Jewel Of The Midlands

The next day.

On the motorway south of Birmingham, England.

The drive to Wales was a lot longer than Gemma expected, partly from a load of road closures and partly from the anxiety. Kevin did his best to stay calm about the situation, but she got the impression he was a bit anxious as well. She’d hounded him about two hours in as to whether he had somewhere to be, some sort of class, or work, plans? He swore it was nothing. He’d wiped his diary clean for this.

“Hmm. Kevin, I worry you’re a loser.”

Kevin smiled. “I’m new here! I don’t have many local friends. Is it that surprising that I’d have a whole day free? I feel like even people with friends have whole days free.”

“I suppose,” she said dubiously. “Who are these friends?” She was squirming in her seat, the seatbelt chafing, her muscles all sore for some reason.

“Well, there’s the other people who work at the bar.”

“Those are your co-workers. They’re not friends. They’ll drop you in a heartbeat the moment they find a new job.”

“Okay… well, there’s David from my program. Him and I get along pretty well. He’s come over once or twice.”

“Classmate,” Gemma interjected. Kevin sighed impatiently.

“These are the only two things I do, Gemma. I work and I go to school.” Gemma made an ‘ick’ noise and shuddered.

“Christ, don’t say ‘go to school,’ you make me feel like a cradle snatcher.”

He stared straight ahead. She looked over at him, then out the windscreen. They were once again stuck in a massive tailback, this time somewhere near Banbury. Gemma shook her head again. “We should’ve been in Birmingham by now.”

“I guess this is why everyone takes the train,” Kevin added unhelpfully.

“Do they,” Gemma erupted. “Why’s there so much bloody traffic then, Kevin?!”

It fell quiet between them. Rain pattered against the roof of Kevin’s tiny blue Vauxhall Corsa. Gemma squirmed and rubbed her shoulder. The seatbelt slid back and forth across the skin on her shoulder every time she squirmed, leaving it a bit raw. Kevin sat in the driver’s seat stiff as a board, hands at 10 and 2 on the wheel. They could train a self-driving cab off him. Bloody algorithmic precision, including the shit-tier banter. You’d pay it extra if it would agree to let you out early and release you from the misery.

“What’s a cradle snatcher? Is that like, a kidnapper?” Kevin’s eyes scanned over to Gemma curiously. The boy was never above asking what something meant. Americans and their total lack of shame.

“It’s when an… forget it.” Gemma, on the other hand.

“It’s when a what?”

She scratched at her seatbelt burn and demurred. He looked over at her, since they were fully stopped at this point.

“Come on,” he insisted. “We’ve got nowhere to be.”

“You’d call it a… ‘cooo-gerrrrr’,” she exaggerated in his accent for maximum effect.

“Ohhh. Oh! I mean. Was I flirting? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, it’s fine, we can move swiftly on.” She made a quick little sweep gesture with her hand then stared out the side window.

“Were you?”

“Swiftly on!”

Kevin grimaced, then resumed his stoic motoring protocol. Gemma exhaled through pursed lips and rolled her head around. Not even to fucking Birmingham yet.

Another hour or so passed before they finally had to pull over for a charge near Walsall, north of Birmingham. Kevin leapt out and immediately ran to the pumps, with the swiftness of a man with a lot going on.

Gemma’s body was in shambles. She grumpily popped the door open and got out, then tried to find the sweet spot where she could have a good stretch without somehow ruining the next two days of her life by making it worse. She threw her arms in the air, spread her legs a bit, grabbed one wrist with the other and slowly pulled her arm. The relief came, a warmth radiating through her muscles, the pain subsiding. “Oh Christ that’s good,” she whispered to herself as she bent forward, stretching down toward her toes.

Her orgasmic stretch session was interrupted by Kevin, who needed to cover off some critical Trip Logistics. She frowned and whimpered like a puppy.

They’d set out at 10am, Kevin said, planning to get there by around 5 p.m. at the latest, getting Kevin back into London by 10-11 p.m. that night. It was now 2:30 p.m. and they hadn’t even made it half way. Not only was he never getting back to London tonight, the jury was out on whether they’d even make it to Trawsfynydd.

Gemma snickered. Kevin looked agitated as he asked, “What?”

“Mate, don’t try to pronounce it. I just don’t think you have it in you.”

“How is it pronounced?”

Gemma just laughed and rolled her eyes. “Anyway.”

“Tell me, so I’ll learn. Do you know?” He had an earnestness in these moments that she found so sweet. But outwardly, she could only cackle.

“Yes?” She hit him with the classic indignation. How dare he?

“Well?”

Gemma blanked him.

He studied her closely, leaning in a bit. Finally he shook his head. “You don’t know.”

“Course I don’t bloody know. You ever hear me saying it?”

Kevin’s eyes darted up and around. “No, I guess I haven’t.” She smiled and patted his cheek in what an observer might find to be a condescending manner.

“Just for that, you’re paying for the charge.” She smirked and walked away, going back to her stretching. Kevin stared down at the lead sticking out of his car. He looked at the screen on the pump, currently set to ‘PREMIUM CHARGE: £2.00/KWH’. He winced and tapped ‘BASIC CHARGE: 50p/KWH’. The estimated time remaining changed from 15 minutes to nearly 4 hours.

“This’ll be a while,” he shouted over to her. “Must’ve been really dead.” Gemma moaned obnoxiously.

They locked up the car, leaving it to rest while they wandered the streets of Walsall. Almost immediately Kevin had started taking photos with his phone. A post box. A derelict Wimpy’s. A bin. It all fascinated him. Gemma kept getting a wider and wider lead on him as she poked mindlessly at her phone, ignoring her surroundings, trying to figure out if they were near a pub where they could get some food and a couple of pints.

She finally got fed up when she noticed him on the other side of the road from her.

“Kevin, mate, you have to keep up.” He looked up from what were presumably a bunch of photos of Keep Left signs.

“Sorry, I’ve never been anywhere in England except for London.”

She scoffed. “Welcome to Walsall, jewel of the West Midlands. They got a big Tesco in like 2009 and they’re still riding that high. Think the Queen came up to unveil it.” Casting her eyes around, all she could see was the same terraced housing, flat brick new-builds mixed with crumbling Victorian facades and paved-over gardens you find literally anywhere in England. Poor kid. Imagine finding this even the least bit fascinating. This cultural wasteland.

Kevin smiled as he finally joined her on her side of the street. “I enjoy it. I know you’ve probably seen it all your whole life. I know I wouldn’t find it interesting giving a tour of the suburbs of Cincinnati.”

She sighed. “Sorry, no you’re right. There are some hidden gems here. I know a great spot on the high street to get our mobiles stolen.”

“Where?”

She had a crazed look in her eye. But he was still being so bloody earnest. It was shorting out her brain. She put her hand gently on his elbow to lead him. “Come on love, let’s find a pub.”

It was a long, grim walk. Gemma had explained they could catch a bus into the city centre, but quickly gave up after they passed the third bus stop with signs explaining that it was no longer in use. They passed a large park full of open green space and a handful of beautiful Ash trees. She pictured herself with a few pint cans, sat under a tree in the shade, shielded from the breeze by a thin cardigan. But the park was completely full of tents, temporary fencing all around the outer edge, with some government signage about something or other, asking people not to enter.

Kevin seemed to avert his gaze as he passed it and made no comment, instead just looking down at his phone. Gemma stopped and looked in. She could hear the chatter and goings-on of what sounded like dozens of people. A whole community, just living on the green. Washing was hung out to dry near to where she stood, just on the other side of the fencing. She made eye contact with a young girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old. Gemma put her hand up cautiously and waggled her fingers in a wave. The girl gave a huge wave back in return, her face lit up with a big smile.

She looked up and down the park. There were so many tents, so many people. She turned around and looked down a nearby street. It, too had the temporary fencing, this time blocking the road itself. Beyond it, more rows of tents. Neatly organised and spaced. All pushed right up to the fronts of the rows of terraced homes. Were people living in those as well? How did that work, she wondered? She knew of a few parts of Central London that were essentially no-go zones, but she’d never really known what it was like elsewhere. She’d never really thought about it.

A hand landed on her shoulder. “Hey!” She jolted, horror-struck, bringing one hand up to free her shoulder and the other thrusting straight out ahead of her to push whoever it was back. “Holy shit!” Kevin shouted and jumped back a step.

Gemma was in a full panic. “Jesus fucking Christ! Kevin, don’t do that!” He put his arm around her waist and started to walk her forward. She protested. “What the hell!”

“We need to go, it’s not safe.” His voice was soft, but stern.

She nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

A short walk away was The Pig & Whistle, which Kevin said was described in reviews as having a “laid back vibe” and “all your favorites on tap.” (She could just hear the missing ‘u’ in favourite when he said it.) They slid into a booth to one side. She spied the two most common cask ales in the country, so that bit seemed right. The vibe was less laid back and more stereotypically depressing, as loads of men sat quietly in front of fruit machines, gambling away with their pints in hand, ignoring each other.

Kevin popped up at the table with a couple pints of Carling, unprompted. Gemma smiled.

“You’re back in the good books, Kevin.” A clink and a sip, then she collapsed backwards into her side of the booth. “This town’s a bit shit yeah?”

“Those camps, full of illegals. I’m surprised they allow it to get this bad.”

Gemma shook her head in disbelief. “Kevin. ‘Illegals’? Really?” Severe disappointment rose up from deep within her. Never had she gotten the ‘ick’ so quickly from someone she’d otherwise liked so much.

“Sorry.” He looked instantly regretful. “I don’t mean, you know. Illegal immigrants. They’re just all probably dodging the work camps.” Gemma just stared at him from behind her pint on the table. He cleared his throat. “The… envelope. You know how that all works.”

She pulled a face and shook her head, then put her lips on the rim of her glass and stared up at him. She was fighting hard to not feel anything, to let him explain himself. She could practically see the flop sweat forming.

“The envelope,” he continued, his voice cracking a bit. “It’s essentially a prison sentence. It’s not really a job offer. I was reading about this. It’s not legal to be unemployed here. They just tell you to show up at the assigned facility, and then you do labor, and they house and feed you. But if you just refuse to go, or if you go and refuse to work… By law, prisoners aren’t required to do labor. It just means they don’t get paid. So then they’d just have to stick you in a regular prison. But there isn’t enough room. So, I, uh…”

Gemma had put her hands flat on the table and was sliding forward, pushing her beer along toward Kevin, until she was stretched out lying face down on it. Kevin picked up the beer and put it safely to one side before it could topple off the edge and spill all over him. She pounded her head against the table a few times.

Kevin looked extremely confused. “What’s uh… what’s happening?”

“I’m a prisoner?” Her face was still pressed against the table, her words muffled, barely intelligible.

“Only technically.” He pat her back a couple of times. She started to sob. Her back heaved, the sound mostly inaudible, just the occasional laboured breathing. He rubbed his hand along her back rather clumsily. “Gemma, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

She let out one loud sniffle, then sat up sharply. Her face red and tear-soaked, her eyes puffy, indentations from the table running across her cheeks and forehead. Kevin went to open his mouth, but she shook her head and whispered “no,” then nodded to her beer. He put it back on the table in front of her and in a swift motion she picked it up, tilted it back and downed it in one.

He once again went to talk. She slapped her hand down on the table, got up and headed toward the bar. The bartender, a plainly-dressed man in his mid-50s, looked concerned. He gestured over to their table. “He just dump you in my pub?” He had a gruff, but warm, Midlands accent. She let out a quick giggle.

“Christ, no. What? No, no. I just found out I’m going to prison.”

The bartender nodded. “This one’s on me, bab.”

One round turned into a few, as Kevin eventually surrendered and asked the bartender if there was anywhere in town they could stay the night. “Got a couple rooms upstairs,” came the answer, so they took one for what Kevin felt was a reasonable rate. (It wasn’t, Gemma noted, but she kept it to herself in a rare moment of kindness.) They got one final round to bring upstairs, since Kevin was desperate to get back on the road early enough to miss whatever had ground traffic to a halt all day.

The room was dingy. Dirty white walls, a double bed with just enough room to walk all the way around it, a wardrobe that had to be a hundred years old, a closet of a bathroom with a claustrophobic shower cubicle, sink and toilet stacked around a patch of tile barely big enough to stand in.

“Perfect,” Gemma exclaimed as she walked in. Kevin heard that then followed in behind her, a real rollercoaster of expectations. She plopped hard onto the edge of the bed and set her pint down on the nightstand, kicking her shoes off and wriggling out of the oversized jeans she was still borrowing. Kevin neatly hung his jacket in the wardrobe and placed his shoes in the bottom. When he turned around she was propped up against the headboard in her panties and t-shirt, holding up her pint in a cheers.

“We have to be out by 6 a.m. 6:30 at the latest.” He collected up her errant clothes and tucked them away neatly in the wardrobe as well, along with her suitcase, which he’d had to go fetch from the car out of an abundance of caution. She nodded.

“Bless you, taking care of me. I will absolutely fight you if you try to wake me up that early.” She was being playful, but he knew she was also probably serious.

“Well, I can leave you here. You can start your new life in Walsall.” She cackled her usual cackle, a mischievous grin on her face. “It’s not Wall Saaaulll,” she said, mocking his accent. “It’s Walsall. Waawl Saawwl.”

“Walsall.” He gave it another go, but it sounded identical to his last attempt.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Come here, come here.” She sat up cross-legged, then reached out and grabbed at him. He obediently joined, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Say it like me.” She looked him in the eye and pointed at her mouth. “Watch my mouth. Waawwll Saawwll.”

“Walllll Sallll.” The same again, just slower. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.

“Like this.” She put her fingers on either side of his mouth. “Go on, go on.” He tried to say “Walll Sallll,” while she squeezed his mouth closed at the sides. She tittered. “It was better that time, I think.”

He eked out a muffled “I’m hopeless,” her hand still pushing his mouth shut. She chuckled again, putting her hands on his cheeks, stroking them a bit, feeling the coarseness of his five o’clock shadow. She ran her hands over it a few times.

“Oh,” she whispered. Staring into his eyes, she pulled his face toward hers, kissing him gently on the lips. They both closed their eyes and lingered there for a moment, before she pulled away from him. “No.”

He looked a bit stunned. She touched her lips with her fingers, her eyes darting down. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “I really shouldn’t have done that. God, Kevin, I’m such a mess.” He scooted himself a bit closer to her, putting one arm around her, laying his hand on her back. His other hand caressed her cheek. “Oh.” She exhaled, opened her mouth and closed her eyes as Kevin’s lips pressed against hers.

They had only been asleep for a few hours when the alarm went off. He’d followed through on his sadistic threat, it seemed, as the sound of gentle guitar coming from a tiny speaker filled the room at 4:45 a.m. Her head was killing her. Her mouth was so, so dry. She lay spread out across the bed, her legs entangled with Kevin’s, him half on top of her. He slid off to one side and immediately lifted the duvet, ready to dive into his day. Annoyingly youthful. She reached out and put her arm around him, clawing him back into the bed. He complied and she immediately sidled over to him, spooning him and clutching him around the stomach.

He let out a conflicted sigh. She kissed his back a few times. “Just a few minutes. Please, I’m old. I’m barely alive.”

He laughed. “You’re not that old.” His throat was raw, his voice lower than usual. She ran her fingers through his chest hair, then pawed at him a bit desperately. It was still nearly pitch black in the room, with a tiny bit of morning light creeping in along the sides of the curtain. She squeezed her body against his.

“Kevin. I don’t want to go. I just want to be here.” He tried to turn around and face her, but she squeezed him, sliding one leg between his. “I just want to be here just like this.”

He was forced to face the window. “You have to go, though,” he whispered. She eased up on him and sighed. He rolled over to face her, draping his arm around her side, running his hand up her back. “I’m so sorry.” She pushed her lips into his, kissing him passionately, pressing herself against him as hard as she could.

The room was getting brighter by the minute. He stroked her head, looking her in the eyes. Suddenly he shifted and nudged her to roll over. She slid back against him, nestling in, his arm covering her chest, pulling her close. He kissed the back of her head.

“Gemma?” His voice was so soft now.

“Hey.” She lay her arm on his, squeezing her chest with his hand.

“Will I see you again?” His voice cracked. His question was a mix of hope and dread. She closed her eyes and pushed back against him. They lay in silence, his head pressed against her back, kissing her. She felt his tears on her skin. She pulled the duvet down onto them hard, tucking them in.

They laid there together, embracing under the covers, until the sun became impossible to ignore.