Into the Fire

by Rachael Blok

  ‘Morning. How’s the head?’ Adrika is waiting for him.

  He shrugs. ‘So-so.’

  ‘Do you want me to go back and take statements from the staff once I’m done?’ Adrika asks, as they climb the steps.

  ‘Yes, just have a quick look round here first. Get the lie of the land.’

  Iqbal and Ebba open the door.

  ‘Most of the guests are asleep,’ Iqbal says.

  ‘We can wait,’ Maarten says.

  ‘Please, Maarten. Please don’t cause too much of a fuss, unless it’s absolutely necessary?’ Ebba asks, her face tight, her hand on his arm. ‘We’re due to speak to the press just before lunch, and Marieke has been receiving these threats for a while. Marieke doesn’t want the deal delayed any more than we do. We’re showing we can abide by the new code of conduct she wants adopting. If we delay announcing the deal, then the letters have worked. We need to stand firm…’

  It is a tiny speech, but delivered clearly, and it is much of what Marieke had said the previous evening. And what the super had said on the phone.

  ‘Even if it seems it came from inside the house, ma’am?’ he’d asked.

  ‘Conclusively, then maybe, but we don’t know that. All it would take would be a bribe and the package could have been sent to any member of the catering crew. And have we ruled out the drivers of the cars?’

  She was right. They needed to go through all those steps first.

  ‘Ebba, as I’ve said, no one is to leave and no one to be admitted to the house – the press conference is on the lawn. But no, we’re going to leave statements until after the press briefing. To be honest, they will be in no fit state to remember what happened last night for a while anyway.’ He thinks of Filip. ‘Let them have breakfast first.’

  They walk around the back of the house to speak to the uniforms.

  ‘Nothing, sir.’

  Adrika scans the garden. ‘It’s beautiful. And that’s the helicopter they’re leaving in later?’ She nods down to the garden where the lawn lies open, flat, and sitting in the centre is a sleek black helicopter. It’s almost like a large toy.

  ‘Yes, apparently it’s a hybrid. Brought in for the weekend. They’re flying to these games after lunch, after the press briefing. Then back to the house to celebrate with a Halloween dinner.’

  ‘Has it been checked?’ Adrika asks.

  Nodding, Maarten walks towards it. ‘Yes, it was done first thing. We’re keeping an eye on it. Everywhere is checked.’

  ‘They’re vicious, aren’t they?’ Adrika says, as they walk down the October lawn, the ends of the trees holding their red leaves like fistfuls of ribbon. ‘The letters. Calling her a whore, a slut. The creepiness of her being watched. The personal detail.’

  Nodding, Maarten turns back to the house, its stone looking secure, impenetrable. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘It’s what they convey – the spite behind them. That’s the unnerving thing. I don’t know what I am expecting, but it’s bad.’

  ‘Do you really think it was kids last night? Your head?’

  He looks up. The sky is clear. ‘No. I don’t know. I saw someone walking down, so I followed them. It can’t have been teenagers, I don’t think – when the gates are locked, the lawn can’t be accessed from outside. Not without some difficulty.’ He touches his head. ‘But when I got to the amphitheatre, I heard someone else crying under a tree. That could – I suppose – have been a teenager up to no good. I started to move towards the lone figure, but then I remember nothing. I don’t know what happened. Maybe I fell? Maybe I tripped and banged my head? The blow wasn’t hard enough to do anything other than knock me down. I don’t know…’

  He’s sure he was hit. But it had been so dark.

  The air smells of a bonfire somewhere, five days early. Fireworks will start soon, once the witches and the ghouls are safely tucked back in the drawers.

  ‘I’ll have a word with the PCs and then head back to the station,’ Adrika says.

  Nodding, Maarten looks up at the house. ‘Good idea. Let’s start the interviews at five. They should have finished the games by then.’

  ‘No one seems particularly concerned. That in itself seems strange,’ Adrika says.

  ‘I think they’re all focused on the deal. From what I can gather, there’s a lot of money involved for most of them. Myopic money – all you can see.’ He shrugs.

  ‘Call if you need anything.’ She heads up.

  Maarten watches Adrika walk away. A sound makes him jump, and he turns to see Aksel running at speed up the lawn.

  ‘Maarten,’ he says slowly, breathing heavily, leaning his arms on his knees and bending to rest. His sportswear is slick and expensive. He wears a large watch, which he checks as he stands.

  ‘Aksel, how are you?’

  Upright, Aksel’s breath floods from his mouth like smoke, and he doesn’t answer immediately, looking at Maarten long and hard.

  ‘How’s the head?’ he says.

  ‘So-so,’ Maarten says, thinking that it is still tender, but he stops his hand from rising instinctively to touch it.

  ‘Any idea what hit you?’ Aksel asks.

  Shaking his head, Maarten says, ‘No idea. Maybe it was some teenagers, messing around in the amphitheatre. We checked the area and nothing seemed amiss.’

  ‘So not one of us, then?’ Aksel asks.

  Maarten feels cold; it creeps into his bones quickly, making him shiver. He’s been out in the garden for a while now and the temperature has dropped today. It’s thinking of last night, he reasons, wanting to head back inside, but Aksel seems on the point of something, so he stands quietly, waiting for whatever it is.

  It doesn’t take him long.

  ‘Last night, with you injured, and Marieke looking after you… It made me think of something from years ago.’

  Looking at him, Maarten knows now why the cold is suddenly so pressing. He knows now why he shivers. He says nothing.

  ‘Marieke and you. I remember. There was a night, years ago. Over twenty years ago. It was late. I’d been at Marieke’s. You knocked on the door. You were carrying flowers.’

  Unmoving, Maarten feels the cold clutch harder. Stone cold.

  ‘Wasn’t that the same night one of your own died? It was all over the press. I looked it up this morning. Your name was in there.’

  Maarten can’t speak.

  ‘I was thinking about it. How close it was to Marieke’s. Can’t have taken you long to get there. Funny,’ Aksel says. Then he smiles, like a shark. ‘Anyway, I’m getting cold after my run. Time for a hot shower, I think. Good to have you on board this weekend. Always a relief to have someone around who’ll keep an eye out for me. When they know it’s good for them. See you later?’

  There’s no backward glance. No look at what he’d left behind.

  So, it had been Aksel.

  That man in Marieke’s apartment. That night. It had been Aksel. Aksel knows.

  Aksel knows all the details.

  The world, as Maarten knew it only a day ago, spins on its axis. Knocked off, speeds up.

  Now he joins the rest of them. Those whose colour fires up in Aksel’s presence. Those who hate him. Have reason to fear him. Maarten is no longer impartial.

  33

  FILIP

  Filip’s mouth is paper dry and his head aches. Like someone’s built a road straight through it and the traffic is at rush hour.

  Pausing outside of Marieke’s door, he raises his hand to knock. It opens, and Aksel steps out, smiling at the sight of Filip. ‘Filip! Morning, how’s the head?’

  Caught out, Filip stumbles out a reply. ‘Sorry, I thought… Marieke?’

  ‘Yes, this is her room. I’ll leave you to it. Shall I come and get you in about fifteen minutes? We need to head downstairs.’

  The door open, Filip sees Marieke walk slowly over to the coffee machine, fill a cup.

  ‘Ah, Filip.’ She doesn’t look at him, lifting her cup, staring out of the window over the green grass and the ma
rine-blue sky.

  He steps into the room. He’s just left Sophie, asleep, hair spread on the pillow, and he knows that something important happened last night. Something had fixed itself between them, he just can’t remember what. They’d had sex. Real sex. Not sex where he feels she’s taunting him. Not sex where he fails, and he flees. But real sex. Sex that had meant something. And he’d done it right, all the way to the finish. For the first time in almost a year.

  Something had fixed itself between them, and he feels like he can walk tall. He feels like he has shed a skin. Despite his hangover, he feels new. He can’t remember anything else. Something happened, and he dares to hope.

  Quietly, so as not to disturb her as she is silent, not looking at him, he says, ‘Marieke, I came to apologise. To say…’ He stalls.

  She lifts her head, raises one eyebrow and shakes her hair back. ‘To say what?’

  ‘Well, yesterday. The phone call. I shouldn’t have taken it when you were there. It wasn’t very respectful.’

  ‘Oh, Filip. No, no it wasn’t.’ She turns to stare out of the window, and he thinks he’s never seen her back so ramrod straight.

  ‘I am sorry, Marieke, I—’

  She stops him, holding up her hand. ‘What do you think you’ve been doing, these last few months?’ Marieke cocks her head to one side, slowly turns to face him.

  ‘Sorry?’ His head pounds and he feels left behind. ‘Doing?’

  ‘Filip, you’ve been confiding in me. About everything. We’ve had late-night dinners. You’ve been telling me over and over that you’re going to leave your wife. You’ve told me I’m your best friend.’

  ‘Yes.’ He’s still confused. ‘Well, you have been. I’ve been so grateful. Marieke,’ – he steps forward and reaches for her hand – ‘you’ve been a lifesaver…’

  She pulls her hand back, flipping him away. ‘Stop, Filip. Stop. What kind of message do you think you’ve been giving me?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m the first one you call. I’m the one you’ve taken out for dinners. I’m the one you’ve bought late-night drinks for. I’m the one! You’ve made me feel like I’m the one, Filip. That’s what all this has felt like. And now – I saw you look at her last night. She’s the one. She’s the one, Filip. Then where does that leave me?’

  ‘But I never said…?’ He shakes his head.

  Like a flash of flame, her arm lifts, darts, and she throws her glass across the room. It shatters hard, and she leans in, screams at him, in his face. ‘You never said? You never said? You told me in a thousand ways! What is this? Kak! You never said? You couldn’t have been clearer, Filip!’

  Her hands shake. She takes a breath.

  He watches her, stunned. The idea rocks him. But the situation rearranges itself with her words; he looks at it again. At his actions.

  How naïve he has been. How disrespectful. Christ, if Sophie had known…

  ‘Look at your texts,’ she says. ‘Look at how many you send me. And tell me, have you never compared me to your wife and, in your head, picked me?’

  Stung, he thinks of looking at them both last night. That Sophie was the more beautiful, but that Marieke made him feel he was enough. And that had been all he had wanted. He can feel himself flush red, hot.

  She nods, her eyes full of scorn. ‘You have. You have leaned on me. You have mentally picked me. And don’t say I’m wrong, but if you had managed to leave your wife, it would be because you thought you could possibly come to me.’

  His mouth falls open slightly. She arches an eyebrow, watching him read the truth.

  And the truth is prickly and uncomfortable. He thinks of yesterday, of the whisky in his room. Had he been on the verge of saying something? Had she? Fuck, she had read him before even he himself had known.

  ‘And then you take a call from your wife, you take a phone sex call, when I’m in the room. I think we all know where we stand now.’

  ‘Marieke! I’m…’

  ‘Time to leave, Filip.’ She turns away from him. ‘Time for you to go. Enough.’

  There’s no point in saying anything else. He hadn’t thought about it in those terms. It had never been physically sexual. He’d never thought of it as any kind of betrayal of Sophie. It had never occurred to him. He can’t read people. He can’t read himself.

  He worries quickly about how it could seem, being in her room. He doesn’t want to be a predator.

  ‘Marieke, I never meant any of this. I’m so sorry.’ And he backs out, stuttering. She doesn’t even turn.

  The door slams behind him.

  ‘Filip? Heading down for the meeting? You called it, didn’t you? Come on, we’ll be late,’ Aksel calls from the end of the corridor.

  Feeling shell-shocked, smaller than he has for a while, coated in shame like someone has dressed him in goose fat and feathers, he listens to Aksel talk of the countryside, of the runs here.

  The numbness creeps back. Who is he to be happy? So capable of hurting others.

  Pushing the door, the office is quiet as he enters, and they’re all sitting round. Ebba rises and greets him. ‘Morning, Filip. Did you get some breakfast?’

  He nods, sitting down at the table with Aksel, and Lois looks up, smiles. The prototype is on the table, and he picks it up, knowing he is pleased with what he sees. The design is sleek. It’s made of recycled plastic and the materials don’t feel flimsy in his hands. It feels expensive but just undercuts the leading competitor; the quality of the experience is unmatched. And of course, the games – those brilliant games. Lois is so observant. No one notices details like her. These games are alive with all the senses. She misses nothing from life.

  His head is still swimming with a hangover and with thoughts of Marieke. How must she have felt yesterday? Knowing everything she knew, and seeing him answer Sophie’s call?

  He forces himself to focus on the VR set. Just holding it, he can feel himself wanting to smile, but even in here he feels branded. He’s such a fool, now, even with work. They must be laughing at him. Ruben had been clear: Aksel is reportedly getting the better deal. And work is his safe space. Here he doesn’t go wrong. Here he can read situations like crystal.

  ‘You look tired this morning,’ Aksel says, shaking his head, raising his eyebrows. ‘Do you want to start? You had some concerns?’

  The other faces wait for him politely. His mind is playing tricks.

  Nodding, Filip finds and holds on to the feeling he had, of being part of something promising and exciting. He needs to stop his troubled brain leaking into the day.

  Lois pours him a coffee, nodding at the controller on the table. ‘It’s good, isn’t it,’ Lois says. ‘I’m so pleased with how it’s looking. I always worry that when it enters mass production the quality might slip, but if anything, it feels better.’

  ‘Quality slippage? With our products?’ Ebba says, in mock horror. ‘What is this of which you speak?’

  They laugh, and Ebba smiles at Filip, encouraging him again. ‘You had a few questions? What a good idea to go over the details one more time before we speak to the press.’

  Filip nods, glancing at the clock. It’s 10 a.m. and the confidential press briefing is set for 11 a.m.

  ‘I’ve heard…’ – and he laughs, to indicate how unreasonable it would be – ‘that Aksel has been given a much better deal than me.’

  They all laugh, but there is tension around the table.

  Aksel starts. ‘Filip, I’m sure, like me, you’re aware of the basics of the deal. We’re all signed off on the PR statement. We’re both paying fifty million GBP for our shares. Then we have separate distribution agreements?’

  ‘Yes.’ Filip taps his pencil on the table. He takes his time.

  ‘But I’ve heard…’ – he lingers over the words, smiling – ‘heard rumours that the distribution rights are different. In effect, I’ve heard that Aksel is being paid forty per cent more than me for the distribution. Because of this, over the next four years, Ak
sel will effectively get a large chunk of the shares for free. And if that is the case, then I’m not sure I’m ready to announce at all.’

  He lets it sink in. No one says anything, and he looks to Lois for support. Not that he needs it, but he trusts her. And he knows instinctively she will be on his side if this is the case.

  And he’s not wrong. ‘Ebba, you’re more over the details than me, but I know that isn’t the case. I’m sure we can reassure Filip.’

  Watching her, he sees that Ebba’s colour has altered a fraction. What is it – does she hesitate before replying? He doesn’t look at Aksel at all. Whatever the situation is, he won’t let anything slip. And nor would Filip, if the situation were reversed. But if Archipelago is messing him around, he won’t hesitate.

  ‘Look, Filip, if you’re nervous, then let’s arrange another meeting to go over the distribution deal at a later date. I think we can all agree we’ve worked long and hard to get where we are?’ She looks round the room.

  Filip nods.

  ‘And I think I can say that we’re all on board with what we’re doing here – we like the product, we like the franchise deal that we’re signed up to?’ She speaks the last line easily, lightly. No one is reluctant to get started on the launch of the new game, timing with the release of the next film. Their franchise contract is very generous.

  Filip mulls.

  ‘If we delay the confidential press announcement, we don’t want to cause jitters about our ability to fulfil the demand.’ She closes on a strong point and Filip can feel himself sway. She’s not wrong. Loss of confidence can kill a deal faster than anything.

  ‘So, we go ahead? And I promise to go over the distribution with you later?’ Ebba glances at him, but also round the table. ‘Lois? You’re happy? We’ll get the lawyers back in, go over the distribution contract and iron out any issues. We’ve kept the deals closed, and I don’t think this is the place to open everything up – we simply don’t have time. But I promise you, we can look at that side again? Next week?’

  Lois nods, and so does Filip.

  ‘I’ll have Ruben set something up in the next few days?’ he says.