‘I honestly remember him telling me,’ I said. ‘In Naviras, but that’s impossible of course.’
Gavin pulled a daisy from the lawn. ‘Morgan’s always slept soundly until this, as far as I know.’
I wondered how far to pry. ‘You two still share a bed?’
‘Oh God, no, we have twin beds in the same room, even then neither of us like it, much.’ Gavin seemed uncomfortable. ‘But word would get out, if one of us moved across the hall.’
‘Rav’s also having problems sleeping, but James doesn’t seem to be,’ I was trying to piece it all together in my head. ‘And James isn’t showing any of the behaviour you’ve described in Morgan.’
‘That’s what I came here to ask, partly.’ Gavin was concentrating on pulling the petals off a daisy. ‘I was kinda hoping you’d say something was wrong with James, too.’ He looked up at me. ‘That’s pretty selfish of me, I guess.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I noticed the side-door of Chequers had opened, the First Gentleman’s two advisers appeared alongside Anushka. All three were looking at us. ‘I know what it’s like, to feel alone in situations,’ I gestured to the building. ‘Look, I think you’re about to be corralled.’
‘Yeah, they want me in Geneva by mid-afternoon,’ Gavin stood up slowly, then offered me his hand to pull me up. There’s something I have to show you before I go, Ellie. I was only going to, if you sort-of backed up these feelings I’ve had,’ he rummaged in the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a piece of paper which he unfolded and showed to me. It was a blurry photo; a young dark-haired woman in a trouser-suit and blue blouse, looking away down a plush corridor, wearing tall heels. ‘Look familiar?’
‘Yeah,’ I stared at the image. It made me think the woman was wearing the wrong shoes. ‘I do remember her, from somewhere. Who is she?’
‘Her name’s Isabel. That I saw from her badge. Two days ago I walked past her in the main part of the White House and she seemed familiar. I just did a double take, because I had this feeling that I’d met her before.’ He folded up the photo again and handed it to me. ‘That’s not unusual in itself, I guess, but she seemed a little uncomfortable seeing me. Later on, I got this feeling I’d met her with you. I saw her again a few days later, that’s when I took this.’
I scrunched up my eyes. ‘Sorry, it’s a blank. Maybe it’ll come to me.’
‘That’s why I wanted to come give you a copy,’ he grinned.
‘How can we stay in contact without anyone else knowing?’
‘Let me have a think about it,’ Gavin started walking down the gentle slope of the lawn towards the house and I followed. ‘You’re on good terms with James’s chief of staff, maybe you could have a word?’
‘With Rav? Yeah, I could try. Would you mind me telling him about Morgan?’
Gavin stopped and briefly looked up to the sky, then back at me. ‘If you think he can be trusted?’
‘I think so,’ I said. ‘I’m quite good at treading carefully. What do you think Morgan will do next?’
He frowned again. ‘She’s not fit to be president at the moment, but the Veep would be even worse.’
‘I know.’ We were almost at the house, any closer and there was a risk someone would hear us.
He smiled. ‘I’m appreciate you being so honest with me about things. There’s very little either of us can do,’ he concluded. ‘But I’ll find a way of contacting you. It might take a while, though.’
‘Okay. I was going to say there’s no rush, but really there is,’ I said as we continued walking towards the house.
Anushka didn’t ask me anything about what had been discussed. ‘It seemed like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders,’ was her only remark.
It was difficult to say much in front of the kids. Bobby absorbed everything and was liable to repeat things at the worst possible moment. But later that afternoon he went outside to play swingball with Sadie, although she didn’t really provide much competition for him. Anushka and I sat at the table on the patio, watching them. ‘There’s something wrong with the President,’ I said. ‘She’s behaving strangely, and Gavin wanted to know whether anyone here was acting similarly.’
‘Are they?’ It was an oddly direct question from Anushka.
‘Not in quite the same way,’ I was feeling tired, my eyelids kept drooping. ‘But I’m not sleeping properly. It could be that Gavin gets in touch with me, unofficially, would you have a problem helping out with that?’
‘I work for you, Ellie,’ she said simply. ‘Not the government.’
I trusted her; mostly because although she’d never said so, I knew she didn’t like James or Rosie. I knew from the faces she pulled whenever Rosie was around that Anushka didn’t trust her, and that she sympathised with my predicament with James. Pity’s a very difficult expression to hide.
At lunchtime we watched the news; it appeared the talks in Geneva would break up without agreement. James vented his frustration to a reporter outside the conference centre. ‘What’s important now is that the framework for negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians can be agreed,’ he said.
‘So they’re not really having talks, just talks about talks,’ I almost laughed.
James made his way to Chequers as soon as his plane landed back in London, bringing Rav with him but not Rosie. After dinner that night, when James was having some rare time with the kids, I asked Rav about Rosie’s absences.
‘She’s been working all hours, and then trying to see her husband,’ he said, a bit defensively. ‘None of this has been easy on her, either. Actually, she’s on the verge of resigning. She wants to have kids before it’s too late. She’s forty next year, after all.’
‘Does James know?’ I found the prospect of Rosie disappearing from Downing Street baffling. On some level I didn’t want her to leave; it felt good to have someone to define myself against.
‘Oh, James knows,’ Rav was saying. ‘The announcement might come as early as Monday, depending on a few things. He managed to persuade her to stay on until the Israel crisis passes, but obviously that’s looking interminable at the moment.’
‘How are you sleeping now, Rav?’
‘Better.’ The old grin was back. ‘Anyway, if Rosie’s off then I can’t really leave James in the lurch as well, can I?’
‘You can do whatever you want, Rav.’
He changed the subject. ‘What did Gavin Cross have to say for himself earlier?’
‘Oh, not much, just wanted to see how I was. Is he still in Geneva?’
‘He’s flying back to DC with the president on Air Force One right now,’ Rav was looking at me intently. ‘It was unusual for him to come here like that, without warning.’
I paused for a moment. ‘Gavin told me the President’s not sleeping properly. Actually, she’s having nightmares.’ I knew I had his attention, related Gavin’s concerns about Morgan’s mental health, her odd new beliefs.
‘Maybe that’s what happens when you have a close shave with death,’ he offered. ‘I think everyone’s nerves are still a bit frayed.’
‘Yours don’t seem to be, in fact you and James seem totally unaffected.’
‘That’s to say that you’re affected, too?’
I didn’t feel that Rav was on my side, perhaps he thought I was delusional, unhinged. Still I didn’t care. ‘When I felt unwell in Parliament, it was because I was looking at you and James. The two of you were in the wrong place, Rav.’ I paused. ‘You should have been at the despatch box, not him. You should be the prime minister. And I think we both know that, Rav.’
If I’d wanted to shock him, it had worked. For the first time in the decade I’d known him, Rav was speechless. I turned away from him and went to re-join James and the kids.
On Saturday the foreign secretary visited Chequers and I was lumped with looking after his wife for most of the day. A nice enough woman, but I was pre-occupied and struggled to keep up light conversation. My memories seemed cross-hatched, I’d tur
n a corner in my past and find something unexpected there, a monster of a thought lurking. One minute I’d be thinking about Lottie and then she’d turn into Morgan, laughter morphing into screams. I resolved that weekend to see the doctor first thing on Monday, to get some sleeping pills. He was happy enough to prescribe half a dozen but warned me they weren’t a long-term solution. At first they lengthened the amount of time I could go without waking, but not by much. I still found myself waking at least three times a night, sometimes only really becoming conscious when I was already in the living room.
I began to resume a series of functions and meetings, in the press my shadowy eyes were much commented on. Poor Ellie Weeks, she just wants to hide out at Chequers, someone remarked on a panel show. The mounting crises surrounding James Weeks have driven his wife to the verge of a nervous breakdown, wrote a columnist. Very quickly Rav and Rosie agreed that my diary should be cleared again. This came through Anushka, nobody bothered to have a discussion with me directly.
On some level I must have been aware that I was crumbling. How would I get my kids out of this, that was my only real line of thought, day in and out for nearly a week. How, not why or if. There might have been more articles about me, had it not been for the rapid deterioration in the Middle East; speculation mounted that Morgan was preparing to send ground troops in. Israel was outnumbered, whether it was outgunned was truly unknown.
‘I fear it’s only going to end up in a massive war,’ said James to me one morning, as he was getting out of bed and the latest skirmishes dominated the news bulletin. ‘It’s going to be difficult for us to not get involved.’
‘Get involved?’ I could hear the kids arguing in the room next-door.
‘Well, there’s no way the UN’s going to agree to any intervention, but the Americans are already putting out feelers to see if we’ll sending HMS Elizabeth.’
I realised there was, after all, something worse than having an airport as one’s namesake. ‘You wouldn’t authorise that, surely.’
‘We might have no choice.’
I was about to say more, but stopped myself. Maybe, I thought, yet another unpopular and questionable war might be my escape route. It could bring down the government.
Later that day the news broke that Rosie was leaving, effective immediately. Of course it was front-page news, even if hardly anyone outside of Westminster cared. Unusually there were no leaving drinks, no card sent around the building. Rosie sent an email around Number 10 that afternoon, promising to organise something in a few weeks. The subtext was that she was exhausted, describing her exit as a ‘career break.’ A young man I’d never heard of from party HQ quietly replaced her.
Anushka called up to the flat. ‘Rav’s down here, wonders if you’re free?’
‘Of course,’ I said, and up he came, looking concerned.
‘You’ve heard about Rosie, I assume. I just wanted you to know that we’re going to have to let Anushka go, too.’
‘What? That’s unacceptable.’
‘Look, I’m not happy about it either, but it’s boss’s orders.’
‘What’s his reasoning for this?’
‘He didn’t say, other than he thinks Rosie’s departure is a good opportunity to look at the staff closest to his family. He thinks you need two people, so we’ll get younger staff in on lower salaries. It’s a good thing. It’ll lighten the load on you, that’s what James wants to see.’
I don’t quite know how it happened, but it immediately felt like I was haemorrhaging. ‘You can tell him that if he does that, I’ll leave him. And I’ll take the kids with me.’
‘Oh, come off it, Ellie,’ said Rav. ‘Anushka’s just an expensive bag-carrier, and she hates being a part-time nanny. We can’t justify her salary as well as hiring someone else, it’ll look bad.’
‘What she hates, Rav, is the repugnant way James behaves towards his family. She has no problem looking after Bobbie and Sadie, otherwise she would’ve told me so.’ I stood up, took two steps toward him. ‘He’s a selfish prick, my husband, and you prop him up. I don’t know how you sleep at night.’
‘What? You have no idea the pressure James is under,’ I’d never seen Rav get so angry. ‘How he’s tried to shield you from all the shit that’s going on downstairs. Sometimes I wonder whether it’s you who’s selfish, Ellie.’
‘Oh, shut up, Rav.’
‘No I won’t, actually. And as for how I sleep, I don’t. I was fine before,’ His voice was rising. In all the time I’d known him I’d not once heard him shout. ‘Then after what you said to me last week, putting that bollocks into my head…’ His face screwed up. ‘If you want to get yourself sectioned that’s your prerogative. But do me a favour and stay the fuck out of my head, will you?’
‘It’s not me who’s been fucking around inside your head, Rav, it’s them.’ I was waving my arms around, gesturing wildly to the window. ‘They fucked with your head, and with mine, and with Morgan’s, too. She’s planning World War Three because somehow she’s decided it’ll bring about Armageddon.’
‘Oh, come off it, Ellie.’
‘Don’t tell me you don’t suspect something. You must know, Rav, something’s going on here, and it’s extremely wrong!’
Rav tried to grab my arms. ‘You’ve got to calm down, Ellie. People will hear you.’
‘I don’t care who hears me. They’ve got to know what’s happening, before we get dragged into it and it’s too late!’ But I was losing my strength, my vision was turning grey at the periphery.
I blacked out.
Orithyia
I’m submerged underwater, cold and dark grey. Slimy things are drifting past me, touching my legs. Panicking I push upward, trying to kick the slippery things away from me. I can see the surface is just a few feet above, undulating and rippling. With one last push I break through it, feeling like I should be gasping for breath.
I’m in the pool on the roof of the Naviras Beach Hotel. The sky’s a charcoal colour, the raindrops are landing in large plops on the water I’m struggling to swim in. The roof terrace looks like it’s recently seen an earthquake, the sun loungers all twisted, the planters formerly containing exotic shrubs upended, soil and roots strewn across the terrace. The pool hasn’t been cleaned for years by the looks of it; there’s a film of green sludge on the surface and mould clinging to the sides, coating the metal steps which I can’t quite get purchase on with my hands. I haul myself over the side instead, struggling to grip the slick tiles lining the pool. My sarong’s clammy against my legs.
There’s a low but loud thrumming noise coming from somewhere in the village. I walk over to the wall lining the edge of the roof and look out over Naviras. The sheets of rain make it hard to make out details, but it’s obvious much of the village has been destroyed. La Roda’s on fire, the inside of the building glows, flames are spreading onto the veranda outside, the plastic chairs and tables catching alight one by one, warping and shrivelling into black mounds.
Four dark green helicopters are hovering over the ocean, a hundred metres out to sea. They’re all facing the beach, their noses lowered slightly. Underneath them small black dots on the ocean surface, slowly advancing towards the beach. Then there’s a boom as some kind of rocket launches from one of the helicopters. It shoots horizontally across the bay and slams into the beach bar, which explodes. Pieces of burning wood fly into the air before landing all over the beach, the old sun deck, the path leading to the slipway. Another helicopter fires a rocket, which roars over the village before exploding in a cluster of cottages further up. It won’t be long before the whole of Naviras is on fire.
Looking over to my right it’s impossible to see whether Casa Amanhã’s still intact, but the poplars surrounding it are all burning, the topmost branches waving around in the heat, writhing almost. The village seems deserted, nobody in the streets or the square outside La Roda. Then I look down to the beach and see two kids running away from the wreckage of the bar. A boy and his younger sister, she falls
over in the sand and he stops to help her up.
The black dots are getting closer to the shoreline. I turn and run towards the stairs leading down, even though I’ve no chance of getting to them in time. I open the door to the stairwell and seem to fall through it, sideways on, like a drop of water through the surface of a pond. Then I’m already down at the slipway, looking at the kids as they struggle across the wet sand. I jump off the slipway onto the beach and run towards them. I try to call their names but I can’t make a sound; nothing comes out of my mouth, not even a croak.
Bobby’s face is streaked with black marks intersected by white lines where teardrops have run down his cheeks. Sadie’s screaming at the top of her voice, her blond curls dirty and matted. I pick her up and press her against me, her howls muffled against my bare shoulder. Bobby presses close to my waist as the black figures begin to wade out of the ocean.
They’re like marines, wearing dark uniforms and large black boots, each of them carries a large gun in their hands, cocked and ready to fire. They’re marching in unison, their legs kicking up water as they goosestep out of the sea. Each of them has a fuzzy bee’s head, large reflective black eyes and twitching mandibles. There’s a dozen of them, spaced out so they cover the entire length of the beach. Even though they’re all marching straight ahead each of their faces is turned towards us.
I push Bobby away from me, grab his hand and try to run away back up the beach, aware that Sadie can probably see what’s behind me over my shoulder. But we’re too late; I feel hands on me, covering my face, prising screaming Sadie away from me, grabbing Bobby and pulling on him so his hand separates from mine. Still I can’t say anything.
I’m not on the beach anymore, I’m suspended in a bright room with a door in the corner. There are little lights embedded in the walls, floor and ceiling. Not painfully bright by themselves but still they hurt my eyes because there’s so many of them. Transparent wires are protruding from all over my body, connected to my skin by little hooks which dig painfully into me. In front of me Bobbie and Sadie are similarly suspended, cocooned in what looks to be chainmail. They’re hanging in the middle of the air, the same taut wires attached to their arms, legs and bodies, radiating out from them. The wires cluster even more densely around their heads. Their eyes are closed.
Weeks in Naviras Page 29