The Nursery

by Asia Mackay

  ‘There’s only one Golden Wolf with status high enough they’d definitely be guaranteed Suite One. He’s currently in Dubai and there’s a flight we can get him on landing into Heathrow at 9.05 a.m.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Hattie.

  Geraint cleared his throat and looked at me. ‘Johnnie Mac.’

  Brilliant.

  I needed to think fast. ‘Can’t we get Cameron to talk to Track 101 and send us a Kardashian? That would work?’

  Hattie shook his head. ‘We only turn to Track 101 for emergency favours. We can do this with Johnnie Mac.’

  Jake laughed. ‘So the success of this operation relies on Johnnie and Lex working together. Boss, you do realise these two can’t manage to be in the same room together without there being sex, shouting, screaming and swearing. Sometimes all at the same time.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Jake. What do you—’

  ‘I was in the next-door hotel room on that tour in 2012. Remember?’

  Hattie observed us quietly. ‘I note there is history there, Lex.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘We want no drama. You just need to greet him off the flight, accompany him to Suite One, get the audio transmitting devices and the receiver installed, and then get out of there. I’ll talk to Demon and make sure he’s been briefed too. We don’t want any undue attention.’

  ‘Does it have to be me? Maybe it’d be better if Jake did it?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘Johnnie’s a platinum-album-selling rockstar – he always travels with an entourage, which at last count was a team of about six people. To ditch them all and head to Suite One alone would be pretty strange unless it was you greeting him off the plane and requesting a private catch-up.’

  I saw his point.

  I sighed. Nothing like adding spending time with an ex who hated me to an already stressful week.

  *

  Standing outside my front door I could hear my daughter laughing. The best sound in the world. I let myself in and followed the squeals and giggles to the sitting room.

  Will was in an old pair of jeans and a T-shirt, lying on his back with his legs in the air, holding hands with Gigi, who was balanced on her stomach on his feet.

  ‘Hello, Mama. Me flying!’ She grinned. Her hair was in a lopsided ponytail, her favourite Frozen pyjamas on.

  ‘Wow. Look at you go.’ I walked up and kissed her cheek.

  ‘Uh oh, turbulence,’ shouted Will as he shook his legs up and down. Gigi kept giggling as she wobbled about.

  ‘Have you been back a while?’

  ‘Meeting finished early so got back in time for her dinner.’

  ‘We had pizza and choccy milkshake,’ said Gigi proudly.

  ‘Two more take-off and landings and then bed, little miss.’

  ‘No, Dada. No. You do twenty-five one hundred more.’

  I listened as the two of them negotiated and tidied up the toy explosion round the living room.

  *

  By the time Gigi was splashing in the bath, Will had already opened a bottle of red wine. We were each clasping a large glass of it on the floor outside the bathroom, watching Gigi sing songs and dunk her mermaid.

  ‘What’s happening at work? Are you about to disappear again?’ asked Will.

  ‘The next week or so will be very busy but then things will calm down. Might actually be getting a lot of time off soon.’

  It was a sign of how serious a threat Tenebris were if I thought it was worth mentioning to Will work could be about to get very, very quiet.

  ‘I’m not going to get my hopes up. It’s not like your job has ever been particularly reliable when it comes to working hours.’

  Will still hadn’t forgiven me for having to cancel our summer holiday. What would’ve been the three of us spending ten days in Tenerife in the sunshine was replaced with four days staying with my parents in Berkshire. And it rained. Every single day. An urgent operation had come in and I’d had no choice but to go. The only proper time off I could get was a long weekend. When my parents found out we weren’t actually going to be abroad for Mum’s sixty-third birthday we were told that the long overdue visit we’d kept promising needed to happen during the family celebration she had planned. Will looking over and hissing: ‘Mojitos on the beach’ as my great-aunt regaled him in graphic detail about the effect the menopause was having on her sex-drive was a particular low point.

  As I’d kept repeating to his stony face, if it had been his work stopping us going, I would’ve understood. My vague explanation of it being something to do with Brexit had not gone down well. In fairness, I had overused that excuse but it was such an easy go-to as it had just the right combination of utter fucked-up mess but being so boring no one wanted to talk about it.

  ‘I know things have been busy this year. But it’s all about to get better and I’m going to have a long period of time off for Christmas.’

  I knew I’d been working too much the last few months and with any luck the blower I’d applied for would be approved so I could have most of December off. Blowers were Platform-approved extended periods of time off. They were so called as, considering the intense high-pressure nature of our work, it was mandated we needed weeks away from the Platform to blow off steam. And to stop us blowing off our own heads.

  ‘Lex, it’s got to get better. You’re hardly present. Last month my mother spent more time with Gigi in this house than you.’

  That stung.

  Will’s mother Gillian now lived nearby and was a huge help with Gigi. She didn’t keep track of the hours she helped with nursery pick-ups and bedtime when we were working late. But it seemed Will did.

  ‘I do the best I can. Yes, I work full-time, just like you, but I come home every night . . . Nearly every night.’ There were times work had taken me out of the country. Just like it had for Will. The double standard was becoming clearer and clearer. I was expected to be here. He wasn’t.

  ‘Wheels bus round roundy round,’ Gigi sang on flatly from the bathroom.

  It was a great soundtrack to a tense marital stand-off.

  ‘You’re never really here. Even when you make it home you’re tired and rundown and just want to cuddle Gigi. You barely want to talk.’

  Will never got to see me at work. He never got to see me at my best. Those moments where I felt like the world was mine for the taking. The confidence of being armed, dangerous and able to take down anyone who got in my way. The immediate post-mission adrenaline high of feeling invincible.

  He just got the aftermath. The crash. The exhaustion, the aching body, the not having the energy to speak and just wanting to hold or be held.

  ‘I understand that your work is hard. My work is hard too. But when I’m home I’m fully here. That’s all I want from you. Your full attention. I’ve never felt more distant to you and it’s because we don’t spend any proper time together. Things need to change. We can’t carry on like this.’

  He was saying we were in trouble.

  And I hadn’t even noticed.

  I remembered a Russian couple we had once known. We’d come home from a sparkling dinner party at their palatial Notting Hill mansion and Will had commented on how they weren’t even playing on the same side. To be fair he’d been right. They weren’t – to the point where she was conspiring with the Platform to have him killed. But I had felt smug. Will and I were together. A team. Us against the world. Our marriage was strong. We were a winning combination.

  But it didn’t feel like that now. If felt more like we were on opposing sides. Battling each other, not alongside each other.

  I loved him. Of course I did. He was the one, the only one, who’d been able to make me give up the stumble-home single life. He was the one who’d shown me that being in a couple didn’t have to mean the death of fun. It could be more fun. It had been a long time since we had one of those nights where we’d get drunk over dinner, then charge into an irritatingly cool club and dance about with the carefree abandon of people wh
o were getting laid no matter how much of a tit they made of themselves on the dance floor. Will was right. We needed to reclaim some time for us.

  It was just that right now, it was near impossible to be thinking of anything outside work.

  This was not the time to have a marriage breakdown.

  But if I cared enough surely I would drop everything?

  I imagined announcing to Hattie and my team: ‘Sorry, guys, I just need to take a little couple-time, disappear off on a mini-break. Good luck and all.’

  ‘Other people would be considering another baby about now,’ said Will.

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘I can tell by the look on your face you clearly haven’t.’

  ‘I . . . no . . . Well . . . Of course I’ve thought about it. Just not quite yet.’

  It hadn’t even occurred to me.

  I was finally fit again. I was enjoying my work. Getting more sleep. I couldn’t imagine going back to the new baby stage. The childbirth-ravaged body, the sleepless nights, the non-stop feeding. And then starting again. Trying to reclaim normalcy. I was exhausted even thinking about it.

  But then that’s what most couples did. They went on to have more kids.

  I was an only child. Having one child was my normal. Besides, I was stretched as it was now. Between work and Gigi and clearly Will. How could I fit in another person to love? Another person to keep safe? I didn’t know if I had it in me.

  ‘Mummy on the bus say, shhhh shhh shhhhhh!’ Gigi continued to sing on.

  ‘I’m not just another problem to deal with. I’m your husband. If things are bad at work, tell me about it. If things are stressing you out, tell me about it. I want to help you. I want to be there for you. We’re meant to be a team.’

  ‘Out now, out now!’ shouted Gigi. She stood up in the bath.

  Will went to her, plucking her out and onto the bathmat. ‘Rub a dub dub, three men in a tub,’ he said as he wrapped her in a towel, tickling her as she squealed.

  I took another sip of wine. Peng was due to leave London in a week. With any luck she’d still be alive and Tenebris shut down. Or if we failed I’d pretty much not have a job anyway. And then with all that downtime I could really focus on my marriage.

  *

  I woke with a jolt. I could feel someone there, in the darkness. Silently watching us. I tensed and braced myself.

  A soft whisper of, ‘Mamaaaaa,’ then again, a little more insistently, ‘Mammmaaaaa.’

  I wondered if I kept feigning sleep she might just wander back to her own room.

  There was a pause and then, ‘PSSSST. MAMA,’ she shouted.

  ‘What? Huh? Hello?’ Will sat up with a start.

  ‘Bad dweam. Very, very, very bad dweam,’ said Gigi, already climbing into our bed.

  ‘What was it about, Gigi?’ I asked.

  ‘Can’t ’member.’ She got in between us and pulled the covers over her.

  Ping.

  The faint sound of a text message alert came in. Will grappled at his bedside table and picked up his phone.

  I looked over Gigi’s head as I saw him stare at the screen, switch it to silent and put it back down.

  ‘Gigi, you know this is naughty.’ I nudged her. ‘You’re a big girl. You need to sleep in your bed.’

  ‘I just want to be with you,’ was the plaintive response.

  Parenting books had taught me that boundaries were important. I may be desperate to get back to sleep but a tense twenty-minute negotiation now was worth it for the future nights of unbroken sleep and a bed to ourselves. It was going to be tough but it was going to be worth it.

  Will rolled over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. ‘It’s OK, we’re here, Gigi. No bad dreams in this bed. You sleep tight, little girl.’

  Or there was that tactic.

  Surrender.

  I couldn’t be the bad guy now. I listened as Will seemingly drifted straight back to sleep. Gigi swiftly followed suit.

  I stroked her cheek and cuddled up to her. Soft skin and washing-powder scented Paw Patrol pyjamas. I felt her warm body beside me and listened to the gentle sound of her breathing and tried to forget about the stresses of work, the dangers that lay ahead, and the fact my husband was receiving text messages in the middle of the night.

  From: dodgycompanywants@yourbankdetails.com

  To: lex.tyler@platform-eight.co.uk

  Subject: $$$ MAKE MONEY FAST $$$

  MISSION: #80521

  UNIT: WHISTLE

  DATE: Tuesday 1st October

  ALERT: PENG ARRIVES TODAY

  Chapter Eight

  I WALKED INTO HEATHROW’S WINDSOR SUITE to find a thin-faced woman with greying hair.

  ‘Good morning . . .’ I peered at her name badge, ‘Pam. I’m Alexis from Demon Communications. I’m meeting Johnnie Mac off his plane.’

  She looked down at the paperwork on her desk.

  ‘Please follow me.’ Pam stood up and slipped on a hi-vis vest on top of her trouser suit.

  We headed down a corridor before she led me to another room. Inside was a small X-ray scanner belt. ‘As you’re going airside you’ll need to have your bag checked.’

  ‘Of course.’

  I placed my bag onto the belt and watched as it moved through the scanner. The screen lit up with the image of an iPad, an iPhone, a small toy robot, an Ella’s Kitchen smoothie pouch, a thick pink headband, a Frozen camera and three fidget spinners. The security guard’s face didn’t move from the monitor.

  ‘Thanks,’ I said to no acknowledgement as I picked my bag back up. I walked through the security door. Nothing beeped and Pam ushered me out the door leading to a car park.

  During the five-minute drive in the chauffeured BMW, Pam gave monotonous one-word answers to my attempts at small talk. She wasn’t the chatty type.

  We parked up alongside the waiting bus that would be transporting the non-VIPs to the terminal.

  Johnnie Mac was the first off the plane. He lolloped down the stairs and walked straight towards us. His trademark long hair was now short. It suited him. A battered canvas holdall was slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a pair of baggy black trousers and a Pink Floyd T-shirt. A black leather jacket and sunglasses completed the off-duty rockstar look.

  ‘Hello, Alexis.’

  ‘Johnnie.’ I gave him a nod.

  Johnnie spoke over his shoulder to the small group of skinny-jeaned men and women now coming down the stairs behind him. ‘Guys, sort out your own car, OK? I just need a little catch-up with Alexis.’

  ‘Sure thing, Johnnie.’

  I ignored the smirks as they headed onto the bus.

  Johnnie turned to Pam next to me.

  ‘Hi, darling, now how are you doing?’

  ‘Hello, Mr Mac,’ Pam simpered. She stared at him with a giddy smile.

  ‘I see you’ve met my publicist.’

  ‘Yes. We’ve met.’ Her eyes didn’t leave Johnnie.

  ‘I’d like a little time in the welcome suite so I can freshen up before we leave – I’m going straight to an interview.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Mac, you take as long as you need. If you just follow me to the car . . .’

  Pam did not stop talking the whole journey back to the Windsor Lounge. She had clearly been saving all her friendliness for him. ‘It’s so amazing that you’re going to be honoured with an OBE for all that charitable work you’ve been doing.’

  ‘It’s not confirmed yet,’ said Johnnie.

  ‘Oh, but I’ve been seeing it everywhere online.’

  The Wolf Cubs had been working hard campaigning for Johnnie to be recognised in the New Year’s honours list, as for some reason Eight needed him at that ceremony. Wolf Cubs were teenagers in our employ whose sole purpose was to help turn the tides of online opinions to our favour. Whatever issue we needed to gain traction on we would brief the Cubs to get things going. Up would spring gifs, memes, hashtags, all fighting the good fight for us. Going to battle against bots, they had
the advantage of actual personalities and an idea of what would take off. A few months ago the Committee wanted a certain journalist quashed – leading to the Wolf Cubs creating a meme of him kissing a ruthless dictator’s arse. It went viral to the point it was being printed on tea-towels. That campaign was then taken to print by getting numerous Silver and Gold Wolves to allow photo shoots in their homes where the tea-towel just so happened to be in shot in their fancy bespoke kitchens. The image became so associated with the journalist’s reputation he was relegated to a daytime television sofa.

  *

  Pam unlocked the door to Suite One and flung it open with a flourish. A large vase of white roses was on the centre of a dark wood dining table with matching chairs. Behind it a large flatscreen television was fixed to the wall. Sleek grey sofas encircled it.

  Johnnie dropped his holdall to the floor.

  ‘Do not disturb, OK, love? I’ll call if I need anything.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Mac, of course.’ She was still standing there, smiling as he closed the door.

  Johnnie went to one of the sofas and, without looking at me, slumped down onto it before pulling out his phone.

  He clearly didn’t want to talk. That was fine. I was here to work. I put my earpiece in.

  ‘OK, I’m in.’

  I opened my bag and took out the three fidget spinners. I popped the circular piece out of each side of each spinner. Nine little listening devices were now in the palm of my hand.

  ‘G, I am positioning the bugs now.’ Using the extra-strong adhesive that was inside the Ella’s Kitchen smoothie pouch, I stuck them round the room – behind questionable paintings and underneath every armchair and sofa. The final two were stuck underneath a couple of the chairs round the wooden dining table opposite the door.

  Geraint crackled into my ear. ‘Looking at the blueprints, the best place to position the receiving device is inside the air vent.’