The Nursery

by Asia Mackay

  ‘How was your work today?’ I wanted to get him off the subject of my job and onto his. As he started telling me about his day, I thought about how maybe he would be better off with someone like Rochelle. An easier life with a wife who wouldn’t lie to him nearly daily. A wife who would be interested when he talked about his work and not zone out and start wondering what pizza toppings were inside the delicious-smelling box on the table.

  I had no excuse – no matter how packed my brain was with information for the security of this country, no matter how much I needed to try and keep track of childcare arrangements for Gigi and worry she was getting everything she needed, I should be able to spare a thought for Will. And at least listen when he tells me about the large shipping case that he just won against the . . . I want to say pirates but that can’t be right. Pirates? Is he tricking me? I focused back on what Will was saying and heard the word ‘Sumatra’. Oh, right, that made more sense. Captain Pugwash holding a machine gun seemed a little out there. Wasn’t Captain Pugwash another one on the shit list as being an inappropriate character for children to read?

  ‘Right, Lex?’

  Shit, I’d zoned out again. Bloody Pugwash.

  ‘Yes, totally.’

  ‘So you really think I should do it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a great opportunity.’ See, I could be supportive.

  ‘You think I should leave for sea and become a pirate?’

  ‘Haha. I knew you were joking. Oh, we have fun, don’t we?’

  He gave me a look. ‘You aren’t going to tell me about your day?’

  He was distracted by my phone ringing.

  We both looked over at it.

  I could see the 0845 number that was calling. ‘I’m sorry. I have to take it.’

  I stood up and walked away from the table. I heard the automated voice tell me, ‘Have you ever been missold PPI insurance?’ I waited for the beep and said, ‘Lex Tyler’ as the voice recognition listened. I knew what was coming. ‘You are required on an urgent operation. Please confirm attendance.’ The beep sounded and I spoke. ‘Confirmed. ETA twenty.’

  I turned back to the table. ‘You know I have to go in when we’re on high alert. It will probably be a late one.’

  He slumped back in his chair and folded his arms. ‘Just go.’

  ‘Love you.’ I took two slices of pizza out the box, grabbed my motorbike helmet from the hallway and left. I felt bad that I was relieved to be going. Relieved to be walking out of an uncomfortable conversation and into what could be a dangerous operation. Was it a sign of how bad my marriage currently was, or how much I loved my job?

  *

  ‘You need to go to a fashion show,’ was how Pixie greeted me as I entered the meeting room. Pixie and Geraint were next to each other at the head of the large dining table, their laptops in front of them.

  ‘This is what I got called in for?’

  ‘Hattie just rang it in, darlin’. Ling Ling went straight from the Embassy to dinner. We don’t know where she’s eating but we do know she has tickets to a fashion show. The recordings from the Embassy will still be on her, all stored on the Dictaphone. Jake, Hattie and Robin are all on Peng. She’s gone to a casino, which is going to be a security nightmare.’

  I listened to what she was saying. ‘So that means . . .’

  ‘You have Cameron. She’s meeting you there. The show starts in an hour and straight after that is the after-party.’

  I checked my watch. ‘The show starts at nine p.m.? Why so late?’

  ‘Nine p.m. is late?’

  ‘I . . . OK. Well, not that late.’ I needed to remember I was a cool secret agent. Not a knackered mother whose plan to be in bed by 10 p.m. was flying out the window along with my street cred. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘East London.’

  ‘Great.’

  I would be lucky to be in bed by the early hours.

  I had forgotten the other world out there. The one where people started partying late and came home as daylight was creeping in. I had been a part of that world once. And now I needed to make a cameo role in it again.

  ‘You need to leave in ten minutes. But we need to do something about your outfit.’

  I looked down at what I was wearing. A long-sleeved black top and grey jeans.

  ‘What’s wrong with this?’ As I motioned downwards I noticed the top had orange dust from Gigi’s Organix carrot sticks stained down the front and that the ends of my right sleeve were a little covered in dried snot. For some reason Gigi’s streaming nose only ever seemed to happen whenever there was no tissue in the immediate vicinity.

  Pixie wrinkled her nostrils. ‘You’re going to a top designer’s latest fashion show. You need to look like you belong there.’

  The shops would now be closed and I couldn’t waste time going back home. I thought for a minute.

  ‘I’ve got a red lipstick in the bathroom. Gym kit in the locker room. I could go for a kind of Brit Pop 90s trendy look?’

  Pixie shook her head. ‘I’ve got a much better idea.’

  Half an hour later I was staring at my reflection.

  I was wearing a Platform-issue black catsuit. It was designed to ensure no trace of our DNA could be left behind on break-in jobs. It was not designed to be accessorised with red lipstick, backbrushed hair, my Adidas trainers and Pixie’s large mirrored sunglasses. Yet here I was. Pixie came up to me holding a stone-washed denim bumbag. I recognised it as belonging to Norm. A Rat in his fifties who, with his anorak and plastic glasses, was not known for his on-trend fashion sense.

  ‘Inside here is what looks like an iPhone charger. You need to clip it to Ling Ling’s Dictaphone and it will download everything on it and install a bug that will link the Dictaphone back to G’s IP address.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘That every time she presses record it will upload to his computer.’

  She clipped the bumbag round my waist and took a step back.

  ‘Perfick,’ said Pixie, admiring her handiwork. ‘This is the perfect undercover look.’

  ‘It’s grossly attention-seeking and completely ridiculous.’

  ‘Exactly. You’re going to fit right in, darlin’. I’ve got you a pass as a fashion blogger.’

  ‘But what if anyone asks me about fashion? I don’t know anything.’

  ‘No one will ask you anything. Just keep taking selfies and pout a lot. Talk in hashtags. And don’t take your sunglasses off.’

  I’d got halfway to the car park when I realised I’d left my mobile phone on my desk. I went back to get it and, passing the open meeting room door, spotted Geraint and Pixie holding hands. Seated in front of their laptops, headphones in, his right hand and her left clasped together on the dining-room table, their free hands scrolling through what they were reading on the screen. Pixie pointed at something on her screen and they both laughed.

  I watched them for another second, out of sight from the side of the door. That new relationship bubble. I remembered what that was like. Where you made an effort with how you looked and what you said. And kissed a lot. Wasn’t there lots of kissing? I missed the days when kissing was more of a feature presentation. Not just the adverts you could fast forward.

  I walked down the corridor towards the lift. I was happy for them. I wondered if they would last. It would help they had the same job, the same security clearance. I thought of Will’s face as I’d left this evening. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew I was hiding something from him, he just didn’t know how big it was. Everyone had parts of themselves they wanted to keep hidden – but they were usually more along the lines of unhealthy shopping addictions, webbed feet and lingering feelings for an ex. Not killing people.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I ARRIVED AT THE FASHION SHOW unfashionably on time, 9 p.m. on the dot. A few people were already seated. The designer was an up-and-coming Eastern European with a name that consisted of so many consonants that it seemed wholly unpronounceable. The music was pounding. It was so l
oud I could barely think. How could anyone talk over this? Was it really necessary? God. That was it. I was officially old.

  I scanned the front row until I spotted Ling Ling sitting with two friends. Pixie and Geraint may have got Cameron and me passes for entry but they had failed to secure us front row seats.

  I stood by the door watching people enter.

  Cameron strutted in. She was wearing a sleek black dress with mesh panels and towering Louboutin heels. Her peroxided blonde hair was slicked back. She looked amazing. She came straight up to me.

  ‘What the fuck, Lex?’ She cast a glance over what I was wearing. ‘Are those your work clothes? Is that the BlockRelease2000 suit?’

  ‘I was short on time.’

  ‘What is it with women letting themselves go as soon as they pop out a kid?’

  I gritted my teeth. Working with Cameron meant keeping a hold of your temper was as challenging as the mission itself.

  ‘Have you located Ling Ling?’ she asked.

  ‘She’s over there. Front row. No point making a move until the show is over. We won’t be able to get close enough.’

  It was nearing 10 p.m. by the time the show actually started. I watched a long parade of skinny women strutting down the catwalk in strange outfits. I didn’t get fashion. I got stuff that looked nice. But who the hell was ever going to wear a dress stuck together with two thin straps and that opened to show your granny pants? The last time I had worn underwear that high was post C-section.

  It went on for twenty minutes. Ling Ling was transfixed. Her phone never left her hand, her bag positioned firmly on her lap. Soon as it finished she clapped enthusiastically, nodding to her friends.

  ‘Now what?’ asked Cameron.

  Ling Ling and the rest of the front row were being herded straight along the catwalk and through a large set of double doors.

  ‘Let’s just try not to lose her.’

  The doors opened into a huge room that was already packed. It seemed the people in the know had bypassed the show just for the actual party. I remembered from the blurb that this warehouse used to be a slaughterhouse. The line of giant meat hooks that hung from the ceiling in the centre of the room was an ominous reminder. A headphone-wearing DJ of indeterminate sex, in a tight corset and feathered hat, was dancing in a booth that was fixed halfway up the back wall.

  I spotted Ling Ling and her two friends for a moment before they were once again lost in the crowd.

  Getting the Dictaphone off Ling Ling in such a crowded place would be easy. If we could actually get close to her. I motioned to Cameron that she take the left side of the room.

  Trays of champagne held aloft by waiters in black were circulating. I looked at my watch. It was nearing 11 p.m. and I wanted to be in bed. Or at least in pyjamas on the sofa in front of Netflix. Not at a party in a skintight catsuit surrounded by fashionistas, working out how to rummage through another woman’s handbag. The music had now ramped up a further notch. I looked over at Cameron. She was swaying to the beat with a glass of champagne in one hand. She was having fun. I remembered when I thought nights like this were a perk of the job. Just like her I’d roar into a party, in my best dress, my highest heels, and I would drink and I would dance and I would feel the beat of the music, soak up men’s stares and feel good. I was strong, powerful and just the right level of drunk.

  I could have them or I could kill them. I was invincible.

  Working late now held no appeal. I’d rather have an early night with my husband and then feel less exhausted when getting up early with my daughter. I looked again at Cameron. She wasn’t that much younger than me. We’d been in this business for nearly the same length of time. My desire to have a family was what changed me. I wanted to be a Rat and I wanted to be a mother. I wanted to do both. That moment might never come for Cameron. She would carry on steamrolling through life just as she was now and be perfectly happy. The real difference between her and me was that I could respect her choice, while she couldn’t respect mine.

  I finally caught sight of Ling Ling. She was at the stainless-steel bar that ran along the back of the wall underneath the DJ booth, waiting to be served.

  I nodded over at Cameron. She elbowed her way across the room to the bar, squeezed in next to Ling Ling’s friends and within seconds had the bartender’s attention. Ling Ling’s bag was on her right shoulder. I jostled past a group of men with handlebar moustaches, until I was just behind her and waited.

  Pixie had briefed us that at the end of the last meeting Robin had seen Ling Ling replace the Dictaphone into the middle section of her large Balenciaga tote bag.

  Cameron came up to them with a tray of shots, big party-girl grin in place. With a few whoops of encouragement each of them took one. As they downed the shots, amid the bustle of clinking glasses and grimacing faces, I reached into the middle section of Ling Ling’s bag. I clasped my hand around what felt like the Dictaphone. I quickly pulled it out, put it straight into my bumbag and turned around. I was officially a bumbag convert. It wasn’t a dated 80s accessory, it was a hands-free handbag allowing me to be fully operationally effective. I fitted the iPhone charger to the Dictaphone and turned back to check on Ling Ling and her friends.

  Cameron seemed to be trying to persuade them to do something but there were a lot of shaking heads. She glanced over at me as they left the bar and headed back into the throng of people.

  I looked down at the iPhone charger. The small light on the back of it was still red. The transfer wasn’t complete.

  We had to get the Dictaphone back inside that bag. With the remote bug in place, transferring audio files back to Geraint’s IP address, we would be able to hear everything at every meeting.

  This late night was not going to have been for nothing.

  We followed Ling Ling and her friends as they negotiated their way through the crowds. We were halfway across the room when the light finally went green. I disconnected the Dictaphone and handed it to Cameron. She strode ahead and I watched as she danced up to Ling Ling as if they were now old friends. She could be nice when she needed to be. She put an arm round her as she shouted something into her ear and slipped the Dictaphone back into her bag. Cameron then high-fived Ling Ling and her friends and sashayed off, hands in the air. Party Girl and Rat was definitely an easier fit than Mother and Rat.

  Our mission had been accomplished. Now back home to bed.

  And then I saw a Ghost.

  He was broad with clipped hair and wearing straight-leg jeans with a light green fleece. He had a nose that looked like it’d been broken more than once. He was not far behind Ling Ling. Ignoring the music. No phone in hand. That and his unfashionable attire made him stick out. I scanned the room and saw another Ghost not far behind him. He was a thickset man, stood alone, just staring at Ling Ling.

  Why the hell were Ghosts following Ling Ling? Were they also wanting the Dictaphone? Were they going to grab her? Was it a trap to draw us out? To see how much we knew?

  Ling Ling was still talking to her two friends, mobile clasped in one hand, drink in the other, her Balenciaga bag still slung over her shoulder.

  Cameron looked over to me and I gave a nod at the two Ghosts. She turned to look and then reached for another glass of champagne.

  We couldn’t leave. Ling Ling wasn’t going to stand a chance if they came for her.

  We needed to watch. To wait and see what they did next. Ling Ling and her friends were now dancing. So much for hoping they were on their way out.

  I checked my watch. It was coming up to 1 a.m. Surely she must be wanting to go back to the hotel. I remembered the delegation’s schedule. She had an early start. She should really be in bed. All around us people were dancing, heads swaying, hands moving.

  The Ghosts kept Ling Ling in their sights. I knew why they hadn’t made a move. Too large a throng of people. No fast exit.

  I scanned the room again and spotted a third Ghost. This was not good. Assigning this many to her meant they were after some
thing.

  Ling Ling and her friends huddled together as one held out a phone and snapped a photo. They walked towards the exit, arms linked.

  Cameron looked totally absorbed in the good time she was having but seeing them move she immediately extricated herself from the man she had been gyrating with and followed me towards the door.

  The large warehouse opened out into a side street. Ling Ling and her friends came laughing out the door with me directly behind them. There were small groups of people outside smoking and vaping.

  The side street had been closed to cars. The three women walked down it, back towards the main road. Cameron arrived at my side. We watched their progress down the street.

  One of the Ghosts followed them. He came up on the right of them and overtook them. What was their plan?

  I turned to look for the other two Ghosts. One was far over on the left. The third? The third I spotted as he followed directly behind the women.

  They were in formation.

  They were going to make a move.

  The third Ghost would make a grab; if he failed, the first was up ahead to try again. The second Ghost was now peeling off to another side street – he must be retrieving their getaway vehicle.

  The minute those women turned off the street out of view of the smokers, the Ghosts would pounce. We had to wait until they did.

  Cameron clearly reached the same conclusion. ‘I’ll get the one going for the wheels.’ She set off after the second Ghost. Cutting off their means of escape was a good bet at upsetting whatever they had planned.

  Ling Ling and her friends kept stopping to look and laugh at one of their phones. They turned onto the main road. I waited a beat and then followed. I turned the corner in time to see the Ghost pull the bag off Ling Ling’s shoulder and push her to the ground. She let out a cry of pain as she hit the ground. Her two friends went to her and shouted at the departing Ghost. I didn’t understand Mandarin but it sounded far angrier than anything that could’ve been said in English.