The Memory Keepers by Ngan Natasha

Author:Ngan, Natasha [Ngan, Natasha]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781471401558
Publisher: Hot Key Books
Published: 2014-09-03T22:00:00+00:00

45

SEVEN

Despite everything that had happened, Seven felt weirdly happy that morning when he woke.

He didn’t try convincing himself that last night had all been a dream. He didn’t groan at the thought of having to see Alba again. He just stumbled out of bed, head groggy from tiredness, pulling on his tattered grey shirt and blue trousers before heading out of the flat, a twisted little smile dancing on his lips.

Yes, his life was a mess. But for the first time ever, he had someone to share that mess with.

Seven headed through Vauxhall to Clapham Road. The street was busy with traffic. Glaring grey light from the overcast day glanced off the metal shells of cars and motorbikes and lorries, the blare of their horns and grumbling engines loud in the fume-clogged air.

Digging in his trouser pocket, Seven pulled out the few coins he had. He bit back a curse. As always, it was less than he’d thought; even though he’d been poor his whole life, he still half hoped some sort of miracle would happen and he’d suddenly discover a giant pot of gold tucked down the front of his pants. But his last payment from Carpenter for stealing Alastair White’s skid had gone almost entirely on rent, and there was barely any left.

Seven’s stomach let out a growl.

‘I know,’ he said sadly, patting it. ‘Trust me, I know.’

He followed the road towards the Overground track that cut through at Clapham North. Most of the old railway lines had been removed for new buildings, but like so much of South the regeneration work was often abandoned due to lack of government funding. Seven didn’t mind though. As with the ancient Battersea Power Station, Southers had appropriated the space for their own use. He liked the market that had sprung up along the disused tracks here. It was busy and noisy: perfect conditions for thieving.

At the bridge over the tracks, Seven jumped the low brick wall and went down the grassy bank onto the railway line. Amid the tangled foliage that carpeted the metal tracks in greens and browns, hundreds of market stands and hawker stalls had been set up. They ran down the centre of the disused line in a colourful display of flapping awnings and signs. His stomach growled louder at the food smells wafting up from cookers in thick clouds of steam.

‘Two for a pound,’ called out a stall-owner, catching Seven eyeing her melons (the fruit kind, he might add).

Ducking his head, he moved on through the busy crowds.

The trouble with stealing from Southers was that they expected it. That’s why Seven often took food from his skid-thieving jobs in North to keep him going. Northers left their food out, not a care in the world. In South you were considered a prince if you weren’t so starving you could actually save food for later.

After a few minutes browsing the market, Seven found what he was looking for. A stall selling freshly made pastries and breads was wedged in on one side by a gnarled old oak.

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