The Jack Hansard Series: Season Two

Episode 10.4

When I awoke, it was to a nicely blazing fire held in a dustbin, and I was covered in a mountain of blankets. Chill morning air grazed the many scrapes I'd picked up during the night.

A group of knockers in a strange variety of attire were making cups of tea round the fire. Old-timey Victorian waistcoats clashed with fluorescent hi-vis wear.

'How long was I asleep?' I asked. The words only just made it out. My lips were cracked and dry.

A knocker passed me a cup. 'About two days, I reckons,' he said.

'What?' I pushed myself into a sitting position. 'It can't have been that long.'

A police siren shrieked down a nearby street. Tea sploshed over the edge of my cup.

'That ain't fer us,' the knocker said, turning back to poke the fire. 'Been left alone, we have.'

As I rested my head back – it seemed I'd been laid at the foot of a concrete pillar – it knocked into a string of plastic fairy lights. They'd been looped all around the column. Shapes of stars and hearts and flowers.

'Done our best to cheer the place up,' my new knocker friend told me. 'Least we could do to thank Minty.'

There were two more pillars to my right, similarly adorned, which held up what remained of the bus station's roof. It made for a kind of L-shaped canopy, with a wall sheltering the open side from the road, creating a courtyard effect where the knockers were brewing their tea.

In the far shadows by the last pillar, a mound of candles burned steadily. The knocker followed my gaze.

'Fer them we lost,' he said quietly. 'Their souls light the darkness no more.'

A figure detached from the candle shrine and donned a flat cap. I sagged with relief as Ang's craggy features came into view.

Her face was lined more deeply than I remembered. Her eyes seemed heavier.

'Mornin', gwas. Good t'see ye've come round.'

I rolled over a few responses on my tongue. There was really only one appropriate one. 'Listen, Ang. I'm sorry–'

'It's done,' she interrupted. She sat in the pile of blankets next to me, arms folded across her shirt. Blood stains were still smeared across it – mine, I realised. Her waistcoat was wholly absent. But then, it was probably unsalvageable after she'd used it to staunch my wound.

'I regret betraying a friend,' I said to my feet. 'Especially knowing you would've still had my back, if I hadn't.'

'Why'd ye do it?' she said wearily.

'Ego, I think.'

She snorted. 'That thing'll get ye killed.' It became a rueful chuckle. 'Still, am grateful yer ego led you back to savin' me own life, back there.'

'That was a selfless act!'

'Ye don't know the meanin' of the word.' She gave me a light shove. 'Yer a good man, Hansard.'

'I could be better.' I hoped to draw a smile, but Ang rested her chin on her knees and stared listlessly at the fire. 'Why so down? We finally did it, Ang. Well, you did it. Rescued your kin. Everyone's safe now, right?'

'Aye,' she said. 'Them's that made it out.'

This triggered a foggy memory. Something about a cloud of bluecaps. Had I been dreaming, in that space between being shot and waking up?

'How many were lost?' I asked.

'Too many.' She huddled in on herself. 'My mother's bluecap were one.'