Royal Hastings, University of London Multimedia Art MA Final Project

Candidate name: Patrick Bright

Candidate number: 0883480

Finn and I spend the trip from Rosslare to Fishguard too scared to even feel seasick. What can we do? We assume every soul on board is there to spy on us, make sure we do the job. Are we being watched?

Finn says his da will be getting up for work now. He’d been surprised when Finn told him he was going to England, out of the blue like that, but when Finn said he was going with me, his da relaxed. Said, ‘OK, you do it, lads. Now or never. While you can.’ The last thing he said was, ‘Don’t get in trouble. Look after each other over there.’

I stand on the deck and watch the port get closer and closer with a fearsome nagging dread in my heart. When Finn’s shaking hand points to a row of police cars along the dock-front, it turns icy cold. Lined up. Like they’re waiting for a pair of soft fools to land their car full of weapons and explosives on British soil.

‘What you gonna do, Seany?’ Finn has lost the quiver in his voice.

‘Act like nothing’s wrong. What else can we do?’

‘Call 999. Or jus’ walk up to one of them there. Say your mate Finn got you a passport and ticket and now you’re lost.’

‘Why’d I need to say that? You’ll be there. Anyways, we could tell the truth.’

The ferry gets nearer the dock. That row of white, red and yellow cars. Dark uniforms pacing about, waiting for us.

‘The truth? Are you out of it? If they there don’t hammer you, the fellas back home will. Don’t tell the truth, Seany. Promise, now. Here …’ and he slipped something into my pocket. When I look, it’s his fake passport. Why give that to me?

A horn blows, deafening above us. A distant announcement to get back to our cars. One of the police officers on the shore catches my eye and leaps out of his skin, drops the file he’s carrying, wavers on his feet. Same time my heart sinks. The guy shouts to his fellows and points right at me.

‘Oh no, Finny. Look, they are waiting on us. We’re done.’

I turn, but Finn’s gone. Where’d he go?

The police in Fishguard were very nice. Even back then, in 1988, when you’d think things would be rougher. No, they sat me in the station with a cup of tea, food, a blanket and the very same fellow I’d seen drop his file on the dock.

He was shook up, they said, and chatting with me helped. It was him told me when they recovered Finn’s body. I was at the station all day. Silent with real shock most of the time, except later to answer questions. Thing is, the chap said how the police cars are always there that time of day. The officers have their tea break and chat about their mornings. There was no need for Finn to have done that to himself. I was devastated.

Finally, they said, ‘OK, you can go on your way.’ I said ‘How?’ But they’d only brought the car off the ferry for me. It was waiting outside. My hands shook as I unlocked it, climbed in. Dead inside. Where were the suitcases? Where were the guys they said would be waiting for us?

No one stopped me as I drove away, no one waved me down, no car followed me. No one had even once looked at the passports. As I got out of town I turned north, through the rounded hills of Wales, across the border and on to Glasgow, where there was a distant cousin of my ma’s sister-in-law. A terrible call home told me the news about Finny had arrived in town and shook it up. It meant everyone was eager to help. Ma called the distant cousin. I got to a housing estate and parked in their drive. It wasn’t until nightfall I dared look inside the suitcases.

No guns, no Semtex. Just two battered bricks of heroin wrapped in second-hand clothes. It didn’t look like the work of a multimillion-dollar organisation, or even a small but smooth operation. The police on the dock, Finn’s accident, the furore afterwards scared them away. Finn surely hoped that would happen.

Jonathan and Ludya created a diversion in the museum while Alyson slipped away through a door hidden in the panelled walls. I should have known. I knew all about diversions, after that.

What was that radio she took? Jem examined it. She’d done a course in electronics and, because she’s used to reading Braille, she knows her way around a circuit board. While she was focused on that, she didn’t ask what happened in Somerset. Didn’t ask where Alyson was, not until much later.

Documents sent to me by Gela Nathaniel:

WhatsApp chat between Mae Blackwell and Gela Nathaniel, 30 May 2024:

Mae

We’re starting the presentation soon. I was hoping you could round up your group and make your way to the kitchen.

Gela

Sorry. Not well.

Mae

Oh no. Could you ask Jonathan to get everyone together? I can’t. I’m backstage with the speakers.

Gela

Does it matter if we hear the presentation? It can’t be that secret.

Mae

ICES isn’t secret, not once we launch it. But it looks better if staff aren’t standing around, don’t you think? I can see a crowd gathered around the head. They’ll have time to experience it afterwards. Could you ask Jonathan to usher people through to the function room?

Gela

No, Mae, I won’t.

WhatsApp chat between Jem Badhuri and Ben Sketcher, 30 May 2024:

Jem

Is Patrick with you, Ben? People are moving into the auditorium and we can’t find him.

Ben

He was here a few minutes ago. I saw him go back past security. What’s wrong with him?

Jem

You mean, why is he so sad and low? I’ve no idea. You’d think, with Alyson having turned up, he’d be happy.

Ben

You mean Suzie Danners – the student you’ve known as Alyson Lang.

Jem

Yes, but Jonathan said she self- ID s on this course as Alyson and that her real name is none of my business. I can’t really argue with that.

Ben

Is she there now?

Jem

Yes, but if I’m honest, she doesn’t seem herself.

Ben

Could it be her sister, the real Alyson?

Jem

No. Her voice is her voice, if you know what I mean. But she sounds exhausted. As if she hasn’t slept in ages, and smells as if she hasn’t had a bath for just as long. I also overheard a man’s voice say, ‘Look at the state of her’ and another replied, ‘Must be one of the art students.’ Rude.

Ben

How’s Jonathan?

Jem

All fired up for the event, same as Ludya and me. Patrick and Alyson have done hardly any meeting and greeting.

Ben

OK, well, it looks as if they’re getting ready for the presentation.

Jem

Good. The catering staff have saved some canapés for us. I’ve been looking forward to them all evening. Are you sure you can’t come in and see the installation?

Ben

I’ll wait out here until the time is right. Thanks, Jem.

Metropolitan Police digital evidence log/Case no. 4617655/24/files retrieved 5 September 2024

WhatsApp chat between Ludya Parak and Jonathan Danners, 17 January 2024:

Ludya

It’s in the store cupboard, behind some boxes underneath the bottom shelf. No one will find it there. What did you do with the body?

Jonathan

There was a roll of fabric propped up in the corridor. Wrapped it in that and dragged it to the bins.

Ludya

That’s material for the tunnel. Gela and Jem will be looking for it – if Griff and Rita don’t first.

Jonathan

It’s got blood and dirt on it now. Shit!

Ludya

Unwrap it, screw it up and chuck it by the bins. Make it look vandalised and thank fuck the art department is so underfunded there’s no CCTV .

Jonathan

This fucking phone.

Ludya

Dump it in the bins with the body.

Jonathan

We can’t leave it for a second. It has tech I’ve never seen before. You’re our techie, you need to see this.

Ludya

Look under Settings. There must be a way to change the level of security.

Jonathan

We’re trying but haven’t found it yet. Shit, shit. It’ll be light soon. We’ll have to take the body back to the house.

Ludya

I’ll come round the side, leave the door unlocked.