Instead, I turned my head and stepped back into the hallway, my fingers running along the bannister as I headed for the bathroom.
Not daring to pull the light cord, I slipped into the darkness, my hands brushing over the corner of the bath, feeling my way towards the sink. Ducking down, I paused, a creaking sound causing me to draw breath. But it was me making the noise, I realised, mouth releasing air, my knees cracking as I pushed myself forward, stretching my fingers inside the cupboard.
Finally, my skin grazed the phone. Instantly I felt a connection to Harry, to my life before this.
‘Anna?’
I heard the light click on as the room was suddenly bathed in light, the phone instantly dropping out of my hand, into the cupboard.
‘Shit, David, you scared the life out of me.’
He was leaning against the doorway, watching me splayed out on the floor.
‘What are you doing? Are you crying?’
I looked up at him, my voice stuck in my throat.
‘I was looking for painkillers. My stomach, it’s …’
He did not move.
‘I’ll be in bed in a minute.’
My hand still wedged inside the cupboard, I kept eye contact until finally, with a small sigh, he nodded and walked away.
For a moment I stayed there, frozen, until my body finally sprang back to life, the adrenaline shooting through me. With only a few seconds before David might well return, I fumbled in the cupboard, the palm of my hand scrambling between bottles of toilet bleach and expensive outdated bath salts before I finally felt it, hard and angular in my hand.
Glancing quickly towards the bedroom, where the light was now off, I hit a button and the screen came to life.
I hadn’t expected him to get in touch, not really. I knew that in terms of the investigation, I had offered nothing since the birth to warrant him contacting me. But I needed to know, amidst all of this, that he was still thinking of me. And there it was, the sign that I craved. The reassurance which at this point in time I felt was the only thing I had left to hold onto.
New message.
My chest felt like it might explode as I read on, an address for a meeting point, on Millbank, and a date.
4.15 p.m. this Thursday.
CHAPTER 35
Maria
She had a habit of watching the girls when she thought no one was looking, as if surveying their faces for a possible explanation. Sometimes I would look up from the dusky haze of the nursery, lit only by a small lamp the shape of a cloud, and I would catch one of her eyes, unblinking, through the sliver of space between the door and its frame.
‘Would you like to join us?’ I had asked one morning a week or so after I arrived, when I looked up to find her watching us in the living room, her fingers pressed tight against the bannister. Rose was on her back on a play-mat, her attention caught by the sound of Satie’s Gnossienne flowing in from the radio in the kitchen.
For a moment there was a flash of warmth in her face when I beckoned her into the room, and then she pulled back, a slight adjustment as she turned back towards the stairs, speaking over her shoulder. ‘Actually, I’m tired, I think I’ll go back to bed. I was just going to get some water.’
This morning, it was me watching her from the window of the girls’ room, making her way back up the road, away from the house.
She told me she was going to buy clothes for the girls who at two months were almost out of the first wave of babygros. It might have been believable, despite her eyes looking away from mine as she spoke, but I knew better. I knew it from the way she moved; the way she looked back over her shoulder as she walked away, that she was going to meet him.
It was curious how instinctively aware she was that she was being watched, even if she had no clue from which direction the eyes came. And how could she? How could anyone expect to know who is on their side if they have no idea whose side they themselves are on?
CHAPTER 36
Anna
The wind rose off the water as I pulled the phone from my pocket. I pressed it to my cheek, my eyes closing as Harry’s phone went to voicemail.
‘Please, answer.’
I spoke under my breath, pulling the cardigan across my chest.
Not prepared to take any chances, I had given myself enough time to slip into Mothercare on the way, picking out two packets of babygros. Even so, it was nearly 5 p.m. David would be home soon. So where the hell was Harry?
I was about to stand when I saw him, his face a metre from mine under the glow of the streetlamp.
‘Harry.’ I felt the breath catch in my throat as he took another step towards me.
His hair was longer than the last time – how long had it been: six months, more?
‘Anna.’
His eyes creased at the sides, the way they had that first night. He looked older somehow, worn out; but the memory of him, the warmth of it, had not faded.
‘It’s good to see you.’
He lowered himself to sit beside me, far enough away that our legs would not touch, but the sound of my name on his tongue reached out and enveloped me.
I felt tears prick at my eyes and I nodded, willing them away, not yet trusting myself to speak; unsure, even then, of what they represented. Tears of regret, perhaps, for the absence that had grown between us; relief for being able to be myself again, the version of myself I had created just for him, the version of myself he had created for me to step into. Tears, perhaps, of apprehension, a niggling reminder of what was still to come.
‘Twin girls, eh? I was going to send a card, but obviously …’
The flutter of blood warming my chest turned cold without warning, the tears tumbling down my cheeks before I could stop them, hot and angry.
‘Where have you been?’
He shook his head, lowering his eyes to the pavement.
‘I’ve been away. I couldn’t—’
‘You got my messages?’
‘Yes, I got them, but I—’
I felt a noise erupt from my chest, the pressure that had been building inside finally releasing with a hiss.
‘Anna, I wanted to—’
My face turned from his then, the tears stinging my cheeks as I wiped them away. Leaning forward, Harry reached for my hand and I pulled it back.
‘I can’t do it any more.’
My voice was matter-of-fact. Using the base of my hand to dry my eyes, I stretched the skin outwards before brushing the palms of my hands against the bench.
‘I’ve decided. I got you the emails, I assume you received them?’
‘Those were very helpful.’
‘Well, that’s as much as I can do.’
What was I saying? The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. All the anger, all the emotions I had repressed for so long pouring out of me at once; the numbness I had felt since the birth giving way to rage and self-pity.
‘I’m leaving, Harry. I’m taking the girls and we’re leaving.’
I can only imagine how ridiculous I must have sounded, but I needed him to listen. I needed him to know that my life was falling apart.
He smiled gently, nodding and then pulling himself straighter, keeping his eyes on mine.
‘I can’t live my life like this any more. I’m tired. The girls and I, we’re …’
My voice trailed off. The truth was I had no idea who we were. Who I was. How, in my quest for meaning, my quest for love, I had become a woman trapped in a relationship with a man who no longer loved me, while the man I adored – the one for whom I had risked everything – thought of me as little more than an instrument. Something to be tugged at and pulled into position. A cog in a machine that I had never seen – one that, if I stopped to think about it, I could not even picture.
My fingers scratched at brittle wrists. Everything itched, and the more I tried to scratch it, the faster it spread.
‘Anna, come on … I understand, it’s been—’
‘You understand?’
My eyes were like claws.
He took my hand in his, lowering his voice as an elderly couple stopped in front of the water a few metres away.
‘Look, you know you can’t do that.’
He paused for a minute, taking me in, and then continued, his eyes concerned.
‘I mean, darling, how can you look after the girls when you can barely look after yourself?’
I stopped for a moment, seeing myself through his eyes: the nails chewed to the quick, the small but telling tuft at the front of my head where my hair had begun to fall out since the birth, clumps of it lining the shower, clinging to the towels along with streaks of red.
As if reading my mind, his voice softened with compassion.
‘You are clearly under stress – and that is hardly surprising, in the circumstances.’
‘I’ll get help, we’ll get a nanny.’
I made as if to pull my hand away, but could not bring myself to do so.
‘Really? How are you going to do that?’ He was not being unkind. ‘Without this – without me, without David? If you leave, you have no income, no job, nowhere to live … What are you going to do, Anna? Go back to your parents?’
He held my gaze and finally I pulled my hand away, turning my face towards the bridge. What did he know about my parents? It was the first time I had let myself wonder how much of my life he knew beyond what I had told him. But the thought was pushed out by his earlier words.
Without me.
He had said it. Without David there was no Harry. That’s what he was saying; a simple transaction – that’s what this was to him. How could we ever come back from that?
I heard his lighter click. Silently, he handed me the lit cigarette.
For a moment I did not move, then I took it, pulling my hand back as quickly as I could.
Inhaling, I felt my head lighten, my body lifting from under me as I spoke on the out breath.
‘Well then, I’ll leave the girls. I’ll come back for them later. Once I have things sorted.’
He pulled on his own cigarette, watching the angles of my face.
‘Anna, listen to yourself. One minute you’re running away to save your daughters, the next you’re running away from them …’
When had I ever said this was about saving the girls?
He leaned forward, turning my face towards him. I pushed against the strength in his hand for a second before conceding defeat, rubbing my cheek against his thumb.
‘Listen to me, OK? You’ve just become a mother of twins. You’re exhausted … No, don’t do that. Don’t pull away from me. Listen to me, Anna. I know you and you’re not thinking straight. I know you.’
Those final words rolled around my head, provoking unexpected sadness.
Under the bridge, the Thames flowed on, grey and thick and unrelenting. I felt the tears forming again on the edge of my lashes.
‘We spoke about this, didn’t we? You’ve made a commitment. You knew what you were doing … You’ve accepted money, a lot of money, and you can’t just walk away.’
‘I didn’t know—’
‘Didn’t know what, Anna?’
His voice was colder now, his patience wearing thin. The couple turned from the wall, muttering something before continuing their stroll along the river. Nodding placatingly towards them, he waited a moment before speaking again.
‘Anna. Listen to me, OK? You’re not going anywhere. These people …’
He took a deep breath, stubbing out his cigarette before turning to face me.
‘These people we’re working for, they aren’t the kind you mess around. You know? I told you that, didn’t I? I warned you. This isn’t a game. They’re not paying you for you to decide you’ve had enough. You’re privy to highly classified information. You think they’re just going to let you walk away?’
‘They.’ I let the word hang in the air. ‘Who are they, Harry?’
He laughed.
‘You’re seriously asking me that, now? How long has it been? You know who they are, Anna.’
I shook my head.
‘You knew what you were doing. You knew. We had this conversation. I told you that if you got involved, if you signed yourself over to this, there would be no coming back. I told you that.’
I stared back at him, my eyes dull. Beneath the fear, I suppose, was a sense of relief. Relief that the decision had been made for me. There was no point resisting, I had no choice. Running away was not an option. There was nowhere to go. Without Harry, without David, I had nothing. And without one, there was no other.
‘The fact is,’ he said, taking both of my hands, ‘We are close. The emails you sent us are a start, and there are other things. Every day we’re gathering intelligence, but we need you to hang in there, OK? You need to sit tight.’
Looking over his shoulder, Harry shifted towards me.
‘You want to know where I’ve been?’
He checked his other side before leaning in closer so that I could feel his breath on my face. ‘I’ve been in Equatorial Guinea, meeting with people who might be willing to talk on record about TradeSmart offering bribes to officials there.
‘I didn’t want to tell you this right now. I didn’t want to bother you, but the truth is we’re getting so much closer to something tangible, something we can actually pin on these guys once and for all … But we need you more than ever. And you need to remember why we’re doing this.’
The words filtered through my pores.
‘According to the people I’ve been talking to in Africa, a few years ago TradeSmart were offered a heapload of a product called coker naphtha for sale, at rock-bottom price. It’s a relatively unrefined gasoline – the main problem with which is that it has really high levels of sulphur, including high levels of mercaptan sulphur. In theory, this product could be worth a fortune if they were to sell it on to the right people. The problem being that in such a raw state, this product was potentially toxic as hell.
‘In order for the gasoline to be sold in the developing world, where TradeSmart would be able to make money from it, it would need to have a very low level of sulphur, such as the type we buy at the petrol pump. However, in parts of the developing world, the key determinant for purchase is often the odour of the product, for example where sulphur levels can’t be measured.’
I reached for another of his cigarettes, still refusing to look at him. But he knew me well; he knew this was what I needed, a meaningful reminder of what we were doing. An objective tangible yet abstract enough to draw me out of my own head. To appeal to the person I wanted to be.
‘So, in order to shift the stuff, TradeSmart had to work out a way to make it sellable. When gasoline has high mercaptan levels, as this stuff did, it stinks. I mean it really stinks. But if you can reduce the odour and make the naphtha marketable …’
My mind jumped back to the receipt I had found in Clive’s office. I kept my eyes on the river, still feigning disinterest, though the truth was the receipt was just the beginning of what I was capable of. He still didn’t know what else I had found when I rifled through Jeff’s briefcase the night of the party in Greece. Why hadn’t I told him straight away, as I had about the receipt? I had been buying myself time. All I had to do was keep quiet and, in hindsight, this could have been the moment that brought it all to an end. This was the drawbridge pulling up and all I had to do was to stay where I was; to make no sudden movements. Following the path of least resistance, I could have edged myself out of this. But I chose another way.
‘So TradeSmart decided to extract the mercaptan and then sell it on?’ I asked.
‘Exactly.’ He gave me an approving look. ‘Except, instead of paying to properly refine the product, which admittedly would not have been cheap, Clive and his team of fuckwits decided to experiment by mixing the naphtha with large quantities of caustic soda solution, allowing the mixture to settle before draining off the spent caustic. It’s not dissimilar to a process called Merox washing, sometimes used on
land – the key difference being that in the case of Merox washing there is a step involved which means the mercaptans are turned into a stable, harmless product – as opposed to what TradeSmart did, which was to create a volatile, potentially hazardous, caustic waste. So then they’re left with the not-so-slight problem of where the hell to dispose of this stuff.’
Much as I hated to admit it, the sound of his voice was helping my body settle. There was something soothing about listening to him talk, evoking the memory of why I was in this, the memory of the person I was before – the one he had chosen to trust.
‘According to stringent international laws governing this kind of thing, the only place where there was a specialist disposal company capable of treating the kind of waste that this process would throw out was in Rotterdam. Except, not only would it cost around $250 per kilogram to dispose of, but in the end the port decided it was too problematic, in light of its toxicity and local environmental laws.’
My fingers moved instinctively towards my bag, containing my phone, loaded with the photos that by now I knew I was going to share with him, even before I had summoned the courage to say the words.
Harry sensed the shift in my demeanour. ‘What’s the matter?’
Ignoring the voice in my mind screaming at me not to, I opened my mouth and it was over.
‘So I suppose there would be an extraordinary value to having, say, shipping records showing the export and import value of each of Clive’s products,’ I heard myself saying.
Understanding the potency of this moment, if not yet fully understanding what was happening, Harry remained silent. Breathing in, I pulled the phone once more from my bag.
‘What’s this?’ When I looked up he was looking at me, as if seeing me for the first time. There was a tension to his voice that I hadn’t expected, given what I was providing him with.
‘Photos.’ I flicked through to the relevant album and then passed him the phone.
As he scrolled through the snatched images I had taken that night, silently praying no one would notice the flash in the hallway, Harry’s face paled.
The Most Difficult Thing Page 19