leeds, London and Kent. He is currently working on a novel for young adults set in South West Sydney exploring a parallel world revealed by the fortuitous combination of adderall, anagrams and anarchism.
