Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  Good.

  “There’s nothing …” she says, but I hold up a hand to stop her.

  “I heard you, Ketty,” I say, shaking my head. “We all did. It sounded pretty personal to me.”

  She nods, thinking. “You were …”

  “In the interrogation room with the brigadier. Yeah.” I lower my voice. I want to know what happened. “What did she do to you, anyway?”

  She shakes her head, and I can’t help smiling. I’m enjoying her discomfort.

  “She wouldn’t talk, would she? Just like her standard interviews. Even the men in black couldn’t make her talk.” The colour deepens on her face, but she doesn’t say anything. I can’t resist pushing her. “Tough kid. Bad luck, Ketty. Those are the worst. They’re no fun at all.”

  She straightens her back, lifts her chin, and glares at me.

  “Enhanced Interrogation isn’t meant to be fun, David. It’s meant to get results.”

  I think about Ketty, facing Margaret in the white tiled room. Two thugs ready to deliver a beating on her orders.

  I don’t believe her. I think she enjoyed every moment.

  “Oh, but it is though, isn’t it?”

  She looks away, her cheeks an angry shade of pink, and I know my comment has hit home.

  It feels good, making Ketty suffer. Making her pay for her mistakes. I can’t resist throwing another punch.

  “So Lee’s mad with you again,” I say, reaching for the pen she’s been using. “And you’re still in trouble with Franks.”

  She watches me clicking the lid on and off the pen in my hand, her jaw tight. “You, too.”

  I give her a cheerful shrug. “Don’t worry about me, Ketty,” I say, biting back a smile. “It’s you they’re disappointed with at the moment. I’m pretty safe, for now. Lee thinks you’re getting sidetracked.”

  She looks at me, and I wonder what I’ve said. The colour is fading from her cheeks, and she sits up straighter in her chair.

  “David,” she says, carefully. “Did Lee ask you to take me out for a drink? Did he suggest the night out?”

  I make myself smile, buying time, trying to think of a response. Something I’ve said has made a connection for her. I don’t know how she guessed, and I don’t want to confirm her suspicions. I could lie. I could protect Lee. I could tell her the night out was my idea.

  Or I could blame the brigadier for everything. She thinks she rejected me at the end of the night. I could tell her – I could confess to Lee’s plan – and that would mean her rejection was directed at Lee.

  It’s tempting.

  “David?”

  She wants an answer. This means something to her. Whatever happened between Ketty and Lee – it’s still a problem for her.

  This feels like drama. I don’t want to get involved.

  “Does it matter?” I ask, shrugging.

  “Yes, it matters.” She stands up, reaches out, and snatches the pen from my hand. “It matters.”

  She’s looking at me as if I’m a difficult recruit. As if she’s trying to stay calm.

  She’s never going to trust me. She’s never going to come home with me. I’ve got nothing to lose by telling her the truth.

  I’m working for Lee. She might as well understand that. I wait until she looks at me.

  “OK, then yes. He did.” I keep my eyes on hers.

  “Huh,” she says, glancing down at the desk. The colour is back in her cheeks, and she’s thinking this through.

  “Did Lee send you to spy on me?” she says, quietly.

  I shrug, and look away. There’s no point explaining. She knows what she needs to know.

  “David,” she says eventually. “Is Lee trying to get rid of Bracken?”

  I shrug. This isn’t a useful conversation, and if I say too much it will be me in Lee’s line of fire.

  “How should I know what Lee wants?”

  She leans across the desk, her voice steady.

  “What have you told him, David? What did you tell Lee?”

  I don’t owe her an explanation. I don’t owe her anything.

  I hold her gaze. “I told him what he needed to know.”

  “To take the trial away from me?”

  “To protect himself.”

  She stares at me, and there’s the hint of a smile on her face. “He’s afraid of Bracken, isn’t he?”

  I think about Lee’s outburst, this morning. His anger at Bracken’s apathy.

  She watches my face, nodding. “He thinks Bracken is going to screw up.” She’s really smiling now. She thinks she has everything worked out. “He thinks Bracken is going to destroy the Terrorism Committee.” She runs both hands over her hair, thinking as she speaks. Her smile fades. “Lee wants Bracken gone, and I’m the way he’s going to make that happen.”

  I can’t get involved. I’ve said too much. Let Ketty lie awake and figure this out – it’s her problem, not mine. I’ve lost the Canterbury job because of her mistake. I don’t want to waste any more time on her.

  I clear my throat and glance around the room.

  “So, the Watson trial. Is the paperwork ready?”

  She shakes her head. “Not yet. There are some notes I need to write up.”

  “Tomorrow, then?” I say, stepping away from her desk.

  “I guess,” she says, shrugging.

  There’s a smile on my face as I leave her office. She’s paying for her mistakes. I’ve reminded her that she’s not safe here. She could still screw up, and Franks could still send her home. Let her worry about that – maybe she’ll be more careful. I’ve given her a warning, and maybe she’ll learn to keep her head down. Obey orders, do as she’s told, and keep Bracken from embarrassing himself. Keep my secret.

  Maybe she’ll stay out of my way.

  *****

  By the end of the day, my night with Rose has caught up with me. I need to crawl into bed and sleep until morning. I’m tired and hungry, and I can’t wait to get home.

  But as I walk along Whitehall, it’s not Rose I’m thinking about – it’s Ketty. About the connection she made between me and Lee. About asking her out. About Lee’s opinion of Bracken.

  She’s smart. She’s dangerous.

  And she’s wasted as Bracken’s babysitter.

  Curves, scars, attitude, and a kiss, by the river.

  Lydia’s right. I can’t let her go. She’s screwed up the Canterbury job. She’s left me dealing with Margaret’s trial. Lee tore her down in front of Bracken, and her boss didn’t lift a finger to defend her.

  But she’s still working. She’s still fighting. She’s picked herself up, and she’s still defending Bracken.

  She’s still defending herself.

  I think about this afternoon. Her blonde hair tamed into a tight bun. Blue eyes flashing as she challenged me. Freckles, and the blush on her cheeks.

  I have information. I have access to Lee. I have the power, here.

  She needs me.

  Maybe I can fix this. Maybe I have a chance.

  Maybe I can still make Katrina Smith mine.

  Coffee

  When I reach my flat, Rose is waiting. She looks like a movie star – knee-length fitted dress, boots, gloves, coat. She must have changed at work and called a taxi to reach my doorstep before me. I know I need to sleep, but I can’t say no to this.

  “Corporal,” she says, giving me a mock salute with one gloved hand. Her makeup is perfect, with a smile to match. I can’t help smiling back.

  “Private.” Her smile widens. I reach into my pocket for my keys, and let us both inside. She hands me her coat and gloves, and heads for the living room. I can smell last night’s perfume on her coat as I hang it in the cupboard.

  “So – what does the famous Corporal Conrad do for fun?” She asks, looking round at the sofas, the TV, the empty shelves. Deliberate hotel minimalism.

  I shrug, aware that while she smells of roses and spice, I’ve just walked home in the clothes I’ve been wearing all day.

&nb
sp; I run a hand over my hair. I don’t want to disappoint her, but I need to step away from work. I need to wash Lee and Ketty and Canterbury away, and focus on the woman in front of me.

  I give her a sheepish smile. “Right now, I need a change of clothes, and a shower.” I wave my hand at the sofa. “Make yourself at home …”

  She grins and takes a step towards me. Her eyes meet mine.

  “Shower sounds fun,” she whispers, her fingers once again finding the buttons of my shirt.

  I don’t know who has the power here, and I don’t care. She slips the shirt from my shoulders, and runs her hands over my skin to my waist, biting her lip.

  My breath catches.

  This is the distraction I need. Ketty can wait. The trial can wait. Lydia can have her gossip, and Rose can have me.

  I’ll figure the rest out tomorrow.

  *****

  “Coffee, sleepy head.” Rose is laughing as she waves a mug under my nose, the steam dragging me awake.

  I grunt, and she laughs again.

  Something isn’t right. I haven’t heard my alarm.

  “What time is it?” I’m slurring my words, and my head feels heavy. I don’t want to open my eyes.

  “I didn’t want you to be late,” she says, placing the mug on my bedside table and siting down on the edge of the bed. “So I woke you up early, just in case.”

  “Just in case?”

  I prop myself up on one elbow, and open my eyes.

  She’s naked. And she’s grinning at me.

  I don’t know what this is, with Rose. I was looking for a one-night distraction, but she invited herself back.

  She made coffee. She woke me up.

  I’m used to hangovers and sleeping girls. I’m used to getting dressed and leaving them behind.

  I’m not used to coffee in bed.

  She lifts the duvet and slides in beside me, one hand grazing my chest.

  “So,” she whispers, watching my reaction. “Coffee? Or Rose?”

  I smile.

  I could get used to this.

  *****

  “Time’s up, Ketty.” There’s a spring in my step as I walk into Smith’s office. Whatever is happening with Rose, last night was a good night, and this morning was a good morning. I feel ready to take on anything – Lee, Ketty, the trial. I feel unstoppable. “I need the Watson files.”

  She’s on her feet, arms folded, and I can’t help thinking about what’s under her uniform. The light tan of her skin. The mess of scars on her knee.

  Would she make me coffee in bed? Or would she walk away without a word?

  I bite back a smile. I need to concentrate.

  “So”, she says, watching me. “Who’s taking over? Who gets to sponge off all my hard work?”

  She’s asking for information. She wants to know who Lee is trusting with Margaret’s show trial.

  I perch myself on the front of her desk, and give her a wide smile.

  “That would be me,” I say, and watch as her face turns grey.

  She stares at me, all the colour draining from her cheeks, and rolls her eyes.

  “You’re joking.”

  I’m grinning now. She brought this on herself, using her fists and boots on her prisoner. She might have stolen Canterbury from me, but I’m enjoying this moment. Scoring a point against the untouchable Ketty Smith.

  “It must be my reward, for sidetracking you.”

  Her expression darkens, and I know I’ve pushed her too far. I don’t want to provoke a response – two days ago she took out her anger on Margaret, and I could hear her from the next room. I don’t want her taking this out on me.

  I stand up, and take a step back.

  She glares at me for a moment, then sits down.

  “Fine,” she says, waving her hand at the filing cabinet next to the door. “They’re in the second drawer.” And she picks up her pen and turns back to her work.

  I open the drawer, and find it full of hanging files. Everything is stored in folders, carefully organised and neatly labelled. Far too much to carry in one trip.

  “Any chance of a hand to take these upstairs?”

  The look she gives me could blister paint.

  “OK,” I say, as calmly as I can. “I’ll shift them myself.”

  She ignores me as I pull out a handful of files, tuck them under one arm, and let myself out of the room.

  I find a place for the files in one of the filing cabinets in my office, then head back downstairs, ready for another confrontation. She’s angry about the decision to take the trial away from her, and judging by the state of the files, she has every right to be. As far as I can tell, she has everything under control. Every aspect of the day planned and checked, every decision recorded, every conversation noted in detail.

  She didn’t deserve to lose this chance, whatever she did to Margaret. Lee is wrong – she’s doing an amazing job. She’s focused, she’s disciplined, she knows what she’s doing.

  She’s a tough act to follow. Any mistakes will be mine, not hers. I have a lot to live up to.

  I’m expecting another cold stare when I open the door to her office. Another invitation to argue. But when I walk in, I find her sitting with her head in her hands, her pen on the desk beside her.

  Whatever is happening inside her head, I want nothing to do with it. This is drama, and it affects me directly. Let her protest this in any way she wants – I’m not getting involved. I need to move the files, and walk away. I do not need to be part of her soap opera.

  I take another armful of files, and carry it upstairs.

  Revelation

  I take some time to look through the arrangements Ketty has made. Producers from PIN. The staging supplier. RTS units providing patrols. The judge, the prison guards at Belmarsh, the prisoner transport. Road closures. Crowd control.

  It’s all here.

  This isn’t right. This isn’t fair.

  I don’t know how she’s done all this while keeping Bracken on his feet, and doing her best with the missing recruits.

  No wonder she enjoyed our night out. No wonder she found a stage to dance on.

  No wonder she came close to losing control. To coming home with me.

  She spends all her time in total control of herself. Holding up Bracken. Tracking the kids from Camp Bishop.

  I gave her a night with no rules, and I might as well have thrown her a life raft. She needed a break. She needed permission to let go.

  You, me, and dancing on the tables.

  I look at the file in my hands. She’s put everything into this. She’s invested her time and effort into Lee’s show trial, and now Lee has taken it from her.

  No wonder she’s angry with me.

  She deserves better. She deserves a friendly word. Lee wants me to be her friend? I’ll start here. I’ll start by telling her what a great job she’s done. How intimidated I am to have to pick up her work.

  I don’t want to deal with her drama, but if this is how I gain her trust, I need to step up. I need to be the person who understands.

  I’m in a good mood, thanks to Rose. I might as well use it.

  *****

  In the corridor outside her office, I take a calming breath. She’s angry, but I need her to trust me.

  This is my chance.

  I open the door, ready to give her something she needs. Ready to be the friend. Ready to be the hero.

  But she’s not at her desk.

  I step into the room, and I’m reaching into the filing cabinet when the door slams.

  I freeze, my hands on the files, and look up to see Ketty glaring at me, her back against the door.

  So much for avoiding drama. I keep my hands in the drawer, and my eyes on her. She’s furious.

  “What’s really going on, David? What’s your special job on the Terrorism Committee?”

  I shake my head. This isn’t the confrontation I was expecting.

  I keep my voice calm. I can’t tell her the truth, so I need to distract
her. I need to make her believe I’m on her side.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  She stares, her jaw tight and her fists clenched.

  I have no idea what she’s going to do next. All I can think about is the Enhanced Interrogation room. Ketty screaming at Margaret, and the interrogators pinning her to the wall.

  There are no interrogators here. It’s me, and Ketty.

  I pull my hands out of the drawer and hold them up in front of me, trying to calm her down.

  “Really,” I say, quietly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  My heart is racing. She knows about the Terrorism Committee. She knows I work for Lee. I told her too much, and she’s been thinking it through.

  I’ve underestimated her. I’m not in control, here.

  She takes a step towards me.

  “The other day, David, in the corridor, you said you had a role to play on the Terrorism Committee.” She sounds as if she’s talking to a child. As if she’s about to punish a disobedient recruit. I realise my hands are shaking.

  She takes another step.

  “What did you mean? What’s your role?”

  Lee wants me to give her information, but I can’t give her this. I shake my head, and look away. “Ketty …”

  “Because I think I know what you do for them.”

  I feel as if she’s thrown a punch. I know I’m in trouble. She’s smart, and she’s been listening. If she’s figured this out – if Lee finds out – I’m in trouble.

  She could take me down.

  Her voice is calm, but every word is a bullet.

  “I think you’re the one who makes friends with the terrorists.”

  I catch my breath. She knows. She’s paid attention. She’s thought it through, and she’s worked out what I do.

  My heart is a bomb, exploding. She can’t know this. It’s bad for her, and it’s bad for me.

  She steps towards me again, close enough for me to smell apple and mint.

  “I think you’re the one they use to gain people’s trust. Resistance cells. Rebel groups.” There’s the ghost of a smirk on her face. “I think you’re the eye candy. Someone young and convincing to sweet-talk them into helping the committee.” She watches my reaction, but I’m frozen. I need to know what else she’s figured out.