Free How I Left the National Grid by Guy Mankowski Page B

section I ended and the three of them turned to one another for the climax.
    When it came, Simon wheeled away from us all. A spinning, buzzing sound emanating from his guitar. His fingers shimmying up and down the fretboard, wrenching notes from it. Theo locking the groove down. Jack pummelling over the top.
    I felt like I could flex my muscles and burst the walls with anger. Then something went off in me. A light bulb bursting.
    I went over to the mike stand. A massive, black, metal thing. Nailed, with one loose bolt, to the stage.
    I tore it out.
    Theo watched me, stepping back, losing his grip on the bass. Simon let his notes fade early.
    I wheeled it over my head.
    Jack pummelled the cymbals.
    I got some strength behind it and carved it round, over to Theo.
    Let it go.
    Theo dropped his bass and jumped into the crowd.
    I watched it soar, like a strip of seaweed, the base of it dipping nobly into Theo’s amp.
    Tore right into it.
    Sat in it.
    Theo clambered back onstage, over to his bass. Raised it above his head and then, in time to Jack’s cymbal wreckage, smashed it into the stage.
    I hated the man but I had to give it to him.
    Simon stood over his pedal, squeezing the last drops of life out of his guitar. Then snapped it silent, and took his guitar off.
    Calm as you like. Professional.
    Went to the back of the stage and placed it in its rack.
    To the final, dying notes, I took a run up and threw myself into the crowd. I was just surfacing, to the sweat-drenched hair and ecstatic faces, when I heard smashing glass.
    The crowd hoisted me up on their hands. Onstage I could see Theo.Smashing every one of the lights at the front of the stage.
    One by one.
    I closed my eyes.
    Let them carry me.

5
    Pouring her coffee, Elsa was startled by the snap of the letterbox.
    Amongst the sheaf of paper-based noise was a brown envelope. It was addressed to Sam. She couldn’t resist tearing it open.
    Inside was a small white postcard. On it, in sloping, letters:
    Call off your hunt right now, Sam. No one wants to be run into the ground. Not Wardner, not you. And certainly not your loved ones.
    The final sentence made her eyes widen. She looked up the stairs, for evidence of movement, but there was none. The note was unsigned. She re-read it a few times, before looking for the postage stamp.
    The letter had been posted in London.
    Sam was struck by how drawn Elsa looked when he lolloped into the kitchen. The note was propped on the table against a vase. ‘You didn’t wake me,’ he said.
    She looked at the note. ‘For you.’
    ‘You opened my post?’
    Sam scratched at his thin glaze of stubble and inspected it. ‘Jesus.’ He said. ‘That’s got my day off to a lovely start.’
    Elsa closed her eyes, and Sam got the sense that she had carefully prepared her next comment. The pace, the tone, the smoothness. ‘You promised, on the way home from our meal, that if Wardner started to go after you then you would call this off.’
    ‘Call it off? I’ve got the commission. This is probably just some nutter fan. How could Wardner possibly know already about the book?’
    The image of the man in the white transit van flashed across his mind. Sam decided to supress it. Bonny was right, he thought. It could have been anyone. Elsa nodded, slowly.
    ‘Oh, come on,’ Sam said. ‘Don’t be like that.’
    ‘No.’ she snapped. ‘You’re not doing this today. I only have a few hours left to get everything right for the exhibition. I’m not going to blow my one chance to prove myself to Malcolm because of your pig-headedness.’
    ‘Pig-headedness? Well, a good morning to you, Sam,’ he answered, closing his eyes.
    Elsa grabbed her purse. ‘It mentioned your loved ones,’ she hissed. ‘You know what that means? That means me.’
    Elsa slammed the door, leaving in her wake a cold atmosphere for his guilt to fester in. Sam ran up to the bedroom, pushing his slim, silver laptop onto the bed.
    He kept thinking how easily the explanation