by C F Dunn
“But it didn’t.”
“No. Instead he persisted, Henry. We don’t know how, but perhaps we might now know why.”
“That’s a major leap to make.”
“Then call it, oh, I don’t know – a leap of faith. Matthew once said to me that he was neither likely nor possible, yet here he is – like bees.”
“Bees?”
“By the laws of known physics, until recently we didn’t think they should be able to fly. It was a mystery until we understood the mechanics of it. But the sum of our knowledge is limited by our experience, understanding and observations, and Matthew has broken the rules. He shouldn’t be alive, but he is. He should have died, but he didn’t. The question is, how?” Clasping my hands behind my head, I focused blind eyes on the heavily beamed and plastered ceiling, willing myself to see past the obvious, back in time, back to the moment the steel blade pierced his heart. “Henry, you’re a cardiologist. If someone’s had a heart transplant, can’t the new heart be restarted with an electric shock – a bit like jump-starting a car?”
“Putting it crudely, yes.”
“Then couldn’t the blade, in delivering a death blow, also have been the conduit for restarting his heart?”
“I suppose – theoretically.”
“Then what, theoretically, kept it beating?”
Henry looked first at Pat and then at me. “Well,” he said, massaging his thumb and gathering his thoughts, “the heart is the only organ that doesn’t rely on the brain to keep it beating. It needs an electrical signal to regulate its function, but all it requires to beat is a steady flow of blood. As long as the heart pumps blood, it will receive the high energy molecule ATP, or adenosine triphosphate, which we metabolize from the food we eat, to keep it beating – like a car engine.”
“So why do our hearts stop?” I said.
“We run out of fuel. All right, that’s too simplistic, but ruling out other factors, such as disease or injury to the heart itself, there is no scientific reason for it not to continue working, as long as it gets what it needs.”
“So food provides the source of energy?” Pat asked. “But Matthew doesn’t eat and Rosie hardly touches a thing. Where do they get their heart food from?” We looked at each other and then at the light streaming through the dusty windows.
“From the sun?” I asked. “How is that even possible?” I thought of all the times I’d caught him, face to the sun; of the times when he looked after me for days on end until he almost faded, his energy sapped, his vitality waning, his skin greying. I remembered the first time we kissed – the distinct electricity, tingling – like touching a nine-volt battery to your tongue. Then there were the lights in his eyes – not a reflection of the sun, but its energy. Didn’t he know? Hadn’t he realized? “I wish we could tell him.” I watched the motes of dust caught in a vortex of air and knew how they felt. What good would this knowledge be to us now? Without him it became… pointless.
“Emma,” Henry said gently, “I know you’re desperate for answers, but it doesn’t explain Dad’s strength or speed, or our own ability to heal. None of us received the same injury, yet we all have similar traits.”
“Genes, Henry.”
“Granted genes play their part, and your own response to that transfusion already proves there’s a genetic link between you and Dad. Pinpointing the gene responsible, however, is another matter.”
“That’s exactly what Matthew was working on when we had to leave. But the data was destroyed when Harry sabotaged E.V.E. to stop anyone getting the information.”
“All that work.” Pat sank onto a chair. “All those years of research. It doesn’t bear thinking about. It must have broken his heart, knowing it was all gone.”
“Perhaps,” Henry acknowledged, squinting at the sun. Finally, he sucked his teeth and turned to us, rubbed his hands together and smiled. “It’s a lovely day. I think I’ll take a walk.”
CHAPTER
24
E.V.E.
Beth bent over, resting her hands on her knees. “I really should have given up food for Lent, rather than chocolate; it’s a bit of a trudge out here, isn’t it? I’m all puffed out.” She straightened, poking the pile of fleshy weeds with her toe. “Golly, Em, I never expected to see you gardening. Should you be doing that in your condition?”
Leaning on my hoe, I took a welcome break. “It’s quite therapeutic, really. I like being outdoors listening to the birds, seeing things growing. I can see why Dad likes it. The children, too.” Over in the orchard, Rosie was enthusiastically pushing Theo in his baby swing, the sound of their laughter amplified by the walls.
“You sure Theo’s human?” my sister said. “Archie was a little monster at that age – always crying. I’m surprised we survived.”
I remembered all too well. “Archie couldn’t help it. Theo’s teeth don’t bother him that much.” Wanting to avoid scrutiny, I didn’t want to get into a debate about the relative merits of our children – or otherwise. “I didn’t expect to see you today; what’s up? Did Dad send you on a recce mission?”
She rumbled a laugh, sounding rather like him. “Not a chance. He’s still sulking. Anyway, he can do his own dirty work. You still haven’t told me why he has the hump.”
I gave an evasive shrug. “You know what he’s like. So, what are you here for?”
She took a used envelope from her pocket, on which she had scrawled in thick, black pen something illegible. “I had a call from a foreign-sounding chap asking to speak to you. I denied all knowledge, of course, but he insisted I took his name and number, so I don’t think he believed me. He said you would know what it’s about.” She handed me the tatty envelope. “I wasn’t sure about his surname. Dobanovitch, or something.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“You could have warned me you’d given out my number.”
“Sorry, I forgot to say. It’s OK. I know who it is.”
“You’ll need a phone, then, won’t you?” She rummaged in her back pocket and found hers. She noted my hesitation. “It can’t be traced to you, if that’s what you’re worried about. Or is it the pasta sauce? It stains terribly. Here,” she gave it a quick wipe, “good as new. Go on, call him.” I waited for her to take the hint and go. “Oh, all right then, be mysterious. I’ll go and talk to the kids. They don’t keep any secrets from their aunt.”
I grinned. “Thanks, you’re a gem. I won’t be a mo.” I waited until she was out of earshot, then tapped in the numbers. “Hello? You left a message.”
“I am glad you called,” Levi’s European tones sighed down the phone. “I have news for you. That matter we spoke about – it is resolved in a most… satisfactory way.”
“Fantastic!” I said, without thinking. “Thank you. How…?”
“I will make arrangements,” he interrupted as if he thought we might be overheard, “and contact you again shortly. Good day.” The phone went dead.
“All OK?” Beth called from the swings.
“Yes, I think so, thanks.” I handed the phone back to her.
“You’re looking a bit chipper. Good news?”
“Uh-huh. What are you doing for Easter? Going to Mum and Dad’s?”
She looked at me sideways. “Just tell me if you don’t want to say, Em. Yeah, probably. What about you?”
“I think we’ll stay here and keep Pat and Henry company.”
“I’m sure they’ll be welcome, too. I can ask Mum.”
“No, thanks.”
“They must miss Matthew, too, don’t they? Still, I bet Easter Bunny’s on his way. What do you say, Rosie? Do you think Mummy would like a chocolate egg?”
“Mummy can have mine.”
“Mummy probably will, so you’ll have to hide it. When we were little, she found the big egg I had been hiding carefully in my knicker drawer and pigged the lot of it.”
“And your aunt Beth has never let me forget it,” I laughed.
There was one thing I had concluded since my las
t – disastrous – conversation with Dad, and it was that I couldn’t wait for him to come to me. He had succumbed to a chesty cold shortly after our row, and it had taken him weeks to shake it. It had brought home to me just how fragile life could be, and how our time together was on a slow-burning wick that would one day run out.
Taking advantage of the fog hugging the rooftops and passages of my home town, and muffled against the curious eyes of the surveillance cameras, I parked some distance away and walked to my parents’ house, and let myself in through the rear door.
The drawing room radiated heat. Unaccustomed, I peeled off layers of clothing under my parents’ watchful eyes. “Thanks for letting me come over.” I dropped my scarf on the saggy sofa and sat next to it, pulling my hair from my shirt and straightening the unironed collar. “How are you, Dad?”
He pulled the rug he wore around his shoulders, and tucked the ends into his sweater. He cleared his throat, but before he could answer, Mum spoke. “He’s not been at all well. He’s had two lots of antibiotics and I don’t want him stressed, Emma. I don’t know what you two have fallen out about, but I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense.”
“That makes three of us, Mum. I haven’t come to have an argument.”
“Then why are you here?” Dad finally asked, his voice husky and raw.
“I’ve come for three reasons. The first is to apologize for all the worry I’ve caused you, and to thank you for everything you have done for me and for the children. It can’t have been easy for you, thinking I was in some sort of difficulty, yet not knowing why, or how to help.”
Dad maintained a controlled expression, displaying neither acceptance of my heartfelt apology, nor disbelief. I had never really thought about it, but he must have been good at his job. “And the second thing I wish to explain…” Here goes, I thought, this will either work or it won’t. “Dad, you were right, I am in trouble, and so is Matthew.”
Mum clapped her hands. “There! I said so, didn’t I, Hugh?”
He didn’t answer her, but merely said, “Go on.”
“Matthew hasn’t been seconded by the government, he’s been taken by them, and is being held against his will.”
“The government? Why?”
“Not the government, exactly, but by a research agency, we think. We don’t know which one. He has done nothing wrong – either illegal or immoral – but he… carries… information they want.”
“Then why doesn’t he just give it to them, darling, so he can come home?”
“It isn’t that easy, Mum. The thing is, Matthew believes we are in danger. That’s why we left the States. That’s why we’re here.”
“And why would this agency pose a threat to you and the children, Emma?” my father asked quietly.
“Because what affects him, to some extent also affects us.” I willed him to make the connection without me having to spell it out.
His eyes slid towards my mother, who was too intent on looking in my direction to notice, and back to me. He quirked a brow. “And Henry and Pat – are they similarly affected?”
“Just Henry.”
“I see.” And at last, I think he did.
“I don’t,” Mum said. “If Matthew is innocent, surely he would give them the information they want, and then this agency would let him go? And how are you involved? Have you been working on some project with him?”
“Not a project as such, Mum, but it does involve research. And development.”
“R and D – that can be a messy business – top secret, too, I expect. Not something you can discuss, hey, Em? A bit under the radar?”
I thanked him silently. “Yes, something like that, Dad. It’s very complicated.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but there was little point in denying the differences he had witnessed for himself.
I hoped he wouldn’t push for further details, and to my relief, he didn’t.
“So, what was the third thing you wanted to say?” he asked.
“Oh, that. Well, um – I’m pregnant.”
“How did it go?” Henry asked as I plonked my bag on the kitchen table next to a pile of typed papers he had been reading, and made straight for the kettle.
“Much better than expected, thanks.”
He watched me pump water at the sink for a moment, then, “So why do I get the impression something’s on your mind?”
Water splashed over my hands and left the slate seal-grey and slick. “Is it that obvious?” I sucked in my cheeks, then released the pressure with a pop. “I told my parents the bare bones of the truth – that we’re basically on the run from an agency which is holding Matthew because they are interested in his differences. I didn’t say what they were, or why we are also different, and nor did Dad ask. He understood the implications and left it at that.”
“That’s ideal, surely?”
I turned on him. “Is it, Henry? What they now know is a fragment of the picture. To all intents and purposes, I’m still lying to them…”
“Withholding the truth, perhaps, but not lying.”
“Aren’t I? Henry, remember how you felt when Matthew told you that what you had been led to believe was merely the skin of something much deeper – how betrayed you felt?”
“Yes, but he’s my father.”
“And Dad’s mine – and my mother is as much in the dark. I suppose what I’m saying is that despite my best intentions, I can’t tell them the whole truth, can I? Enough to be getting on with, perhaps, but not enough to make them party to the entire lie.”
Henry crossed the kitchen, took the half-filled kettle from me, put it on the draining board, and turned me to face him. “What I didn’t appreciate until very recently is why Dad didn’t tell me the truth. Yes, the time was never right, yes, he wanted to protect me – but it was more than that: he wanted us to live a life free of the liability of the truth. I didn’t recognize how precious those years were. I had the luxury of ignorance. We all talk about how we must know everything – the right to the freedom of information – and to a certain extent I agree completely. But with that knowledge comes responsibility, and I’m not certain how many people are ready to shoulder it. I wasn’t, was I?”
“You’re talking about the control of information.”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“And who has the right to choose what we know and what we don’t?”
“Precisely. Freedom of information is an illusion, Emma.”
I recalled an earlier conversation with Matthew along the same lines and said a touch sourly, “What we don’t know won’t hurt us?”
“Something like that, I expect. What I am trying to say is that perhaps your parents are better off not knowing the whole truth, and then they won’t have to make any difficult choices should it come to it.”
I shook my head. “Yes, that’s how I always justified not telling them, but they’ve noticed some of our differences and I wonder whether it’s better they know the whole truth rather than just a fraction of it. Knowledge is power…”
“Whose knowledge? Whose power?” Henry asked.
“Are you saying that you would rather not have known about Matthew?”
“I’m saying that I wasted four years begrudging my father’s attempts to protect me, and sometimes… sometimes I wonder whether having all the facts places a burden on me that I don’t always feel able to bear. He carried that knowledge for me – as a father, he made that decision and took that responsibility.” His mouth had formed a taut line I recognized instantly as Matthew’s telltale sign of internal confusion. What was he hiding? The lead weight in my stomach had nothing to do with the vestiges of morning sickness.
“Where is all this coming from, Henry? What are you not telling me?”
“I’ve debated long and hard over what I’m about to tell you, but I reckon after all you’ve been through, you might as well know.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. I gave a cautious, “Go on.”
“I think I might have an idea
of what Dad was working on. E.V.E. contained software that primarily dealt with decoding and analysing genetic material and looking at mutative responses when exposed to certain stimuli. I didn’t realize it then, of course, but he was searching for answers to his own condition.”
“He wanted to understand it so that he could reverse the process,” I muttered.
“But he also used his research to further work into genetic disorders, and thereby find a cure for them. But that is by the by. You are probably aware of the latest research into the aging process at a cellular level?” I shook my head. “Well, all cells have a DNA blueprint which means aging isn’t inevitable. Basically, a body could keep functioning without aging or weakening.”
I straightened my top over my gentle bulge. “What – ever?”
“In theory, yes. We are now fairly certain that Dad’s exposure to vast levels of electromagnetic pulse induced a change in him. We also assume that there is a genetic link between what happened and the subsequent changes to which we have been subject – I and my family, through birth; you, as a direct result of a transfusion of his blood. It should have killed you, but it didn’t. He knew that or he would never have risked the procedure.” Henry had started pacing around the table, throwing glances in my direction as he outlined his theory. Now he came to a halt in front of me. “Emma, there’s another reason why it was imperative you and the children escaped capture.” He paused and seemed to be building up to something I wasn’t sure I was going to like. “I think… I believe my father discovered that you hold the answer to the genetic variation.”
“Me?”
“You share a common ancestor, don’t you?”
“Yes, through his grandmother and my namesake – Emma D’Eresby. But there have been generations of D’Eresbys since then and none of them have had the abilities or… or long life that Matthew has.”
“Of which you are aware.”
I jerked my head in acknowledgment. “Granted.”
“Didn’t your grandfather mention something about lights being too bright and the television being too loud shortly before he died?”
“Yes, but…”