‘You’re bullshitting me.’ I point a finger, jerking it at him as if it were a weapon.
He breathes in deeply, snapping both hands out from his sleeves. ‘We simply require some cooperation from you. Cooperate – and everything will return to normal. Because we want to help you, Tom.’ He slants his head sympathetically. ‘We can arrange for Health Farm treatment to get you over your dad’s death, you know. We are the good guys here.’
I pull my hands into tight fists. I’m an inch away from smashing them into his smug face. ‘And what are you doing with Mikey Jones?’
‘Mikey? He’s helping us with our enquiries. Very helpful,’ Miles winks.
My whole body tightens as I interpret his meaning. Mikey is with them. I join my fists, knocking them against my forehead.
‘Don’t press self-destruct,’ Miles says clearly, calmly, looking at me from under raised brows. The vertical smile has totally dissolved; his eyes turn serious as he leans forward. ‘How do you know your dad wasn’t on the wrong side? How can you know for sure?’ He pulls back, examining me. I can’t read his expression.
‘I won’t stop till I find out the truth,’ I hiss back.
‘The truth’s only what we want it to be. Choose to wash in your dad’s dirty water, and you won’t come out clean. Nor,’ he adds, ‘will your family. How about if your mum loses her job? She’s cliff-edge close to it – did you not know that? Her job, Tom? All she has left to keep her going?’ He ticks his head. ‘And let’s see.’ He taps his fingers against his mouth. ‘We understand your brother’s involved in a spate of plagiarism – hard worker right? Ambitious? What a shame if he doesn’t get his degree. Or how about that little Indian friend of yours? Sikh, isn’t he? What would his community say if they find out it was he who supplied you the drugs?’
I jolt up from the table, sending my chair flying behind me. My body overheating from anger and frustration. ‘I’m going to expose you all,’ I spit out.
Miles leans back, linking his hands behind his neck casually, as if we’re just two blokes enjoying a pint in a bar. ‘Expose what? Like I said. The truth is what we all want it to be.’
I’m breathing hard and fast. All I want to do is scream. An animal roar of a scream. ‘You can’t do this.’
‘We can, and we have. Miles clocks an eye at the camera; back at me. ‘You’re being put under house arrest. We have you by the balls, mate.’
Her
‘I should have expected this from the way you started life,’ he says, cold eyes moving over me.
‘What do you mean by that, Jack?’ I hear Mum ask faintly.
‘You,’ he snaps back at her. ‘You tricked me into marriage.’
‘No, Jack! I just forgot to take my contraceptive pill! That’s all.’ Mum takes a large swig from her wine glass.
‘Just forgot? Oh yeah, of course you did.’ Dad rounds on her, a fist held high now. ‘You saw the gravy train rock into your station is what you did. She might not even be mine. I wouldn’t put that past you. Looks nothing like me, or her sisters.’
‘That’s not nice, Jack,’ Mum’s voice quakes, ‘of course she’s yours. You’re his,’ she says, trying to pass me some kind of reassuring smile, before her hands go shaking back towards her wine glass.
Dad’s face whips round, staring long and hard at me. ‘Right now I wish she wasn’t.’
I try and stand taller, holding my hands up in case he comes at me again. Instead he goes to the door. He draws a long breath, glaring back at Mum. ‘I have to go out again. I have an urgent meeting near Windsor to rectify this mess.’
Near Windsor? My muddled mind makes a connection – Blythe’s house was near there. Is that where he’s going?
His last words are for me – he reminds me what he’ll do to the shelter if I try and leave the house, ‘turfing the residents onto the streets just as the weather’s turning cruelly colder.’ Adding, ‘Tomorrow morning, your mum will drive you to the Health Farm. I don’t want to set eyes on you again until you’re treated for this … this mental illness.’ He emphasises the word as if it’s something that disgusts him. ‘You will get cured, Hope. And your Tom Riley will be muzzled. For good.’
Him
I can see Mum, standing under the porch light as the Suit drops me off. He drives off again before Mum gets to the car.
‘Oh, Tom.’ She hugs me to her. The kind of hug Dad used to give, squeezing the air out of me.
‘Thanks for standing up for me,’ I mumble into her hair.
She pulls me inside, shutting the door behind us. ‘As if I wouldn’t! How dare they keep me from you! Whatever you’re up to – it’s a first offence, they can’t go holding you in prison, or insisting you go to some crackpot Health Farm. And house arrest is extreme!’ Her thin face turns woeful. ‘They say they found cocaine – cocaine, Tom?’
‘It wasn’t mine, Mum,’ I reply plainly, but she doesn’t hear. She’s moved onto blaming herself now.
‘I haven’t been present. I’ve failed to help you,’ she’s saying. ‘But I’m going to be different from now, I promise, Tom.’
I’m trying to tell her, it’s not her fault, as she starts in on Dad. ‘… It’s his influence; keeping dope around the house; drinking all the time. Then leaving us to this … if he hadn’t, hadn’t …’ Her voice trails off. She’s clutching at her mouth as if she’s suppressing something from coming out.
I bring my arms back around her for another Dad-style hug.
‘It’ll all be okay,’ she says, stroking my hair. ‘It’ll all be all right,’ she continues, as if she’s trying to convince herself.
I pull my face back. ‘Is everything all right at work, Mum?’
She clears her throat. ‘Work? Don’t you worry about stuff like that.’ But I can already see it – the way her eyes stretch and strain. There’s a lot wrong with work. They’re already doing what Agent Miles threatened they would. I breathe out. ‘I need to call Nathaniel.’
Mum makes a face of relief, as if she’s off the hook from discussing it further. ‘Good idea. He’s been worried.’ She picks up the landline, dialling the number for me. ‘Here, I’ll make us some dinner.’
‘Drugs, Tom?’ Nathaniel says straightway. ‘Mum’s hanging on by a thread, she doesn’t need this. You –’
‘It didn’t happen, all right?’ My voice twists like his. ‘It’s a load of bollocks. I’ve been investigating Dad’s story. PharmaCare want to keep a lid on what I’ve found so far. MI5 is where I’ve just come from, not some poxy police station. They’ve been spouting national security at me.’ There’s silence at the other end of the line. ‘You still there?’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ Nathaniel says quietly. ‘Someone’s been messing with my stuff. A copied essay I never submitted …’
My heart pumps harder. I’ve no way out of this. I either do what they say, stay silent, or else they’ll hijack all our lives. ‘It’ll be them,’ I exhale, rubbing my head.
‘What’s this about, Tom?’ he asks, his voice sounding scared.
‘The police and MI5 are in it with PharmaCare. Jack Wright set Dad up; now they’re doing the same to me. Dad must have found out something really bad on PharmaCare – or he was about to.’ I take a breath. It feels strangely good to be telling my big brother everything at last.
Until he says, ‘So back off!’
‘What?’ I reply, pulling my head back from the phone.
I hear him hissing out words, his tone barbed. I move the receiver back to my ear. ‘Back off from this. Now. This is your life. My life.’
I shake my head slowly, my stomach shrinking. ‘How can you say that? PharmaCare most likely killed Dad! And –’
‘It won’t bring Dad back,’ Nathaniel breaks in. ‘I don’t want my life ruined by the fact Dad ruined his.’ His voice turns desperate. ‘What future will you have if you get thrown in prison? Or if I get done for cheating?’
My stomach is kneading itself like putty from frustration. I have to stop myself punching a f
ist hole into the front door. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I might not value my life much since Dad left – but Nathaniel’s? Mum’s? I’m supposed to protect them. And what about Hari, and Pavlin?
‘But doesn’t it matter more what happened to Dad, than what they’ll do to us?’ I say, losing strength from my voice. I already know how he’s going to answer.
‘No! Dad no longer has a life and we do!’ His voice deepens as if he’s squaring up to me. ‘Dad made the choices that messed up his life – not us.’
Tears start to leak out of my eyes. As if he can hear them, Nathaniel’s voice turns softer. ‘The person who was most important to Dad: was Dad.’
My phone is vibrating in my pocket. It’s Pavlin calling.
I switch it to off.
Her
I unwrap the memory stick from Mikey’s tobacco pouch. The smell reminds me instantly of him and more guilt wraps itself like sticky tape to my insides. It was me who took Dad and Slicer to the shelter in the first place. And now St Patrick’s is without him.
I look out the window to check that Dad’s car isn’t on the drive before I slot the stick into my laptop. I click on its only file.
It looks like a draft article. Its title: ‘Cloud 9’. But it reads as if it’s a personal letter to someone.
I’ve found every one of the nine names. Nine members of the elite club, Cloud 9, who conceived, funded and built Leata into what it is today. Nine members who were all at Oxford University together between 1985 and 1988. Two tutors. Seven students.
Professor Simeon Blythe
Professor John Tenby
Damian Price, Prime Minister
Maurice Read, Chancellor
Sarah Day, Home Secretary
Perdita Brightsmith, CEO, PharmaCare
Commander Philip Menton, Director of Internal Security, MI5
Bea Tyler, MD, Star Media
Oliver Wyatt-Hall, Chairman, Merkins International Bank
I am stuck, repeatedly scanning the same three names on the list, as if somehow I’ve imagined the Prime Minister, the Chancellor, the Home Secretary there. The Progress Party aren’t just in bed with PharmaCare … the Progress Party created the very drug they endorse? My head’s spinning with what this means, as my eyes move on, my mouth moving soundlessly over the postscript at the bottom.
Cloud 9 protects a big secret, I’m sure of it, from what I’ve heard so far. Bear with me, will you? I just need to press my source to reveal it. She’s got all the other information for me so far. I know Tenby will tell her the big one if she keeps on asking him. She’s keen to help me, because she cares for me. I will get to it. I will uncover the final secret.
I hear Mum coming back upstairs. Quickly, I take a photo of the file on my phone. Unplugging the memory stick, I hide it under my mattress. I lie down on my bed, pressing my fingers hard against my head.
She?
14
Dig a hole for the bad stuff and good things will grow
Leata
Her
‘Great! You’re packed already! Happy seventeenth birthday, darling! Into the kitchen, see what we’ve got for you! Lily and I spent all Sunday afternoon shopping!’ Her voice is pitched, glossing over anything real.
‘I have to go, Mum.’
She checks her watch. A beam drawn on her plump face like the fifth Teletubbie. ‘We have time! The Health Farm isn’t expecting us till eleven! Birthday breakfast, Hope! You can eat as much as you want on your special day!’
‘I’m not going to the Health Farm,’ I say eventually. My voice sounds dry and monotone next to hers.
‘Why?’ Her puffy eyes widen.
Why? The answer became clear in my mind overnight, like scraping a patch of ice from a frosted windscreen. I’ve got to risk St Patrick’s being closed, for something greater. ‘Because I won’t be the daughter Dad wants.’
‘But the Health Farm is expecting you!’ Her voice cracks. ‘They will make you better! Your father insists you go!’
‘No – I’ve seen what they did to Tara.’
‘You can’t leave.’ Mum moves to stand squarely in front of me. I can smell last night’s wine on her breath, mingling with strong coffee.
‘Happy birthday, Hope.’ Rose slinks into the hallway. Her serious face wearing a pained expression.
‘Open your presents!’ Lily dances out behind her.
‘Back into the kitchen.’ Mum swings round at them. Her voice unusually stern. Her face reddening.
Rose stays put. ‘You can’t force Hope to go to a Health Farm.’ Her face starts to crumple as if she’s about to cry.
‘Quiet, Rose, I can’t think!’ Mum goes over to her handbag on the hall table. Rummaging inside she pulls out a box of Leata. Ripping out two, she shoves them into her mouth, pressing a palm against her lips as she jerks her neck to force them down without water. She turns back to me, fingers pinching at her temples, pulling the skin there taut so her puffy eyes become stretched. ‘You must try and see it from Dad’s point of view. You were always such a difficult child. Not compliant and obedient like the other two. Forever answering back; so strong-willed.’
‘But for five years I have played compliant, obedient!’ My ex-followers can testify to that.
‘But darling – five years isn’t that long in an adult life!’ Mum’s perpetual-chirpy voice is straining at the seams. ‘And to go supporting Tom Riley in his hateful campaign against PharmaCare …’
‘Is that what Dad calls it?’ My words come out strangled. ‘Have you met Slicer yet?’
‘Who?’
I make a groan for ‘I give up’. What is the point? She won’t hear it. ‘I’m going.’ I push on past her plump frame, throwing a semi-smile of goodbye at Rose. Her mouth trembles back a reply of some kind.
‘You can’t just leave.’ Mum’s heels click after me to the front door. ‘Stop this silliness! Dad says, you’re … you’re mentally ill … you don’t know your own mind.’
I blink, fixing my mouth in a straight line to stop the scream bubbling up inside me. ‘You let him hit me,’ I say neutrally.
Mum makes goldfish gulps of breath. ‘No – I – I talked to him. He’ll stop that. Go to the Health Farm like he wants and we can go back to being a happy family!’
‘We never were one. We’re all just good at pretending at it.’ I make a face at Rose – it falls somewhere between ‘sorry’ and ‘see?’
‘Hope: “Dig a hole for the bad stuff and good things will grow” and then you can be happy!’ Mum beseeches.
I don’t even bother answering that one. I dive out the door.
‘But what will the neighbours say! They’ll think … they’ll think it’s all my fault,’ Mum calls out after me. ‘What will I tell the school? Your father?’
‘The truth,’ I say, striding faster down the drive. ‘The truth,’ I shout again, without looking back.
Him
She’s standing there, sort of hopping from foot to foot as if she’s in a hurry. A large rucksack on her back.
Her hand springs out when I make to slam the door back on her.
‘Hear me out first.’ She looks anxiously behind her. I glance too. The police car that was here for most of last night must have left. I have no doubt it will be back.
Hope takes a gulp of air before pouring out words like she’s doing some school presentation she’s practised and just wants to get it over. ‘I’m sorry I spied on you, okay? I genuinely thought I was helping you. Helping Dad.’ She shrugs despairingly. ‘Helping myself.’ She looks behind her again.
‘You going somewhere?’ I gesture at the bag.
She nods. ‘I don’t blame you for hating me, Tom. But I’m seriously out of my depth and I just need to give you something.’ She looks behind her hurriedly again. ‘I don’t have long. Mum will be calling my dad.’
‘What’s the problem, Hope? The happy pills not helping you deal with life any more?’ I say stonily.
‘I’m not taking them.’ She looks inte
nsely at me. I’m inclined to believe her. Unbrushed hair. Missing smile. Eyes stern, minus their usual strip of kohl.
‘This is me. Without medication. Okay? Just listen to me.’ She brings a memory stick out of her jacket pocket, forcing it into my hand. Her phone next, swiping it and pushing it in front of my face. ‘Your dad’s notes for his story.’
I read down the list on the screen. ‘The Prime Minister?’ I say aloud. I shouldn’t be shocked by now, but ‘Government created Leata?’ … and … ‘Commander Menton, MI5?’ I think of the Commander in his straining suit. I can feel my whole body tensing with renewed fear. MI5 are controlling it, right from the top?
‘Where did you get this?’ I say, my voice tight.
‘From Mikey at the shelter, and now he’s in trouble.’ She takes a quick breath. ‘And I know Imogen swore she wasn’t your dad’s source, but I think she was. She’s scared, about to run,’ she spills out hurriedly. ‘That’s where I’m going now.’
I peer closer at Hope, suddenly noticing that the pink stripe on one side of her cheek isn’t because she’s been heavy-handed with the blusher. ‘What happened to you?’
‘My dad’s what’s happened.’
I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. My mind’s finding it hard to digest everything she’s telling me.
She starts walking away then suddenly turns and comes back again. ‘But how could you treat Fran like that?’ Her mouth strains as if she can’t find the right words. ‘You took advantage of her!’
I open my mouth to defend myself – my face burning – shut it again.
‘You shouldn’t use people like that. Whatever you’re going through.’ She screws up her face. I can’t tell if she’s just angry or fighting tears. ‘It’s no different to what your dad did to Imogen.’
The last sentence slams into my guts. I bite down on my lip; something close to shame rips through me at the comparison. Am I behaving like Dad? ‘I’m not cheating on anyone. I’m not married!’ I say back, bruised.
She shakes her head at me. ‘You don’t get it, do you?’
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