by Clare Carson
She reached the end of the alley, confronted the ranks of yachts nosing the walkway, pale reflections rippling in the water. Directly ahead, the swing bridge dividing the inner and outer marinas. Nobody in sight; St Katherine’s Dock had a strangely deserted feel as if it had all been bought up, but nobody actually lived here. She emerged from the alley, charged across the bridge, half expecting Wolf to appear from the shadows, and headed for the cover of a colonnade. Her nervous reflection followed her in the windows of the dark and silent cafés. She found the slip road to Tower Bridge, halted and watched the intermittent line of traffic heading south over the river. She would be too exposed on the bridge. She needed another route. The thump of bass music distracted her; she searched for its source: the river. A disco boat. She scanned the dock, identified her path across the walkways to the Thames and ran, clanking over metal gangplanks, past a concrete tower of luxury apartments, tilting along the pier. Two figures staggered in the opposite direction, the more upright woman only slightly less inebriated than the one she was supporting. She sprinted to the brightly lit boat at the far end, a wizened boatman unlooping a rope, weather-beaten skin furrowed, slick black hair receding, fag dangling from the corner of his mouth.
‘Wait.’
He looked up.
‘What, luv?’ Impatient and tired rather than unfriendly.
‘Could you take me across the river?’
‘Look, luv, this isn’t a flippin’ taxi. We only pulled up here to let those two off cos they was chuckin’ up all over the shop. Hen parties are the worst.’
She looked at him pleadingly. ‘I’m being chased by somebody.’
‘What is it with you girls these days? You’re always getting into some drama or other.’
She fished in her back pocket, found a tenner, waved it at him.
‘Oh put it away, luv. I don’t want your money. I just want an easy life. Come on. Mind the gap if you don’t want to get wet. I’ll go and ask the guvnor if he minds doing an extra stop.’
She clambered aboard. The engine chugged. He pushed the boat away from the jetty.
‘I’ll sit here.’ She plonked herself on a bench by the railings, watched the raucous crowd of screaming women, pink deely boppers bouncing as they floundered. The boat nosed its way into the Thames.
*
THE BOATMAN RETURNED, gave her the thumbs up.
‘You’re in luck, the skipper’s feeling generous.’
He sat next to her. They passed below Tower Bridge, the vast underside of iron girders arching above her head. The boatman didn’t bother looking up; seen it all before. He eyed the drunken hen partiers flashing their boobs. A woman in stilettos lurched, tripped and brought a clutch of her mates down with her; a squealing heap on the deck.
‘London, it’s one giant madhouse these days.’
‘Does anybody ever fall overboard?’
‘We’ve had one or two. I’m surprised there haven’t been more, to be honest. I mean, look at the state of them.’
‘Do you rescue them?’
‘Of course we rescue them.’ He fished a packet of Number Six from his jacket, tapped the carton, removed a fag, offered her one.
‘No thanks.’
He flicked a Bic, the flame accentuating the lines around his mouth.
‘Nobody’s ever fallen overboard and drowned?’
‘Only one. The coroner reckoned it was misadventure. But I think it was suicide because it seems he went out of his way to find a spot on the boat where he was alone.’ He lifted his hand to his mouth, fag between index and middle finger, puffed. ‘Nobody spotted him in the water. Drowning. Not a great exit.’
She glanced over the railing, the thick grey Thames churning in the boat’s wake, and she sensed herself going under, water closing over, descending, light fading.
‘So this man who is chasing you.’
She jumped. ‘Yes?’
‘You know him?’
‘No. Somebody I met in a bar. He bought me a drink, then I couldn’t get rid of him.’
The boatman puffed. ‘You don’t look like the kind of girl who hangs out in bars taking drinks off strangers.’
‘Everybody ends up doing odd things sometimes.’
He leaned back, observed the southern shore of the river.
‘Where do you live?’
‘Up by Vauxhall.’
‘There’s a jetty just past Hungerford Bridge. I can see if the skipper minds dropping you there if you like.’
‘Thanks.’
*
RAIN SPLASHED AS she stalked along the embankment. Big Ben clanged three. By the time she reached Lambeth Bridge, the wind had risen and the drops were hitting her at an angle, stinging her face. She hadn’t consciously called up this storm, but perhaps it was helpful; blurring the view, deterring all but the most determined late-night joggers. She crossed the road away from the river, darted down an unlit street of garages and brickies’ yards, past a joy-ridden BMW, doors akimbo, radio blaring – Soul II Soul, ‘Keep on Movin”. She fixed her sight on the skeleton of the Oval gasholder, clung to the pavement beside the railway arches. A fox loped across her path, barked and slunk away. She turned right into the square, checked over her shoulder, made a dash, key in her hand. She twisted, stumbled through the door, stood dripping in the hall and listened; the sound of long, slow snores. She went to her room, set the alarm, and crashed.
*
THE JANGLING BELL woke her. She reached over, fumbled, jammed her finger on the button to stop it ringing.
‘Is that you?’ Becky’s sleepy voice from down the hall.
‘Yeah.’
She rolled out of bed. She had to warn Anna that she might be in danger; Reznik could be on to her. She needed to warn Karina too, although if Reznik had wanted to question Karina, he would have done it by now. He was aware, she suspected, that Karina knew nothing about Pierce’s whereabouts; she was more useful as innocent bait.
She stuck her sockless feet in her monkey boots. Still soaking. The soles peeling away from the uppers; she needed a new pair. Perhaps it was time to graduate from monkey boots to proper shoes. Stop paddling in murky water. She squelched across the room, drew the curtain an inch and peered from behind its folds. The rain had stopped, grey light filtered through a wall of clouds, autumn dwindling. Starlings twittered. The street empty. She stomped down the stairs and into the street, reached the telephone box, dialled and jammed the coins in the slot when Anna answered.
‘Anna.’
‘I thought it might be you.’
‘Why?’
‘Dunno. Intuition. What is it?’
‘You’re in danger.’
‘Sure.’
‘No, really. It turns out the Czech arms dealer that was after Pierce in ’76 is still at large. He’s here. In London.’
Anna’s response was offhand.
‘What’s that got to do with me?’
‘He’s called Reznik. He doesn’t know where Pierce is, but he’s searching for him. He picked me up and questioned me.’
She took a breath. She didn’t want to tell Anna about Karina; that would complicate matters.
‘I was cornered last night when I was walking home. This Merc appeared, a heavy grabbed me. I ended up in Execution Wharf in Wapping.’
‘You sound like one of those Americans who thinks they’ve been abducted by aliens.’
‘I’m serious. They questioned me. I didn’t give anything away. There was a tub of cold water, which scared me shitless. But then I managed to escape without being seen.’
‘What’s the tub of cold water got to do with anything?’
‘Torture. They hold your head under so you feel like you’re drowning.’
‘Sam, you always were prone to overreaction. Storytelling.’
Fuck her. ‘I’m trying to help. I think they mistook me for you.’
‘It sounds like a bit of a mess to me.’ She said it coldly, a note of accusation in her voice.
‘Maybe you s
hould go to the police.’
‘And say...?’
‘That you’re in trouble.’
‘Because I think a Czech arms dealer is after me?’
‘Yes. You’re the daughter of an ex-MI6 agent. You’ve had to change your name. They’ll understand that. They’ll believe you.’
‘I’m surprised you have so much faith in the integrity of the police.’
She had a point.
‘What did you say this Czech guy’s name was anyway?’
‘Reznik.’
‘And where did you say you were taken?’
‘Execution Wharf in Wapping. It’s a building he owns, he’s doing it up, just beyond the bend in the river. You need to get protection.’
‘Get protection.’ She scoffed. ‘When has anybody ever given me any protection? I’m collateral. You’ll be collateral too if you’re not careful. Maybe I’ll just disappear.’
‘Disappear?’
The phone beeped. Sam fed more coins in the slot.
‘Go somewhere else. Sell up. Move on. I can change my name again.’
‘Don’t you get fed up with running away?’
‘No. I like it.’
Said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.
‘And how about you? How are you going to make sure Reznik doesn’t find you again and dunk your head in a bathtub?’
‘I don’t know. I haven’t worked that one out yet.’
‘Don’t you have a number you can call?’
She did, but it was Harry’s and she wasn’t sure how reliable he was any more.
‘No, I don’t have a number.’
‘So you’d better drop all this stuff.’
‘All what stuff?’
‘All this escaping from wharves in the dead of night and calling people from phone boxes. Don’t you think you should go dig up a few pottery shards somewhere instead?’
‘That’s what I was trying to do.’
‘You didn’t try hard enough.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying thanks for trying to sort it out between Pierce and me, thanks for letting me know his enemies are on my trail, but drop it. Mind your own business. Leave it alone. It’s been nice knowing you, now fuck off.’
Anna slammed the receiver. ‘You fuck off too,’ Sam said into the dead line. ‘Blood fucking sisters. Any time you want me to risk my neck for you, just let me know.’
*
SHE TRUDGED BACK from the phone box, limbs and ribs aching, reached her front door and stopped. Becky was talking on the phone in the hall.
‘Look, I don’t think you’ve given it a chance.’
Anna hadn’t wasted any time; she must have called Becky as soon as she’d put the phone down on her. She was obviously serious about cutting her ties and disappearing.
‘Look, I don’t want to...’
Sam didn’t want to barge in on the break-up conversation.
‘Think about it. Give it a few days. Maybe we could go for a cup of coffee, talk it over.’
On the other hand, she couldn’t drag herself away.
‘Well, if you’re sure, what can I say?’
Silence.
‘OK. Never mind...’
‘OK.’
More silence.
‘Hello... Anna, are you there?’
She’d put the phone down on Becky too. Sam willed her not to call Anna back. She heard footsteps retreating along the hall. Sam decided to stroll around the block, pick up some coffee from the Italian deli on the corner of Vauxhall Park, give Becky a chance to recover.
*
BECKY WAS POTTERING around the kitchen when she returned.
‘Where’ve you been?’
‘Here and there.’
‘You’ve missed the drama.’
‘Oh? What’s happened?’
‘I’ve been dumped.’
Becky didn’t sound that upset about it.
‘Anna dumped you?’
‘Just now.’
‘This early?’
Becky twisted her wrist, checked her watch. ‘Yep.’
‘She called you at eight a.m. to dump you?’
‘Sam, you keep asking about the time which, to me, seems to be the least significant detail in the story.’
Sam’s mouth drooped. ‘You’re right. Sorry. You don’t seem that upset.’
‘I’m not.’
Perhaps she’d have a delayed reaction. On the other hand, Becky was resilient. She could deal with rejection. She suspected, though, in this case Becky was bluffing.
‘I thought you’d fallen for her, big time.’
‘You’re disappointed I’m not rolling around on the floor howling?’
‘No, of course not.’ She wasn’t. The selfish side of her was relieved to have her best friend back again. ‘I’m glad you’re not heartbroken.’
‘She is incredibly fanciable. But I was beginning to feel myself that it wasn’t quite working.’
‘Why not?’
‘Dunno.’ She padded to the sink, filled the kettle, dropped it on the hob, lit the gas ring. ‘That’s not true. I do know. Do you remember that conversation we had a while back about your inner and outer self?’
‘Oh yeah.’
‘You said you thought your inner self was very different from your outer self and I said I don’t know what you’re going on about. My inner and outer selves are one and the same thing.’
‘Yep. I remember.’
‘Anna was too much like that – there was the outer surface but I suspected she had a whole inner person that was completely different. It probably didn’t help to find out that her real name wasn’t the one she originally used to introduce herself. She said she couldn’t get used to being Anna again. It freaked me out a bit.’
Becky was perceptive, as well as resilient.
‘I don’t freak you out, though.’
Becky laughed. ‘No. I’ve known you too long. You’ve always been Sam. And whatever you say, I suspect your inner and outer selves aren’t as different as you make out.’
She re-ran her night with Tom, how easily she’d disguised her feelings, pretended she had fallen for him when all along she was merely interested in extracting information.
‘Maybe I’m better at maintaining a cover than Anna.’
‘No, you’re useless at maintaining a cover.’ Becky paused. ‘What you’re good at is living in your head. Fantasy land. You’ve always got some story on the go. Plague pits at Blackheath. Vikings in Orkney. Your dad and some conspiracy or other.’
‘I’m not sure that’s fair. I mean those aren’t stories...’
She trailed off, too tired to explain, opened a cupboard, found a packet of pittas, removed one and took a bite, became conscious of Becky watching her, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth.
‘What’s so funny?’ She sounded grumpier than she intended.
‘Tom phoned.’
Tom. It was all his bloody fault anyway. If he hadn’t gone chasing after Karina, she wouldn’t have had to locate her on the Greenwitch, and then she wouldn’t have been picked up by Reznik.
‘When?’
‘Late last night.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Dunno.’ Pause. ‘I knew you were seeing Tom.’
‘I’m not seeing Tom.’
‘That’s not what he said.’
‘I don’t care what he said.’
‘Why are you so coy about it? He’s not that bad.’
‘I’m not being coy. I’m telling you, we are not an item.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Becky raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘But he sounded pretty desperate to speak to you.’
‘Well, he can fuck off.’ Maybe Karina had phoned him after her visit and told him she didn’t want him to do anything with her story.
*
SHE TRAIPSED BACK to her bedroom, lay on her bed and covered her face with her hands, suddenly overwhelmed. Fed up. Exhausted. Scared. What was she supposed to do now? Wait fo
r Reznik to come and find her and have another go at drowning her? The memory of Wolf’s hand gripping the back of her head, her face an inch away from the water, made her shudder. She pulled her knees into her chest; foetal position. She wondered whether she’d ever have a bath again. Enjoy swimming. She was quite a strong swimmer, but she never had liked going underwater, preferred to swim on her back. Although she’d only ever had one bad experience and that was in Orkney at the end of the summer holiday of ’76 – memorable for all the wrong reasons. Waulkmill Bay. A couple of days after they had been to Hoy. Jim had gone off his rocker, lost it when she’d drifted too far out to sea. Not drowning but waving. Or was it the other way around? She yanked the duvet over her body. He’d lost it again the year after Waulkmill Bay as well. July ’77; their last ever family holiday in Orkney. And now she came to think about it, that second moment of holiday madness had been water related too.
CHAPTER 26
Orkney, July 1977
THE SUMMER OF ’77 wasn’t as blistering as the summer of ’76, but it was still hot. Nobody fancied the beach, despite the sunshine. The annual trip to Orkney seemed to have triggered their collective family memory of the previous year’s Waulkmill Bay incident – Jim going apeshit because Sam had swum out of her depth. Oddly, the episode seemed to have affected Liz more than anybody. She kept referring to ‘that afternoon at Waulkmill Bay last year’, and muttering that Jim still needed to sort himself out. She had spent the first week of the ’77 holiday saying she wanted to be alone. Even Helen’s suggestion of a trip to Stromness with her and Jess wasn’t enough to entice her; all she wanted to do was sit in the garden of the croft and read a book. Everybody else was getting restless. They had spent days moping around, the sisters playing card games. Jim huffing around the house, going for long walks by himself.
Five days before they were due to head back to London, Jim announced he thought they should all go on a trip somewhere together. Liz pointed out that it was raining and reached for her book. By the late afternoon the rain had started to ease, and blue sky had appeared on the horizon. He suggested Maeshowe; it was years since he’d last been. Sam said yes please immediately. Liz said no thanks. Much to Sam’s surprise both Helen and Jess said they’d like to go too; cabin fever, so desperate to get out they’d even jump at the chance of visiting a Neolithic tomb. They piled in the Cortina and left Liz in peace.