by Tony Walker
"I just needed some greenery. The baby mush and the jingly fluffy toys were driving me crazy."
"It's ok. I love Hampstead. Any excuse to come here."
"We can maybe go to that little café in Flask Walk after we've been on the Heath?"
"Mucho dinero. We need to watch our pennies. Besides, I'd rather go to the pub."
"As if that wouldn't cost more! You're a responsible father now. Behave."
They walked onto the Heath, past the people playing volleyball and up the path into the trees. John reached out and took Karen's hand. She reached up and placed her other hand on Morag's back to steady her.
"I don't know if I can hold your hand and balance the baby," said Karen.
Morag gurgled inscrutably.
"I don't think you'll drop her."
Karen sighed. "I know. I just get anxious."
"It's natural, my dear. " He reached up and stroked her hair as they paused for a jogger to run past them.
"Don't mess up my hair."
"Tetchy."
"Sorry. Let's walk."
They set off again. When they had climbed to the top of Parliament Hill and could see the city spread out below them they gingerly sat down, steadying the babies as they lowered themselves. The babies didn't seem worried.
"Do you still love me?" said Karen suddenly.
"Of course. Don't be stupid."
"Even though I smell of sick and I have a flabby belly and we don't do sex."
"You're the mother of my children. You're my wife."
"But the sex is a problem."
"We'll work it out. When you feel ready."
"What will you do in the meantime? What about your manly urges? What if some pretty secretary flutters her eyelids at you and bends forward so you can see down her top. Women do that you know."
"I hadn't noticed. I don't think they see me as a man - just an "officer". Besides our secretaries have signed the Official Secrets Act. They aren't allowed to show off their boobies."
Karen laughed. "I didn't know it was so restrictive." Crows flew overhead. The wind was from the east and cold. He folded his arms gently round Eilidh in her sling. She slept on.
"Oh yes. It's very restrictive."
"Are you happy? You seem to be."
"I'm liking K4. Well, the work. My boss sucks."
"I don't really like you working for them you know."
"You encouraged me to go there!"
"I know and I was wrong. I just thought you needed a job so we could start a family. I wish I'd let you drift now and become an academic or something. You shouldn't have let me persuade you."
He shrugged. "I didn't know what I really wanted. The James Bond thing seduced me. Frankton told me I shouldn't do it. I think I've drifted away from what I really am."
Karen said, " You love all the excitement of the cloak and dagger stuff, but you're not like them. Awful conservatives. I'm scared stiff the Tories are going to provoke the Russians into starting a war."
"Does it really worry you?" asked John, "I didn't realise."
"Since we had kids it does. I don't want them dying in a nuclear attack. The way Reagan and his cronies talk, I think they'd carry out a first strike and think they'd win."
He put his arm round her. "There's no winning."
She was shaking. "People are scared," she said. "For God's sake, the Government's even sent out a pamphlet on how to build a nuclear shelter in your garden. As if that'll save us. If I didn't have the kids, I'd go and join the Greenham Common women and try and stop the cruise missiles."
"You'd get all dirty and become a lesbian," he smiled, "though I'm not the kind of guy to criticise your life choices."
She said, "Did you see that film Threads about the aftermath of a nuclear strike on Britain? That's what it'll be like if we don't stop Reagan and Thatcher."
"Try not to worry about it."
"But we need to do something," she said. "We need to get this Government out."
I know," he said. "I hate them too. I feel the odd one out at the Office. The miner's strike doesn't bother them but it churns me up."
"It'll hit our people hard."
John said, "These miners are all going to lose their jobs. The industry will close. Coal was my family's living but soon it'll be all over. You know there's still plenty of coal?"
She said, "They make out there's hardly any left and that's why it's so expensive."
He said, "Our mines and miners are expensive because we have expensive safety precautions. Chilean coal is cheap because their miners die like flies."
She smiled. "I love you because you care about people."
"But Thatcher doesn't. At least she cares about her own people and their profits. And in the meantime the miners will get their redundancy money and then there'll be a fortnight when the housing estates are deserted because they are all go on holiday; a few weeks later there'll be lots of ice cream vans and burger vans going round like manic flies as they search for some kind of living and then a month after that you'll be able to pick up a burger van dirt cheap."
"Do you miss home?"
"I do - lots of things about it. I don't miss the cold. I'd like to die there one day."
"Morbid. Let's go and get a coffee and feed the little ones."
And they got up from the bench and walked away while crows descended to see what they'd left.
April 28th, 1985 - London: Like many members of SIS, Philip belonged to the Traveller's Club on Pall Mall. John had got the Tube and then walked to meet Philip outside so he could be escorted in. Philip was waiting outside smoking.
"Very discreet," said John indicating the club.
"In terms of ostentation, yes - on the outside. It's not just for spies. There are lots of proper diplomats here. It's good for having private conversations."
With a minimum of fuss and with every demonstration of good breeding from all parties concerned, they were allowed in and found a quiet table in a quiet corner surrounded by quiet, gilt framed portraits - statesmen, explorers, industrialists, but no spies.
They ordered coffee. John took it black. Philip noticed and smiled. "Social climber."
John blushed. "Even the staff here make me feel inferior."
"It's in your head. You're no better or worse than any man here, whatever they do for a living; however much money they have; whoever their families are. You didn't strike me as the insecure type. You have a reputation for being a little cocksure."
"Really?" John was flabbergasted.
"How little you know yourself. But I think it's a good thing. That's why I don't think you're right for MI5. They prefer the more pedestrian personality. But we've spoken of this."
"Indeed. But I'm guessing you've something else to tell me?"
"Yes, I'll do a contact report but I wanted to tell you that it's promising."
"Good."
"He's an awful little prig, Leonov. I bumped him in the tailors. Makes me wonder where he gets the money. Any ideas?"
"Well he'll have his salary."
"And can afford Saville Row suits on that?" Philip snorted.
"I can't think his father can be able to afford to send him money like that. Maybe he's bent?"
"Must be. All to the good. I wonder what he's selling and to whom? It's not to us." Philip sat back.
"Maybe he's working for the Yanks? But they would have told us surely?"
"You must be kidding. They tell us what they want. They've still not forgiven us for Philby and co. They think they're so watertight. I look forward to the day when we get the names of FBI and CIA men turned by the KGB. I will laugh."
"Should we approach them to see what they know about Leonov?"
"Pffft. No. They wouldn't tell us if they were running him. And if they aren't I don't want them to know that we're interested in case they jump in first."
"What was Leonov like?"
"He was an arse."
John laughed. "I'm getting that. What else?"
"Well my c
over was that I am a commodities broker in the City. I complimented him on his suit first. He was standing there looking at himself in the mirror."
John said, "I don't think he's gay so if we can't appeal directly to his love of money, we can possibly introduce a very pretty lady to break his heart."
"The evidence is that the only person he loves is himself. Like most narcissists he wanted to talk about himself and impress his wonderfulness on me. He told me he's a diplomat... and I fawned on him." Philip put on an unctuous voice - 'Really? That's sooo interesting... Mr??'"
"You've missed your way. You should have been on the stage."
"Don't flatter me Johnnie. You can't kid a kidder."
John shrugged. "So? What about Leonov?"
"Well I was suitably impressed about his status and very impressed that he was Russian. Because, as I told him, I have some very big investors looking to buy Russian coal. I emphasised the big. The bottom's just fallen out of British coal production as you and he are aware. We've got to get it from somewhere. I indicated large money could be made as the British government is keen to undermine the miners. I don't think he got my pun."
John groaned. "Go on."
"But anyway, he had about as much solidarity with the lumpen proletariat as Winston Churchill. Did not give a shit about the heroic struggle of the workers."
"Cunt."
"Just so." Philip raised an eyebrow. "Churchill you mean?"
"No, Leonov. A man without principles."
"Ah," said Philip, "remember what Brecht said about all of that: how fortunate the man with none."
"He was being ironic."
"I know. I did study."
"So what's next?"
"Well I'll bring my crazy boss and you get your crazy boss - not sad Sue - but K4 himself - though tell him not to bring the Bible to the meeting. I've seen it on his desk all gold leaf and Catholic piety. I'll let the right people in SOV/OPS know and get someone from SBO from our side and we'll open the indoctrination list. I gave Leonov my card and if he doesn't ring me, I'll ring him with an offer - something to do with coal and money. He should pass it to the Trade Delegation but if I hint strongly at personal profit, I think he's enough of a weasel to keep hold of it himself. In the meantime see if your telephone bods and buggers can give us any idea of where he's getting his posh suit capital."
"I might ask for some mobile surveillance."
"Top notch idea Johnnie," said Philip. "If he takes my call, you and I will take him to Annabel's on Berkley Square, at our expense of course. You will be my immensely rich client. Do you think you can pretend to be rich?"
"I'll read some books."
"Maybe walk down Bond Street and look in windows?"
"But not go in?"
"I doubt they'd let you. But just being near money will help your portrayal of a rich man through a kind of fiscal osmosis." He took a sip of cooling coffee. "How I want to play it is that you are rich but rough. Use your working class roots as source material. You know, boy from tough Glasgow Streets makes it good though hard work but mainly being an unpleasant, psychopathic user."
John laughed. "I'll try. I'm not from Glasgow though."
"Near enough for Leonov not to notice. I am planning to create a rapport with Leonov using this triangle. He and I are clever, sophisticated people. You are a rough brute. I will make him feel special and allied with me in our sophistication and erudition against stupid proletarian people like you and his ambassador."
"It almost sounds like there's some kind of science in this. I always thought MI6 was just full of shit, but now you make me wonder."
"Wonder away little MI5 cousin. Leonov's mine. And yours."
20 September 1970 - Bonnyrigg. It was John's 18th Birthday. He was planning to go out to the cinema with Karen. Karen was pretty sophisticated and she said she wanted to go and see Five Easy Pieces that had just come out. It was on at the Cameo in Home Street - a cinema that showed subtitled foreign language films. Karen liked Jack Nicholson who took the lead. John wasn't against seeing Easy Pieces because he'd heard it had some dirty bits and was rated X. This would be the first time he could legally go and see an X film because he was now 18. It gave him a grown up feeling that the world was his oyster and vistas of an endless, unlimited future spread out before all him - all starting tonight. He hadn't told his mother he was going to see an X film as she wouldn't approve. He was reading the Daily Express which was on the kitchen table. He'd told his mum that he'd get some chips with Karen later but she'd given him a slice of bread and butter to stave off hunger.
He had a reasonable day at school. He saw Mr Cole and told him that he was definitely going to apply to do German and Russian at Durham University. That had pleased Cole who'd shook John's hand in his warm, socially awkward way. When he came home he'd even been playing on the Rolf Harris Stylophone that his mother and father had got him as an 18th birthday present. He liked listening to music but had never really had any talent at playing it. He wondered whether his mother really knew very much about him at all.
He sat at the kitchen table eating his bread and butter and reading out bits of the paper to his mother as she worked. "Did you see that the Soviet Luna 16 probe has landed on the moon successfully?"
"No, son." She was busy cutting carrots for the main meal she would eat later with her husband.
"Sounds amazing. The Soviets are really doing well in the Space Race. They don't have the bluster of the Americans; they just get on with it. You see, America is driven only by money."
"Aye, son."
He looked up at his mother. "You seem preoccupied ma? Anything up?"
"No." She shook her head. He shrugged and went back to the paper.
"I see Jim Morrison's got off with the charge of lewdness. He shouldn't have done it though." John looked up to see his mother had stopped cutting carrots and was quietly crying by the sink. He got up and went to comfort her.
"What's up ma? Why are you upset?"
"Well you're 18 and all."
He put his hand on her shoulder. "Oh dear. Well you know I have to grow up. There's no stopping time."
"It's not just that."
"What is it then?" He stood back , puzzled.
"I promised myself, that when you were 18 I'd tell you the truth about your father."
He felt a strange wave of fear, mixed with elation.
"Sit down," said his mother.
"Do you want a cup of tea?" He said, as if it would diffuse the anxiety mounting in the room.
"Just sit down, son. I have to say it."
He sat and she began. "Well, when I was younger I was working on a surgical ward at the Royal. We had a woman in. She had surgery but got an infection and there were complications. She was in for weeks. Her son used to come and see her. He was very flirty and charming. Eventually he used to call up the ward to speak to me and if Sister answered he'd put on a stupid Irish accent and pretend to be enquiring about a patient who wasn't there. It happened a few times so she must have realised but luckily she never connected it with me.
"He was very confident - very sure of his authority. Strange considering he came from nothing. And he asked me out. Well I couldn't tell my mum and dad because he was Irish. Well he was Scottish, but his parents were Irish. So that meant he was Catholic. I knew my father wouldn't tolerate me going out with a Catholic."
"He was a miner before he got fired. So he didn't have much money and we used to just do simple things like go walking in Princes Street Gardens, and on a Sunday maybe go out for the day to Musselburgh. I remember a summer day there, when he'd pick up little crabs out of the rock pools and scare me with them."
"I loved him. He wrote me poetry, even though he was so political, he was romantic too. He looked like you. Just like you. I thought he loved me. He told me he did, and I believed him. Then I fell pregnant and there was an awful row. When I was in hospital he never came near. My mother told me he didn't care. That must have been true. Who could leave their child?"
"Was he a Communist?"
"Who told you?"
"Everyone knows ma. The boys at school know."
She started to cry. "I was stupid to think you'd never hear about him."
"I never listened to them. It hurts you and I don't want to know. As far as I'm concerned William's my dad."
She shook his head. "He's a good man to me, but he's not much of a father to you. He hasn't got it in him."
"Neither did my real dad. He left us."
She shook with sobbing. He went up and put his arms around her. She said, "I loved him, but we weren't enough for him."
"It doesn't matter now," he said. "Don't be upset ma. I love you."
She said, "I think he killed himself because he lost us," she said. "I can never know, but that's what my heart says."
Then the doorbell rang.
"That'll be Karen," said John.
"Go and get it," said Elizabeth, "I'll be all right."
He opened the door. Karen stood there looking gorgeous in a short orange skirt and brown boots; a pumpkin coloured woollen jacket over a maroon top. "Wow," he said. He realised his eyes were wet and he wiped them so she did not see.
"Gimme a kiss," she laughed. So he did.
"Come in. I'm in the kitchen with my mam."
Karen came in. "Hello Mrs Gilroy."
"Hello Karen."
Karen stopped and looked at John's mother, taking in her red eyes but she didn't say anything. John went and kissed his mother's cheek. "Don't worry about me," said Elizabeth. "I'm just a silly old woman." There was an awkwardness in the room which John broke. "Come on Kazzie, time for us to go out on the town."
"Are you going like that?" she said.
"What do you mean? I'm clean."
"Aye but well. You're no very fashionable John."