Thacker - Lingua Franca

WILLIAM THACKER

Legend Press Ltd, 175-185 Grays Inn Road, London, WC1X 8UE

Contents William Thacker 2016

The right of the above author to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.

Print ISBN 978-1-7850797-4-0

Ebook ISBN 978-1-7850797-5-7

Set in Times. Printed in the United Kingdom by Clays Ltd.

Cover design by The Chase agency | www.thechase.co.uk

All characters, other than those clearly in the public domain, and place names, other than those well-established such as towns and cities, are fictitious and any resemblance is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher. Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

Author and scriptwriter William Thacker was born in London in 1986. His debut novel, Charm Offensive, was published by Legend Press in 2014. As a screenwriter, William co-wrote the short film, Full Time, winner of the Best Film award at the 2014 Shanghai International Film Festival. He is also the co-writer behind Steven, a feature-length Morrissey biopic currently in development.

Lingua Franca is Williams second novel.

Visit William at
thrilliam.co.uk

or on Twitter
@ThrillWhacker

Shortly is an excellent word. It can mean whatever you want it to mean. A member of our team will get back to you shortly. When exactly? Shortly. Imminent is too much. An imminent announcement. Imminent death. Maybe if your death were due shortly, you wouldnt mind so much. I like shortly. There are three words that should never have made it into English. The first is moist. It sounds bad in any context. The second is phlegm. Just because. And third, worst of all, is flaccid. Flaccid should go. Flaccid should do one.

Can anyone hear me? Hello?

At the same time, there are words which ought to be used more. Like ought. Flummox is cool. Hubbub is great. Genteel. Marigold. Curmudgeon. Lackadaisical? Too much. Rigmarole is a weird one. Have I been put through a rigmarole? I think I have.

Hello? Its Miles Platting! Anyone there?

I can still remember the important things. I know I made a point of waving my arms an SOS signal long in advance of getting hit. I was standing there, a lone man on an island, under a deluge. It seemed to happen in an instant; I opened my eyes and couldnt tell what was water and what was blood. We had a fortress, a town-within-a-town, and then it happened. The sea punished us for having built with cheap plywood. All around me theres junk from the unit base: broken teapots and furniture legs, corrugated iron and splintered wood. Im surrounded by objects that have no place underground: a garden gnome, porcelain rabbits. Theres a kettle with its spout missing, a car boot sale gone wrong. Words come into my head for no reason, words like rigmarole. Most of the time, I dont really think of anything. I think of Kendal, and then I have to think of something else.

The escape plan is weather-dependent. If the rain loosens up the rocks, Ill reach up and climb my way out. The extent of my movement is limited to looking left or right. Im on a live TV pause. To keep myself entertained Ive taken to counting woodlice. One woodlouse two woodlice I should think of a name for the slug crawling next to my shoulder. Bertie, perhaps. Bertie the slug. A slug isnt a great name for a living creature. It should be something more onomatopoeic: a slimer.

I get a sense that someones a few feet above my head, picking their way through the rocks. All I can rely on is the searchlight, which does its best to shine upon tin cans and clothes pegs. Every object except me. I can see its movement on the rocks it snakes in and out of each gap except the one in which Im stuck. I find myself cursing whoevers in charge of the light, and wishing they would give it to someone else.

Im down here! Miles Platting!

The light no longer shines. I can just about manage a bad-tempered wheeze, the slow pull of an accordion that stretches all my limbs. It adjusts my body so that Im now facing the slime of a rock, something Id spent hours getting away from. Above ground, theyll reconvene at what remains of the unit base. If Nigels around, hell reproach them for not having better planning procedures. Theyll talk about the logistical difficulties in moving all the rubble. Theyll analyse historical case studies that suggest Im already dead. They might even place a stone on top of me. They ought to keep searching until Ive run out of air bubbles, or my stomachs finished eating itself. I might have become a sensation, a running media story with everyone asking where Ive gone and whether Ill be found. Ill be a hero on the basis of my existence. Or maybe no one will care. What if no one cares? What if there arent any cameras? It would be a shame if no one organised a night-time vigil or a pray for Miles campaign. There is a process in the event of my death. There is a prepared statement, which expresses shock at the sudden manner of my passing. It urges caution, since the police need time to conduct an investigation. There will be a media strategy designed to maximise the goodwill of the nation. Lingua Franca will be closed the next day; a minutes silence will be staged. The statement will conclude that murder has no place in a modern society, or indeed an ancient one. Nothing will stop Lingua Franca from exacting its duties. Our determination to carry on is unshakeable. A decision about Miles Plattings successor will be made in due course.

Something drops in a heap: a coil of rope. The sound of a drill comes next. From my angle, which amounts to a gap in the ceiling, I can see a couple of men in fluorescent jackets with torches on their heads.

Hello! Im down here! Im Miles Platting!

I can see one of them put a finger to their lips like Im going to cause an avalanche. Their method is to remove one rock at a time. One of them snips the tangled metal with a pair of cutters. The other is attached to a bungee harness; he descends until I can almost touch him. I lift my arms like a baby in a high chair, waiting for him to carry me free. Thank you!

He looks at me and says nothing. What a pro! I cling to him. I say what a nightmare its been, how Ive been stuck here for god-knows-how-long with nothing to do but lick the rainwater and talk to slugs. I cut up my leg and I probably have blood running down my shin. Nothings broken, I think. I fell from the front of the boat and I must have landed before everything came down on me; I feel entombed, almost. Apart from that, Id like to know if the Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been resolved, and who won the Ryder Cup. He smiles at my questions but gives no answer. He yanks on his rope and we rise together. Im leaving behind the underworld. So long, twisted metal. Arrividerci, jagged rocks. Ill miss you, Bertie. Above me, I can see rescue helmets and thick, grey cloud. Then suddenly Im out into the half-light. I blink and splutter like someones turned on a light and woken me up. I wince, which is the most comfortable thing to do. There are ambulance staff and a crowd of people Ive never seen they see that Im standing upright and they clap their hands. Im released from the belt and held in place. I dont have much strength in my legs the baby is learning to walk. Im guided down the pebble verge. Someone puts a towel over my shoulders. All around me theres strewn clothes and litter. I can see broken porcelain which probably comes from our kitchen sink. I recognise the portable toilet in its new context: floating in the sea. Dotted along the shoreline I can see red and yellow metal sheets the fragments of each shipping container. The table tennis table is broken. Most of the sleeping pods have been wrecked completely. A mess is what it is.