by Clare Carson
‘Have you seen Anna since that meeting?’
‘Hilary.’
‘OK, Hilary.
‘Look, I really like her and you’re going to bug me if you keep going on about this Anna thing. And yes, we met for coffee.’
‘Did she mention me?’
‘I know this might be hard to believe, but you weren’t the main topic of conversation.’
‘Are you going to meet her again?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could I come with you?’
Becky spluttered, coughed, blasted smoke into the night air. ‘Are you kidding?’
‘I wouldn’t stay. I just want to say hello and then I’ll leave.’
‘Piss off.’
Becky puffed, smoke and condensation from her warm breath mingling. Harry had told her to leave it, but she couldn’t. She had to complete the task. Operation Fisher King. She was Ariel and her next move was to contact Miranda again, see if she could persuade her to admit that she was Anna, not Hilary. And then she would pass on the message from Pierce, ask her if she wanted to contact her exiled father. That was what she had told Pierce she would do, so that’s what she would do.
‘You’re not going to let this rest, are you?’
‘If you tell me to fuck off and leave it alone then of course I will. I’m worried, that’s all. It’s happened before, people I know being manipulated. By spooks. Police spies.’
Becky returned the spliff, knotted her fingers.
‘You and your bloody dad and all this spies and the secret state stuff. Will you ever put it to bed?’
‘I keep trying.’
Becky gave her a sympathetic glance, which made her feel guilty. Ashamed of the selfish part of her that wanted to sabotage Becky’s budding romance with Anna, because she was scared of losing her best friend to lovey-dovey coupledom. Because she didn’t want Anna to win.
‘OK. Here’s the deal. I’m going over to her place to see her next week. You can come with me to say hello – you’re going to have to think of some excuse to explain why you’re passing through Blackheath. And then that’s the end of it. If she still says she’s Hilary, you have to live with it.’
‘OK. Blackheath. There’s a big plague pit under the common.’
‘God, I hope you’re not going to use a plague pit as your excuse for turning up with me at her place.’
‘I’ll think of something better.’
*
BECKY DROVE SOUTH-east from Vauxhall in her green two-door Morris Minor with red leather seats and a homely smell. She nudged the trafficator switch; the silver external arm flicked, the orange indicator light blinked and a car in the oncoming lane stopped and flashed to let her turn. Morris Minors had that effect on other drivers.
Becky gripped the wheel. ‘It’s a good job we’re old friends.’
Sam wound the window down, cool air fresh on her face as they drove east along the Thames. She spotted the glass dome of the shaft descending to the Greenwich foot tunnel; she used to race along that tunnel under the river with Jim. Although now these ancient memories of her father seemed like hazy dreams. Perhaps he had always been fuzzy, part real, part imagined, a story she had told herself because she didn’t know the truth.
Becky parked the car at the edge of the heath, the falling sun glinting on the double-deckers crawling across the plain.
‘Number thirty-four.’ Becky pointed to the top of the block. ‘I think it’s an old council block. Anna’s bought her flat.’
‘Blimey. Lucky her.’ Only Anna could end up buying a cheap flat with the best view in south London: the heath, Greenwich park, the observatory, the glint of the river.
They puffed up the stairs. Becky rang the bell. Anna opened the door immediately; she must have watched them arrive. Becky hadn’t warned Anna that Sam would be there, but she didn’t seem surprised by her presence. Annoyed perhaps. Becky and Anna embraced, kissed. Sam hovered on the threshold. Anna avoided catching her eye.
‘You remember my mate Sam.’ Becky said it apologetically. ‘She wanted a lift over to Blackheath to do some stargazing. There’s a meteor shower tonight and Blackheath is a good place to watch the stars, apparently.’ Becky was hopeless at lying. ‘But she wondered if she could use your loo.’
Anna’s eyes darted at Sam, crows’ feet creasing and uncreasing as if she were about to laugh, then stopped herself. ‘It’s over there. There’s a short hall and it’s first on your right.’
‘Thanks. I won’t be long.’
She crossed the stripped floorboards, surveyed the spacious lounge. Empty in a stylish way, as opposed to empty in an empty way, which was Sam’s approach to interior decoration. Battered leather sofa. Wing-backed armchair. White porcelain lamp that hovered over the coffee table like a spaceship waiting to land. No clutter. No personal knickknacks. One bookshelf in a far corner of the room; perhaps that had something on it. Sam stepped out of line to get a better view.
‘You’re going the wrong way.’ Anna was monitoring her from behind. She twisted around, grinned. ‘Sorry.’ Spotted a tiny blue square on the shelf as her head swivelled back. She crowed silently. She reached the hall, found the toilet, sat there for a minute, devising her strategy. Flushed. Walked out. Anna was leaning against the wall, next to Becky who was radiating irritation.
‘Thanks.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘I’ll make my own way home.’
The front door clicked behind her. She clattered down the stairs, out into the freshness of the night, giddy with triumph. The blue mosaic tile was sitting on the bookshelf. Proof, as if she needed it, that this was Anna. She glanced back at the glowing window of Anna’s flat and was hit by a wave of self-pity; here she was wandering the streets of Blackheath alone while her best mate had fun with a woman who she had once thought was a friend and now pretended she didn’t know her. She had planned to head straight to the station and catch the train to Waterloo, but the heath drew her with its promise of open sky and solace.
She headed past the gorse and bracken – the only remnants of its former wildness – to a point which she calculated was furthest from the fast roads that slashed the heath, checked for dog shit, used the tip of her monkey boot to move the half-devoured corpse of a mouse and lay flat on her back. The last of the summer swallows dived and vanished. A breeze carried the sweetness of lime and rotting flesh. The sky curved around her, rimmed pink and orange by the city’s glare but directly overhead the heavens were indigo, the bluest shade of night she had ever seen in London. The moon had not yet risen. Lights sparkled in the gloom and swirled around her head and she was not sure whether they were stars or the flickering candles that marked the plague pits of the heath and guided the corpse carrier to his night-time destination. She thought of all the deaths she had seen, all the people she had known who had passed away. Jim. Her ribs ached. She was not conscious of passing time or the figure approaching across the grass, although she was half expecting her; reckoned she would come and find her. Anna sat down cross-legged by Sam’s side. Still, she did not move, waited for her to speak first.
‘How is the meteorite shower?’
‘I was lying. It was last month.’
Anna heaved a sigh and then she said, ‘You saw the mosaic tile.’
‘I knew it was you anyway, with or without the tile.’
Anna lay back on the grass. Sam could hear her breathing.
‘I’ve not been out on the heath at night before.’
‘Do you see that reddish light that isn’t blinking?’ She pointed. ‘That’s a planet.’
‘Mars?’
‘Yes. And then below it – Jupiter. When I see the sky like this, the constellations wheeling, it makes me long for nights without electricity and the light pollution of the city.’
‘You haven’t changed much. Do you still collect beetles?’
‘No, but I search for them when I walk.’
‘You were always such an odd bod; identifying the birds and the beetles and t
he flowers, all your stories about Celtic warriors and gypsy queens.’
Anna played along with the stories, she thought. Anna told stories too.
‘I find it odd,’ she said, ‘when people don’t know the names of the creatures and plants around them.’
‘Ever the Druid. At one with nature but fairly awkward when it comes to relationships with real people.’
‘Well, it is fairly awkward when you meet somebody you knew when you were a kid and not only have they changed their name, but they pretend they don’t recognize you.’
‘That’s my right. I can do what I like with my name.’ The snappish change of tone caught Sam off guard. She didn’t reply.
‘You came to my place, turned up on my doorstep, when I clearly didn’t want to be recognized by you. Why?’
Sam plucked a blade of grass, twisted it around her fingers, taken aback by the harshness of Anna’s attack. Perhaps it was fair.
‘I was curious.’ What else could she say? Pierce had told her that if she did find Anna, she shouldn’t let Anna know she had met him. But now, confronted by Anna, it seemed like a tricky instruction. What games was Pierce playing? Was he hiding something from her? From Anna? Or was he simply being cautious, as he had said, in case Anna mingled with old Trots who had contacts with the other side? Spooks. They disrupted your life in strange ways, their shiftiness and suspicions were contagious. Anna was right; she was more comfortable with beetles and birds. They didn’t encroach on her mind, try to bend her to their will. Too much contact with spies and you became one yourself; a chess-player, always searching for the killer move, second-guessing your opponent’s strategy. A couple of joggers trotted past. Man and woman, deep in conversation.
‘Do you think they’re spies?’ Anna asked, jokingly.
‘Quite possibly.’ Sam rolled on her side, leaned on her elbow, studied Anna.
‘Why did you pretend you didn’t know me?’
‘I don’t want anything to do with my father’s past.’
‘It’s funny, isn’t it, that in order to escape the shadow of a spy, you had to take on a false identity.’
‘I’ve had this identity so long I don’t think of it as false.’
‘How long?’
‘Thirteen years. Since we left your place, or thereabouts. I haven’t seen Pierce since then.’
‘You haven’t contacted him at all?’
‘No. It’s easier not to have anything to do with him or his world. A relief in fact.’
The secret lives of their fathers, the dark clouds that threatened and yet tempted with the familiarity of their greyness, the excitement of the storm. She didn’t think she could walk away so easily, deny the connection between herself and her father, but she often feared it was a mistake to chase the spectres of her past and so she could understand why Anna would make a different choice. Although Pierce had indicated that the break wasn’t so clean, said he had spoken to Anna on the phone a couple of times.
‘You didn’t ever write or phone?’
‘Nope.’
She wondered which of them was lying – Pierce or Anna – decided she wouldn’t push Anna on this point because that would force Sam to reveal she had spoken to Pierce. God, she was as bad as either of them. She shifted on the grass, cold and damp. A church bell rang; she counted the chimes. Eleven. Later than she had expected. She’d suddenly had enough, didn’t want to play these games.
‘I’d better go, otherwise I’m going to miss the last train back to Waterloo.’
‘You can stay at my place if you like. I’ve got a spare mattress.’
Just when she’d decided to walk away, avoid wading into treacherous waters. On the other hand... A tiny green pulse in the distance distracted her. She concentrated on the gloom. There it was again.
‘Oh my god. Do you think that could be a glow worm?’ She pointed at a dark clump of shrubs clinging to the edge of the heath. ‘Over there by that tree?’
‘You are still the same.’ Anna laughed. ‘A glow worm.’
Sam stood, brushed the grass from her overcoat. ‘I’m going to investigate.’
Anna stood too. ‘I’m coming with you. I didn’t know there were glow worms here. Are they really worms?’
‘No, they’re beetles.’ She strode towards the light. Anna kept pace with her. They reached a willow, drooping over a shallow pond. ‘Oh, I’m being stupid. The females glow when they want to attract a mate. It’s the wrong time of year. It was probably the moon’s reflection in the water.’
‘It’s a lovely spot anyway. I haven’t even been here in the daylight.’ She sat on the grass. ‘Or maybe I have. That’s the Hare and Billet over there.’
A couple left the bar, arm in arm, swaying along the pavement. Chucking-out time. Sam suspected she had missed the last train. She would have to stay at Anna’s flat and invent an explanation to assuage Becky’s irritation. She didn’t want to go home anyway. The whiff of bonfire was in the air and it felt like a proper autumn night. She didn’t want to waste it. She plonked herself next to Anna.
‘Do you want some puff?’ Anna dug in a pocket for her Rizlas and gear.
‘OK.’ She was trying to cut down on the dope.
Anna rolled, lit. The reeds rustled, a heron stalked the pond edge, found a good fishing spot, lifted one leg, folded its neck. Sam pointed, ‘Night fisher.’
‘Do you remember the day at the river? Blackstone?’
‘Yes of course.’
‘You told me the story of the Fisher King and said that was why there was a drought; the king had been injured and the land was blighted.’
She passed Sam the spliff.
‘The story stuck in my mind. You didn’t say it, but I thought you meant that Pierce was the Fisher King. He had been compromised, something had gone wrong and he had to disappear.’ She paused. ‘We never did find out where he went. God knows where he is living now.’
Sam kept her eyes on the heron. Had Anna sussed her? Realized she had seen Pierce? Almost certainly. Operation Fisher King. It didn’t matter; so long as she didn’t confess. That would be wrong; Pierce had told her not to reveal the location of his hideaway to Anna and she didn’t want to break his trust.
‘Pierce told us it would be safer for us if we didn’t go with him. We were scared that his enemies would come after us. We changed our identities – Intelligence didn’t help us much. They got us some new documents, then we had to make our own way. Luckily my mum inherited some money so she bought a house in the West Country. It was a nice enough place, but it felt like an amputation – twelve years of my life removed. If you can’t be open about your past, your memories, if you’re always checking yourself, wondering whether you’ve slipped up, then you are incomplete. So it did feel to me as if Pierce’s damage was our blight. Our curse. I got used to it in the end – Hilary Bird. But I’m not sure I ever quite recovered from the shock of that. That was why I pretended I didn’t know you. You’re part of a past I’ve discarded. I don’t want to go through it all again.’
Sam didn’t know how to respond; after all these years, her feelings about Anna were as raw and confused as they ever were.
‘What about your mum? Is she OK?’
‘She died.’
Sam winced. ‘I’m sorry.’
Pierce certainly hadn’t mentioned that; perhaps it was too difficult.
‘Four years ago. Cancer.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘The fifth of November 1985.’
‘Guy Fawkes night.’
‘Yes. She’s buried at Norwood Cemetery. I find it hard to go there. I visit her once a year in the evening on the anniversary of her death.’
Sam didn’t want to say something trite – time makes things better. She knew that was a lie in many ways. ‘And what about the baby?’ She didn’t even know whether it was a boy or a girl. ‘Well, I suppose it’s not a baby any more.’
‘Oh,’ Anna said. ‘She’s been taken care of.’
She. A girl then,
being looked after by relatives, Sam assumed.
‘How about you?’ Anna obviously didn’t want to linger on Valerie’s death. ‘How is your mum?’
‘Liz? She’s OK. She’s shacked up with a new man.’
‘That’s funny. They seemed to argue a lot, your parents. And Liz was quite rude about Jim. But I’m surprised they split.’
‘They didn’t split. Jim died too.’
‘Shit. What happened?’
‘He was killed. Eighty-four.’
She picked up a stone, chucked it in the pond. The heron flapped, beat the reeds with its wings, lifted its leg, skirted the water and flew away. Anna didn’t question her assertion. Killed. She knew the score. Blood sister.
‘Do you miss him?’
Not an easy question to answer.
‘Yes and no. I miss his company, or at least his company when he was in a good mood. I don’t miss the tension and fear and secrecy that went with his work. But I regret...’
She tipped her head back, let the heavens spin. The plough. Orion. Round and round.
‘I regret that we didn’t have more time... that I didn’t know... I couldn’t say...’
And still, she couldn’t say.
‘You’d better stay at my place.’
*
THE FIRST LIGHT crept over the horizon, the sky overcast, pavements dark with rain and pedestrians battling inside-out umbrellas. She lay there on the mattress, the lofty view of the heath below, wondering whether she should sneak away without waking Anna, avoid any further conversation. She had decided in the night that she had to step back from Anna’s life. If Pierce wanted to contact Anna, it was his business, not Sam’s. If Anna wanted to live her life as Hilary, that was her business too, and if Becky wanted to have a relationship with Anna, or whatever identity Anna wanted to live by, then it would be selfish of Sam to interfere. She should be happy for her best mate, and happy for Anna because she deserved to have someone as lovely as Becky in her life. She stood and ambled over to the bookshelf she had eyed the previous evening. The blue mosaic tile had disappeared. She rubbed her finger over the spot it had occupied, a square of darker wood, the shadow of the tile in the sun-bleached pine. She twisted around. Anna was standing behind her; she had inherited the spooks’ ability to materialize without warning.