Balancing Act

by Rachel Churcher

  I don’t know whether this is better or worse than being ordered to take her to bed. Better or worse than failing at everything Lee asked me to do.

  It doesn’t matter. It’s the price I’m paying to keep my job.

  It’s the price I’m paying for freedom.

  “Understood, Corporal?”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  *****

  I’m unpacking folders into a filing cabinet when Lee’s phone rings.

  “Can we track them?” He asks. I can only hear one side of the conversation, and I shouldn’t be listening in, but I’m standing within arm’s reach of his desk. I do my best to concentrate on the files in my hands.

  “There are seven of them.” His voice is angry. “Seven people don’t just disappear.”

  I keep my eyes on the filing cabinet.

  “Nine of them, then. How do nine people vanish? If you have them on camera, you can see where they went.”

  He listens for a moment, his fingers drumming on the desk.

  “They were in a boat? Then find the boat! It can’t be that difficult to track a fishing boat on the Thames.”

  My team. He’s talking about my team.

  “Not good enough,” he says, his voice raised. “Find the CCTV. Find witnesses. Send the Navy! Check the harbours! Start with the Kent coast, and work out from there.”

  I’m holding my breath. He hasn’t found the Lindisfarne Lady. He hasn’t found the cell.

  He hasn’t found Emma.

  “Yes, now!” He’s shouting into the phone. “Update me when you find them.”

  He slams the receiver down, and looks up at me.

  “Well, Corporal,” he says, a wolfish smile on his face. “Your little blonde just got lucky.”

  “Sir?”

  “Monitoring has been checking CCTV from the embankment yesterday. Your trawler was here, dropping off passengers with some very suspicious suitcases.”

  My breath catches. This is why they wanted the boat.

  “So … you haven’t found them?”

  “Add this to your list of failures, Corporal.” Lee’s cold smile widens. “Your trawler, along with all nine members of her crew, is missing.”

  I can feel the colour draining from my face. I have to reach out a hand to the filing cabinet to stop myself from falling.

  They haven’t caught the people who did this – the people who used me, and almost cost me my job.

  Emma is safe. I’m the only person the committee has to blame. The Lindisfarne Lady is free.

  I don’t know whether to laugh, or cry.

  Date

  I’m sprawled on my sofa, shirt untucked, my boots kicked off on the floor in front of me.

  My job is safe, and I feel … what? Empty. Numb.

  Powerless.

  This doesn’t feel real.

  I still can’t believe I’m not locked in a cell somewhere, paying for all the mistakes I’ve made. I’m not on the committee any more. No more resistance jobs for me, and no more inside information – but I’m still working for Lee.

  It was close, he said. There are people who blame me for the South Bank Bomb. Thanks to Lee, most of the committee members decided that I was manipulated by the OIE. That I couldn’t have guessed what was going on.

  And that I shouldn’t have been sleeping with Emma.

  I run a hand over my face. Lee backed me up, after I left the room. He must have used everything I told him to present my side of the story. The precautions I took, the background checks that came back clean. Everything I did to help the cell with their intended target.

  He’s right. He saved my career.

  I wonder what he expects in return.

  *****

  The knock on my door sets my heart hammering.

  No one ever comes to my door. I’m not expecting anyone.

  Has Lee changed his mind? Has he sent troops to arrest me?

  Has Franks?

  The knock comes again, louder this time.

  I have to answer. I have to find out what happens next.

  My pulse is a drumbeat as I walk down the hall. I take a breath, and pull the door open.

  Lydia leans against the door frame, grinning. She’s wearing tuxedo trousers and a black shirt and jacket, and her dark hair falls in waves to her shoulders. I’ve never seen her out of uniform, and I realise how much this suits her.

  “So trouble found you, then, David?”

  There’s no way Lydia is supposed to know about what happened. I give her a hard stare.

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

  She waves a hand at me.

  “Come on, Corporal. You look like hell. Thought you could use a friend.” And she pulls a bottle of vodka from behind her back.

  I roll my eyes. The last thing I need is the Home Forces gossip girl trying to uncover my secrets.

  My stomach sinks at the thought.

  Lydia shouldn’t have my address. Is she here for Lee? For Franks?

  “How did you find me?” I still have one hand on the door. I can shut her out.

  She tilts her head, still smiling. “Is there a girl in the coffee room who doesn’t know where you live?”

  Rose. Penny. Jules. Rosalind. She could have asked any of them. I need to stop assuming that everyone is working for the enemy.

  “Are you going to invite me in? I thought you were a gentleman, Corporal Conrad.” She gives me a sunny smile.

  She’s not going to leave me alone.

  I could use a friend. Lee might have saved my job, but he’s not going to bring vodka and find out how I feel.

  And it’s not as if there’s anyone else looking for my company tonight.

  I push the door open, and stand back, waving her into the hall. I know I’m going to regret this, but for now I’ll take Lydia over an empty flat.

  “Nice place,” she says, looking around the living room. “Very chic, David.” She gives me an approving nod.

  “Sit down, I guess?” I’m picking up my boots and straightening the sofa cushions. She laughs, and takes a seat, placing the vodka on the coffee table. She turns to look at me.

  “Now, David. I expected more from the famous heartbreaking Corporal.” I shrug, and she laughs again. “I’m told, by people who really should know, that you usually dress up for dates. This …” She points at my crumpled uniform, “just won’t do.”

  I’m about to protest, but she raises an eyebrow. “I can take my vodka elsewhere …”

  I can’t help smiling. She’s bothered to find me. She’s dressed up. She’s brought drinks, and she wants to hear my story. There’s no pressure – I know she’s not interested in sharing my bed. The least I can do is play along.

  “Well, then, Sergeant Wheelan,” I say, stepping towards my bedroom. “You’ll have to excuse me.” She smiles, kicks off her shoes, and puts her feet up on the sofa.

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  *****

  “So all that was your fault?” Lydia leans back against the arm of the sofa, her feet up on the cushions, a glass of vodka and orange cradled in one hand.

  She’s just told me everything she knows, and it’s frighteningly close to the truth. I’m sitting on the floor, my head against her knees, my third glass of vodka almost empty. I’ve dressed up – black jeans and a smart black shirt – and Lydia seems satisfied with my efforts.

  “I can neither confirm nor deny …” I say for the tenth time, but she cuts me off.

  “So I’m right. Your Top Secret trip, your blonde, blue-eyed, freckled woman – all that led to an attack on London?”

  “I can neither confirm …”

  “Oh, shut up, David,” she says, slapping me on the shoulder. “I already know you’re not going to deny the truth. Just let me enjoy figuring it out.”

  “OK,” I say, nodding, ignoring the room starting to spin around me. “But don’t take my lack of denial to be confirmation in any form. I’m in enough trouble already.”

  She lau
ghs, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll pretend you denied everything. Now tell me the truth!”

  So I do.

  I shouldn’t. I should kick her out. I shouldn’t have let her in in the first place.

  But this is the first chance I’ve had to confess everything, to someone I’m sure won’t use it against me.

  “Well, now I need more to drink,” she says, when I stop talking. She shakes her head as I fill her glass. “That’s a lot of drama.”

  I shrug, and she takes a sip of her vodka.

  “So where are your bombers now? Tell me Lee’s found them. Tell me you’ve salvaged something from all this.”

  I stare into my empty glass, shaking my head.

  “You lost them?” She grips my shoulder. “David! They were in London! How did you lose them?”

  I hold up a hand. “In my defence, they were on a boat, and we didn’t know they were in London.”

  “OK,” she says. “Granted. But how do you lose a boat?” I shrug. “What sort of boat are we talking? Dinghy? Yacht?”

  “Fishing trawler.”

  She nods. “So something you might notice, on the Thames?”

  I think about the Lindisfarne Lady. Wheelhouse, kitchen, tiny cabin. The deck that rolled through every wave.

  “A small fishing trawler. And they arrived in the middle of the night.”

  “And left again without stopping to see the sights?” I nod. “So where did they go?”

  “Lee has the Navy searching the coast.”

  Lydia laughs. “The English coast? Why bother?”

  “They’re based in Whitstable. Why not?”

  She thinks for a moment. “How far could you get, in a fishing trawler?” I shrug. I realise I have no idea. “If you started in London, you might be more restricted. But if you stopped somewhere for fuel – could you make it to France?”

  Another mistake. I should have asked Niall. I should have asked Jen.

  “Maybe,” I say, thinking it through. “France. Belgium. The Netherlands.”

  My stomach knots. The Netherlands. The country that saved Jake Taylor from a trial in London.

  The country that worked with Scotland – with the OIE – to get our wanted recruit to safety.

  “Yes.” My voice is a whisper as I answer her question. I can see the pieces falling into place. Scotland and the OIE, working with their allies. Working against us.

  This is worse than I thought.

  I put my glass down. Run both hands over my hair. This is worse than Lee realised. “Yes,” I say, quietly. “I think you could.”

  I sit for a moment with my head in my hands. Part of me is cheering – if I’m right, Emma is safe. Permanently safe, and there’s nothing Lee can do to catch her.

  But part of me is making connections. Looking at the links between Scotland and its neighbours.

  Part of me is wondering what else we don’t know.

  “You screwed up, Corporal.” Lydia shakes her head, her voice hushed. “You screwed up disastrously.”

  Something in her voice makes me want to laugh. She sounds amazed. She sounds impressed.

  “Yes,” I nod. “Yes I did.”

  “How do you still have a job?”

  I shrug, and pour myself another drink. I don’t have an answer. “I don’t know. Lee likes me, I guess.”

  She laughs. “Brigadier Lee has never liked anyone in his life! Try again.”

  I wave my hand. I know she’s wrong about this.

  “He likes Ketty,” I say, nodding, and then I remember his fury at her Belmarsh pass. Her meetings with Franks. “Liked Ketty. Liked.”

  “Really?” She nudges my shoulder. “Tell me more!”

  So I tell her about his test, when Ketty first arrived in London. His attempt to find out what I thought of the RTS girl. His subtle hints about working with her at Makepeace Farm, and her anger with him.

  “Something happened there,” Lydia says, nodding. “Maybe I should take Corporal Smith out on a date. See what I can find out.”

  I’m laughing so hard I have to put my glass down.

  “What? You don’t think I could find out her secrets, woman to woman?”

  “I don’t think anyone can crack her armour. I got this close …” I hold up my thumb and forefinger, millimetres apart, “… and she walked away.”

  She lets out a dramatic sigh. “First Ketty, and then Rose. You must be getting used to all this rejection.”

  I make myself sit up straight. “Hey,” I say, waving a finger at Lydia. “Don’t bring Rose into this. That’s … she’s … it’s completely different.”

  I don’t like the smile that appears on her face.

  “Oh, I know, David. Completely different.”

  I stare at her for a moment. “Wait – what do you know?”

  She swirls the drink in her glass, choosing her words.

  “Well. Ketty is a tough, independent, disciplined, no-nonsense kind of a girl.”

  I’m thinking about that kiss. Ketty, choosing me, at midnight on the South Bank. Apple and mint.

  Her shadow, walking away. Leaving me to walk home alone.

  “Yes,” I say, nodding. “She really is.”

  “But Rose …” Lydia laughs, and my stomach drops. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Lydia laughs again.

  “Oh, you poor thing,” she says, patting my shoulder. I shrug her away. “They planned it, David. The girls in the coffee room.”

  I’m lost. I don’t know what she’s talking about. “Planned what?”

  She laughs again. “Everything! Rose, dinner, whatever happened in there …” She waves a hand at my bedroom door.

  I’m shaking my head, but she doesn’t stop.

  “Three nights, they decided. Three nights, and then she’d leave you a note. Just like …”

  “… Just like I did for the others.” I run my hand through my hair and lean back against her knee, and we sit for a moment in silence.

  It can’t be true. It doesn’t make sense.

  “Seriously?” I say, eventually.

  “Seriously.” She nods. “You’ve been played, David.” And she raises her glass.

  I think about Rose. About that one, perfect night.

  That first evening, in Leicester Square. You’re a legend, Corporal Conrad. I have every intention of finding out what I’ve been missing.

  They planned it. Rose heard the gossip, and when she accepted my invitation the other girls gave her a mission. Love me, and leave me. Dump me with a note in my own kitchen.

  It’s cruel, and it hurts more than I want to admit. The nights with Rose were … surprising. Different. Everything I wanted, and everything I needed. She made me feel … she made me fall. I don’t want to think about it.

  “I had no idea.” I sound surprised. I sound baffled. “Rose … Emma … I didn’t see it. How did I not see it?”

  Lydia grips my shoulder. “I’ll say this for you. You’re one cocky Corporal. It never occurred to you that you weren’t in control.”

  She’s right. I feel as if she’s thrown me into cold water.

  I was always in control. That was the point. That’s what made it fun.

  Control, power, deciding who to sleep with and who to leave behind.

  Deciding who to recruit. Deciding who to bomb. Deciding who to arrest, afterwards.

  It’s a shock to discover I wasn’t in control at all.

  *****

  Lydia puts me to bed – jeans, shirt, everything untouched – and she lies down beside me to sleep. It’s comforting, the sound of her breathing when I wake in the night. No demands. No expectations. Just the woody scent of her perfume. The shape of her, next to me.

  I don’t think I’ve ever slept with someone like this. Clothes on. No touching. No power games – just a friend.

  I’m surprised to find that it’s exactly what I need.

  Tomorrow, I have to go back to work. I have to face Lee, a
nd Ketty, and all the girls in the coffee room. I have to face the wreckage of the South Bank and the tiny office I’m sharing with Lee.

  There will be other girls. There will be other nights. But for now I want to leave everything behind – Ketty, Emma, Rose. Lee, and the Terrorism Committee. Complications. Mistakes. Drama.

  Tomorrow can wait. For now, I’m happy just to sleep.

  Comfort

  Another morning, another girl sleeping off last night’s vodka. I check my watch. I don’t need complications this morning, but I have time for one more round of drinks. I slip out of bed and head for the kitchen, and the coffee maker. For a moment, I’m tempted to pull a uniform from the cupboard, leave a note, and let Lydia sleep, but she looked after me last night, and I have time to return the favour.

  I swallow two painkillers with water, and tip two more from the bottle for her. My skull feels as if it’s been kicked, and I’m sure she’ll be feeling the same. I take the coffee and painkillers into the bedroom and leave them on her bedside table, pulling the dark grey duvet up to her shoulders. Her dark hair falls over her face, spilling across the pillow as she sleeps.

  I have ten more minutes. Time for a quick shower, and then I’ll leave for work – but I’ll wake her before I go.

  She found me. She listened. She understood, last night.

  She deserves more than a note.

  PART FOUR: KETTY

  David Conrad

  Belmarsh Prison, March

  Revolution

  “When did you realise you’d lost control?”

  I have to stop myself from laughing. Colonel Ryan gives me an impatient glance, and waits for my answer.

  I know he’s talking about Margaret Watson’s trial. The coalition forces, the Horse Guards Revolution, and the moment we lost London.

  The moment we lost everything.

  But he could be talking about Emma. About Rose. About the moment in Lee’s office when the South Bank explosions rocked the building.