L-2011 Page 3

  Chapter 4

  8th August 2011

  * * *

  Mack Walker sat on the edge of the armchair. He stared blankly at the flat screen TV in the corner of the living room, not so much listening to words of the reporters, but instead being pulled in by the images.

  Endless rows of shop windows had been smashed in - people’s homes and businesses - and plumes of smoke billowing out of cars and buildings. It was everywhere. And to think he’d been there at the start of it. It was enough to make him feel like an accomplice to the rest of it.

  Hard to believe that was London on the TV, and not somewhere in the Middle East.

  On the other side of the living room, Mack’s parents sat on the black leather couch, seemingly as transfixed as he was by what they were seeing on the CBC News.

  “For God’s sake,” Archie Walker said. He ran a hand slowly through his thinning brown hair. “Mindless bloody thuggery, that’s all it is.”

  Isabella Walker sat on the opposite end of the couch from her husband.

  “Oh my God,” she said, shaking her head. “All those poor people and their livelihoods ruined and because of what?”

  “They’re protesting,” Mack said. He regretted saying it immediately.

  Isabella turned towards her son. A moment ago she’d looked tired and on the verge of falling asleep after making dinner for the family. Now her eyes were wide open and her tawny hair – the colour that she’d passed onto her only son – was tied back behind her head.

  “Protesting?” she said. “By hurting innocent people?”

  Archie Walker sat forward, reaching for his cup of coffee on the living room table. He brought it to his lips and blew into the steaming cup.

  Isabella kept her eyes on Mack. “What are they protesting then?”

  Mack shook his head. “A young guy got killed last week Mum. The police are trying to cover it up, I think.”

  Isabella started to laugh, but stopped almost immediately.

  “And what exactly does running out of a shop with a box of trainers, or a mobile phone, or a flat screen TV, what does robbing from ordinary working people do to help that situation?”

  Mack didn’t answer. But what he wanted to say was – okay so they may not give a flying fuck about why the police shot Mark Duggan. I know that –we all know that, right? But look at them! Mum? It’s exciting, isn’t it? It’s not just another boring day in the land of Normal. That’s got to be worth something.

  “Isn’t that absolutely ridiculous?” Archie bellowed. He was pointing at the TV.

  Mack and Isabella both turned back to the news. Aerial shots of the city and the damage done were being broadcast to maximum effect. Mack felt the chicken and peppercorn sauce he’d just eaten doing somersaults in his stomach. From the air, it looked as if London was under attack. Scattered across the city, several prominent buildings - including the huge Carpetright furniture building in Tottenham - burned as if this was another Blitzkrieg. Clouds of thick black smoke climbed out of the wreckage and made towards the sky.

  “What will you tell people at work tomorrow?” Isabella asked Archie.

  Archie shook his head as he took a sip of coffee. “They can work at home,” he said. “We’re too close to the High Road to risk people travelling into the office. They can work at home till this is sorted.”

  “That’s a shame,” Isabella said, reaching for her own cup of coffee.

  Archie shrugged. “It’s a graphic design company. Graphic designers can work at home too. Better that than risking getting hurt, isn’t it?”

  Isabella nodded. “This wouldn’t have happened in Edinburgh, would it?” she said.

  “No,” Archie said.

  Mack sighed. Loud enough so that they could hear him. “We didn’t have to move here,” he said.

  Isabella looked at him. “Oh Mack,” she said. “Of course we had to move. You know very well we couldn’t have stayed up there, not after what happened.”

  Mack shrugged. “But why Tottenham? It’s a shithole.”

  Isabella raised her eyebrows. “Language.”

  Archie put the coffee cup back down the table and fell into the black leather couch, putting a hand over his contented stomach.

  “This was the best transfer the company could get me,” Archie said. “That’s all there is to it. Tottenham was the quickest way out of Edinburgh. And besides, I never knew the bloody place was going to riot, did I?”

  Isabella poked her husband on the leg. “You mind your language too,” she said, smiling.

  Archie Walker grinned. He pulled the sleeves of his sweatshirt back and then reached out for his wife’s hand.

  “At least you’re not out there Mack,” Isabella said, taking her husband’s hand. “There’s that to be thankful for.”

  Mack nodded, inhaling the pungent aroma of coffee in the air.

  Archie looked over at his son. “What about that friend of yours?” he said. “The Sumo wrestler guy. Or whatever his name is?”

  “Sumo Dave,” Mack said. “What about him?”

  Archie pointed at the TV. “You think he’s out there?”

  “Dave?” Mack said.

  “That’s the one.”

  Mack shook his head. “Why? Because he’s black?”

  Isabella shook her head. “That’s not what your father meant.”

  “You said he was from the Broadwater Farm Estate, that’s all,” Archie said. “I was just wondering if he knew Mark Duggan.”

  “I don’t know,” Mack said. “I’ve only known him a few days.”

  “Fair enough,” Archie said.

  “You’ll need to bring him round for dinner one night,” Isabella said. “It’d be nice to meet your new friends down here.”

  Mack nodded and smiled.

  Sure Mum. I’m not stupid you know. You want to meet my friends, don’t you? To see who I’m hanging around with. Can’t blame you for that.

  “Okay,” Mack said. But he knew it would never happen.

  Mack sat back, and like his father, put a hand over his full stomach. He hadn’t seen or heard from Sumo Dave since Saturday night. Maybe Sumo Dave hadn’t taken the new boy under his wing after all. Maybe it was just for a couple of days, or maybe that grumpy fuckwit Hatchet had persuaded Sumo to drop him.

  Not that Mack needed friends. But it would be easier to know people before school started in September. He didn’t want to be that boy – the one that got picked last for every group project.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  Archie Walker was shouting at the TV again. The news had finished and now - in place of scheduled programming - a CBC documentary on the riots was showing. Archie’s reaction had coincided with a scene in which seven or eight masked youths could be seen smashing their way through the window of a newsagent in Croydon. Once they’d made the opening, the looters stormed inside, emptying the premises of its stock, mostly cigarettes and fizzy drinks.

  “That’s a great advert for the London Olympics next year,” Isabella said. She was shaking her head again.

  “Ach don’t worry,” Archie said. “It’ll blow over in a couple of days. A week or two from now, it’ll all be forgotten.”

  Isabella shivered and buttoned up the pink cardigan that she had on. She leaned towards her husband, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “It’s time the Government did something about this,” she said.

  Archie’s gaze never left the TV. The documentary was now cutting between various shots of masked gangs running rampant across the city – looting and starting fires.

  “Look at them,” he said. “They’re like a pack of wild dogs chasing a car. They’ve no idea what they’re doing.”

  Isabella nodded.

  On the other side of the room, Mack leaned forward in the armchair, his eyes never leaving the TV screen. It was as if something was pulling him, beckoning him forwards into the violent images. And it had little to do with Mark Duggan and the desire for revenge or justice or anything like tha
t. Mark Duggan was a good excuse, but he wasn’t the reason.

  ‘On every street in every city of this country there’s a nobody who dreams of being a somebody.’

  Mack recalled the tagline of his favourite movie. Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver, a film he’d seen more times than he could count.

  He sat there, half-watching the TV, half-thinking about a way to get back out there onto the streets. As he did so, he caught sight of his mother watching him over the rim of her coffee cup.

  Chapter 5

  8th August 2011

  * * *

  FIXX News Channel

  * * *

  After a brief commercial, the camera cuts back to the FIXX News studios, where veteran anchor Dan Cunningham is behind the desk. Cunningham smiles into the camera, flashing the pearly white teeth and clean-cut good looks that have made him such a favourite over the years.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: Going back to the London riots now and joining me in the studio is our very own FIXX National Security Analyst, Kit McAdam. Kit, thanks for coming in.

  * * *

  The camera cuts to a handsome middle-aged woman, sitting alongside Dan at the desk. She’s dressed in a sleek red business suit and her hair is jet black with a blue sheen.

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: My pleasure Dan.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: Now Kit, I think we’re all struggling to understand how this kind of thing can happen in a civilised city like London. I believe you have some interesting insights for us - particularly into how the rioters are communicating with one another?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Yes. There are a couple of things going on here Dan. First of all, we’ve got a bunch of out of control kids. They’re high-school age. Some of them are even primary school age – as young as ten years old. They’re a mob – it’s called a flash mob and they’re communicating with each other with mobile phones.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: They’re using mobile phones to keep each other informed of hotspots and where to go?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Right. They’re using Blackberry Messenger, as well as Facebook and Twitter to a lesser extent. They’re coming from a lot of different places and they meet up somewhere - a store or whatever - and there’s just so many of them that the police are overwhelmed. They break into stores and steal flat-screen TV’s, trainers, mobile phones and whatever else they can get their hands on.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: But what about the arson attacks? Why are they burning everything down?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Yes, well that’s the next step. It’s getting out of control, it’s escalating to a new level – there’s no social order in these communities and it’s spreading because there’s no consequence to their actions. These kids don’t think they’re going to get in trouble.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: What I want to know is – the parents?? Where are they? If your twelve-year-old child comes home with a flat screen TV one day, don’t you say – hey where’d you get that son?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: You’d think so, wouldn’t you?

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: And you mention the role of social media and technology in general. Could you talk a little more about that?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Yes Dan. Blackberry Messenger is the popular choice here when it comes to coordinating action. This is a closed system and much less of a public forum than say Twitter and Facebook, where it’s easier for authorities to access information. The thing about BBM is that it’s extremely efficient and secure. BBMs are private and encrypted during transmissions and I’m sure many of the rioters are aware of this. That’s not to say it’s completely beyond law enforcement, but it’s tough to do anything about it in the heat of the moment.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: Are Blackberry at fault here Kit?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Well, I think it’s important to remember that Blackberry didn’t design BBM with teenagers in mind. Blackberry’s original target was business people, not teenagers. And it’s important for these business people - while sending confidential information - to have security. Nobody really thought that young people would have taken to Blackberry like this, but it’s not surprising because compared to other forms of technology, it’s a cheap way to communicate.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: But you mentioned that it’s not beyond law enforcement? The authorities could still get access to these encrypted messages?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: (Sighs) It’s very complex Dan. The manufacturers of Blackberry will find it difficult to do anything here because BBM users are entitled to privacy and in order to identify criminal activity - that would involve searching messages. To do that without the proper authorisation is unlawful and could get the manufacturers into trouble.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: And what about Twitter and Facebook? Are they coordinating these riots too?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: No, I don’t think they’re as important here. Some people have tried to use Facebook to coordinate and publicise riots in various cities and towns across the UK. But it’s much easier for the authorities to clamp down on social media activities. That’s the difference between the likes of Facebook and BBM.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: And of course, we want to say that it’s not all bad. People are using Twitter and Facebook for good purposes too, aren’t they?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: That’s right Dan. Social media is also being used to coordinate and publicise for the sake of good. There are sites calling for the public to back the police and we mustn’t forget those who are trying to help the situation by organising clean-ups in their local communities.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: And even the police can use social media to their advantage, can’t they?

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: That’s right. Particularly on image-based sites such as Flickr. The police can distribute CCTV images on these sites in the hope that members of the public can identify suspects.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: I guess the message here is that we’re not blaming technology for the riots.

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: (Shaking her head) Of course not. It’s wrong to simply demonise technology and social media because of their ability to spread the riots. That’s not the problem. Social media is not the root cause of these riots. Technology is always neutral and unfortunately, that makes it all about people.

  * * *

  DAN CUNNINGHAM: Kit, as always, thank you very much. It’s nice to see you.

  * * *

  KIT MCADAM: Nice to see you too Dan.

  Chapter 6

  9th August 2011

  * * *

  Must have been a skinny fucking King.

  That was Mack’s first impression as he set foot onto the grand-sounding Kings Road. With a name like that, he’d been expecting to find something a bit special; at the very least a main road with some posh houses and flash cars parked on either side of the street. In other words, the kind of place you wouldn’t expect to see in Tottenham.

  It sure wasn’t up to much.

  Kings Road - the actual road itself - looked as if it had been squeezed in between both sides of the pavement. Such a narrow road and at best, it was a mere afterthought or balls-up in the construction process. One side of Kings Road was covered in parked cars for as far as the eye could see, taking up more space, and only contributing to the inherent claustrophobia of the place.

  Kings Road. Good joke.

  Mack walked further down the narrow street. He passed a quaint row of brown brick houses, walked under a bridge, and saw something up ahead that might have been the building he was looking for. He passed some more parked cars, his route shadowed all the way by a short stretch of wood panel fencing to the left. A couple of minutes later, he found himse
lf standing outside the austere red brick of Lancasterian Primary School.

  It was a grim looking building – an uncertain combination of flat and gable roofs, paned windows and the ubiquitous red bricks. It was like something out of a Charles Dickens novel; somewhere he could envision orphaned children being sent into a life of toil and premature misery.

  School was closed for summer and there were no signs of life behind the tall black fence that guarded the building. Mack took a look around, his eyes wandering the immediate surroundings. He could see the backs of houses from neighbouring streets. If anyone was standing at their windows, they could see him too. What would prying eyes think if they saw a teenager climbing over the fence and jumping down into the school grounds? How long until the police sirens came his way?

  Mack turned back to face the school and put his foot on the horizontal strip of metal that ran along the base of the fence. He looked to the sky and pushed his body upwards. On the first attempt, his outstretched hand missed the tip of the fence and he fell backwards onto the pavement.

  God, I hope nobody was watching that.

  Mack tried again. All he had to do was reach the tip of the fence and pull his legs over, but gaining enough distance from the ground to grab onto the top was proving difficult. He tried again. Each time he fell back onto the concrete.