by Karen Swan
Lee had handed over the passport she had found in the bin. She hadn’t even clocked the different name in it at the time, too distracted by Gus’s longer hair and altered appearance; according to the police, it was just one of his many aliases. He was but one part of a wider web and his arrest was expected to have a domino effect – there would be others in the coming days.
It was neither the story nor the ending she’d expected when she’d made that first phone call to Olander Books’ marketing department, but it had a glistening silver lining and she’d take that. She was determined to find them from now on; for Jasper’s sake, as well as her own, she had to believe there was goodness and happiness in this world. It was time to stop looking for wars.
She looked over at the coffee shop where she’d run out on Sam, almost able to see her own ghost trembling – rooted to the spot, tethered to the past – through the window. She saw him watch her run out, stare into the space of where she’d been, pick up and fold her coat, sniffing it for a moment, his eyes closed.
The ghosts faded. Gone now. But she saw, serving behind the counter, the man who had bumped into her as she’d headed for the loos last time . . . He was wiping the counter and was seemingly singing along to something. He was no villain.
Perhaps it was time to start laying all her ghosts to rest.
She wheeled the bike over and locked it outside the cafe, taking care to lift the turkey from the basket and bring it in, along with the bags of presents. Only a few customers were in there, two absorbed on their phones, another staring sightlessly out the window. With a slow, steady exhale, watchful for any first signs of a repeat episode, she went up to the counter. The man looked up and smiled – brown-eyed, kind-looking if a little tired, slightly stooped, older than she’d recalled. She thought she saw him recognize her too, but as he took in the sight of her cradling the turkey like it was a baby, he looked like he had far more to be worried about from her than she did him.
‘Hi, an espresso please,’ she said quietly. ‘And don’t worry, I won’t put this on the counter.’
‘Thank you.’ He nodded. ‘One espresso coming up.’ He glanced at the turkey again in her arms before heading to the machine and beginning to pull on the levers, sending hissing plumes of steam into the cafe. Settling the turkey on her hip, she reached a hand down into her cross-body bag and pulled out her purse, noticing his iPad on the ledge in front of her. It was almost out of sight from her vantage behind the raised serving counter but she recognized the distinctive red banner streaming across the bottom of the screen.
She stood on tiptoe, leaning in and angling herself to get a better view of it. The Sky News logo could be read easily, even upside down. Breaking News in bright white words, catching in her brain.
The man looked over, frowning as he saw her evident interest in his iPad. ‘Uh—’ He stepped over and moved it away.
Lee stared at him, embarrassed. Did he think she was going to snatch it?
‘No, I wasn’t . . . Could I just see that news feature? I’m just trying to hear what it’s saying. Please?’
Her phone rang and she reached for it in her coat pocket. ‘Hello?’ she asked absently, as with her finger she pointed to the iPad again. ‘I just want to see that news item,’ she whispered.
‘Lee, it’s me.’
‘Dita!’ She straightened up, feeling a jolt of pure fear shoot through her limbs. Her bones became liquid, her brain a vat of static.
‘Have you heard?’
Her mouth was dry, her heart beatless.
She watched the man moving the iPad onto the back counter but set up on its stand so she could see the screen. See Harry. They were showing an old photograph of him standing in a desert somewhere, wearing tan camouflage and a baseball cap, his aviators stuck in the neck of his jacket. He was grinning, squinting slightly, looking tanned, quite dusty, lighter build than of late. They ran a sequence of his old reports filed from when he’d worked at CNN – Harry crouched outside the drain where Gaddafi was cornered; Harry in the mobs in Tahrir Square; Harry sitting with refugees in the Dadaab camp in Kenya; Harry with her . . .
The man looked back at her in surprise, recognizing her in the same instant as Lee recognized herself.
Harry with her, hiding behind a sandbag as sniper bullets whistled in Sirte.
‘. . . then you know?’
She realized Dita was still speaking. ‘Sorry – what?’ Her voice kept fading in and out of recognition as she competed with the images on the screen.
‘. . . special ops . . . midnight . . . drone strike.’ Dita paused. ‘. . . Are you hearing me? He’s dead.’
He was dead?
The world tuned out again, noise fading to silence, colours bleaching to white as she saw only the images of her friend on the screen, the composites of a glittering career, a homage to a man who had lived and died for the noble cause of always trying to do the right thing. He had been trying to do the right thing that dreadful day too, when her own fate had collided with a jihadi’s – and she had punished him for it, every day for six years.
The man behind the counter slid her coffee in front of her, watching her curiously. She was in his coffee shop and on the news. She was holding a turkey like it was a baby. She had tears streaming down her face.
She jolted as another image came up – not Harry. But Him.
Moussef, wearing the all-black uniform, gun pointing to the sky. An out-and-out leader now. Grainy footage of a cavalcade of jeeps sweeping through a rural village. Then a quick camera sweep over an image of . . . his corpse? He was dead too? Bloated and pale, a dried head wound, there was no sign now of those white domino teeth that had haunted her dreams.
‘Moussef’s dead?’ she whispered.
‘Are you not hearing a damn word I’m saying?’ Dita demanded. ‘Of course the fucker’s dead. They got him!’
Lee gasped, the world’s volume dial suddenly ratcheting up again. ‘They got Moussef?’
‘Jesus damn Christ, it’s like talking to a chihuahua,’ Dita muttered to someone in the background. ‘Yes, they got Moussef.’
‘. . . And Harry?’
‘Is on a military plane as we speak! Jesus, he’ll have freaking landed by the time you start paying attention!’
‘Oh my God!’ A gurgle of laughter escaped her, big fat bubbles of joy and relief rising in repetitive waves as she watched the footage on the screen, green-tinted night images of a pale, thin, very tired-looking, beaten-up man being helped to a car by soldiers. ‘He’s alive?!’
The man behind the counter looked at her.
‘He’s alive!’ she cried, laughing and crying all at once as she pointed to the screen. ‘He’s actually alive!’
‘Yes, I know, it is all over the news. You know him?’ he asked.
‘Know him? I’m his best bloody friend!’ Her tears overflowed at the words, at the simple truth. She was his best friend.
She wanted to wipe her tears but with the phone in one hand and a six-kilogram bird in the other . . .
‘Come, madam, let me take the turkey.’ He held out his hands to take it from her. ‘It is okay. I will hold the turkey.’
‘You’re sure? Because it’s really heavy,’ she said, struggling to pass it over the counter, laughing again, crying still, covering her eyes with her newly free hand now as the tears just flowed and Dita tutted affectionately down the line, two hundred and twenty miles away. Her best friend was alive. Harry Cunningham was coming home.
Chapter Thirty-Two
‘Liam, a mince pie doesn’t actually have mince in it.’ Mila was holding out the offending article, as though asking him to sniff it.
‘But then why is it called a mince pie?’
‘Mincemeat, man. Mincemeat.’
‘Precisely.’ He shrugged. ‘Mince meat.’
‘Ugh!’ she groaned. ‘Mincemeat is different to minced meat.’
‘Well, how am I supposed to know that?’ he called after her as she set it back down again and went to p
ull the next lot of festive surprises out of the oven.
‘I’m really intrigued to see the pigs in blankets now,’ Lee quipped.
‘The English are crazy!’ Liam called after Mila. He glanced back at her. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ she said, having another sip of her mulled wine as Noah laughed beside her.
‘They’re actually not bad,’ he shrugged, helping himself to another.
‘They’re just not mince pies,’ Lee demurred as he offered her one too. She winked at Liam. ‘It’s very sweet of you to have an English-themed Christmas party just for me, though.’
She looked around the room, oh-so-tastefully decorated with flickering candles, beautiful, very tall people standing in clusters, looking chic in black.
‘Well, seeing as Christmas is back on and all is happy again in Fitch World—’
‘Well, nearly all,’ Noah interrupted, throwing an arm around her shoulders and hugging her protectively, looking over at Liam accusingly as though Sam’s behaviour was his responsibility.
‘Hey, I didn’t even know they had a thing going!’ Liam protested. ‘They deliberately kept it from me.’
She batted a hand casually. ‘Nothing was kept from you. There was honestly nothing to tell. It was a weekend fling, nothing more. Just how I like it.’ She shrugged, inwardly amazed at how something that had felt so seminal could be traduced so easily with just a few choice words. She took another long sip of her mulled wine, wishing it was whisky in an eggcup.
She looked around for a sighting of Jasper; he was playing with some other kids, mainly the children of Liam’s work colleagues. They were slightly older than him and, much to his delight, were playing Hide and Seek in the bed and bathrooms. Liam had thought this was a great idea to keep hyperactive, overexcited kids away from the adults; as a non-parent and dedicated bachelor, he couldn’t possibly imagine the destruction awaiting him later when everyone had left – duvets on the floors, loo paper off the roll, crushed crisps in the carpet, avocado dip on his Hermès silk ties, one of his shoes missing – probably lobbed behind a wardrobe and not to be found till his next house move . . .
‘I still can’t believe you never heard from him though – after the race I mean,’ Noah pressed on, clearly believing her act that it meant nothing and feeling that this was safe ground to tread. ‘To not even try to apologize.’
‘Well, he clearly thinks we owe him the apology,’ she said briskly.
Noah tutted and shook his head with a dark look. ‘If I ever see him again, after the way he talked to my godson . . .’
Liam looked away, seeming distinctly uncomfortable.
‘Hey Liam, it’s not your fault,’ she said quietly. ‘Really. It’s all fine.’
He nodded but still looked unhappy and for a brief moment Lee wondered what he’d heard from Sam, his version of events. But she brushed the query aside. She’d been there, she’d seen it all happen; there wasn’t another side to tell. An accident had happened and he’d terrified a little boy, that was all. He was just like his father and why would she want to be around someone like that? She was just relieved she and Jasper had both seen his true nature before they’d become any more involved.
‘So – any more on Harry?’ Liam asked, changing the subject.
‘Gisele texted me. He was landing this afternoon so, with any luck, he’ll be at the hospital right about now.’
‘You haven’t heard from him yet?’
‘No, not yet.’ Lee felt her heart speed up. ‘He’s got his wife and baby to see first. That’s only right, don’t you think?’
‘Of course. I just wondered—’
‘He’ll be in touch when he’s ready,’ she said lightly, but privately she wondered how long that might take. Could he forgive her for what she’d put him through? What had he been through out there? Were they ‘even’ now?
‘How is the baby?’
‘Seems to be a right little fighter. He’s tiny, but feeding well, which is always a good sign.’
‘Do we have a name?’ Noah asked, reaching for another minced-meat pie. Seeing as no one else was going to be having one . . .
‘She’s not decided yet, but I put in my bid and told her I always liked Sebastian.’ She gave a casual shrug.
‘Sebastian? No. Tell her to go for Noah. Good name. Strong name. Biblically masculine.’ He stroked his beard in an ironic way.
She grinned. ‘Well, I can pass it on, but I reckon as godmother my choice will get dibs over yours.’
Noah looked surprised. ‘Gisele asked you to be godmother?’
‘Yup. Thanks for sounding so stunned.’ She shot him a sarcastic smile.
Noah laughed. ‘Sorry, but you’ve got to admit it’s a surprise.’
‘Well, when you think about it, it actually makes perfect sense. I am Harry’s best friend and the only person who will call that man out on his bullshittery. That baby needs me in his life.’
She caught Liam glancing over as Mila walked past with another tray of hot canapes. She jogged him with her elbow. ‘Behave.’
Noah looked at them both, squinting with suspicion. ‘. . . What’s going on?’
‘Liam’s got a crush on Mila,’ Lee whispered, when Liam didn’t reply.
‘It’s not a crush,’ Liam protested.
‘It’s a crush,’ she mouthed to Noah.
‘I’m a thirty-one-year-old man, not a fourteen-year-old Belieber,’ he said hotly. ‘I do not get crushes. If I like a woman, then I take her to bed.’
Lee leaned in to Noah and spoke in stage whispers. ‘Only I won’t let him do that with Mila because she is our friend and she has a boyfriend and she is not going to be one of the legion on his list.’
Liam looked across at her, unimpressed and actually quite angry. ‘. . . And what if I told you I think I’m in love with her?’
Lee burst out laughing. ‘I’d say you were being wildly melodramatic because for once you didn’t get to have your own way. Or . . . have your way.’ She smiled at the pun.
‘I find that offensive. Don’t you think I’d like to fall in love with someone?’
‘Liam, we’ve discussed this before. You’re like me,’ she said, patting his arm. ‘A realist. Love is a fool’s game.’ She glanced at Noah. ‘No offence.’
‘None taken,’ he murmured automatically, then looking taken aback that the comment should be directed to him.
Liam’s scowl deepened. ‘I’m going to refresh drinks.’
They watched him wander off, so sleek and elegant, his environment carefully curated as a reflection of his personality – the apartment minimally but stylishly furnished with walnut cabinetry, navy linen-lined walls, leather mid-century sofas and arched sweeping floor lamps. Even the Christmas tree was a design statement – a perfectly symmetrical fir decorated with only a single cream velvet bow on the top and lit from below by a light set into the floor. No fairy lights, no angel, no presents, no decorations and definitely no tinsel. Jasper had looked at it pityingly – particularly the bottom left corner – when they’d first walked in. Christmas songs were playing on the state-of-the-art sound system but they were of the tasteful sort – Eartha Kitt and Nat King Cole, not the Slade variety she and Jasper rocked out to. Except for the mince pie fiasco, this was the most stylish Christmas party she’d ever been to. It had justified making the effort of putting on a dress and heels.
‘I’ve never seen him like that before. Does Mila know?’ Noah asked.
‘Not a clue.’
‘I thought she was seeing someone? An actor?’
Lee chuckled. ‘He’s not, but yeah, she is.’
‘Is it serious?’
‘No, they’ve been trying to meet up, but thanks to the shit-show that’s passed as my life lately, they’ve struggled to get any real traction. But don’t tell Liam that.’ She finished her drink.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the longer he has to wait for Mila, the better the chance of his feelings actually growing into somethi
ng real.’
Noah looked at her in surprise, his eyes beginning to twinkle as he sensed a conspiracy. ‘Lee Fitchett, what are you up to?’
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes shining with mischief. ‘Haven’t you ever noticed that nothing makes you want something more than being told you can’t have it? Go on a diet and don’t eat that cake? Play with the puppy but don’t touch it? It’s no bad thing for Liam to pine for a bit. Mila’s distracted by this new guy for the moment but you know as well as I do that she’s always had a thing for Liam. Sooner or later she’s going to notice the change in his behaviour and when she does . . . well, I don’t want her getting hurt. Liam needs to know what it’s like to want someone and not just be able to get them.’
‘Lee, Lee, you are wicked,’ he tutted. ‘That man is agitated.’ He leaned in closer. ‘Hey, you couldn’t do some of the same for me too, could you?’
In the other room, they heard a loud cheer, a sudden uproar of celebration from the children. The parents all shared bemused looks, none in any hurry to put down their drinks and check on the cause for joy – cheers meant they weren’t needed, tears meant they were. Instead, someone turned the music up, a few people beginning to dance, the evening beginning to loosen . . .
Not so long ago, Lee knew she would have darted through to the bedroom, to double-check everything really was okay. Instead, she linked her arm through Noah’s and turned them both towards the rest of the room. ‘Well, let’s see. Is there no one here who catches your eye?’