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Authors: Chris Beckett
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her.
“It’s not like we want to do stuff like that,” the woman told her friend.
“Of course not,” her friend agreed. “It’s the last thing we’d want to do if there was any choice in the matter.”
Soon afterwards Johnny ran into some people he knew from the factory, Ralph, Angela, Mike and a few more, who were going to get a drink. Johnny had always been a bit of a loner, a bit on the edge of things, and people like that wouldn’t normally have thought of asking him to come along, but at a time like this you stuck together.
“You coming for a jar Johnny, my old mate?” said Mike. “I think we deserve one after all that, don’t you?”
They found a big bar in the city centre and began to drink quickly, their thirst not easily quenched. And while they drank, Screen gave out more news. There would definitely be more Names, it seemed. More would be announced next week.
“Well,” grunted Ralph, who’d been near the front when the Price was paid. “I just hope they get it right when they name these Names.”
Mike looked sharply up at him.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Well, if they Named the wrong people, it would…”
Ralph’s voice tailed off. Everyone looked at him, dismayed.
“What exactly are you saying, Ralph?” asked Mike coldly.
His voice had a warning edge and he looked round significantly at everyone there to confirm that he was speaking for all of them and that he counted on all of them for support.
“You want to be careful, Ralph mate,” Mike said. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you didn’t care about Jenny Sue.”
“Yeah that’s right!” said Johnny, seeing a chance to establish himself. “You want to watch what you’re saying, Ralph. If we don’t go after the bastards that let her die, that poor little girl will have died for nothing.”
Ralph looked a bit scared.
“Of course I care about Jenny Sue,” he said indignantly. “I’d lay down my own life if it would bring her back.”
“Oh that’s a lovely thing to say,” exclaimed Angela, who liked to make the peace.
“And anyone who let her die,” Ralph went on, “deserves everything they get.”
Mike was mollified. He reached out and warmly grasped his friend’s hand.
“That’s better, Ralph my old mate. That’s the good old Ralph we know.”
But here’s the funny bit of the story. When Johnny was staggering home with seven pints inside him, he ran into six big blokes with shaven heads, stripy tops and cudgels in their hands. They came straight at him and he tried to run but he just couldn’t manage it with all that beer in him.
“Steady! Steady!” they told him, laughing as he wriggled and squirmed in the grip of two of them.
There was a law man over the other side of the street and he was laughing too. And even Johnny gave a rueful smile, because of course he knew these blokes were government men and were only doing their job.
“You don’t need me to tell you who we are do you, son?” asked the chief of them, a great neckless barrel of a man.
“No you don’t, mate,” Johnny said. “I know who you are. You’re the press gang and it looks like you’ve got me fair and square.”
“That’s right, mate,” said their leader. “We’re the press gang all right, and my name’s Bobby Grab.”
He put on his special electric glasses and reached out his fat hand so that Johnny could give him his government card.
“Johnny,” Bobby Grab read out, “Johnny Jones. Works in the blanket factory for two hundred crowns a week. Well this is your lucky day, Johnny Jones, because in this job we’ve got lined up for you, they’ll pay you twice that.”
“Oh,” said Johnny, very surprised, “so what service is that?”
“The Welfare, mate. They’ve had a bit of a recruitment problem lately for some reason, so they’ve had to get us on the job. Which means you’re pressed mate. Five years national service in Welfare. Could be the making of you.”
Johnny’s
“It’s not like we want to do stuff like that,” the woman told her friend.
“Of course not,” her friend agreed. “It’s the last thing we’d want to do if there was any choice in the matter.”
Soon afterwards Johnny ran into some people he knew from the factory, Ralph, Angela, Mike and a few more, who were going to get a drink. Johnny had always been a bit of a loner, a bit on the edge of things, and people like that wouldn’t normally have thought of asking him to come along, but at a time like this you stuck together.
“You coming for a jar Johnny, my old mate?” said Mike. “I think we deserve one after all that, don’t you?”
They found a big bar in the city centre and began to drink quickly, their thirst not easily quenched. And while they drank, Screen gave out more news. There would definitely be more Names, it seemed. More would be announced next week.
“Well,” grunted Ralph, who’d been near the front when the Price was paid. “I just hope they get it right when they name these Names.”
Mike looked sharply up at him.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Well, if they Named the wrong people, it would…”
Ralph’s voice tailed off. Everyone looked at him, dismayed.
“What exactly are you saying, Ralph?” asked Mike coldly.
His voice had a warning edge and he looked round significantly at everyone there to confirm that he was speaking for all of them and that he counted on all of them for support.
“You want to be careful, Ralph mate,” Mike said. “If I didn’t know you better I’d think you didn’t care about Jenny Sue.”
“Yeah that’s right!” said Johnny, seeing a chance to establish himself. “You want to watch what you’re saying, Ralph. If we don’t go after the bastards that let her die, that poor little girl will have died for nothing.”
Ralph looked a bit scared.
“Of course I care about Jenny Sue,” he said indignantly. “I’d lay down my own life if it would bring her back.”
“Oh that’s a lovely thing to say,” exclaimed Angela, who liked to make the peace.
“And anyone who let her die,” Ralph went on, “deserves everything they get.”
Mike was mollified. He reached out and warmly grasped his friend’s hand.
“That’s better, Ralph my old mate. That’s the good old Ralph we know.”
But here’s the funny bit of the story. When Johnny was staggering home with seven pints inside him, he ran into six big blokes with shaven heads, stripy tops and cudgels in their hands. They came straight at him and he tried to run but he just couldn’t manage it with all that beer in him.
“Steady! Steady!” they told him, laughing as he wriggled and squirmed in the grip of two of them.
There was a law man over the other side of the street and he was laughing too. And even Johnny gave a rueful smile, because of course he knew these blokes were government men and were only doing their job.
“You don’t need me to tell you who we are do you, son?” asked the chief of them, a great neckless barrel of a man.
“No you don’t, mate,” Johnny said. “I know who you are. You’re the press gang and it looks like you’ve got me fair and square.”
“That’s right, mate,” said their leader. “We’re the press gang all right, and my name’s Bobby Grab.”
He put on his special electric glasses and reached out his fat hand so that Johnny could give him his government card.
“Johnny,” Bobby Grab read out, “Johnny Jones. Works in the blanket factory for two hundred crowns a week. Well this is your lucky day, Johnny Jones, because in this job we’ve got lined up for you, they’ll pay you twice that.”
“Oh,” said Johnny, very surprised, “so what service is that?”
“The Welfare, mate. They’ve had a bit of a recruitment problem lately for some reason, so they’ve had to get us on the job. Which means you’re pressed mate. Five years national service in Welfare. Could be the making of you.”
Johnny’s
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