Читать книгу Clear: A Transparent Novel - Nicola Barker - Страница 13

Since they raised the fences (and increased the security – an average of eight men, now, most days, more, even, some especially rowdy Fridays and Saturdays) the distinction between the inner and the outer has become all the more apparent.

The Outsiders are extremely keen to maintain their veneer of indifference (are – by and large – what you might call exquisitely ‘British’ in their demeanour). They always stay firmly – decidedly – on the outer perimeter (wouldn’t consider, for a moment, actually going inside the fence, proper – What?! – that’d be like…uh…tantamount to taking a carnation off a Moonie – maybe accepting their cordial invite round to ‘afternoon tea’.)

The Outsiders often sit on the river wall, swinging their legs, having a quick fag, reading their papers. They might even – and this, I find, is ultra-duplicitious – turn their backs on Blaine and look the other way, towards the river – the Pool of London (Yeah. Maybe they’ll raise the bridge soon…Is that an original nineteenth-century schooner…? Did you actually see the harbour master before, on his little blue and white boat down there…?).

They may possibly decide to take a dispassionate (nay, smirking) interest in the nutty-seeming banners bedecking the fences (the fan letters, posters and other detritus) while casually peeking up at Blaine, every few seconds (perhaps muttering angrily, or – you never know – supportively, under their breath), like suspicious badgers blinking up into the daylight from the dark and reassuringly musky confines of their underground lair.

Sometimes the Outsiders don’t even stop at all. They walk by, but very slowly, as if out for a casual afternoon stroll (like the thought of actually stopping would be absolutely inconceivable to them.

Stop? Me?! And here? But why?).

There’s a couple of wide, concrete steps up from the embankment, on to what’s actually the ‘park’ proper (Potters Fields – a small, paltry assemblage of dusty grass and tired trees), where the perimeter fence duly kicks in. Climbing up the steps definitely denotes something. It’s a little concession. And the concession is made out of either aggression (easier to yell – and throw – from this position) or a desire to announce that you’re unintimidated by the event (I’m bloody here aren’t I?!) even if you don’t quite consider yourself a real Blaine-groupie.

Some Outsiders like to sit on these steps (mainly tramps and teenagers – once again with their backs to Blaine), like angry silverbacks in the jungle, asserting a strange mixture of (on the one hand) indifference/hostility or (on the other) intimacy/inclusion. If they’ve brought along a sleeping bag, or a bottle of wine, say (as they often do), then it’s almost like they perceive their slightly-raised selves as part of the drama. This is my show now, see? This is my life. This is me.