Killing It

by Asia Mackay

  ‘Does Dasha ever confide in you?’

  ‘God, no. We did have one moment last year where she seemed to warm to me. It was after I told her my son had mentioned one of the boys had been giving Viktor a hard time.’

  ‘He was being bullied? That’s terrible.’

  ‘No, I don’t think it was anything like that. You know what boys are like. Anyway Dasha clearly didn’t think anything of it. She actually became quite good friends with the boy’s mother and the father is now working for Dimitri’s company in Moscow.’

  I took this in. ‘So the boy and his mum are still here in London?’

  ‘No, they all moved out with him. Whole family got a rather nice relocation package.’ Frankie took another sip of smoothie. ‘It clearly pays to be friends with Dasha. Although Claudia and Cynthia, Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber, seem to be the only ones in the inner circle. Not that you’d get any gossip out of them. They only talk to people who they think can give them something.’ She drained her glass. ‘Wow, I feel so much better already. I can literally feel my body absorbing all those nutrients and goodness.’ She stood up. ‘Now I need a cigarette.’

  *

  Frankie’s words stayed in my mind. Later that afternoon, at our final bonfire committee meeting, we sat listening as Dasha went over everything from confirming the location of the rotisseries for the pigs (‘We need them displayed so people can be impressed by them but not so prominent those who are vegan might find it distasteful’) to whether there was enough fuel for the bonfire (‘We want huge roaring flames that the Tatler photographer can capture but we must also abide by the Gardens’ Health and Safety recommendations’).

  ‘Don’t forget people need a drink in hand within four minutes of their arrival . . .’ Dasha looked down at her notes before checking her watch. It was the third time she had done so since she sat down in her usual flurry of fur and vape smoke. Today she was rattled. It was impossible to determine whether this was down to nerves over the upcoming social event going perfectly, or last-minute fears about being complicit in her husband’s murder.

  ‘Don’t worry, Dasha, there’s no harm in repeating things,’ said Claudia, putting a hand on her arm.

  ‘Exactly. We want everything to be perfect as much as you do,’ added Cynthia.

  I knew Frankie was right – if I wanted to get into Claudia and Cynthia’s good graces I was going to need help. They had written me off as a boring, slum mum with nothing to offer. If I wanted them on side I was going to have to make myself a lot more interesting.

  I excused myself from the table and headed outside to put in a call to Demon Communications, a press relations agency that, although it had no formal link to the darker underground world of the Security Services, unofficially handled Wolves. And what I needed to ingratiate myself with Claudia and Cynthia was a metal Wolf.

  Metal Wolves were celebrities. They were classed gold, silver and bronze according to their level of fame and therefore operational effectiveness. They did the same jobs as Wolves, getting the headlines we wanted, except a hundred times more successfully. Metal Wolves could install bugs in restricted locations that would take us months to break into and even get up close and personal, sometimes very personal, with people we couldn’t get within ten feet of.

  Metal Wolves were usually recruited but often created. A few years ago the Committee were concerned that the candidate they wanted to be prime minister was not bonding enough with the blue-collar public. A Wolf was dispatched on to Big Brother. With his academic background in sociology, UN experience in tactical negotiations and agency training in psychological profiling (all backed up by a brief stint at drama school) he became a lovable dim-witted character who entertained the public with his innocent, eyebrow-raising stupidity and memorable catchphrases. He walked out the winner and the week after that did a cover shoot for Heat magazine with his favourite politician, ‘a guy who really seemed to care about people like him’. The candidate’s ratings went through the roof.

  That poor Wolf was then, however, trapped in character, occasionally having to turn up to D-list celebrity parties and do glossy magazine shoots with his adorable sidekick Giggles the pug (‘You can’t have a life without Giggles!’ was a much-repeated house favourite). He was desperate for his alter-ego to be killed off in a glitter-laden funeral so he could stop fake tanning, continue with his PhD and, most importantly, get away from the bloody dog he was allergic to. It may have taken a year but his request was finally granted. It was a suitably ostentatious affair with inappropriately dressed sobbing mourners and an affectionate eulogy from the politician. The whole sombre event was broadcast in an ITV special while the image of the politician paying his respects to the chief mourner, a black-tied Giggles the pug, was the most retweeted photo of the year. His party won the election by a landslide.

  Our metal Wolves were a huge operational asset and therefore worth protecting. Stories we didn’t want coming out were quashed by trading up for a much bigger scoop. To save a gold, a silver or bronze would be sacrificed. This was the risk they took when they made a deal with the devil. Demon could build careers and just as easily crush them.

  Ten minutes on the phone with Demon and I secured a bronze Wolf to turn up and light the bonfire. I had tried for higher but the hard-talking publicist I had spoken to had torn me down. (‘Look darling, we’re all for helping the Rats but we just can’t let one of our silvers turn up to such a shit event.’)

  When I returned to the table it was to triumphantly announce that I had secured a celebrity to do the honours of lighting our enormous bonfire. The Committee were suitably impressed. Well, all except Dasha, who barely glanced up at me as she was staring at her phone. It pinged and she looked down at it frowning before getting up with such force the table rattled, shaking all our drinks.

  ‘I have to get home. I have a big meeting to prepare for.’ She looked at Claudia and Cynthia.

  ‘Actually we’re going to stay for another,’ said one.

  ‘Yes, we have a bit of time before Pilates,’ offered the other.

  They turned back to me, poised, ready to fire celeb-related questions. People this shallow were so easy to get to.

  An hour later I had learnt bugger all else from Claudia and Cynthia. I had made progress – they now seemed to view me as someone worthy of actually exchanging conversation with – but I had a long way to go until they spilled any dirt on their beloved Dasha. As we exchanged goodbyes and air kisses a text came in:

  Royal Mail will attempt to deliver your item ‘QueenBeeOnFoot’ today. For tracking please click here.

  Dasha was on the move and I was going to be right behind her. She was clearly on edge and I needed to know why.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR, how I wonder what you are.’ I kept singing in a low voice as I rocked a sleeping Gigi in her buggy. The bulletproof cover was safely secured on. It was a bonus that the reinforced material worked excellently as a blackout blind.

  I checked my phone – Dasha should be coming around the corner up ahead any minute. I spotted her straight away. She was now wearing sunglasses and a long black coat with a fur collar. Her bodyguards were following a few steps behind.

  I kept back as they made their way down the pavement and entered Holland Park. Dasha had to be meeting someone here, and considering the direction she took, it was most likely at the park café – which was not a location I could imagine Dasha choosing to meet her fellow well-heeled mothers.

  I slowed my pace but kept them in sight. The park was busy for a cold November day but the tall, smartly dressed blonde and her two suited, burly companions were easy to spot amid the joggers, cyclists, mothers and children. As the café came into view I moved off the pathway and on to the grass, parking the buggy next to a large oak tree. I watched Dasha and her bodyguards enter the café and then lost sight of them in the bustle of people arriving and leaving.

  I needed to see who she was meeting.

  The c
afé had large windows. How could I get close enough without being spotted?

  And then I saw them.

  Steaming down the pathway next to the river, the glorious sight of around fifteen women in workout gear. All pushing prams. Leading them was a woman wearing a bright purple hoody with ‘BuggyFit’ emblazoned on the front. They were walking in lunges. And heading towards the café. I took off my coat and stuffed it under Gigi’s pram and pulled on my baseball cap. Seeing as I was wearing what Shona liked to call the ‘mum uniform’ of baggy black top, leggings and trainers, I should fit right in. I waited until they drew parallel to me before I jogged up to them, pushing Gigi, and started lunging alongside them.

  ‘Hiya!’ I said to the rosy-cheeked brunette nearest to me. ‘Glad I caught up with you.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re easy to spot, aren’t we? This is the best class. Cazza is such a great trainer.’

  ‘Okay, ladies,’ shouted the purple-hoodied woman at the front. ‘Let’s up the pace. A full lap round the park and then a grand finish back at the café, where we get to ruin all our good work with cake.’

  The brunette grinned at me. ‘See what I mean? She really gets us.’ We lunged on together to the soundtrack of the odd cries and gurgles of our charges. I listened to everyone talk breathlessly in amid the panting and exclamations of ‘God this hurts’. I was just another one of the pack; comparing notes on sleepless nights, complaining at ruined bodies and cooing at our cubs. We powered along the pathway and were soon right next to the café. I looked across at the tables outside. No sign of Dasha. I scanned inside and caught a glimpse of her next to a window. She was sitting down at a table with a balding man. I kept on moving with the BuggyFitters until the café was behind us. I glanced back. I couldn’t see the bodyguards. I slowed down until I was at the back of my new lunging buddies, and peeled off to the side towards the bicycle racks round the back of the café.

  I now just needed to get inside without being seen by Dasha. There were two different entrances; Dasha was sitting facing the door nearest me, which ruled out using that one. If I walked the whole way around the back and used the door on the other side I should be able to slip inside while staying out of sight of Dasha and her companion. I set off, pulling my cap down low in case her bodyguards were lurking outside.

  Halfway there I knew something was wrong.

  Someone was following me. My instincts weren’t so rusty I didn’t know when I was being watched. The dread was rising in my stomach. They had picked the right moment to approach me; this part of the park was quiet, with only a few people even in view. I silently cursed. Not here. Not now. Not when I had Gigi with me. I took a deep breath and knew one thing for certain. It didn’t matter how many of them there were. And how many weapons they had. I wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

  My nappy bag was attached to the pram, gently swinging as we walked. I unzipped it and put my hand inside it just as two arms reached around and grabbed me from behind.

  ‘Supri— Arghhhh, Jesus!’ I elbowed my would-be attacker in the stomach before flinging them up against the café wall with my left hand, my right grasping the pistol inside the nappy bag ready to pull out and fire into him or any other incoming hostiles. I took one look at the man crouched over holding his stomach and let my gun fall back into the bottom of the bag.

  ‘Will! Oh, God, I’m so sorry! You scared me!’

  My husband looked up at me and shook his head, smiling. ‘If I wasn’t so bloody winded right now I would be laughing. How the hell did you do that?’

  ‘I just . . . I did that self-defence course at the town hall last year, remember?’ I put my arm round him. ‘Funny, really – I didn’t think I’d learnt anything, but guess I must have.’

  He straightened himself up. ‘Well, there I was thinking I would surprise you, but you surprised me.’ He rubbed his stomach. ‘How are you so bloody strong?’

  ‘I have no idea. Must be maternal instinct or something. I’m sure I read somewhere that fear of incoming danger to her baby can give a mother unnatural strength.’ I attempted a laugh. ‘Just call me Supermum. But what are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to find you, of course. I’m flying to Singapore tonight, remember? All the way to the other side of the world for an action-packed twenty hours trying to stop our biggest client from leaving us. Everyone in the office is stressing out about it.’ He loosened his tie. ‘Seeing my girls is all I need to be reminded of how there’s more to life than work.’ He tapped my nose with his finger. ‘I feel better already.’

  ‘How did you know where I was?’

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it at me. ‘Find My Friends, remember? We downloaded it together last month. I just clicked on, saw where you were and hopped into an Uber.’

  ‘Oh right. Of course. What a nice surprise.’

  Wow. How embarrassing. Rat extraordinaire. Secret agent. Trained assassin. Tracked down by a free iPhone app.

  ‘I’ve just finished a fitness class so let’s go ruin it with an ice cream.’ I motioned towards the café.

  ‘Sounds good to me.’ He slung an arm round me as we walked towards the café entrance. Before a waitress could show us to a table I marched right up to one that was a few tables behind Dasha.

  ‘Let’s go here.’ I parked Gigi next to me and motioned for Will to sit opposite. I was now facing the man Dasha was sitting with. I surveyed the room. I couldn’t see her bodyguards. How had she escaped them? And, more importantly, why? Whoever this man was, he was clearly important enough she had somehow given them the slip. He didn’t look handsome enough or rich enough to be a lover. The blue suit he was wearing was clearly off the peg.

  The man reached down to his briefcase and took out a folder. Dasha leaned forward, hands clasped. He opened it and spread out the several sheets of paper within. Dasha picked up a couple of them and started shaking her head.

  ‘Why don’t we try that?’ Will was looking at me.

  ‘Sorry, what were you saying?’

  ‘You get the Choc Surprise and I get the Strawberry Cream Sundae so we get to try both?’

  ‘Yes, great.’

  He held up a finger. ‘But I mean it, we have to share. No pulling the breastfeeding mama card on me and inhaling both.’

  He grinned and called over a waitress. As he placed our order I watched the man Dasha was with vigorously motioning towards one of the pieces of paper. He was frowning. Dasha put her head in her hands. For the ice-cold Queen Bee to be betraying such emotion he must have something pretty devastating on her. I needed to identify him. I kept staring at him. Was he in one of the many files we had on Dimitri’s business associates?

  ‘Aggggg, purrrrrrr, goooooo.’ The half-cat half-vacuum cleaner noise Gigi had been perfecting in the last month was coming out of the now shaking pram.

  ‘Great, the bubba is awake.’ Will unzipped the blackout cover and pulled our daughter out of the pram on to his lap. She looked between us, frowning as her eyes adjusted to the light. She blinked several times and then clapped her hands together. Will gave her a big cuddle. ‘I’ve missed you, little lady.’ He gazed at her as she poked a finger into his mouth.

  ‘Ahh, you look so sweet together.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Will. She now had her finger up his nose.

  ‘Totally adorable. Just wait, let me take a photo.’ I picked up my phone and aimed it at my husband and daughter. I clicked a couple of times, capturing Gigi exploring the contents of her father’s nose. ‘Hang on, haven’t got it yet.’ I zoomed in on the man with Dasha in the background. It was just about clear enough. I clicked a few times. ‘Perfect.’

  ‘You mothers really do go overkill with the need to photograph every moment.’

  I was already flicking through the photos and sending the clearest one of the man with Dasha to Geraint with a message to urgently ID him.

  ‘Well, we just want to remember everything.’

  Gigi was now sucking on Will’s chin.

&n
bsp; ‘Don’t tell me she’s mistaken this for a nipple?’

  I reached into the nappy bag and pulled out Sophie the giraffe.

  ‘She’s just teething. Try this.’ Will gently unattached her from his chin and handed her the giraffe. She crammed its head into her mouth.

  ‘Look at you now. Officially a parenting expert.’ Will reached over and cupped my cheek.

  ‘It’s not so hard.’ I shrugged, but it made me glow a little. I don’t know at what point it had happened but I did now feel as though as I knew what I was doing. That Gigi and I understood each other.

  I looked over at Dasha and the man; they were now both talking heatedly. He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder. Her head dropped. Dasha was clearly in trouble. Could this man be working for Dimitri? Or an enemy who had discovered she was involved with us and was now blackmailing her? My head buzzed with all the different and dangerous scenarios we could be facing. Dasha compromised was a disaster. If she betrayed us or backed out of helping us the whole plan would crumble. VirtuWorld would be unleashed on the world and we would be powerless to stop it.

  ‘Can you even remember what life was like before her?’

  It was hard to draw myself back into my husband’s conversation when I was contemplating whether or not I was now in the firing line from a mob of pissed-off Russians.

  I shook my head. ‘What on earth did we do with all that free time?’

  The waitress came over and put our heavily laden sundaes down between us. Will moved Gigi back into her pram.

  ‘I wouldn’t change it for anything, though. Just look at her.’ Gigi was pulling on her pram book, wrinkling the pages as she gurgled. Will was transfixed by his daughter. His hair was ruffled, his suit rumpled and his eyes, so like Gigi’s, framed with faint laughter lines.