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- Herausgeber: Orenda Books
- Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
- Sprache: Englisch
A young TV journalist is forced to revisit her harrowing past when she's thrust into a sex-trafficking investigation in her hometown. A startling, searing, debut thriller by award-winning CNN journalist Sarah Sultoon. 'A brave and thought-provoking debut novel. Sarah Sultoon tackles a challenging and disturbing subject without sensation, and her sensitive handling, tight plotting and authentic storytelling make for a compelling read' Adam Hamdy 'A stunning debut … a powerhouse writer' Jo Spain 'Delving into corruption, abuse of power and the resilience of the human spirit, The Source is a taut and thought-provoking book that's all the more unnerving for how much it echoes the headlines in real life' CultureFly –––––––––––– One last chance to reveal the truth… 1996. Essex. Thirteen-year-old schoolgirl Carly lives in a disenfranchised town dominated by a military base, struggling to care for her baby sister while her mum sleeps off another binge. When her squaddie brother brings food and treats, and offers an exclusive invitation to army parties, things start to look a little less bleak... 2006. London. Junior TV newsroom journalist Marie has spent six months exposing a gang of sex traffickers, but everything is derailed when New Scotland Yard announces the re-opening of Operation Andromeda, the notorious investigation into allegations of sex abuse at an army base a decade earlier... As the lives of these two characters intertwine around a single, defining event, a series of utterly chilling experiences is revealed, sparking a nail-biting race to find the truth ... and justice. A riveting, searing and devastatingly dark thriller, The Source is also a story about survival, about hopes and dreams, about power, abuse and resilience ... an immense, tense and thought-provoking debut that you will never, ever forget. For fans of Holly Watt, Abigail Dean, Fiona Barton, Abi Daré, Kate Elizabeth Russell, Sarah Vaughan and Casey Kelleher ––––––––––––– 'Carly and Marie's stories are about to collide, the secrets of the past are devastating, the investigation in the present urgent. This is a tense thriller, a remarkable debut, heartbreaking, but ultimately this is a story of resilience and survival' New Books Magazine 'A powerful, compelling read that doesn't shy away from some upsetting truths … written with such energy' Fanny Blake 'Tautly written and compelling, not afraid to shine a spotlight on the darker forces at work in society' Rupert Wallis 'So authentic and exhilarating … breathtaking pace and relentless ingenuity' Nick Paton Walsh, CNN 'A powerful, intense whammy of a debut that is both uncomfortable and exhilarating to read … Thought-provoking, tense, and expressive, The Source is an utterly compelling debut' LoveReading 'A gripping, dark thriller' Geoff Hill, ITV 'A cleverly constructed story that offers an authentic view behind the scenes in a British newsroom … an original and wholly engaging debut. Definitely a name to watch' Crime Fiction Lover 'My heart was racing … fiction to thrill even the most hard-core adrenaline junkies' Diana Magnay, Sky News 'Unflinching and sharply observed. A hard-hitting, deftly woven debut' Ruth Field 'With this gripping, fast-paced debut thriller, it's easy to see what made Sultoon such a great journalist' Clarissa Ward, CNN 'A hard-hitting, myth-busting rollercoaster of a debut' Eve Smith 'I could picture and feel each scene, all the fear, tension and hope' Katie Allen
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Seitenzahl: 452
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021
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1996. Essex: Thirteen-year-old schoolgirl Carly lives in a disenfranchised town dominated by a military base, struggling to care for her baby sister while her mum sleeps off another binge. When her squaddie brother brings food and treats, and offers an exclusive invitation to army parties, things start to look a little less bleak…
2006. London: Junior TV newsroom journalist Marie has spent six months exposing a gang of sex traffickers, but everything is derailed when New Scotland Yard announces the reopening of Operation Andromeda, the notorious investigation into allegations of sex abuse at an army base a decade earlier…
As the lives of these two characters intertwine around a single, defining event, a series of utterly chilling experiences is revealed, sparking a nail-biting race to find the truth … and justice.
A riveting, searing and devastatingly dark thriller, The Source is also a story about survival, about hopes and dreams, about power, abuse and resilience … an immense, tense and thought-provoking debut that you will never, ever forget.
iii
The Source
Sarah Sultoon
v
For Oli, Liora, Guy and Ben
Contents
Part One
Marie ~ London ~ 2006
There is a girl. She’s standing, at ease, neat and tidy in forgettable grey. Only the clammy fists inside her pockets would give her away, but no one here is going to shake her hand. Next to her, a man. They’re partners in this, negotiating shoulder-to-shoulder with the two men opposite.
The transaction is quick – in fact for them, it looks effortless. One production-line-new ride, velvet blush interior, cream finish. Delivery to be arranged in the coming week. No money changes hands, but there is no doubt an agreement is sealed: heads nodded, eyes met, the implications of any transgressions clear from the two brick-set suits casting shadows in the hallway, from the flies buzzing to death on the strip lights overhead.
They’re inside a sprawling factory complex just outside the M25. No identifiable marks link it to anything, anywhere. In truth, they easily could just be buying a car.
Except there is a girl. And the girl is me. We’ve just bought another girl; young, unblemished, untouched and unknown. She’s there too, the third shadow, the only one whose outline is trembling in the corridor. No one’s looking at her, not even me. Only the camera hidden in my buttonhole that’s recording the whole thing.
~~~
2‘Can we go through it again? Please? Just one last time…’
The window squeaks as I trace circles through the thick condensation. The car’s hot with nerves, but there’s no way I can open it. Even the trees are listening, rustling with judgement as they watch us sit and prepare to go inside the complex. These buildings look like they rolled off the factory line themselves, but there’s nothing as regular inside.
‘I’ve got it, OK?’ Dominic sighs as he fidgets. ‘It’s a simple business deal. We’re there to snap up hot property for sale. But the more we talk about it, the less it feels like it. I know this is your first undercover, but I’ll be doing it in my sleep soon…’
‘I won’t though, will I? And you still look like you’ve never worn those before…’
I flick a bead of water at his battered cargo pants and shirt. He thinks I’m only here because his usual producer’s black and this lot are racist. She’s drilled me at least. That’s why I can get away with being so lippy. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.
‘If I get it wrong then we’re both sunk, aren’t we? I know it’s all we’ve been dreaming about but we have to do it for real this time…’
Dominic rolls his eyes, wiping the sweat off his neck before his faded collar stains. Sure, he’s worn the same costume in plenty of war zones – if the state’s news media isn’t in service of its military then no one else would join up either, would they? But Dominic’s far more comfortable in a dark suit, slithering around corridors of power – so slick he’s almost invisible. It’s easy to forget who you’re talking to when he could be any number of people. Journalists eat double dealing, hidden agendas and ulterior motives for breakfast, lunch and dinner.
‘Come on. For me if not for you. What’s our answer if he can’t guarantee she’s still a virgin?’ I draw myself another circle as I say it, glaring at the trees shaking their heads at me in the breeze. We’re about to negotiate with people farming out underage girls for money. Of course we have to pretend to be like them. They’d never believe us otherwise.3
‘I told you, I’ll handle it. You’re not the one doing the talking, are you? You just concentrate on standing there looking surly … Not too surly, mind. Throw in some smug too. Remember, you’re the madame. There’s always a madame … think of yourself as the landlord, if it helps. The landlord of a swanky new flat that’s going to make you a killing…’
I shiver reflexively as he scratches at his groin, fiddling with the tip of a tiny camera nestled almost invisibly in his fly.
‘Christ … a camera in my actual pants. Whose idea was this again? I do hope you put the cost of buying a new one in the budget. No other news crews will touch this fella when we’re through. Hereafter it will no doubt be known as the ball-cam…’
‘Because they won’t search you down there. They wouldn’t dare. Nothing would be worse than to be seen as doing something gay, even if it’s dressed up as self-preservation. They’d shoot themselves first—’
‘I say no deal,’ Dominic interrupts suddenly, as if we’re still talking about the girl we’re going to buy. ‘There’s no other answer. That’s what we agreed. It’s business, isn’t it? That’s the only reason we’re here. We agreed the goods would be production-line new…’
‘Right,’ I say, itching at the wires taped flat across my chest. My camera’s anchored in my buttonhole because they won’t search me there either. I’m well past my sell-by date. ‘And what if she’s not white? We’re going to insist on getting a look at her, aren’t we? They won’t be able to lie about that.’
‘I know, Marie. I know. No deal. Velvet blush interiors are what we agreed.’ He plucks at the van’s seat, hand slick against the leather. That’s the giveaway, right there. As if anyone normal buys a car with velvet seats. I look away as his hand moves back to his groin.
‘I’ll never get away without it itching at some point. I suppose that’ll play OK, won’t it … given the substance of this so-called deal?’
‘Well, don’t scratch too hard, will you? The camera’s toast if you give yourself a stiffy.’
I feel a bit sick as we both laugh. I guess I’m finally getting the 4newsroom’s gallows humour right. But the joke’s over before we’ve even finished – his phone vibrates, shooting tremors through the whole seat.
‘We’re on,’ Dominic mumbles, jamming a cap on to his head with one hand, thumbing the phone with the other. ‘It’s finally happening. And once it starts, it’ll have to finish … Are you sure you’re ready? Marie?’
‘Yes, I am. It’s just business,’ I say, trees nodding with me as we step out of the van, leaves pointing with the wind along the path to the complex gates. There’s only one way to go from here.
~~~
Close up, they’re not what I expected. The heavies in the corridor, fine, you’d worry if they didn’t have muscle, but these two? The main man, the one we’ve been calling Xenon for all this time – with straight faces – he looks so neat he could be showroom-clean. If the doors next to them swung open to reveal a brand-new Jag, I wouldn’t be surprised.
I let my vision blur, looking past them to the wall behind, that curious mix of brown and grey where it could settle on either. It’s all a matter of perspective, I suppose. Like everything. Just because these men don’t fit my mental picture, doesn’t mean they’re not the real deal.
My eyes snap back into focus as grunts move back and forth, Dominic sticking to the script. Almost there. Just needs a reference to money. I will myself not to shiver as a bead of sweat trickles down my ribcage, threatening the wires taped to my chest.
There’s a sudden jolt as the door opens, framing two more men. I don’t need to see Dominic’s face to know it looks exactly like theirs. Taut and pale with badly disguised panic, lips pursed so all their questions stay in their eyebrows. The air in the room thickens, like there’s smoke creeping in under the door.
‘What’s this?’ Dominic’s voice grates, just the right side of 5harsh. No longer in the corridor, the heavies stand like sentinels either side of our targets. Still the third shadow quivers in the hall.
‘We have a last-minute bidder,’ Xenon says, grinning. ‘There’s a lot of demand for rides like this. I’m sure you understand why we have to give everyone a fair go.’
Nobody moves. I don’t dare breathe.
‘No deal,’ Dominic says, sharper edges this time. ‘I didn’t come here for an auction. It’s what we agreed or bust.’
My neck prickles as the latecomers step into the room alongside us. On the face of it, there’s now four of us opposite four of them but we all know it’s about as equal as knives on butter.
‘I’m not sure that’s your wisest move,’ Xenon replies from between his teeth. ‘You won’t find anything of this quality on the market elsewhere. I can assure you of that.’
‘Well I’m yet to approve of its quality,’ Dominic snaps, looking towards the corridor for the first time. ‘What’s to say you’re not selling me a dud? Photos never tell the full story, do they? And who does a deal on a photo?’
Pop goes another fly on the light overhead as they eyeball each other. I can’t help but flinch as Xenon takes half a slow step to one side, door opening behind him. And now there’s nowhere to look other than straight at her, they’ll know if we so much as blink.
I let my vision blur again, over the strands of hair bleached lank round her face, the still budding curves that give away her age, the jutting collarbones, the painted nails, the air of desperation and defeat already hanging like a cloak around her body. And the hands, pinning her in place, invisible to everyone but me.
‘Careful there,’ Dominic drawls. ‘If the merchandise gets damaged then no one will buy it—’
‘Ten thousand,’ a voice interrupts. One of the interlopers; Scottish, curt and sharp. I swallow my sigh of relief as the door to the corridor slams. At least I don’t have to look at her anymore. But Dominic, Dominic doesn’t skip a beat.
‘Eleven—’ 6
‘Twelve!’
I freeze as the heavies move in step, improbably lightly, towards the Scot and his lackey.
‘You said your maximum was eleven,’ Xenon barks at them. ‘Lying, were you? There’s no love for lies around here.’
I sneak a glance at Dominic, still staring straight ahead. If it wasn’t for the muscle twitching in his jaw, he could be made of stone.
‘Proof of funds, then. Come on…’ Xenon’s smile twists as he continues, and it was ugly enough to start with. ‘That’s if you’ve really got twelve to barter. And don’t you be moving too quickly now…’
My eyes sting with the effort of keeping them straight ahead instead of on the scuffle erupting to my left. One of the heavies lumbers back over to Xenon shaking out a crumpled piece of paper. There’s one dense, slow-motion second of squinting before an almost imperceptible nod back towards the muscle.
And then there’s a scream.
I don’t look, eyes burning into the blank wall. Howls become cries that become pleas as they fade down the corridor into sudden silence, door swinging shut.
I swallow again. The air feels solid, a mass in my throat, a sponge in my lungs. Xenon turns back to us, knuckles white around the ball of paper he’s crumpled back into his fist.
‘Eleven it is, as it turns out,’ he says, another smile spreading immaculate white teeth across his face. For a moment I think he’s going to hold out his hand as colour floods back into his fist, but Dominic does it first.
‘Instructions will follow,’ Xenon says as they shake, Dominic grunting further assent. Then all we’ve got to do is move one foot in front of the other, round corners and up steps until the gravel of the forecourt crunches under our feet. And only then can we walk with purpose, straight towards the iron gates in the distance, one-two, one-two, pasty spring sunlight catching in our eyes, wind like it’s stroking our hair.
That’s all we need to feel. Because we did it.
Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
‘You need to do it before you leave the house,’ Rach grumbles, sparking up another tab as we squat in the bushes lining the fence that separates school from Victory Field. ‘Like first thing. When you get dressed. What’s the point in doing it now? It’s not like anyone in this playground is going to give us money for another inch of your skinny knees…’
‘Well Timmy said Drina did it with him for a packet of fags,’ I mumble, waistband bunching in my fists as I roll it over again.
‘And since when do you want to make like Drina? Tesco legs – open all hours?’
She frowns at me, mouth puckered round her cigarette like a cat’s arse.
‘I don’t…’ I blush as I fiddle with my skirt. It’s got to go shorter. Not even a whistle from the builders on the way in. Let alone any coins. ‘I just wasn’t thinking, that’s all…’
‘That’s your problem,’ Rach interrupts, snapping off a leaf to burn. ‘You only think about useless shit. Numbers, puzzles, sums – give you a riddle and you’re away with the fairies. But how’s dreaming about any of that going to get us any real kicks in this dump?’
The leaf hisses, curling in on itself as her cigarette punches a perfect hole through its middle.
‘I’ll go the long way home,’ I say, poking a finger back into my waistband to smooth out a wrinkle. My finger finds a hole. At least two other girls must have worn this skirt before I got hold of it.
‘It’s Friday, they’ll all be out, trying to finish up early. I’ll just walk round and round the block till I get us something. Then if you go home the other way…’8
My finger traces the hip bone sharp below my skin.
‘That’s my girl,’ Rach says, snapping off another juicy leaf, all popping veins and plastic green, shrivelling as she burns a perfect four-leaf clover into its middle.
I smile. Suddenly there are four-leaf clovers everywhere as she murders her way through the bush. I’ve looked for hours, days even, practically mown half of Essex, never once found my own tiny stem of luck. And now Rach has made me loads.
‘What’s so funny? I’m serious, Carls.’ She takes a deep drag, before blowing a cone of smoke into my face. ‘You can’t go around forgetting about proper stuff. This is how we get ahead. We walk past the same blokes most of the time, all digging the same pointless holes … Finally we get a new lot because another load more army wives have shown up – because of course what this town really needs is more houses that look the fucking same – and you forget to take advantage?’
‘Give over,’ I splutter, grabbing for the cigarette packet sticking out of her pocket as she dodges me. ‘Is that how you got hold of this little lot, then? Or did you swipe them? Don’t tell me you’ve finally been allowed back down the shop?’
I muddle with the leaves by my feet as I steal a look at my watch. Only two minutes left before the bell goes, but I don’t rush, no way. Only Rach knows I actually like maths. The packet hits me in the cheek as she finally tosses it over.
‘Doesn’t matter, does it? The point is, I got them. You should count yourself lucky I’m sharing with you…’
I finger the plastic around the packet, tracing the letters with my thumb. Smoking Kills. Not if something else gets you first, it doesn’t. There’s another hiss as her lighter flares. I start to cough the minute the smoke hits my throat.
‘And I don’t know why I bother,’ she sighs, bush hissing disapprovingly as she stabs holes in a new clump of leaves.
I blush as I try again. I wish I was fifteen like her. It can’t be right that I can do sums better than I can smoke. This time I blow out almost straight away. She smirks as my eyes water.9
‘Your brother,’ she says, jaw clicking as she pops out a perfect smoke ring. ‘Is he staying with you tonight?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ I try not to cough. ‘Like there’s ever any pattern to when he shows. Since he moved to the barracks he may as well have moved to the moon, learned another language for all I know. We may as well be invisible…’ I trail off, eyes still streaming.
At least when Jason was around I could pretend it wasn’t just me who had to deal with Ma, Kayleigh and our slowly collapsing house, every day springing a new problem that nothing can fix. At least when he was around I could catch at the memories floating like bubbles on the wind, popping if I dared grab at them too long. When breakfast was Ricicles, when tea was egg and chips, when bedtime was warm, soapy and clean. When everything didn’t taste of vodka, didn’t smell of burning, or wasn’t covered in ash.
‘Well, wait up for me then later, OK?’ Rach elbows me as she stands, shattering my pile of clovers as she grinds out her tab. ‘And don’t even try giving me any of that crap about Kayleigh. She’ll be dead asleep, won’t she? She couldn’t climb out of her cot even if she wanted to, and it’s not like you’re going to be leaving her alone. Unless you’re about to tell me your drunk old lady’s got it together for once? They’ll be good as gold in the house on their own, and they better be, since I’ve finally found us something else to do in this shithole town.’
I wince as I get up to follow her out, legs numb from crouching, tar still thick in my throat. Best just to remember the colours bubbles turn in the sun, when the light catches them just right.
Marie ~ London ~ 2006
‘Slow it down,’ Dominic hisses into his cuff as we walk, scratching a non-existent itch on his cheek. The trees nod again, whispering as they lift and fall in the breeze. He’s right. They’re still watching. Only when we reach the gates does Dominic step in front of me, edging through the side access out on to the shallow pavement fringing the access road back up to the motorway roaring in the distance. Only now can we start to move at a clip, breathing in time with our march along the pavement, van purring up alongside us like a giant, sleek cat. Finally I allow myself a little mental jig, just for a second, just as I climb inside behind him. It’s not like anyone can see me, is it?
Dominic exhales, head hanging between his legs, hands strafing through his hair.
‘It’s over, sunshine. You made it. And you’re alright.’
Jemima murmurs as she rests a hand on his shoulder. If the van’s a cat then she’s its kitten, coiled watchful in the corner. I feel her eyes on the side of my face as her gaze flicks between us, adrenaline coursing through me like an electrical current. It should have been her, Jemima Jonas, the jewel in Nine News’s production crown, Crufts-level news pedigree, award-winning trophy cabinet. Except it was me. And she knows it.
‘Slow down a sec,’ Dominic says, leaning forward into the driver’s seat. ‘Bill!’
‘No way, Dom,’ Jemima says, pulling him back. ‘We’re not far enough…’
Dominic tangles with her, reaching over me to stick his head out of the window.11
‘No one can fucking see me, Jonas,’ he shouts into the wind, closing his eyes, gale thumping our faces as the van speeds on to the motorway.
‘Jesus wept,’ he yells, bouncing back down between us, all punk hair and manic eyes. ‘If all this TV shit doesn’t work out then at least I know I could be a pimp. Hah!’
I roll up the windows, meeting Bill’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. I don’t have to see his whole face to know he’s smiling. If I was him, I’d smile too. He wasn’t inside.
‘Good job, Marie,’ Jemima says, flopping back into her seat. ‘And if our resident drama queen over here hasn’t had enough for one day, shall we see if we actually did the job first rather than congratulating ourselves just for not getting caught?’
‘Here we go again,’ drawls Dominic. ‘Jemima Jonas, Nine News’s heart of stone and balls of steel. I just bought myself an underage virgin, for Christ’s sake. Every news network in the country will weep for days when this goes out, not to mention those useless suits over at the Met, and you’re more interested in giving me grief? It got hairy in there, since you asked. But we’re fine, thanks. Just dandy.’
‘Hairy? Hairy how?’ She snaps open the computer in her lap, stabbing at the keyboard.
‘They brought in another pair,’ I say, swallowing the heartbeat racing up my throat. ‘I thought it was just to jack up our price but they barely let the auction run before belting them—’
‘You what?’ Dominic interrupts, eyes blazing at me. ‘You think all that was just for kicks and giggles? There’s teeth still scattered all over the corridor…’
‘There wasn’t a madame though, was there? Two men. You said it yourself. There’s always a madame … and if it was really about the money, they’d have let it roll a bit longer, surely…’
‘They told you that, did they? In the many conversations you’ve had over the weeks, nay, months, that you’ve been meticulously developing contacts to get us here in the first place?’ 12
My face burns, even though I’m sure I’m right. Who would do all that just for a measly extra thousand?
‘Are you telling me there was a ruck? And you didn’t hit the button?’ Jemima smacks her laptop closed. ‘Tell me, what was the point, what was the bloody point of all our exit planning, all those code words, secret signals, hours of senior-management debate over whether this was too dodgy to even attempt, if on your first sniff of trouble, you just ploughed on like you were bartering over who buys the next round? What do you suppose we would have done if you hadn’t come out?’
‘We’re OK, though,’ Dominic spits, balling one hand into a fist in the other. ‘Really, we are. Don’t you worry about us. We can take this one for the team—’
‘Just shut up, Dom, OK? That was the deal, remember? We needed at least a signal that it was all going tits up. You said—’
‘I know what I said.’ He cuts her off with a volley of knuckle cracking. ‘I let it roll. We let it roll. I know what I’m doing, and it worked. We’re here, aren’t we?’
I fill the car with roaring traffic as I edge down the window. No one’s even mentioned the girl, the third shadow, flickering like a ghost in the corridor. Did I at least get a shot of her? Will one jerky frame even be enough? I don’t ask though, since they don’t seem to care. And then I might have to admit to myself it’s the only shot I can remember.
‘We’ll have to make sure no top brass hear those bits then, won’t we?’ Jemima says, low under the thudding motorway. ‘Of course, that’s only if you got it all…’
‘Are you alright, Marie?’ I jump as Dominic prods me. ‘You’ve gone green…’
‘Sorry,’ I say, flinching as Bill swerves. ‘Don’t worry, I never throw up. I just get a bit woozy…’ I lean my cheek against the cool glass, cars scudding past in a blur. I wish I’d thought of pretending to be car sick before.
‘Take it easy,’ Dominic says, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘You 13did really well in there. Plenty of people, senior producers included, would have pissed themselves before we’d even got through the door.’
I let my head loll like I’m tired. And then I see it. The flicker of movement that’s out of place. The purposeful glance of the passenger in the grey VW speeding alongside us.
Staying level with us in the nearside lane just a beat too long. Just enough to check he’s got the right van.
‘Bill,’ I murmur, searching for his eyes in the mirror. ‘Do you see that VW on the right?’
‘Huh?’ Jemima looks up from fiddling with her laptop.
‘Stash it,’ I say, looking straight ahead as if I haven’t noticed a thing. ‘The laptop. Quick. And duck, if you can. That car … something’s not right.’
I grip the seat as my adrenaline starts to run again. Of course they’re following us. We knew they were pros. We wouldn’t have bothered otherwise, would we? Dominic goes rigid next to me.
‘There’s something in it,’ Bill says in a low voice. ‘I’m pretty sure they’ve been tailing us since we got on the motorway. I’m not certain, but I think there could be two of them. There’s another van’s been sticking behind us since this one pulled out.’
‘Shit,’ Jemima says, crouching in the footwell. ‘Why didn’t we anticipate this?’ I can almost hear her brain working as I stare into the mirror, frown lines deepening on Bill’s forehead. The two cars tighten round us like a cell.
‘OK, OK, OK. Where can we go? Where would we go, more to the point.’ Jemima cracks her knuckles in her lap. ‘Would we go back to work? Home? To the pub? Where would we go if we actually were large-scale criminal perverts and had just done this? Shall we go chuck our phones into the Thames?’
She snorts at herself. There’s that gallows humour again. I still don’t totally get it. I guess it’s only funny to people who think they understand just because they bothered listening.
‘Hang on, Jonas. Let me think…’ Dominic grips his knees, breath whistling through his teeth. 14
‘They either think we’re police or press,’ Jemima says to herself. ‘Why would they tail us otherwise? They don’t give a toss who they are selling to, so long as no one shops them, and so long as they get paid.’
‘There are Travelodges all around the M25,’ I say, forcing myself to keep staring straight ahead. ‘We can just book a room, hole up there for the afternoon, check our tapes and transfer the video while we’re at it. We can’t afford to let them tail us back to the newsroom so we have to stop somewhere. And it’s not unreasonable that we would be meeting others or bunking up somewhere before a flight or train out. The rooms will have safes, we can stash the gear, even leave it there overnight if we have to—’
‘Overnight?’ I flinch as Dominic interrupts. ‘Are you out of your mind? It’s taken us months to finally nail this story down and now you want to while away time on some paranoid hunch?’
‘Can you put your ego away for a minute?’ Jemima fires back at him. ‘A few hours won’t hurt, and besides, the sooner we stop, the sooner we can look at these tapes which, by the way, are worth nothing unless we can see and hear our beloved perverts—’
‘Bill!’ I cut them both off as the Travelodge logo whips past on the left.
‘I’ve got you, love,’ he says, the car to my right peeling away into the fast lane. ‘And we’ve got company,’ he says, exhaling softly. I don’t dare turn to check, sudden quiet thrumming through my brain as the motorway falls away.
‘This’ll shake them off,’ I mutter into my collar, checking my camera’s still stuck fast inside my shirt. ‘They can’t afford to cause a scene in a public place. And that’s if this is a genuine tail…’
‘You’ll have to meet us inside, Jonas,’ Dominic interrupts, shrill with fury. ‘If we’re playing along then best we do it right. You were never here, after all…’
‘I can assure you, Dominic,’ she replies silkily, ‘I have every intention of playing along. In fact, I’ve already made management aware of our new plan. They’re fine with it, just in case you were worried 15 about breaking with protocol. And just in case you were planning on calling it in yourself, as we’ve discussed ad nauseam…’
Their bickering fades out as the Travelodge tower rises up by the kerb, jaunty purple logo like fresh graffiti against the blank-white sky.
I shiver as I get out of the car, cold air slapping my face, batting at the third shadow still trembling in my mind.
Wake up, Marie.
Carly ~ Warchester ~ 1996
Ma’s on the sofa, eyes closed, mouth open. At least a packet’s worth of fags crowd the ashtray rising up and down on her belly, but, as usual, there’s none left for swiping.
Kayleigh’s standing, rattling the bars of her cot, so close it’s almost in Ma’s face. I clatter my keys on top of the telly squawking next to the front door. I know it wasn’t always like this when I got home from school, but these days it feels like I’m walking into the same film every afternoon, the same second when someone pressed pause, the same fog of smoke in every corner. Just like yesterday, the week before, the month before, there go Kayleigh’s screams again, bouncing off the walls, through my head and back again, opening up new cracks in any memory that’s still left. I can’t be cross with her though, how could I be? She doesn’t know how hard I’m trying to remember how it used to be. She just had the bad luck to be born in the first place.
I leave the door open as I wade through the crap on the floor to rouse Ma. She sits up with a start, ashtray flipping over in her lap.
‘She’s hungry, Ma. It’s gone five. How long’s she been in there?’ I straighten up, sniffing. I know without looking that Kayleigh hasn’t been changed all day. ‘Ma! What have you got in?’
But all she can do is blink at me before flopping back down on to the couch, finished before she’s even started. I turn my back as I scoop Kayleigh out of her cot, overflowing nappy instantly soaking my shirt.
‘We’re better off outside,’ I murmur as I strip her, squatting on the front step to turn on the outside tap, drowning her filthy 17clothes in a puddle, letting the breeze wash through the room behind us. And now she’s cooing instead of crying, fresh air kissing her naked body, cooling down the rash all over her velvet legs.
‘I’m sorry, love.’ Ma sniffs in the background. ‘I just closed my eyes for a moment…’
I don’t turn around. What’s the point? It’s the same speech as yesterday, as every day. At least she’s not slurring. She barely bothers to try then. Instead I pretend I’m wringing Ma’s neck as I squeeze Kayleigh’s tiny leggings out under the tap, kicking her bloated nappy over to the wall. She hoots as I flick water into her face, clapping her hands, tummy wobbling as she laughs. It’s so swollen I can tell myself she’s eating right, even though I know it’s because she’s not. And the tinkle of her giggles and rushing water makes it easier to forget I am washing my angel baby sister, again, from an outside tap on the pavement. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It wasn’t for me, least I don’t think it was. Why should it be for her?
‘I did give her some lunch. Or was it breakfast? I gave her … What did I give her? Now, I know I’ve got some beans in. She loves beans…’
I roll my eyes, tucking Kayleigh inside my jacket as we sit, damp, on the step. I wish the clouds would part for just a moment and let the sun dry her instead of my shitty school blazer. This is a blazer that’s dried a thousand other wet and screaming kids already.
‘Yes, I gave her cereal. That’s it. So she’s had some milk at least … Now, let me see…’
There she goes again, trying and failing to get up. I listen to Kayleigh suck her thumb instead, moving her body into the watery sunshine lighting the puddle around us. Her eyelashes flutter on her cheek as she spreads her toes into the breeze. I rest my chin on her head, wondering if Ma ever did this for me, once upon a time. Before she started doing anything for any scrounger that told her she had a nice smile. 18
‘OK my angel,’ I murmur as the clouds roll across the sun. ‘Let’s get you some beans.’ A whistle screeches through the air as I stand, a construction truck rattling suddenly past. I close the door on a volley of catcalls. No need to try and work it when Rach isn’t around to check.
‘Where are these beans, Ma?’ I spy an open packet of nappies by Kayleigh’s cot. Thank God it’s not a rinse-and-repeat day. She’d be like a lump of plasticine if she was fed right, round marble eyes staring as I change her. The telly’s bright colours take over the entertaining as I suddenly remember my own shirt is still full of wee.
‘You know you can’t leave her in her cot all day,’ I snap, unbuttoning my shirt as Ma starts to sob softly on the sofa. ‘Just sit outside on the step if you can’t actually go anywhere. You can even crawl with her if you have to…’
I turn my back on her hacking and coughing as I take the two steps into the kitchen in my bra. Three cans of beans are lined up all new and shiny on the otherwise filthy counter.
‘Where did these come from?’
I peer round the doorframe as Ma blows her nose into her T-shirt.
‘Your brother came by,’ she says, pleating the rim of her shirt between her fingers. ‘He might even be back tonight, he said.’ She looks up at me, blinking like she’s the child. ‘He … he left a few things…’ She gestures into the kitchen.
I yank open the fridge door to find unopened packets of cheese and ham gleaming on the shelf. A bag of apples, a loaf of bread, even yoghurts, all stupid smiley-face labels. Yoghurts! I glare at Ma as I crouch down next to Kayleigh, spooning as fast as she can swallow. If the telly weren’t on I think she’d try and drink the stuff, she’s so hungry. And as usual I find her battered baby cup under a pile of filth in her cot and need to rinse it over a similarly filthy pile of dishes in the sink. I stare through the porthole window at the blank wall of the block opposite as water splashes over my hands. All these army houses look exactly the same from the 19outside, lined up next to each other like they’re the soldiers. But if anyone came inside this one by mistake they’d think they’d shown up on an enemy base.
I bang the cup against the counter before taking it out to Kayleigh, furious with Ma still heaped on the sofa, wrinkled and slumped like the pile of dirty washing that doesn’t even hide the holes in the carpet. She looks so close to dead that I don’t know how she can still be alive. If I stop and think about it, I reckon it started even before Kayleigh was born. She just stopped being capable, I guess. Too many scroungers will do that to you. The army thinks that paying out a dead soldier’s pension is the least it can do. In the name of God and Country, all that shit. Actually that free money just loops a bullseye around some already pathetic widow’s neck.
Cold air suddenly blasts back into the room as a key rattles in the lock and the door swings open. Too late, I remember I’m still basically naked from the waist up. I snatch up Kayleigh and cuddle her across my chest as I shiver in the shadow of my brother in the doorframe.
‘A welcoming committee, I see,’ Jason says. ‘Is that your best underwear?’
The room darkens as he closes the door, uniform creaking as he steps towards me. All shiny boots and starchy collar, this dump makes him look like he’s wearing a costume, especially since he’s got a laundry bag folded under his arm, of all things. I step back and stumble as he reaches out to pet Kayleigh, paddling my arm with his fingers as he grabs my shoulder.
‘Have you gone sick in the head now, too?’ I shrug into his hand. ‘Like you should even be looking. Freak.’
He plucks Kayleigh out of my arms, smirking as I duck and ferret around on the floor for something to cover myself.
‘So you get your kicks these days from hawking cheese and ham to your own family? What happened? Did the army kick you out? Not good enough for active duty?’ I gabble defensively as I pull on a T-shirt. 20
‘There’s no need for all that, is there, sis? If I was in the field, who’d sort you lot out?’ He croons down at Kayleigh, tickling her chin. ‘We can’t help having a swot for a sister, can we?’
My cheeks burn.
‘And you think you’re not? Don’t give me that crap about living to serve … Folding clothes right, dressing right, even shaving right, like that’s different from learning in school? Just because it’s not in a classroom doesn’t make you any less of a nerd…’
Kayleigh coos as he laughs.
‘Fighting talk, Carls. It’s times tables that make you really intelligent, is it?’
Something explodes inside me as Ma titters on the sofa. I’m suddenly so angry I can barely see, let alone breathe through the fog in this tiny room. Once, it smelled of wet, clean washing — didn’t matter there wasn’t room to move when it was all hung up, because it turned the place into the inside of a flower, I could even play between its petals. Sometimes it smelled of cooking – I could breathe in a full tummy’s-worth before I got to eat it too. If I dig around enough I can even remember the smell of felt tips. Now it just stinks of regret and despair.
‘What do you think you’re fighting for, anyway? A bigger house, or a car? Some new pointless piece of metal to wear on your shirt? What’s the prize? Which bit of the country do we get if you knock someone’s block off? Like the army has ever done anything other than completely screw this family up.’
He rounds on me, Kayleigh yelping as he grips her tighter.
‘Listen, little sister,’ he hisses. ‘Don’t fuck with what you don’t get. Stick to your playground – even though the army built that, along with everything else in this town. This whole country’s built on the army, every country lucky enough to call itself one is. We’re nothing without the military. You want to play by someone else’s rules, have aliens call the shots instead? You get to sleep at night with people fighting for you, every second of every minute of every day, and you just haven’t got a fucking clue, have you? Look 21around you.’ He waves a meaty hand in the air, at the whole rotten jumble we’re supposed to be grateful for. ‘You should be proud. Even Rach gets it.’
He smiles as I start to cry. The killer blow. Because what I really care about is the fact that Rach saw him before I did. She’s not his sister. And now Ma’s weeping too; of course she is.
‘Pack it in, would you?’ I sniff as I snap at her. ‘Like it’s nothing to do with you that we lost all the money we ever had? The only useful thing you’ve ever done is knock up with a squaddie in the first place, and even he was a loser who got himself killed before he could give a proper shit. And now look at us. Where’s all his danger money gone? All our insurance? That’s what they called it, right?’ I wipe my cheeks, reaching for Kayleigh as she bleats for me.
‘I swear spongers must just hang around Warchester, waiting for people to die, waiting to take advantage of where the latest chunk of change has been dropped in exchange for some squaddie who lost his life in some other shit-hole that’s worth nothing to anyone normal. If this town’s built on the army, then the army’s built on death. There’s no easier place to go scrounging if you know that. And Rach wouldn’t get anything unless it came with a free packet of fags. Which is obviously how you got her fawning all over you.’
I cuddle Kayleigh tighter as she snuffles into my shoulder.
‘It’s our duty, Carls,’ he mumbles, bending to scoop piles of laundry into his bag. ‘All of ours, especially the ones of us living here. That’s what she gets. Fags or not, she’s smart enough to get it. That’s the real intelligence, right there. And you’re the one that’s the swot.’
He snorts as Ma snivels, weeping on and on and on.
‘Like I don’t understand duty,’ I mumble into Kayleigh’s head.
Jason slings the bag over his shoulder as he straightens up, looking from Ma to us and back.
‘What else does she need?’ He jerks his head at Kayleigh. ‘And you? Come on, spit it out.’ 22
‘Well, Ma needs a lobotomy, so she remembers what life is supposed to be like around here – you know, breakfast, lunch and dinner, showers, cleaning and shopping – the shit that army wives pick up even if they’ve been left solo and pathetic because it’s all in the name of empire, right? And Kayleigh, well, she could use some clean clothes, regular meals, a few toys and stories, some cuddles – everything we apparently got when we were little, before some war took over someplace and killed everyone. And I could do with going to school without wondering whether either of them are going to be dead too when I get back—’
The words are still in my throat as the door slams, shaking the walls but nowhere close to bringing them all down. I can hardly tell Jason what I really need, can I? He’d know if he hadn’t left us behind. Just like that, here we are again, suspended in the same spot on the same film, in the same endless looping nightmare; nothing to do and nowhere to be except wait for him to come back, or someone to change the tape. And in this town, it’s only war that ever really does that.
I cradle Kayleigh, untangling pale hairs from her chubby fingers as she swats at my head. At least Rach said she’d visit later. That’s a level up from nothing I guess.
Marie ~ London ~ 2006
Dominic kicks off his shoes, flinging himself on the bed. He’s either groaning or sighing – whichever it is, I wish I couldn’t hear it. My legs tremble as I turn away from him, propping myself against the window.
‘I forgot to get the Wi-Fi code,’ I murmur, breath fogging the glass as I stare outside. The cars on the tarmac below look like abandoned toys. I itch to poke them with a finger, knock one over, start a commotion somewhere else.
‘Good thing, too. Far too banal for a load of paedo kingpins, if anyone was honestly listening.’ I turn to see him sitting up, all socks and overcoat. ‘Didn’t you bring the laptop?’
‘No. I wasn’t carrying it to start with so…’
He groans again, flopping back on to the quilt.
‘We need to wait for Jonas anyway, don’t we?’ Just saying her name makes me prickle with relief. She won’t be, can’t be, more than a few more minutes. Then there’ll be three of us in here.
‘I suppose,’ he mumbles, sitting up again as he fiddles with the camera in his fly. ‘I’m taking this out now though. If only because I need a slash.’
I jump as there’s a soft tap on the door, relief curdling to alarm. It’s too soon for it to be Jemima.
Dominic straightens up, shoving wires back into his pants. ‘Seriously? Even Jonas can’t move that fast…’ Now there’s a chime, like whoever’s outside forgot they could just ring the bell. ‘Where in God’s name are my shoes…’ He stands, smoothing down his hair. Another chime, another curse as he shoves a foot into the wrong shoe. 24
‘Maybe it’s room service? Or housekeeping?’
I cough, trying to hide the note of panic. We didn’t request anything special. Just a suite. We’re here on business, we said. Like we’ve been saying all day.
‘I don’t recall asking for extra pillows when I demanded the penthouse, do you?’
The doorbell chimes again. Whoever it is knows we’re in here else they’d give up.
‘Do we have to answer it?’ Dominic mumbles to himself. ‘Wait…’ He kicks off his shoes again. ‘Take yours off too, can you? Rumple yourself up, mess up your hair … Quick! At least make it look like we might have been interrupted…’ He fades as I turn back to the window, willing that a car might explode below us, anything to change the course of the next few seconds.
‘Yes?’ Dominic’s voice floats, somewhere behind me. I squint into the glass, inside of the room outlined back at me. He’s up against the door.
‘Sir?’ The doorbell chimes again.
‘Yes? Can I help you?’ Sir. It can’t be them. I lean my head on the glass. Suddenly my neck feels like even holding my head up might make it snap.
‘If you could just—’
‘Hang on, hang on…’ he interrupts, reflection fidgeting and bustling behind the door. I sidestep along the wall, out of vision. There’s a squeak as the door cracks open, a rustle of voices. Dominic’s? And then another click. The window stares back at me, blank-white with early-spring sky.
‘The Wi-Fi password…’ Dominic hisses, exhaling all his tension into the room. ‘They forgot to give it to us. Jesus wept … he even apologised, since we’re in one of their alleged SuperRooms … Hah!’
I twist round to find him flat on the bed again, clutching a bottle of wine in one hand, slip of paper in the other. Now he won’t even notice that I didn’t rumple myself up.
‘Why didn’t he just call? Why come all the way upstairs?’25
‘Because he also wanted to give us this,’ he says, sitting up, brandishing the bottle like a weapon. ‘Gift, apparently. Hang on…’ He squints at the tag round the neck. ‘“Congratulations”. Congratulations? Marie, what the fuck are you doing?’
I’m at the door before I even realised I’ve moved, clicking the inside lock, latching the chain.
‘It’s on our purchase,’ I say. ‘Congratulations. We haven’t sealed the deal yet, have we? They want us to know they’re still watching…’
I grip the chain, so powerless and flimsy between my fingers that I can’t stop the third shadow flashing back into my mind, nor the whispers needling in my ear. Never get comfortable, never assume it’s over. And now I’m really flailing, as there’s another tap on the door, Dominic’s hand suddenly tangling over mine. It should be clammy and hot but it’s cool and smooth and…
‘It’s Jonas, Marie, come on…’
I yank away my hand as I stumble backward, crashing into the bed. A click and suddenly Jemima’s there, standing calm, composed, a giant oak in a storm. Except she’s angry, mega-cross, eyes practically throwing sparks on the carpet.
‘Champagne?’ she hisses, head swivelling from me to Dominic. ‘Are you serious? We haven’t even checked the tapes yet and you’re skinning us on expenses?’
Dominic wraps an arm around her, finger against his lips, yanking her away from the door and on to the bed beside me. Even though her eyes are still blazing, she lets him touch her like there’s no world in which it could be a threat. I look away.
‘Look,’ he whispers, shoving the bottle into her lap. ‘Congratulations, see? They’re watching us … Did anyone see you come in?’
Jemima whistles as she fingers the tag.
‘Jonas? Did anyone see you or not?’
‘No,’ she mutters, turning the label over and over in her fingers. ‘I ducked through the fire escape. It was already open. And now I know why…’ 26
The bottle rolls forgotten to the floor as she thumbs through her phone, muttering into the receiver. Think we’ve been followed. No immediate danger. Will check in every five minutes until you get here. Yes, we’re checking the video while we wait.
She hangs up, staring at the phone in her hands like it might burst into flames at any second. I shake my head as its screen flashes with acknowledgment. Unbelievable. Just like that, the newsroom machine’s coming to bail us out. All it took was one shout. Just the one emergency call.
‘How did you know?’ Dominic looks like a ghost in front of me. ‘All that from a bottle of fizzy? I don’t understand…’
‘It doesn’t matter now,’ Jemima mutters, pulling her laptop from the bag at her feet. ‘All that matters now are the goods.’
I scurry back towards the window, unlacing the camera inside my shirt as Dominic fumbles in his pants. At least now we’re back to business. Just like them.
‘Try it again, come on. Just reboot the whole thing,’ Dominic hisses from behind me. As I twist round, I see it – grainy but it’s there. That’s our main man and he’s right there on Jemima’s computer screen. I practically bound back across the room, camera cables dripping from my outstretched hand. The shot flickers, goes black and then flashes up again.
‘It can’t be…’ Dominic mutters as he stabs at the keyboard, pulling out the camera cable and reattaching it. ‘Hang on…’
Jemima slumps, pulling headphones out of her ears.
‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ I say, hopping from foot to foot as I peer down at the laptop. ‘We’re golden, aren’t we? What’s wrong?’
I jump as Dominic flings the camera on to the bed, trailing wires flicking up into our faces.
‘There’s no audio,’ Jemima says, through her teeth. ‘Here…’ I stare at the earbud she passes up to me. ‘And without audio, that’s just some fat guy in a suit he thinks still fits him.’
I gaze at the midriff wobbling on the screen. I can tell you every last letter of what he’s saying, but no one else, not even Dominic, 27would have a clue. And he was there. The shot goes dark again as Jemima switches his camera for mine.
‘Ssshhh, would you?’ She swats at Dominic pacing behind her.
