I haven't really posted on here for ages, I've been active on AO3 though. Wanted to post this on here though so here this is. The first chapter of Idumea. Hope you enjoy it :)
#... Sharif don't like it… Rock The Casbah, Rock The Casbah!...#
I sip my tea at one of the white plastic tables in the canteen, singing along to the song quietly and attempting to stop myself from bobbing along to it with no avail. I always have late lunch for some reason, which means that the canteen is completely empty by the time I get in there and there is barely any of the good food left. Today's lunch consists of lumpy chicken curry and chips, followed by a burnt husk of chocolate cake which I put in the bin as soon as it got placed on my tray. A cup of watery tea which I chucked a ton of milk in accompanies this "meal", which I always wolf down at speed or if it's really gruesome I let myself go hungry and buy myself pre-packaged sandwiches from the Tesco on the way 'ome. We used to 'ave chocolate sponge and chocolate custard, pizza, and the most delicious chips you could imagine at my comp, served by large dinner ladies who looked down at you like you were weeds but fed you anyway. Mum used to cook delicious meals for the six of us at home, cottage pie, spag bol. Some of my earliest memories are of watching her cook curry in the kitchen and 'er letting me put the sultanas in. So many crafted flavours, homemade sauces and associated memories. Now I have to eat this. It was a 'uge shock, to say the least, when I tried the canteen food for the first time.
I take a bite of the chicken and swallow it down as soon as possible, grimacing at the taste and drinking my tea to try and wash it away. A smile touches my lips. The music belting out of the loud speakers 'as changed to Love Hangover by The Associates, another one I know from a teenagehood spent in my room listening to pop music that I recorded off the radio on my tape deck. All my mates loved pop music as well, 'specially Tabby, my best friend since I was 4. We used to talk and talk about it at break and lunch.
"Hey, Sharon." My smile wipes away immediately. PC Henry King, also known as "Slimy Git." By my older brother David, sidles up to the table and dumps 'imself in the slippery plastic chair opposite me, almost falling off it to my internal amusement.
"Hi, Henry." I mutter, looking down at my food to avoid looking right at 'im and taking another bite of the disgusting rot.
"So… 'ow are you?" 'e begins his normal chatter.
I look up and fix 'is eyes with a glare that Harry always says could freeze ice.
"What do you want, Henry?" I ask and take another spoonful of the curry.
"Nothin' from you right now…" 'e gives me a disgusting wink. "I was wonderin' if you'd like to go out for dinner with me tonight."
'e's asked me the same thing every lunchtime since 'e transferred from a station across the city earlier this month, which Tabby jokes happened 'cos they got too annoyed with 'im.
"No, sorry. I'm 'aving dinner with my family tonight." I reply and return to my food.
Henry huffs, scraping the chair on the floor and stomping past me, out the canteen doors and almost certainly to ask another WPC out tonight as well. 'e asks every WPC out every day and, as of yet, he ain't managed to succeed. In the female gossip circles of the station half our nattering is about how annoying the bloke is. The other half is spent admiring yet another photo of Ronan Keating, someone I 'ave no interest in whatsoever. I don't like the music 'e plays at all, which doesn't 'elp.
I leave the canteen when they start playing Take That, dumping my plate on the stack and walking through the wooden doors. I 'ave to be on the beat in 5 minutes, but my sergeant wants to see me. I knock twice.
"Come in, Granger." 'e calls and I push open 'is door.
'is office is musty, stacks of paper surround a messy desk and there are cases dating back eons lining 'is walls. 'e's an older man, grey curly hair, steely dark eyes that seem to know everything you're doing at once. 'e's a nice guy, though rather stuck in the position 'e is. He's always taken a shining to me, for reasons I don't understand. I fold my 'ands behind my back and hold my 'ead high.
"Thanks for coming, Granger." He pauses for a moment like he's remembering what on earth he wanted to see me for. "I've been told you brought in a car thief when you were on duty yesterday."
"You're welcome, and Yes, sir. He should be in the cells, 'as so-"
"And he was armed? With a screwdriver, I'm told?" He puts it to me.
"Yes, he was, sir." I say, mind wandering back to yesterday afternoon.
It was strange. I was on top of 'im and I could see the screwdriver coming towards my stomach, and I couldn't do anything about it but watch it happen. The next moment 'e'd dropped it on the concrete and I'd pushed 'im against the wall, cuffed 'im and brought 'im to the station. He'd 'ad a good grip on the thing and it had scraped my jersey, but it was like something 'e'd seen behind me had made 'im drop it. I was left with nothing, just a couple of bruises from when 'e'd tried to fight me off. Like I said, it was strange. I thought I was going to die against a wall on Garrett Street at the age of 22, but as far as I know I'm still here.
"Witnesses say he lost his grip and you arrested him, but not before he almost stabbed you with it." 'e looks me directly in the eyes.
I'm still shaken by it now, even after a night's sleep, and who wouldn't be in my situation? It's the closest I've ever come to a fate I've heard all too often from other officers and it's only by sheer luck that I survived.
"Yes, sir. That's correct."
"You're an exemplary officer, Sharon. I've observed that over the past almost 2 years since you joined us here, and this bravery at the line of duty proves it." 'e says. "With this quality of work, you'll be able to transfer to CID as soon as your probation's over."
I jump 3 feet inside. CID?! Has it really been almost 2 years since I joined the police? I'm-I'm not ready. Am I? I feel ready, but am I up to it? It's such a big thing, me a WDC?
"C-CID, sir?" I somehow manage to stutter out in amongst my shock.
"That's correct, WPC Granger." 'e smiles proudly at me.
"Sorry, sir, I don't know what to say to that!" I say after a couple of seconds to collect myself.
"Just keep up this quality of work, that's all I can ask for." 'e beams at me.
'e gets up and 'olds the door open for me, I step forward through it and just as 'e's about to shut it I say something to 'im to express my gratitude in 'im telling me this.
"Thank you, sir. You 'ave no idea 'ow much it means to me." I tell 'im. 'is face softens.
"You're very welcome." 'e says and shuts the door behind me.
I nod, pleased with myself for once and filled with excitement and 'appiness on a scale I've never felt before. I stride off down the corridor, humming Real, Real, Real under my breath as I prepare to go onto my shift, already planning on 'ow to tell Tabby this evenin'.
"Oi, shut up you lot!" David yells across the table at my two other brothers, who are currently arguing over whether Ride is better than My Bloody Valentine or vice versa.
"Sorry. You were saying, Shaz?" I sigh at James' use of 'is stupid nickname for me that 'e's had since 'e couldn't say "Sharon" as a baby. 'e sticks 'is tongue out.
"So, I was called into my sergeant's office today- "
"Oooo, did our little Ronny get into trouble?" Harry interrupts like the dickish mood 'e's in at the moment.
"Shut up." I tell 'im. "He told me that after what 'appened yesterday- "
"What 'appened yesterday, Sharon?" Dad asks. "You 'aven't been ringing as much, so we 'ave no idea." Mum nods in agreement, sucking on a breadstick.
I clear my throat. "Right, so. Yesterday I was on the beat when I saw a car thief. I ran after 'im, but it wasn't until I'd grabbed 'im that I saw that 'e 'ad a screwdriver- "
Mum lets out a horrified gasp. She drops 'er breadstick on the table, resting her hand on mine to reassure 'erself that I'm still here.
"You've got to be careful, sweetie."
"I was fine, Mum." I tell her. "'e dropped it just as it scraped my jersey, I arrested 'im and took 'im to the station." I say and take a deep breath. "It's strange though, I thought that I was going to die. It came this close- " I make a small gap with my fingers. "- But it was like… It was like 'e got distracted by somethin' behind me."
By the way Harry and James are looking at me, along with the rest of my family, I can tell immediately that I've frightened them all 'alf to death. I know my job's dangerous, it's one of the most fun things about it occasionally, but it's times like this when I wish I'd been sick when they visited my school when I was 6.
"So yeah, I got called into my sergeant's office and he told me that I was an exemplary officer and brave and if I keep up this standard of work I'll be able to transfer to CID at the end of my probation in September." I finish off quickly and look down at my lap.
Silence hangs in the room long after I finish my sentence. I've spooked everyone, none of my family wants to think about me dying in the line of duty. There is no response that anyone can say to what I've just told them, so they don't. If it was earlier the silence would feel sweet, but it's crushing me underneath the weight of their fear.
I quietly excuse myself from the table and ascend the stairs to the second floor, and finally the top floor of the 'ouse. My floor, as I'm the only one who has anything up here. Mum and Dad already had David and Harry by the time I was born and she thought to let me have the upstairs bedroom, purely so I wasn't woken up or barged in on by boys and had my own space. It was to this house they took me 'ome in early August 1973, when taste had again been thrown out the window, mum had long straight curtains of chestnut brown 'air and dad wore flares to work.
It's not changed a bit; my 2 of my brothers still live at 'ome but they know not to come up here. My flat's beginning to feel slightly more homely but coming up here feels like a warm hug. My posters of The Sundays, Saint Ettiene, Oasis and The Clash are pride of place either opposite or above my bed. The overhanging cabinet full of my records hangs over my record player and tape deck, my discarded old Walkman with the orange headphones lying next to it. My wardrobe holds dresses that are out of time but I still love, my bookshelves stuffed full of childhood favourites and a dressing table full of necklaces. The ceiling slopes but I painted a starry sky on it with Dad when I was 12, removing the old 70s mustard yellow and painting lilac on the walls. My bed has my old baby patchwork quilt that Granny made for me when I was born, beautiful shades of purple flitting across the familiar design.
I take out a mixtape from the cabinet, putting it in the tape deck and pressing play. I flop back on my bed as the song starts, I Should Be So Lucky by Kylie Minogue. It's one of the mixtapes recorded off the radio when I was about 14, when I was about to start properly studying for the new "GCSES". Or at least I think it was me. It could 'ave been Tabby, she's always liked the more poppy side of music. A wave of nostalgia flows through me as I remember those faraway times.
Tabby! I pick up the phone beside my bed, dialling her number and waiting as it rings. It takes a while for 'er to get to the thing but once she picks up, it brings me so much relief it's indescribable.
"Hello?" She says hurriedly.
"Tabby!" I exclaim, settling down on my bed.
"Oh, hello Sharon." She sounds forced. "I'm sorry, I can't talk right now. I'm about to go out for dinner with Henry."
My eyes grow to saucers. "Henry King?"
What on earth's she doing, going on a date with him? 'e's a dickhead, everyone knows that and she agrees with me. Doesn't she know what 'e's like?
"Yeah, him. He's actually a really nice guy, he just wants people to give him a chance." She explains. "I'm sorry, Sharon, I've really got to go."
"Bye, speak to you later." I mutter before she hangs up.
I slam the handset back into the cradle, walk over to the tape deck and put a different tape in so I don't 'ave to listen to Kylie any more than I 'ave to. Most of my oldest tapes and records are here, I took my favourites to the flat when I moved out. I select one recorded off the chart show in May 1982, I was 8 and the music looks bearable. The beginning of Cantonese Boy by Japan sails quietly in as I climb back on the bed, shutting my eyes as I try not to think about yesterday and letting myself absorb the music as my mind goes slowly muggy.
A flowery meadow, surrounded by a thick white mist apart from a golden spot where the flowers are colourful, the grass is luscious green and as soft as a feather bed. I'm wearing a sky-blue sundress with tied sleeves and a straw hat with a thick blue ribbon, feet bare and smile on my face. By my side is the man with the sweet smile, except this time 'is hand is in mine and 'e's laughing with me about something unknown. 'e's wearing a black and grey checked shirt and tie, his floppy hair almost as dark as my own and his eyes two different colours. I'm strangely attracted to 'im, there's something about 'im that I can feel the beginning of love for, something I'm not used to around men.
'e's saying something I can't here, but I can tell by the way 'is lips move 'is name for me is "Shazza." I would normally be inclined to tell him not to call me that, but there's something about his kind face that I can't say no to. 'e tips 'is 'ead to the side in confusion as I'm not responding. I begin to say that I can't hear 'im when I see 'is eyes change from soft and gentle to fearful as they widen to huge different-coloured orbs. Without any control from my brain I throw my arms around 'im, as I do I feel something invisible strike 'im multiple times, missing me entirely but ploughing right into him.
'e begins to sink down; I watch his clothing change into a bobby's uniform that's too big for 'im with a peaked cap that's too big for 'is 'ead. I try to keep 'im upright but it's like 'e falls right through my arms, falling to the floor as first his back then the rest of his body disintegrate into thousands upon thousands of butterflies that swirl up and above my face into the mist. I look down at my trembling 'ands, covered in deep red blood from the man that's spilled onto the green grass too. Tears begin to drip from my eyes, distorting the view of the world into a horrific red and green mess.
The meadow changes to a pitch-black room in one fell swoop, a spotlight on me but the rest of the room black apart from the circle surrounding me. I look down and I'm wearing my uniform, jersey immaculate and cravat just where it should be, instead of to the side like it always tries to go. My shoes are the same colour as the darkness surrounding me, my hands clean of all of that poor man's blood. I turn and turn, but I can't see anyone else or an exit.
"Aren't you glad you didn't suffer the same fate as him?" A voice booms around me, so loud it causes me to throw my hands over my ears as it vibrates through my body.
My eyes dart around the darkness, trying to find the source of the voice but I appear to be alone. Fear begins to build inside me, fear of a kind I've never felt before. My eyes must be frightened orbs, my hands beginning to shake again.
"What do you want from me?" I yell to the voice once the echoes have stopped, trying to make myself look taller than I am.
I can hear the voice smirk. "I just need you, Sharon Granger." It says slyly, with a hint of malice in the words.
A stabbing pain shoots through my body from my stomach, right where the screwdriver was about to go in. I gasp in pain, fire burning in my abdomen as I clamp my hands to the area and keel over, kneeling on the floor as it burns furiously inside me. Tears stream from my eyes to the floor with no sign of stopping, brought on more by the pain. It's indescribable, there are no words to describe pain as fierce as this. It's the most painful thing I've ever felt in my entire 22 years.
I take my hands away for just one moment and see that my hands are stained bright crimson red, blood running down my jersey and dripping onto the hard dark floor. I gasp at every heartbeat in my chest, feeling my hands wet with the red liquid as I find my breathing slowing down and my legs unable to support my body any longer. I fall to the floor as everything spins above me, feeling the weight of my body leave me. The darkness surrounding me is warm and welcoming.
I jerk upright, sweating with my heart pounding in my chest. running my hands through my tousled curly dark brown hair. It takes me a second to realise that it was a dream, that I'm home and my stomach ain't on fire. I check it just to make sure, but there are no blemishes there whatsoever, just a few 'airs. It felt real, it felt so undeniably real, but it wasn't. It can't be real.
I look and on the bedside table is a cup of warm milk and a note from Mum, saying that she came in and she left this for me in case I woke up in the middle of the night. I sip the warm liquid, change into an old pair of pyjamas and slip under the duvet, listening to the comforting, familiar sounds of London around me and sliding into a blissful, thankfully dreamless sleep.
This is real. This is home. I'm warm and safe and nothing can touch me here.