Double Agent

by Tom Bradby

  She returned to her desk. She took two of the passports with fresh identities, neither of which she had used before, from the drawer and waited until Suzy left the office, then collected a thick wad of dollars, euros and roubles from the safe in the corner. She emailed Julie to say she would meet her at Heathrow in the morning, put on her trainers and started to walk home.

  It was a relief to be in the house alone, but that didn’t last long. She had only been home for ten minutes – just enough time for her to be seated at the table with a cup of herbal tea – before her mother called. Kate had an instinct, based on years of experience, that today she shouldn’t answer, that everything would be different. She let the first few calls ring out, but picked up on the fifth. ‘Yes, Mum,’ she said.

  ‘They’re trying to poison me.’

  Kate took a deep breath. A tear crept on to her cheek at the prospect of the familiar downward spiral. ‘Who is?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘The fat black one.’

  ‘You mean Lisa?’

  ‘I don’t know her name!’

  ‘Because why would you?’ Kate whispered.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Nothing. I don’t know how many times we’ve been through this, Mum. Or how many more times we’re going to have to. I’ve met every single one of the nurses in the home and they are, without exception, nice and caring individuals. No one is trying to poison you.’

  ‘Perhaps you put them up to it!’

  ‘I’m going to end this call now.’

  ‘Telephone the police! I want to report the black bitch.’

  ‘Mum! Do not speak about Lisa like that. It is grotesquely racist and frankly unforgivable.’

  ‘If only David was here. He was the only one who ever cared for me.’ Kate bit her tongue. She didn’t doubt that the photograph of David Bloody Underpants on the beach in his absurdly tight swimming trunks pulled high above the waist had by now been swapped back to pride of place on her mother’s side table.

  Kate ended the call. The phone immediately started buzzing again. She pressed call reject repeatedly, and they engaged in this terrible game until, somehow, a call from the home itself managed to slip between her mother’s frantic redialling.

  It was from the long-suffering care manager, Jessica. She said she felt she needed to inform Kate that her mother had punched Lisa that afternoon. Lisa had been so upset she had gone home sick. The home could not, Jessica said, tolerate this behaviour much longer and they would soon be asking her mother to move elsewhere unless matters improved rapidly.

  There was nothing Kate could say in her mother’s defence. She promised to come round and speak to her. She wondered if she would one day be forced to care for her here at home, on the grounds that nowhere else would take her.

  Kate rang off and immediately broke her promise. There was no way she could face her mother or her issues. She went to the sitting room and lay down on the sofa. Rose kept an immaculate house and the place was spotless.

  She closed her eyes and put a cushion over her face. She had given up trying to sleep. The phone rang again and she saw that it was Dr Wiseman’s surgery. She picked up. ‘Dr Wiseman.’

  ‘I’m sorry it’s taken me some time to return your call.’

  ‘No problem at all. Thank you for taking the trouble to ring.’ Kate waited for him to open the dialogue, but she had recognized already that he used silence to draw his patients out. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said eventually. ‘When I left your clinic, I felt a degree of relief, elation even, as if someone finally understood me, as if I might even understand myself. I took it that, yes, I had issues, but I could see the possibility of resolution and that brought great hope.

  ‘But whereas I saw a potential solution in the light of day, in the dead of night all I could think of was that I had a problem. And my mind just wouldn’t – couldn’t – switch off. I took sleeping pills one night, then worried I’d get addicted to them, so last night I was determined to doze off without them—’

  ‘Why were you determined to do that?’

  ‘Because I know they’re addictive.’

  ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘A friend. Well, my aunt, actually. So I didn’t sleep a wink on Friday – or maybe Saturday night. Then I took a zopiclone and did sleep, before I didn’t take one and didn’t, if you see what I mean . . . So I was wondering what I should do.’

  ‘Take the medication. Do you have a decent supply?’

  ‘Yes, yes. So I should just take them every night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Every night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I don’t sleep well with them. I only get three or four hours and I still feel terrible. I think they stop me sleeping properly.’

  ‘You’re not sleeping well because your mind and body are in a highly agitated state.’

  ‘I see. So. Every night?’

  ‘Until you next come to see me, yes. Then we can talk about moving you to a different medication.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘There are various options. Mostly likely, one of a group that are known as SSRIs – serotonin reuptake inhibitors.’

  ‘Antidepressants?’

  ‘Are you going to google this?’ It was said with just a trace of bite.

  ‘I might.’

  ‘They are medicines that will help with your anxiety, but also have a strong sedative quality to help you sleep at night. They are not physically addictive in the longer term and there is no reason to think they will be required for a lengthy period in any event.’

  ‘But if there is a strong sedative quality, I won’t be able to work properly, surely.’

  ‘You take them at night to help you sleep. In the morning, you’ll be fine. Perhaps a little groggy, but otherwise you’ll carry on as normal. However, regarding that “normal”, I would strongly suggest you consider taking an extended leave of absence from your work.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’ There was a long silence. ‘I’m sorry, Dr Wiseman, but I just can’t. I have some very important operations running.’

  ‘To which you are indispensable?’

  Kate thought long and hard before answering. She could sense already there was no beating this man. Not in the logic stakes. ‘I know this will seem egotistical and, most of the time, you’d be right to question me, but in this particular instance, it’s undeniable that I must remain involved.’

  ‘I see. And is it worth your health?’

  ‘In this case I would have to say yes.’

  ‘Even if, in putting your own well-being at risk, you might also threaten the health of your children?’

  Kate hadn’t thought of it like that. She never thought of it like that.

  ‘Is this what you’re thinking about at night when you cannot sleep?’

  ‘No. I mean, yes, sometimes. But mainly it’s just that nameless fear. That something will happen to one of them.’ Kate got up and stared out of a gap in the curtains into the dark night beyond. A mortal enemy about to storm the room. ‘And, I suppose, yes, fear of abandonment, I guess you might say, so much worse since my husband left.’

  ‘Understandably so.’

  ‘Yes.’ Kate watched the slow progress of a man with a selection of small dogs on leads. ‘It’s made worse every time I see my mother. In the last twenty-four hours alone, she has shifted from being kind, considered and thoughtful to spiteful and utterly poisonous, with a healthy dose of racism thrown in.’

  ‘Your mother is, by the sound of it, a very damaged woman.’

  ‘Yes, I see that.’

  ‘She cannot care for you because she is too busy wrestling with her own demons. That is the cycle you must break. As I said to you the other day, you must learn to reassure yourself.’

  ‘But if I know how toxic it is to see her – and, believe me, I do – then why do I always go? I can’t resist it.’

  ‘Your mother has always been a critical voice, when what you wanted – what any child need
s – is reassurance and support. That is the paradigm. The more she denied you praise, love and assistance, the more you craved it. This is the essence of all emotional abuse. But this is the cycle we must break.’

  ‘Why don’t I just stop seeing her?’

  ‘It would make sense to restrict your visits for a while, but as your mother is unlikely to change, it is your psychology we must focus on, so that you see your mother for the sad and damaged woman she actually is, not the instrument of your torture.’

  ‘The thing is, I know that,’ Kate said, ‘but I haven’t been able to change the way I think and feel about it.’

  ‘That is the purpose of this process. I would like you to think about the serenity prayer – whether it’s a faith you follow or not is beside the point. O Lord, give me the serenity to accept what I cannot change, the courage to change what I can and the wisdom to know the difference. You cannot change your mother, or her behaviour, so you have no choice but to accept it. However, you can change the way you think and feel about it – and in so doing you will liberate yourself from the mental prison that the abuse has created for you.’

  Kate sat down again. ‘I do understand,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to visualize the conversation you talked of and it does make sense. And about the time off work, I will think about it.’

  ‘Do. Or it may be taken out of your hands.’

  Kate didn’t like the sound of that. ‘Will I get better?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that. All I can say to you is that many people do. But you must commit to the process – to recovery – with the same determination you have approached your working life. Then, I think, there is a high chance of success. But no one else can do that work for you.’

  ‘Yes . . . Thank you.’

  ‘I’ll check with Sarah when your next appointment is and I’ll see you then.’

  Kate ended the call. She put her phone down, placed her face on her knees and closed her eyes.

  17

  GUS BLEW IN through the door with rare loquacity. ‘I’ve been made captain of the As,’ he said.

  Kate sat up, feeling dazed. If she hadn’t slept, she had nevertheless been lying on the sofa in a kind of trance. Perhaps that was where you ended up: perpetually caught between wakefulness and sleep. ‘The what?’

  ‘The As. Mr Jenkyns just told me. Next term.’ He took in her confusion. ‘Cricket, Mum!’

  ‘Oh, of course. Yes, sorry. Congratulations.’

  ‘Do you mind if I call Dad?’

  ‘Ermmm . . .’

  ‘I’d really love to tell him. He’ll be so pleased.’

  Kate couldn’t see a reason to refuse. Gus dialled from his own phone and it was a revelation to her that he had Stuart’s new number in Moscow. ‘I’ve been made captain of the As,’ Gus said, without introduction.

  She watched her son listen for a moment, his face aglow with his own and his father’s pleasure. ‘Mr Jenkyns said it was between me and Horsington and that I had shown a much greater degree of maturity. I’m still going to open.’

  Gus laughed at something his father said. ‘It’s cool,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Dad. I wish you could come and watch. Maybe we can do a tour to Venice!’

  Kate felt like she was intruding, but she couldn’t drag herself away. She watched her son revel in the news with his father in the full knowledge they would never share in the game. For the first time, she wondered if she had been right to insist so resolutely that she and Stuart could have no future together. Gus looked up at her and handed her his phone. ‘Dad wants to talk to you.’

  With that, Gus discreetly disappeared into the kitchen. ‘Hello . . . Stuart?’

  ‘Kate . . .’

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘Isn’t it great about Gus? He’d never have admitted it to either of us, but he’s been holding out for that. It’ll mean the world to him.’

  ‘The pleasure on his face was something to behold.’

  ‘He needs a bit of a boost. They both do.’ Kate didn’t know what to say to that. ‘All I have to do now is persuade the school to televise all under-fourteen A games and we’ll be away.’

  ‘Is there something I can do for you, Stuart?’ There was a coldness to her tone that did not, she thought, reflect the way she felt.

  ‘I just wanted to hear your voice.’

  Kate closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t do this.’

  ‘I’m not doing anything, love. I’m just lonelier than I’ve ever been in my life and hearing you or the kids on the phone is all I live for.’

  ‘I’m sure there are many women in Moscow who would be only too pleased to console you.’

  ‘That’s a bit beneath you, if I may say so. I’m not here wallowing in self-pity, just telling you the truth. Do you have any idea when I might be able to see the kids again?’

  ‘You mean after the last time went so well?’

  ‘That was hardly my fault. And, from what I could gather, it might have been the making of your career.’

  It was said with some edge to it. Stuart had always accused Kate of putting her work before their family. ‘I have to go,’ she said.

  ‘How is Fiona?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s staying with Jed.’

  ‘Blimey. I’m surprised you’re allowing that.’

  ‘You might be surprised at a lot of things. But it all changed the day you left.’

  ‘All right, fair enough. I suppose I deserved that.’

  ‘Goodbye, Stuart.’

  ‘Goodbye, love. I miss you, though I know you don’t want to hear that.’

  ‘I don’t. And if you keep saying it, I won’t take your calls.’

  Kate pressed the end button and walked through to the kitchen to give Gus back his phone.

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘He’s missing you,’ Kate said.

  ‘You mean all of us?’

  Kate looked at her son, who occasionally exhibited a maturity that surprised her. ‘He’s very lonely there. But . . .’

  ‘He made his bed, so he has to lie in it?’

  ‘I don’t think I’d put it quite like that.’

  Gus held up his phone. ‘Anyway, thanks for letting me speak to him.’ He headed for the door.

  ‘Do you talk to him often?’ Kate asked.

  He turned back, looking shifty. He was certainly not a good liar. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Every day?’

  ‘Most.’

  Kate forced herself to smile. ‘That’s good. I’m glad. It’s exactly as it should be.’

  Gus smiled back at her, his face flooded with relief and warmth. ‘Thanks, Mum. You’re the best.’

  He disappeared up the stairs. Kate fed Nelson, who picked at his food with disdain, and started to think about supper. She put on some music and gradually felt the tension ease in her shoulders, losing herself sufficiently in the therapeutic process of cooking to miss Rose’s key in the front door. ‘Sorry I’m late,’ her aunt said, as she placed her bag on the side and hung up her coat.

  Kate swung around. ‘You gave me a shock . . . You’re not. Late, I mean.’

  ‘Good day?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Kate thought about what she could say without giving away her true intentions. ‘I had lunch with Sir Alan, who’s just managed to get Alice home. He didn’t seem in great shape, as you’d expect.’

  ‘I know. Poor man. Did he take you to Grumbles?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Must have been important to spare the time in a week like this.’

  Kate recognized this as her aunt’s subtle way of asking a question. ‘Yes, but I suppose I’d better not go into it.’ She thought of raising the matter of Maja’s extraction from Belgrade, but decided to avoid that as well.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘The Germans have already dispatched an expeditionary force to Estonia. The French say they’ll follow suit. The foreign secretary described it as sensible, the prime minister
as rash. Cabinet discipline seems to have entirely broken down in this country.’

  ‘It’s all just signalling now the Russians have backed off,’ Kate said. She turned to face her aunt. ‘I’m sorry to have to ask another favour,’ she said, ‘but I have to go to Finland for a few days. Could you bear to hold the fort one more time?’

  ‘Finland?’ Rose exclaimed. ‘I guess I shouldn’t ask.’ She smiled. ‘At some point, I’d better reacquaint myself with my husband or Simon will divorce me. Are you sure you’re up to it?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘Have you been sleeping?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kate lied. She carried on cooking. Rose poured two very large glasses of white wine.

  At supper, Gus was garrulousness itself, regaling Rose with his plans for the Compton House under-fourteen A cricket XI. They meant nothing to Kate and not, she suspected, much more to Rose, but neither said so.

  Kate had texted Fiona repeatedly over the course of the evening and received no reply, so she set out after dinner for the brief walk to Jed’s house. She was surprised to spot a car on her tail. Surely her watchers at the Security Service didn’t think she was stupid enough to meet a Russian agent handler when she knew she was under surveillance. But that was their business.

  Jed’s parents were a charming couple in their late fifties, who lived in a spacious top-floor apartment overlooking Battersea Park on Prince of Wales Drive. They offered her a glass of wine and politely avoided displaying any sense of puzzlement at the way Kate’s daughter had taken up residence in their home.

  Fiona and Jed were both allegedly absorbed in homework and didn’t appear for half an hour – and then only, Kate suspected, at Jed’s insistence. His diffident, kind manner hid a touch of steel in the soul, which she was coming to be very fond of.

  Fiona kissed her mother and sat in a corner while the rest of them made polite small-talk. They discussed the NHS, the fracturing of politics and the collapse in governmental discipline. Kate told Fiona her brother had been made captain of the Compton House As, in which she showed no interest whatsoever.

  Eventually, Jed’s parents politely withdrew, followed a few moments later by their son. Kate couldn’t help but notice how thin her daughter looked. Clearly, living temporarily with two doctors had not convinced her of the health benefits of eating. ‘What do you want?’ Fiona asked.