by Mick McCoy
In the flat she threw off her wet coat and scarf and got into bed fully clothed. She was so busy worrying she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching down the hall, but the knock on the front door made her gasp. She was so quick out of the bedroom she tripped on her loose socks and fell to the linoleum floor, just as another knock sounded. Who would knock? Not Conrad, not her boys. They had keys. She gathered herself and stood at the closed door for a moment, one hand over her chest as she slipped the lock and turned the handle.
Alex stood behind a young policeman.
‘Mrs Murphy?’ the policeman said. ‘Vash muzh byl vovlechen v avariyu. Your husband and sons have been involved in an accident.’ He took his hat from his head. ‘He is being held at the station until …’
Her ears rang as if her head had been boxed, the noise growing progressively louder and sharper, tingling her scalp, dizzying her balance. The policeman continued to talk but his words were inaudible.
Her questions came in a flurry. ‘Kto no vokzale? Piter, ili moy muzh? Who is at the station? Peter, or my husband?’
Alex looked unsure and pale.
‘Your husband is fine, apart from the shock. And his illness, which appears to have been the cause of the accident.’ The policeman fingered the band of his hat, rotated it. ‘I should tell you that I’m Sergeant Ivan Morozov.’
Ruby decided the sergeant couldn’t be more than two years older than Alex. ‘Why are they at the police station? Has Conrad done something wrong?’ she said. ‘And where is Peter?’
‘Mum …’
Morozov cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Murphy, your son should go inside and then we can leave for the station.’
‘You said an accident, what sort of accident? A car accident?’
‘Yes, a car accident.’
‘Alex, what happened?’
Alex glanced down the darkened hallway. ‘Can we go inside?’
‘Tell me what’s happened!’ A neighbour’s door creaked open. Ruby grabbed the policeman’s tunic and pulled him inside the flat. Alex stepped inside after him and Ruby closed the door. ‘Where is my son?’
‘He’s dead, Mum. Peter is dead.’
Ruby’s hands dropped to her side. ‘Oh.’
‘There was a car accident and Peter is dead.’ Alex wrapped her in his arms, his heart thrashing.
‘Wait outside,’ she said to the sergeant, pushing him back into the hall and closing the door.
Alex sat at the living room table, leaving Ruby at the door. ‘Mum, can you sit with me?’
‘I need to get my coat.’
In her bedroom she gathered the wet coat and shawl, stopping in front of Peter’s baby photo on the chest of drawers. Gone. Her boy was gone. She didn’t want to take her eyes from him, but her tears got in the way.
The living room was empty. Alex was in his bedroom whispering to himself and crying. He sat on his bed, his face buried in Peter’s pillow, stamping down hard against the floor.
Ruby sat next to him.
‘Do you want to know what happened?’
‘I do.’ She took the pillow from him and returned it to Peter’s bed.
‘We were all in the car. It was raining. Pouring. Peter was asleep in the back seat. Dad was really sick. He stopped the car and asked me …’
She waited for him to continue. He was stamping at the floor again. ‘And Dad asked you …?’
He stared at Peter’s empty bed.
‘I need to go,’ she said. ‘I need to see my boy.’ She walked from the room.
As she closed the front door and joined the sergeant out in the corridor, she heard Alex call out. She waited a moment before she said, ‘Let’s go.’
CONRAD
Conrad lifted himself from the cell’s narrow bed. The mattress, a darkly stained scrap of cotton wadding, hadn’t been designed to provide any sort of rest, and like many of those who’d used it before him, he wouldn’t have found sleep even if it had been wide and thick and luxurious.
He carried a three-legged wooden stool to the opposite corner, as far from the mattress as possible. He thought about living the rest of his life in such a cell. It wouldn’t happen, unless someone wanted it to, but people disappeared for less.
He’d given his statement – how long ago was that? An hour? Two? After they’d left him in the cell, Alex had been questioned and taken home. Thank God they took him home. So why was he still being held? Because he was a foreigner? Were they checking with the KGB? Would Valentin find out? He’d have it sorted out in minutes. Would that be on file? That Conrad Murphy was assigned to Valentin Zakrevsky? No one’s going to have access to a file like that in the middle of the night. Valentin wouldn’t know, and it was Saturday tomorrow. No, it was already Saturday. He’d better expect to be in that cell for the weekend.
But what crime had he committed? He was a government man driving a government car in terrible rain when it slid and hit a pole, killing his son. That wasn’t a crime. But he’d killed his son. That Badge of Honour. He’d killed his son for that Badge of Honour. For his own vanity. That was a crime.
How must Alex feel? It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame. But how must he feel? And how must Ruby feel? She couldn’t know the truth. The risk was too high. But how must she feel?
He’d killed his son.
Out of the silence, he heard footsteps. Even in these surroundings, Conrad recognised the rhythm and tempo of her stride.
‘Vy derzhite yego zdes? You’re keeping him here? In one of these cells? Do you think he did it on purpose?’
‘On nakhoditsya v sleduyushchey po. He’s in the next one along.’ Conrad recognised the tired voice of the duty officer who’d led him to his cell.
‘He’s in this? Like an animal?’ Her face appeared for a moment in the small barred square in the cell’s steel door, just long enough for Conrad to see a stoniness in her. A remove.
‘Are you going to let him out now?’
‘Someone has died, Mrs Murphy.’
‘Someone?’ There was a pause. ‘Someone?’
Conrad backed away from the door.
‘I meant only that it’s policy.’ Keys rattled before one slid into the lock.
‘But when can I take my husband home? He’s not a criminal.’
‘There is paperwork,’ the officer said. ‘When it is finished.’ The hinges of the cell door howled. ‘I will leave you now.’
Ruby hugged Conrad roughly but pulled away quickly, as if she’d done it against her will, only to satisfy some protocol.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
With a hand on each of his shoulders Ruby stared at him. ‘Everyone is sorry. Uniformed strangers are sorry.’ She pressed him onto the cot. ‘What happened?’
Conrad swallowed.
‘What happened?’ she said, standing over him. ‘Don’t think about it. Tell me.’
But he did think about it.
‘For God’s sake, be stronger than that!’
Conrad stared up at Ruby, her eyes small and bitter. ‘Sit. Please.’
‘Peter’s dead,’ she said. ‘You’re dying.’ She didn’t sit.
‘I’m not dying.’
‘You’re killing our family. I’m dead. We’re dead.’ She sat. ‘And not by accident.’
‘I’m not dying,’ he said. ‘And neither are you.’
He could feel her body harden. She sat tall, her spine unbent.
‘And Alex,’ he said. ‘Alex isn’t dead.’
‘Peter’s dead. My boy is dead.’ Her hands had tightened to fists. ‘Because of you.’
RUBY
It was only three Metro stops but Ruby thought she might suffocate before they reached their station. She stared beyond the train’s windows into the narrow, dark space between the carriages and the tunnel wall.
The cabin was stagnant. The windows reflected the interior as well as any mirror, showing her and Conrad, and nothing else. Conrad’s arm and shoulder nudged hers as the train shifted and swayed on its rails.
&nb
sp; ‘Why Peter?’ she said.
Conrad put both hands to his face, fingers sliding beneath his glasses to rub at the corners of his eyes. ‘Stop saying that. Please.’ They sat in silence. ‘Would you rather it was Alex?’ he said. ‘Or me?’
‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Of course, yes.’
He stared at the vacant seat across the aisle.
‘Or me,’ she said. Without meaning to, without seeing, her eyes had fallen upon the reflection of the only other passenger in the carriage. Someone Ruby knew.
‘Rubi, ty v poryadke? Ruby, are you all right?’ The words seemed to come from far away. ‘Ruby? Hello?’
When still she didn’t reply, Conrad tapped her knee.
Tamara, the chief control editor from the Moscow News office, a humourless but loyal and hardworking Party member, was sitting two rows away. A cold chill tingled across Ruby’s scalp. Had Tamara overheard their conversation? Why was she there? Why did she need to catch a train at 6.30 a.m. on a Saturday?
‘Okh, Tamara , Mne ochen’ zhal. Oh, Tamara, I’m sorry,’ Ruby said. ‘I don’t know where I was.’
‘How did your husband’s ceremony go last night?’ Tamara asked, pulling herself forward in her seat. She smiled, thin-lipped, nodding at Conrad. ‘You must be so thrilled. Such an honour, especially for a foreigner.’
‘Yes, it was wonderful, thank you.’
Conrad stood. ‘Come and sit with us, please.’
He’d never met Tamara, but Ruby had told him about her, so why would he invite her over? Tamara Tereshchenka was another Alim Börteki, or worse because she was so much smarter. Her parents were from the Caspian Sea, as everyone in the office knew. They’d worked the land for generations, since long before the revolution, but when Party organisers passed through on a national campaign to persuade young women to come to Moscow and get a university education, Tamara knew where her duty lay. The Party rescued her from a life of certain drudgery, educated her and provided her with work and status. Her duty lay with the Party and, by extension, with herself.
‘Conrad is so … grateful to have been of service,’ Ruby said, her voice too loud, her hand tugging at his sleeve. He sat back down next to her.
‘Hmm.’ Tamara ran the tip of her tongue across her lower lip. ‘But tell me, what brings you out so early on a Saturday morning? Together with your husband? You are late to be still coming home?’
‘You’re right.’ Ruby gulped down a lump in her throat. ‘But unfortunately, Conrad is very sick.’
‘Oh!’ Tamara gasped, a hand to her chest in the mock concern and camaraderie of people who have committed to the surveillance others to advance their own success.
‘He has TB,’ Ruby continued. ‘He’s had it for some time but lately he’s caught a nasty infection and it’s grown worse. We’ve just been to the hospital. He had to go there after the ceremony.’
‘TB!’ Tamara said.
‘The Badge of Honour, but a chest not fit to carry it,’ Conrad said, smiling grimly.
Ruby’s boss stayed perched on the edge of her seat, her face blank.
The train began to slow. ‘Ours is the next stop,’ Ruby said.
‘Of course. Whatever we can do to help, at the office,’ Tamara said. ‘Please, you will ask?’
‘Thank you, I will.’
Tamara’s lips pressed tight as she stared at Conrad. ‘Tell me where you’re being treated,’ she said. ‘It must be the Academy of Medical Sciences.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Conrad said.
‘I have contacts there,’ Tamara said. ‘I can help.’
‘Thank you,’ Ruby said. ‘You’re so kind.’ She gathered her bag and stood. ‘I’ll call on Monday if I can’t make it to the office. Is that okay?’
‘Of course, but there’s no hurry. I’ll make sure your job is safe.’
Because unless she intervened it wouldn’t be safe? After just one day away? She’d lied to this woman. She’d be found out. She didn’t care.
‘Thank you,’ Conrad said, when Ruby didn’t.
‘It is nothing. We must help each other.’
‘I appreciate it,’ Ruby said, pressing Conrad into the aisle.
It was all she could do to wait for the train to stop before pulling open the carriage door. She strode along the platform towards the exits, holding her breath as if bracing for a blow. Conrad struggled to keep up. Tamara had contacts at the hospital. Of course she did. She’d know soon enough that Ruby had lied about Conrad being there that night. And what of the safety of her job then? Lying was a habit, it was protection. Russians did it all the time, to each other as well as foreigners. But she should have told her the truth, because what did any of it matter? Why would she lose her job? And so what if she did? What was there left to protect?
The train rolled out of the station, gathering speed. With the last carriage beyond the end of the platform Ruby exhaled, waiting for Conrad to catch up.
‘Not so fast,’ he said.
But she hurried towards the gates and, beyond them, to the stairs, leaping them two at a time until she reached the entrance gasping. If she faced north, if she could see through two intersections and around two bends in the road, she would be looking at the corner where Peter was killed.
Behind her Conrad had reached the top of the stairs. ‘Ruby,’ he said, ‘can you please wait?’
ALEX
He sat on his bed, right where his mother left him. Twice he lay down on Peter’s bed, but he felt like a thief. He straightened the sheets and plumped the pillow, because she’d check. He didn’t know what she’d do to him if she knew he’d lain down on Peter’s bed.
In the living room a game of chess sat on the table. Peter had beaten him before they went to the park. Alex wanted to sweep it to the floor, fling it across the room. He wanted to preserve it forever, untouched, exactly as they’d left it.
It was raining outside.
He shut the door on Peter’s empty bed. In his parents’ bedroom, he reached on top of the wardrobe and pulled down the biscuit tin. At the living room table he opened it, finding his and Peter’s birth certificates.
He unfolded the certificates and laid them open, one on top of the other, James Johnson on top of Peter Conrad Murphy, flattening them with his palms, pressing them together. The match lit at first strike. For a few seconds he watched the small flame grow stronger, before picking up his birth certificate. Once the flame had caught he tilted the paper so the fire could more easily climb up its flank. He watched it burn then snatched up Peter’s certificate and fed it into the flame of his own.
With both pages alight, drawn to each other by their burning, he let them fall to the table. He sat heavily, blood thumping and echoing in his ears, his mouth wide open but his breath steady. He watched the flames eat quickly through their fuel, the two pieces of paper shrinking, their burning lips pinching tighter and tighter, their red glow slowly dimming to grey. Flakes of ash broke away and fell to the table. When he touched them they’d already lost their heat. He swept them into a pile, the burning to ashes of his brother’s birth certificate and his own making them indistinguishable from each other. One.
He rested his head on the table and slept.
* * *
‘Good morning,’ Ruby said. She surveyed the residue about him. ‘What have you been up to?’ She lowered her handbag to the floor and sat at the end of the table, pushing the chess board away and bending to retrieve fallen pieces from the floor.
Conrad had stopped in the middle of the room. ‘I’m going to the bathroom,’ he said.
‘I found this on top of your wardrobe,’ Alex said, pointing at the biscuit tin. ‘I was trying to find photos for my project.’
‘What have you done?’ Ruby said.
Alex stood abruptly, his seat falling backwards to the floor.
‘You’ve burnt something.’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’ Ruby grabbed the tin. ‘What have you burnt?’
‘Why do you care?’ he said
. ‘Peter’s dead, Mum. Peter’s dead.’
‘Whatever you’ve done, what has it got to do with your brother?’
‘What has Dad told you? What did the police say?’
‘Sit,’ she said.
‘Dad was drunk, Mum. He made me …’
‘He made you what, Alex?’
‘He’s really sick, Mum,’ he said. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s in the bathroom. You saw him come home with me.’
But Alex wasn’t listening. ‘No, Mum, he’s really sick. He stopped the car because he was coughing so much. There was blood in his handkerchief. Did you know about that?’
‘Yes, but …’
‘He asked me to drive, but I didn’t think I should.’ Alex stared at his fallen chair. ‘He thinks it’s my fault.’
‘Has he said that to you?’
He shook his head. ‘Peter was asleep, Mum. He can’t have felt anything.’
‘Your father told me what happened,’ she said. ‘He and the police told me what happened.’
Alex grabbed the chair and sat. He wiped at the tears on his cheek. ‘He shouldn’t have said that, Mum, about the driving. Because that’s not right. And now he’s in jail.’
‘He’s not in jail, Alex. He’s in the bathroom,’ she said. ‘You saw him come home.’
She stood and walked to the bathroom door. ‘Oh God,’ she said, her hands to her face. ‘Oh God.’
Alex ran past her, into the bathroom. His father had fallen, his head wedged in the narrow space between the toilet seat and basin cupboard. His suit coat had slipped from one shoulder and he was completely still but for the fingers of his right hand, which twitched randomly.