The Crossing

By Theo Berry

It’s nearly 18 years since Britain crashed out of the European Union and it is more divided than ever: politically, culturally and racially. But people don’t change; they still live, laugh and love – especially teenagers. And in a story as old as time, these divisions are about to be tested as Julia and Dom cross paths and hearts in post-Brexit Bristol. But which of them will manage to make the crossing to bridge the divide between them?

For fans of Noughts and Crosses, Daz 4 Zoe, and, most of all, Romeo and Juliet, this is tale of risk and romance for the eternal teenager.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Theo Berry
• Release date: Dec 31, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370415489

Theo Berry

A former music journalist, turned English teacher, I lived in 00Bristol between 2000 and 20008, then again between 2011 and 2017. This novel is my first and a response to the referendum result in 2016.

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The Crossing © Theo Berry 2017

The Crossing

By Theo Berry

Copyright Theo Berry 2017

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Chapter 1 - Julia

The stars are out; the big dipper shimmering in the placid water of the Avon river. A moonless night – perfect for a clandestine crossing.

It might be August but I’m chilly, crouching here underneath the railway line to Temple Meads – there’s a breeze coming off the water. But we’ve got to wait.

There’s a hum in the air and I tense – perhaps this is the boat. Benji must have heard it too, because I sense him stir and we both turn to look at Dr Nurser. Before she’s even shaken her head I’ve identified the sound as just another sentry drone. It buzzes harmlessly past, like the four before it. It’s the border patrol boat we’re waiting for.

How long? I hiss. This is my first crossing and my guts are so stitched up I don’t know if I’m excited or nervous. Probably both.

Dr Nurser replies as she always does. Patience. As if we were in the lab at school waiting for a reaction to occur and not shivering under a bridge in Sea Mills about to smuggle ourselves and some extremely expensive equipment across the river into England.

The time drags.

Then I hear it. The thrum of a motor, the splash of the wake waves breaking on the banks, and then the beam of the searchlight comes probing up the bank opposite, like a blind man’s cane feeling its way along. As one, the three of us shrink back into the shadows on the landward side of the bridge, just as the light streaks across the railway and dips into the underpass.

The UN patrol timetable Samia paid for was right. Or has been so far.

Benji starts to move but Dr Nurser puts a hand on his shoulder. Patience.

Logically I get it – wait until the boat is so far down the light can’t possibly reach back to us – but I’m eager to start out too. This is what we’ve been building up to for months and it’ll make a real impact. One big risk to negate the need for lots of smaller ones. If we can get these machines over to the underground NHS they’ll be able to make their own retro-viral drugs and won’t need to rely on our drone drops. I tell myself it’s the thrill of saving lives that’s got me excited, but who am I kidding? I want the adventure. Plus, after spending my whole life staring at England from the Bristol side of the river I’m keen to finally set foot on it.

None of this seems to bother Nurser. She’s one fearless female.

Okay, she says after what seems like an age. Let’s go.

Slowly we sneak down the rickety ladder to the canoe moored in the tiny Sea Mills harbour out of sight of the river. The machines are already stowed but we hid ourselves in case the patrol boat bothered to nose its way into the harbour. We’ve been rehearsing rowing on the Avon canal for weeks, so with practised ease we grab the paddles and ease out onto the river. Hugging the Bristol bank, deep in the shadows, hidden from the road, we slip as silently as possible up river.

There’s barely any light pollution, so the river is a sparkly road, glistening in the star light, snaking between the black humps of the Avon gorge. It’s uncanny, but the stars on the surface of the river stay forever ahead of us, almost as if we weren’t moving. I panic for a second, fearing I will be eternally trapped on the river, but a sudden change of direction as Nurser lets her paddle drag brings me back to myself. Benji and I up the pace, driving in the paddles with firmer strokes to get us across the current and quickly to the Leigh Woods side. We’re aiming for a small culvert under the river wall where we can pull the canoe through, but in the pitch black we can’t see a thing and we daren’t use a torch.

Suddenly there’s a buzz behind us – a sentry drone!

Benji and I strike harder and the bottom of the canoe scrapes the mud underneath, as Dr Nurser swings us alongside the far bank. The buzz increases. There’s nothing we can do. We have to trust Samia’s hack will work. Either it does, and the drone will relay back last night’s broadcast, or it won’t and we’ll be spotted… but hopefully the UN won’t be able to get to us before we make it across. My heart is in my throat as the drone hums past us…

We move on.

The tinkle of water trickling over rocks reaches us. If we can’t find our way to the culvert in the moonless gloom, maybe our ears can lead us there.

Sure enough, seconds later, as the sounds swells, flickers of white water and the dull glow of the stones in the archway become faintly visible. Fighting the current we pull alongside, paddling just past the stream, then Dr Nurser hurls the anchor onto the bank and jumps out clutching a rope. Within thirty seconds we’ve secured the canoe to the bank and I begin reaching for the gear.

There’s no way in this darkness Dr Nurser can see me, but I hear her hiss, patience! That woman has a sixth sense – I shouldn’t be surprised: she always knows when we’re checking our portals under the desks.

No sudden moves. If we drop anything this will all have been for nothing.

But the next patrol boat is in six minutes! comes Benji’s urgent reply.

More haste less speed. Right, the microprocessor first – as we practised. Julia take your end.

Once we’d convinced Nurser to let us come she made Benji and I practise moving similar shaped packages blindfolded. We’d practised in the lab first, but then she’d made us do it out on the canal, to get used to the rocking of the canoe. We’d both ended up in the water several times. We must have looked like right pair of goves to anyone who’d seen us.

Now I’m struggling with a heavy, expensive and vitally important piece of precision machinery on a slippery river bank at two am in the pitch darkness, I totally understand why she made us practise.

The three machines unloaded, we sneak back for the canoe. Gripping the edge, we heave it onto the bank, Benji letting out a stifled yelp as it bangs his shin. The sound echoes back off the cliffs and we all freeze, my fear running up my spine in a flush of heat.

Carefully, aware more than ever that sounds carry, we try to ease the canoe up the bank, each scrape on a stone seeming to scream out our presence on the enemy shore. Then comes an even less welcome sound.

The thrum of the patrol boat.

The trees to our right are silhouetted by the search light. We redouble our efforts to haul our craft over stream and stones. In the rush I go down in the stream, the freezing water soaking my leggings and shirt. But I’m up and pulling in an instant. The shadows shorten and the sound of the engine reverberates. At least the noise of the boat covers the sounds we’re making. With Benji pulling the rope, Nurser pushing and me walking alongside we just scrape – literally – through the culvert with seconds to spare. The searchlight illuminates the stream where I fell moments before. We’ve no time to hide as the boat passes – if they shine their light into the culvert we’ll be lit up like the Christmas tree on College Green… but they don’t.

Shaking with relief I help finish wrestling the canoe out of sight, before we all slump to the ground with relief. I realise Nurser must have been as terrified as we were, even though none of her fear showed – and I realise I respect her even more now than when I thought she was fearless.

Then the enormity of where we are and what we’ve done hits me, and my head starts proper spinning. We’re on enemy territory and if we’re caught here – especially if I am caught here – the shit will really hit the fan… and that’s the best case scenario. The worst doesn’t bear thinking about. It’ll be like the stories my Dad tells about the flight from Exeter.

I jump up and grab for a package, desperate to be moving, to be completing our mission, so we can get back. I am flooded with fear. Regret soaks through me like the water in my clothes. My former enthusiasm for crossing the river has evaporated the moment the potential future became my present reality.

As usual Nurser puts the brakes on.

Patience, she whispers. Then seeming to know what I need, wraps me in a hug. To my shame, I feel like I want to cry and bury myself into her shoulder, proper shaking. The weirdness of hugging my Chemistry teacher brings me back to myself. Though I guess we left the normal student teacher relationship behind ages ago. We’re co-conspirators now.

I break away and rub my hands to try to get warm.

Somebody’s coming, Benji hisses.

Nurser emits a tuneful whistle – I know she’s imitating a nightingale, though only because I know it’s a prearranged signal. I couldn’t tell a nightingale from a lark. An answering tune comes back. It’s the NHS.

We hear footsteps coming closer then, as three shadows slowly resolve themselves from the deeper shadows of the woods, a low voice says Welcome to England.

Chapter 2 - Dom

Really Dominic, I can’t comprehend why your father makes you do these ridiculous tours. I mean really, what’s the bloody point?

Tyler’s said this to me so many times over the past three years, I’m beginning to wonder whether he means it, or if it’s some sort of test. Has my father put him up to this? Is he testing my ability to stick to the party line, to remain loyal? Knowing my father, it’s the kind of thing he’d do. I want to tell Tyler that if he doesn’t want to be here he can bugger off back to his polo ponies. But I don’t. As it happens I happen to agree with father’s officially sanctioned response, so I give it again.

The EU import and export tariffs hurt decent, hard-working people – they need these handouts or their farms and businesses will go under. The country can’t afford that – we don’t produce enough food as it is.

Lazy buggers. They wouldn’t know what hard work is. They’ll just waste it on beer and cigarettes as always.

I bite back a reply. At twenty one, Tyler has never worked in his life. Plus, a good twenty percent of our family’s share portfolio is invested in brewing companies: if people didn’t buy beer his lifestyle would be a lot less lavish. I’d love to say this but I’d be wasting my breath, and it’s exactly the kind of sentiment Father would frown upon me stating even in private, even if he must agree with me himself or I wouldn’t be here.

Anyway, Tyler continues, Can’t he get some lackeys to dole it out? I can’t understand why we have to tramp around these godforsaken corners of the country giving the same old speech. Paris must be quite annoyed at not having you with her in Winchester this summer.

I’m quite pleased to be away from Paris actually. She’s nice enough but this pressure to