by Asia Mackay
Each of the listening devices transmitted over Bluetooth back to the receiver, which would then record everything. Jake and Hattie would retrieve the listening devices and the receiver tomorrow, as soon as their maintenance visit was approved.
I looked up. There was one large vent directly above the dining table.
‘I see it. I’ll get it into position now.’
I emptied my bag onto the dining table. I looped the back of the Frozen camera onto the pink headband and put it on my head. I clicked a button and an extra-strength flashlight shone out of the camera lens.
I twisted the robot’s head off, exposing the top of an electric screwdriver. I turned to Johnnie. ‘This could get noisy.’
Johnnie pressed a few buttons on his phone and turned on the Sonos system.
Gorillaz blasted out the surround speakers.
I climbed up on the dining table and set to work on the vent. There were four different sets of screws. I carefully unscrewed each one, putting them in my pocket. When the last one came loose I lifted the vent cover off. It would’ve been helpful to be able to hand it down to Johnnie but he was still slumped on the sofa flicking through his iPhone, doing his best to pretend I didn’t exist.
If I’d known, all those years ago, how badly sleeping with him would turn out, I would’ve managed to resist.
I thought back to the tour we’d met on, the two of us in a bar at 3 a.m, the hot, much younger, rockstar staring at me as he took a slow drag of his cigarette.
OK, maybe not.
I thought about the sex. The hours spent in hotel rooms all over the world. The occasional broken bed. And that time he did that thing with the . . .
OK, definitely not.
But I would’ve thought twice about it.
Things had come to a crashing halt at the end of the tour when it was clear he’d wanted more. I hadn’t. And we’d reached a healthy compromise of just sleeping together every time we saw each other. Until the day I’d had to say no. Because of Will. And then all hell had broken loose. He could understand a girl not ever wanting to settle down. But not a girl not wanting to settle down with him.
I carefully brought the vent cover down and dropped it onto the floor. Retrieving the iPad from my bag, I got back up and slotted it in through the open vent.
The iPad contained the digital receiver to which all the listening devices transmitted back.
Now came the tricky part.
I put both hands onto the open vent and hauled myself up. I clicked on the receiver and started it up. ‘No signal’ flashed up.
‘G, it’s saying no signal.’
‘There could be interference from the other electronic devices there. Try it further down the vent.’
I wasn’t sure how stable the vent was going to be or how far down it I could get. I pulled myself up and looked around; the light from my head torch lit up enough to see how the vent narrowed. I pushed the iPad further across. I peered over the top. There was still a red cross.
I reached over and clicked the refresh button. Still nothing. I was going to have to risk going further in. I pulled myself fully up into the vent and crawled along it with the iPad.
I kept refreshing the screen with every inch I moved forward.
It was only when I was six feet from the opening that a green tick appeared. It was finally online. I clicked on the links button and saw nine green lines. All the listening devices were working and linked. We were up and running.
I reverse-shuffled back towards the opening to Suite One. There was a creaking noise and then another.
Fuck.
It clearly wasn’t going to hold my weight.
There was no time for a graceful re-entry. I propelled myself backwards through the hole in the ceiling with one big push and landed on the dining table. The thump of my weight cracked it, and sent the vase of flowers flying. It smashed onto the floor.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Johnnie, leaping up from the sofa.
I lay on top of the broken dining table. A little dazed but otherwise unhurt. I shook myself and slid off the table. Then I reached down to pick the vent cover off the floor, climbed onto a chair and slotted it back into place.
‘Hand me the robot.’
Johnnie quickly did as asked and I tightened all the screws back in.
I got down and shoved the robot, my head torch and the Ella’s Kitchen smoothie pouch back in my bag, making a mental note to throw it away as soon as I got home – accidentally feeding my daughter super-strength glue would be a traumatising end to the day.
There was a knock at the door.
‘Is everything OK in there?’ came Pam’s voice from outside.
‘Just wait a minute!’ Johnnie called. He came up to me and rumpled my hair with both his hands and tugged open my shirt. Johnnie went to the door and opened it a crack.
Pam was stood there beaming at him. A security guard was by her side.
‘Security were concerned by the noise. Just had to check all was—’
‘Could you call for the car, please, love?’ Johnnie cut her off as he swung open the door. She took in the broken table, the mess on the floor and the mess of my hair.
‘I . . . Well . . .’
‘Yeah, sorry about all that.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Things got a little crazy. If you know what I mean.’ He gave her a long stare as colour creeped up her cheeks. He motioned towards me. ‘Come on, babe. Time to go.’
The security guard stared at my exposed cleavage. I pulled my coat across and tried to walk out with as much pride as someone supposedly caught having wild sex with a rockstar could muster.
*
The BMW had been replaced with a limousine, with a handy screen separating the back from the uniformed chauffeur in the front. I gave an address to the driver and then joined Johnnie in the back seat.
‘Where are we dropping you?’ he asked as he continued to stare straight ahead, sunglasses still firmly on.
‘Just off the Hogarth Roundabout.’
He didn’t respond.
‘Traffic’s meant to be a nightmare on the M1,’ I offered.
‘I’m sure the driver knows.’
‘Right.’
I looked down at my phone. Google Maps said the journey was going to take twenty-nine minutes.
Prolonged uncomfortable small talk with an ex who hated me.
The shit I had to do for my country.
We sat in silence for eighteen solid minutes. I kept flicking through my phone. Johnnie didn’t even pretend to keep himself busy. He continued to sit staring straight ahead.
I refreshed my email inbox again. Nothing. Where was that urgent life or death email for your immediate attention when you needed it?
‘I’m sorry about the song.’ He didn’t look at me as he spoke.
Last year Johnnie had penned a hit song using me and our troubled history as inspiration. It was a scathing nod to my heartless nature and called, somewhat unimaginatively, ‘Killer’.
‘My therapist encourages me to write down my feelings. Sometimes they turn into songs.’
‘I’ve noticed how that seems to happen.’ ‘Killer’ was the second song I’d inspired Johnnie to write. The first, ‘Lady’, was his very first hit as a solo artist and referenced my older woman allure and the cruel trampling of his delicate heart. It seemed that as much as he complained about our relationship, it had at least proved lucrative for him.
‘It’s just, it’s . . .’ He sighed. ‘You’re difficult to get over, Lex.’ He pulled his sunglasses off and for the first time properly looked at me.
‘Don’t be so dramatic, Johnnie.’
‘I mean it. You steamroll into my life, bowl me over with your fun and funniness. And then you’re gone. And a life that I was perfectly happy in before feels empty. There’s no one stretching in my bed shouting at me to make some bloody toast. No one flinging me up against a wall the minute I walk through the doors. You realise you’re impossible, right? You get what you want and don’t care
how. You’re incapable of thinking of anyone but yourself.’
I’d first met Johnnie nearly eight years ago when I was in my late twenties.
I thought back to how I was then.
My life before Will.
He wasn’t wrong. Not unlike my now-toddler daughter, I never really saw a world outside of what worked for me. What I wanted. What made me happy.
‘But even now, after all these sodding years, there are nights on tour when I put the hotel key card into the lock, watch it go green and open the door wishing I’d find you there waiting. Why the hell did you never give us a chance? I know it wasn’t the sex.’ He laughed and shook his head. ‘Jesus, it can’t have been the sex. What was it? What made you not want to stay?’
‘I just . . . I . . . I wasn’t there yet. I wasn’t ready. I was happy having no one. I didn’t think I needed anybody.’
‘But this guy, this guy you married. What makes him so special? I get that because of what you do you meet some pretty incredible people.’ He leaned towards me and lowered his voice. ‘Is he some super spy? Can he kill a man with one finger? A high-level scientist who’s found the cure for cancer?’
I didn’t want to say that Will was a lawyer whose biggest super skill was making a mean gin and tonic, but that I loved him and he made me happy. That together we had fun and that he had changed my life for the better.
It was good to be reminded that I had chosen Will. That he was the only one I ever decided I could have a future with. I thought of the early days when I realised he was different. That we were different. Things might get ropey now and again. And there were days when it was hard to remember that he wasn’t just a co-parent, a housemate. That we were more than that. There was us, too, in there. Among all the other stuff. He was in this with me. We were a family before Gigi came along. We chose each other.
Johnnie was staring at me, waiting for a reply.
‘It just works, Johnnie. We just work. And that’s all I can tell you.’
He pondered this.
‘It’s OK. I get it. My therapist believes I’ve had trouble letting you go because I’m so successful and talented and sexually attractive I’ve never had anyone not do what I want.’
‘It sounds like your therapist fancies you.’
‘Let’s be friends. Can you at least give me that? To have someone I can talk to about being a Wolf?’ He lowered his voice as he said ‘Wolf’ and cast a glance at the oblivious driver behind the screen. ‘It’s tough having to keep a part of what I do secret. I’m getting written off as just a spoiled rockstar. No one knows what I do for my country.’ He looked down and shook his head.
Johnnie seemed to have convinced himself he was a patriotic James Bond-type figure. Not just a former boyband singer we’d coerced into a deal to do our bidding with some light low-risk tasks in exchange for making his solo career.
‘Friends. Yes. That’d be great.’ What else could I say? If we could at least get on it would take the inevitable dread out of having to see him every time our paths crossed at work. But, I mean friends? It’s not like we’d be meeting up for drinks and discussing life. And I certainly couldn’t ever introduce him to Will.
I looked out the window – we’d finally reached the Hogarth Roundabout. The driver pulled off at the Chiswick turn and was making his way down Chiswick Lane.
I leaned over and knocked on the partition at the driver. ‘Just drop me here.’
‘Is this where you live?’ asked Johnnie.
‘No but it’s close.’
‘You don’t trust me to know your address?’
‘Goodbye, Johnnie.’ I got out of the car and headed down the road. I heard the car door slam and felt his arm on mine.
‘That’s not a proper goodbye. Can’t I at least meet him? This man who managed to change your life? Seeing as we’re going to be friends and all.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t even know I know you. Please just get back in the car. This is my neighbourhood. What do you—’
‘Alexis? Alexis, is that you?’
I looked up. Fuck. Rochelle was standing on the pavement. Leopard-skin coat and wedge trainers. Shopping bags in her hands. Mouth agape.
Johnnie’s arm was still on mine. I shook it off.
‘Rochelle. Hi. How are you? I’m just back from a work event.’
She looked up at Johnnie. ‘And where exactly do you work again? Hi, Johnnie. Big fan. Alexis and I know each other from nursery. Our daughters are great friends, aren’t they, Alexis?’
Johnnie turned to me. ‘You . . . You have a kid?’ His jaw clenched. I guess friends are meant to tell each other stuff like that.
He nodded at Rochelle. ‘Nice to meet you. I have to go.’ He grabbed me by the shoulders and gave me a hard kiss on the lips. ‘Goodbye, Lex.’
Thanks, Johnnie.
He disappeared into his car.
I tried a laugh. ‘Oh, those music types. Always so affectionate.’
‘How do you know him? You’re clearly very close. Did you know him before he was famous? Do you think he’d open the school fair for us?’
‘We’ve known each other years. We, err . . .’ I pulled my phone out my pocket. ‘Oh, I’d better take this,’ I said to the blank screen. ‘See you, Rochelle.’ I put the phone to my ear as I walked off at a fast pace.
I checked my watch. I had just enough time to pick up Gigi and meet with Frederick. With any luck the fact Rochelle was laden with shopping bags meant she was leaving pick-up to her nanny. I couldn’t face a further interrogation at the school gates. I looked back over my shoulder. Rochelle was still standing there, watching Johnnie’s limousine drive away. She was clearly going to enjoy telling all of Chiswick about my questionable relationship with a world-famous rockstar.
This mission was too close to home in every sense.
It was unnerving knowing the Ghosts were out there, poised to strike. Waiting for the order. How could we protect ourselves when we didn’t know how many there were? Or even who they were?
We usually had the whole might of Platform Eight behind us. But now our unit was alone. There would be no one else coming if we needed back-up. We were out here solo. A pack gave us protection. Now we were exposed. And easy to pick off. One by one.
I walked through the park towards the nursery. Three men in T-shirts and paint-splattered jeans were on a bench, drinking cans of beer. Further up ahead two women were pushing prams. A man in a suit. A jogger. A couple of dog walkers.
Just people going about their life.
Or incoming threats.
It was a constant feeling of unease. Never quite knowing when this façade would crack. A seemingly normal tableau would fall apart and all the innocent personas would drop and they would be coming for us.
The only ambush on the school run I wanted to worry about was from a well-meaning mother insisting I come along to a mums’ night out.
It was bad enough stressing about whether me working was affecting Gigi emotionally, let alone it being a threat to her actual physical safety. Over-the-top concern about harm coming to your child was one of the staples of parenthood – it was right up there with lack of sleep, unflushed toilets, and having to hide to eat a biscuit.
I was strong. I was capable. I could scan a room and assess the threats. I could work out who could cause me harm. Who I could take in a fight. Who I couldn’t. I had confidence as I knew where I stood. I knew what I could do.
But when I looked at Gigi all that confidence fell away. I was vulnerable. She was my walking, talking weak spot.
I took a deep breath. It was just five days I had to get through. Five days of looking over my shoulder and assessing everyone giving me a second glance as a potential threat.
I could do this for five days.
Then I’d take a long overdue blower and spend some proper time with Will.
Keep Peng alive, save the Security Services and get my marriage back on track. As to-do lists went, it was an ambitious on
e.
Sophia counted to twenty!
Florence rode a bike!
Barnaby wrote his name in cursive script!
Scarlett loves her baby sister and sang a song for her!
Evie didn’t wake up Mummy and Daddy and slept the whole night in her bed without Calpol!
A noticeboard was covered with stars listing children’s achievements.
I was in the hallway of the nursery Portakabin with Frederick, waiting for the doors to open and our children to be released into the wild.
‘What’s this?’ I motioned towards the board. ‘And why doesn’t Gigi have one?’
‘They’re Wow cards. Parents are meant to bring them in whenever they do something you want to make a big deal of.’
‘Oh, right.’ I racked my brains for something Gigi had done recently that warranted a celebratory public shout-out. She hadn’t pooed her pants for a whole week now but I felt that might be an announcement that lowered the tone.
It seemed just to be an avenue for parents to show off about their kids. Well, except for Evie’s achievement. That had an air of desperation. And perhaps social services.
The doors opened and the children were dispatched to us one by one.
Florence came first, then Gigi, both brandishing chocolate cupcakes covered in what looked like mini marshmallows.
‘Look! Cooking!’ shouted Gigi. There was a chocolate smear round her top lip.
‘Well done, girls. Come on, let’s get home.’ We ushered them down the steps and past the other parents waiting to be reunited with their sugar-hyped children.
‘Playgound! Playgound!’ said Gigi as she ran circles round me.
Florence watched her and added her own quieter, ‘Playground. Please?’ With any luck Gigi might learn from Florence’s exemplary manners, seeing as my attempts hadn’t seemed to make much progress.
Frederick checked his watch. ‘We can go but only for ten minutes.’
‘Thank you, Dada,’ said Florence so seriously and quietly I could barely hear her. She stood completely still while Frederick whipped out a handkerchief and rubbed at the tiniest speck of chocolate on her cheek.
The girls ran ahead.
I turned to Frederick. ‘We’re looking into what Daddy Pig could’ve been doing when supposedly in Birmingham. Nothing untoward was turned up in any of the Pigs’ houses but we now have audio recordings, their mobile phone data and internet histories. With any luck we’ll get some leads off that.’