She arrived at 8am. A dark car was parked outside with one occupant in the passenger seat. A uniformed policeman stood at the front entrance. Jennifer looked ahead, hoping they hadn’t spotted her.
She went to the rear entrance, as instructed. Catherine’s constituency office was very different from Tom’s. Housed in a Regency building in the town centre, it was tastefully decorated. No piles of leaflets or smell of ink. It felt more like a doctor’s surgery, or the offices of a small consulting firm.
She waited in silence, clutching the briefcase on her lap. A clock ticked loudly on the wall and church bells peeled beyond the tall bay window. The walls were freshly painted in a pale shade of yellow and flowers sat on the desk in the centre of the room, clear except for the Telegraph and Financial Times.
After fifteen minutes there was a knock on the door. She sat up to attention.
It was the same woman who had unlocked the back door and let her in.
The woman didn’t make eye contact. “Follow me, please.”
Jennifer followed her up a narrow staircase that ran along the back wall of the house; the old servants’ stairs. At the top the woman turned briefly to check Jennifer was still with her, then knocked on a bright blue door.
“Come in.”
The woman stood aside to let Jennifer pass. Jennifer nodded her thanks but the woman didn’t return her gaze. The door closed behind her.
Catherine was perched on a large wooden desk in the centre of the room. There was a framed photograph of her shaking hands with Leonard Trask on the wall, along with a couple of Impressionist prints. Shelves lined one wall but they were half full, not stuffed with books, leaflets and various junk like in Jennifer’s old office.
“Thanks for coming. Take a seat.”
Jennifer stepped forwards and put her hand on the back of a chair. Catherine showed no sign of sitting herself, so Jennifer decided to stay standing too. She licked her lips.
Close-up, Catherine looked tired. There were blue rings under her eyes. Her skin seemed sallow. This wasn’t the Catherine that Jennifer had seen at Downing Street. Had Jennifer got to her, or was she just not wearing as much makeup?
“I didn’t want it to be like this, Catherine.”
“Of course you didn’t. But here you are.”
“Yes.”
“Go on then.”
“Go on what?”
“Show me what you’ve got.”
Jennifer opened her briefcase and pulled out the slim brown envelope containing the photocopy. She had a heart-sinking dread that she’d left it on her desk at home, that she’d open the envelope and find it empty.
She plunged her hand inside and let out a breath.
She held the sheet out. Catherine made brief eye contact then took it.
She surveyed it for a moment.
“This is a photocopy.”
“I didn’t want to bring the original.”
“You thought I’d snatch it off you, tear it up?”
“No.”
“Hmm.” Catherine looked at the paper again, muttering under her breath. “So are you going to give me the original back, then?”
“Of course. But not yet.”
“No. You want your son’s release.”
“Yes. And my friend. Rita Gurumurthy. I want to know where she’s being held.”
“That one’s easy.”
“Is it?”
Catherine shook her head, leaning back on the desk. Her finger brushed a half-drunk mug of coffee; she frowned at it and pushed it to one side.
“Surely you’ve been watching the news.”
“Yes.”
“And you haven’t seen what Rita’s been up to?”
“They say she escaped. I think she’s being held somewhere.”
“Believe what you want. She escaped. The van transporting her was in a crash. She took advantage of it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Catherine sighed. “Watch this.”
She rounded her desk and opened up a sleek laptop. She peered at it for a few moments then turned it towards Jennifer. Rita was onscreen, a grainy image of her on the bonnet of a white van. She was leaning over a woman who appeared to be bleeding. Around her were parked cars.
“It’s a bad photo. Might not be her.”
“Press play.”
Jennifer reached out and clicked Play. The image broke into life, Rita moving across the bonnet. The camera was high up, at a diagonal from her. She turned to the woman lying on the bonnet then looked up. Jennifer bit her lip. It was Rita.
She watched as Rita slid from the bonnet of the van and stopped to look round her. People were getting out of the cars, walking across the motorway. A woman seemed to speak to Rita. Rita turned away from her and ran for the central barrier. She climbed over it and ran across the other carriageway, disappearing from view as she got halfway across.
“Satisfied?” Catherine had her arms folded across her chest.
Jennifer felt winded. She could only hope that Rita had found her way to safety. She nodded.
“There’s still Samir,” she said.
Catherine shook her head. “He’s a terrorist sympathiser. I can’t make exceptions. Sorry.”
“He’s no such thing. He’s just a kid who got in with the wrong people.”
“People like Meena Ashgar?”
Jennifer felt her cheeks turn hot. “Yes.”
“The girl at your house?”
Jennifer almost fell backwards. “If you know she’s there, why hasn’t she been—”
“Arrested? The DPP is still making a case. It won’t be long. Meanwhile, we’re keeping an eye on her. And on you.”
Jennifer thought of the camera mounted to a lamp post in her road.
“If you don’t arrange an appeal for him, I’ll go public with this note.”
“Will you?”
“Yes. I’ve still got contacts.”
Catherine shook her head. “Think about it. You’re a former MP who was arrested for hiding a terrorist.”
“He’s not—”
“Semantics. You’ve just got out of prison. I’m the Prime Minister. Who d’you think they’ll believe?”
“They’ll believe the evidence. The note.”
“It doesn’t have my name on. Or yours. Or Samir’s. It’s nothing.”
“I’m sure the handwriting could be matched to yours.”
“Even if it was, it’s vague. I wasn’t stupid, Jennifer. Even back then. I thought about what I’d write.”
“So why did you tell me to destroy it?”
A shrug. “It appealed to something in me, I guess.”
There was silence while the two women stared at each other across the desk. Jennifer didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t back down, but Catherine had taken her victory from her.
“You said I just got out of prison. You know that’s not true.”
“Semantics, again.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I think it does.”
Another sigh. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, Jennifer. I tried to help you. I cared about you, and your family. I wanted to help. But things have changed. I suggest you take care. Think about who you talk to, who might be watching.”
She rounded the desk, holding out her hand. Jennifer ignored it. Instead, she drilled her thumbnail into her palm, resisting an urge to scream. She needed to get home, to regroup. Was she prepared to go public with what she knew about Catherine? And if she did, would it work? She still didn’t know.
Chapter Thirty-Six
It was the third day of Rita’s vigil. She’d been too scared to seek out the hostel; they’d want to know who she was. She’d headed back for the canal and underpass instead, finding an alcove in the struts supporting the motorway. It was noisy and smelt of urine, but at least she had been undisturbed.
It was mid-morning. She heaved herself off the bench in the bus stop, about to make what she
reckoned was her twenty-fifth walk down Jennifer’s road. Her search was beginning to feel hopeless. What if Jennifer hadn’t gone home? What if she had, but had then left for somewhere more discreet? Or what if she was hiding in one of these houses, never to emerge?
Rita didn’t know how long she could wait. She could feel her ribs through the flesh of her stomach. She had developed a heavy cough. This morning she’d spat up blood, frightening herself when she drew her hand from her mouth and looked at her red-splattered palm. If she needed medical attention, she’d be forced to reveal her identity. Maybe that would be for the best. Maybe she needed a warm cell, three meals a day.
And electric shocks.
No. She had to find Jennifer.
She rounded the corner into Jennifer’s road, almost stepping into the road in her fatigue and hunger. A car sped past, swerving to avoid her. A small red smart car, a driver but no passenger.
She gazed at the car, too worn down to react. In another life she’d have raised a fist, shouted at the driver. She’d have taken a photo, capturing the registration number. But she’d have done nothing with the photo, eventually deleting it from her phone in resignation. And besides, she’d stepped into the road. This was her fault.
The car drew to a halt. Rita stood, unable to move. A lump formed in her throat. The driver would ask questions. They’d want to know who she was, what she was doing here. She looked back towards the bus stop. Should she run?
Could she?
The driver’s door opened and a woman got out. She was tall with mousy blonde hair, wearing a suit that hung loosely on her.
She turned to face Rita. “I’m so sorry. Are you OK?”
Rita opened her mouth, then laughed.
“Rita?”
She tried to speak but nothing came out. Her head felt light, her legs loose beneath her. She began to sway. She threw a hand out for balance.
“Oh!” The woman ran to her and took her weight just as her legs gave in. Rita let herself fall into the woman’s arms.
“How did you get here?’
Rita shook her head; she wasn’t ready to speak. Above, silhouetted by the pale sky, Jennifer looked down at her, puzzled.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jennifer looked around her. A car passed, a small girl with pigtails in the back seat peering out at her. Rita was heavy in her arms, despite having lost weight. She looked dreadful. Her hair was a tangled mass of black curls, her face was blotched with dirt and blood, her clothes dingy and torn. She smelt bitter, like someone who hadn’t washed for days, and there was a faint tang of stale urine.
She heaved Rita up, dragged her to the car. She opened the passenger door and pushed Rita in. Rita slumped onto the seat, not regaining consciousness. Jennifer hauled her feet inside, recoiling at the thick mud on her flimsy trainers.
Jennifer rushed round to the driver’s door then drove the short distance to their house. Yusuf’s car was in the drive.
She left Rita and hurried to the front door, dropping her keys in her haste. As she straightened to put them to the lock, the door opened.
“I’m so glad you’re home, love,” she gasped.
“What’s up?” His face fell. “It’s Catherine, isn’t it? What did she—”
“No. It’s not Catherine. It’s Rita.”
“Rita?”
“My friend from the centre.”
He glanced past her and frowned. Jennifer turned to see Susan coming out of her house. She waved. Jennifer waved back, trying to smile.
“Come inside,” Yusuf said.
“No. I need your help.”
“I can help you inside.”
“No.” She grabbed his hand. “It’s Rita. She’s in my car. Unconscious. I can’t get her into the house on my own.”
She pulled him out of the house, ignoring his protests, and to the car. Inside, Rita was regaining consciousness.
Jennifer looked towards Susan again. “We have to get her inside, but without drawing attention to her.”
“That’s not going to be easy.”
She opened the passenger door. “Hey, it’s me. Jennifer. I’m back. Me and Yusuf are going to take you inside. Can you walk?”
Rita grunted. Jennifer turned back to Yusuf. “We have to try.”
“OK. Here.”
He slipped past her and bent to Rita. “Hi Rita. I’m Yusuf, Jennifer’s husband. Are you OK?”
Rita gave him a weak smile. “Fine. Thanks.”
“You don’t look so fine. Let me help you.”
He reached an arm around her and pulled her up and out of the car. She leaned into him, muttering.
Jennifer heard a car engine behind her; Susan was leaving. She moved behind Rita, hiding her friend as best she could.
When Susan was safely gone, she moved back to Rita’s other side.
“It’s alright,” said Yusuf. “If we both support her it’ll look more suspicious. She’s taking her weight. I can just steady her.”
Rita muttered something, then coughed. Jennifer bit her lip. She should have stayed in the centre, should have helped her. She’d told herself she’d be more help to her friends on the outside. Was that a convenient lie?
They guided Rita into the house. Jennifer kicked the front door closed.
They took Rita into the living room and eased her onto the sofa. She slumped back, her eyelids fluttering.
“I’m going to get you something to eat, and a drink,” Jennifer said.
Yusuf put a hand on her arm. “I’ll do it. You stay with her.”
She nodded and sat down next to Rita. She took her friend’s hand. It was pale, the veins prominent. How long had she been sleeping rough? Had she come here from that accident, or had Catherine lied?
She wiped a tear from her cheek and looked for a tissue.
Rita doubled over, coughing. She groaned and hawked up some blood. It landed on the coffee table. Jennifer stared at it then back at Rita. This was bad.
She eased Rita back to a comfortable position and waited a few moments. Rita’s eyes rolled in her head but she showed no sign of coughing again. Jennifer followed Yusuf into the kitchen.
“She’s really ill. Maybe we should call an ambulance.”
He scratched his cheek. “I don’t know.”
“We can’t take care of her here.”
The microwave bleeped and Yusuf took out a mug of soup. A pile of buttered bread stood on a tray, waiting. Yusuf placed the mug next to the plate and picked the tray up. He looked at Jennifer.
“Do you know how she got here? How she got out.”
“Catherine showed me a video. She escaped, from a car crash.”
“You thought that was a lie.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
He moved towards the door.
“I’m worried about her,” Jennifer said. “That cough. But you’re right, we can’t call 999.”
“I know someone. A doctor. Muslim, he’s helped some of the families that have gone into hiding. I’ll call him.”
“Bringing more people here is a bigger risk, surely.”
Yusuf put the tray down. “It’s up to you. She’s your friend.”
Jennifer heard more coughing from the living room. She felt her heart skip. “Call him.”
Yusuf scratched his chin. He’d shaved; his beard was the neatest Jennifer had seen it for years. “Let’s see how she does with some food inside her first.”
“She just coughed up blood.”
His face darkened. “Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just give her this food, then decide. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble. If they find out you harboured someone who escaped, they’ll send you back there.”
She closed her eyes. A headache was brewing above her eyebrows.
“OK. Let me take it to her.”
She took the tray and padded into the living room. Yusuf followed.
Rita was where she had left her on the sofa, her eyes open. She was blinking and lookin
g around. When she saw Jennifer her face broke into a smile.
“Jennifer! Am I glad to see you.” She lifted herself up but quickly slipped down again.
Jennifer sat next to her. She placed the tray on the table in front of them. She avoided the blood. Yusuf spotted it and left the room, looking for a cloth.
“Me too,” she said, reaching round to give Rita the gentlest hug she could.
She picked up the soup and handed it to Rita. Rita closed her eyes and inhaled its smell, then took a noisy slurp.
“That’s good. Thanks.”
“There’s bread too.”
Rita nodded, drinking again. Jennifer waited for her to finish the soup and then the bread. Yusuf reappeared and cleaned the coffee table. He looked at Jennifer, raising his eyebrows in a question. She shook her head. The panic was over.
Rita sniffed and put the plate down on the tray. “That’s better.”
Jennifer swallowed. “How did you get here? Did you pass your Celebration?”
“No. I escaped.” A smile flickered on Rita’s lips. The colour was coming back to her cheeks.
“Escaped?”
“They were transporting me. There was a crash. I ran.”
“So it’s true.”
Rita’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
“You’ve been on the news. I didn’t believe it, thought it was a story to mask something worse.”
“Like what?”
“I saw you. Before my Celebration. I could tell they’d been hurting you.”
Rita’s eyes dropped. “Tim. Bastard. They locked me up in the basement.”
“We looked for you everywhere. Me and the girls. Maryam saw you.”
“I know,” said Rita. “I saw her.”
“Where were they transporting you?”
“No idea. The guard was nice, though. She gave me a Twix.”
Jennifer nodded. “That was almost a week ago.”
A shrug. “I’ve lost track.”
“Have you eaten since?”
“I found a place near here. A church. They fed me.”
“The food bank.”
“Yeah.”
Rita sank back into the chair. Her face had paled again. There were dark circles under her eyes.
The Division Bell Trilogy Page 65