A naked male torso met my eye. I frowned, picking the creased page up. It had clearly been torn from a magazine. Plenty of others lay beneath it – then whole magazines: Attitude, Gay Times and an American publication called Black Inches. All old and crumpled. Mostly from the eighties and nineties. My mouth gaped as I flicked through a few copies, then sifted the many, many photos underneath. Some were soft porn: just low lighting and an oily sheen on bare muscle. Others were hardcore, showing male-on-male penetration.
I stared at the pictures as the realisation settled in my head: my ascetic, God-fearing, extremely proper uncle was clearly secretly gay. This was his old porn stash. I closed my mouth. It all made sense, now I thought about it. Perry was unmarried and I’d never known him be in a relationship. I felt stupid as I reflected how I’d always, naïvely, assumed he had simply never met the right person. Perry seemed asexual rather than repressed. Anyway he was a devout Catholic, almost as observant as Lucy in his strict attendance of daily mass. I’d heard him speak out against homosexuality in a ‘hate the sin, love the sinner’ way a million times. It had never occurred to me he might be gay himself.
‘Fran?’ Harry’s voice broke into the silence.
I shoved the magazine I was holding back in the box and flipped down the lid. No need to tell Harry about all this, it clearly wasn’t connected to the secret meetings that we suspected had been taking place here.
‘What?’ I turned. Harry was holding up a sheet of paper, his dark eyes shining in the bright overhead light.
‘This is it, Fran,’ he said. ‘Loads of stuff on your dad’s anti-abortion work. It’s all here, there’s got to be something on PAAUL, on the assassination plan.’
‘Really?’ Still reeling over Perry’s secret, I hurried across the stone floor and took the paper from his hand. As Harry reached into his box and drew out an A4 file marked Shield on PAAUL Report 3, I read what he’d given me. It was a report covering PAAUL activities during 2011. Dad had been passionate about his work for the pro-life charity both before and after that time. I well remember him hurtling like a bull into his first Shield campaign when he found out about Lucy’s abortion. It was almost as if there was some way he could make up for her transgressions by trying to prevent other women making the same choice.
Had all that fervour really allowed him to justify killing abortion doctors? Including Caspian? I still couldn’t really believe it.
I skimmed down the lists of protests and bomb scares. I’d read about several of the more violent ones online already. It was all US-based. I turned the page. And came face to face with a report headed:
Possible UK targets, 2012.
The first item read:
Underground crusade against abortion doctors.
‘Oh my God,’ I breathed.
‘Look at this.’ Harry shoved another set of papers into my hands.
I scanned the top sheet: another report, this one entitled Psychological profiles of potential PAAUL recruits, UK.
My stomach twisted into knots as I gazed at the notes in the margin, all written in Dad’s looping handwriting.
‘It looks like some sort of recruiting document,’ Harry muttered. ‘There’s a paper here about “qualities of likely recruits” and another called Top ten targets of which the third is a list of prominent UK gynaecologists.’ He looked up. ‘Your husband’s name is on the list.’
I leaned against the wall, unable to believe it. Up to this minute I’d not seriously believed that Dad or Uncle Perry could really be involved in PAAUL. But now . . . was it possible my own father was some sort of secret extremist vigilante? It beggared belief. And yet why else had he lied when I mentioned the name PAAUL to him?
With a jolt I remembered the look Jacqueline had shot him when I’d asked him what he knew. Was she in on the secret too?
‘There’s a list of abortion clinics here,’ Harry said, his voice hollow. ‘Do you think it’s another target list?’ He glanced across at me. ‘Do you think your stepmother or your sister know about this? They’re big-time Catholics too, aren’t they?’
‘Mmm . . . they’re both religious but there’s no way either of them would sanction anything violent.’
‘What about pro-life stuff?’
‘They’re both against abortions, if that’s what you mean.’ I looked at him. Did he know about the termination Lucy had when she was a teenager? Was that why he was asking? No, I was being paranoid. It was almost eleven years since that had been in the press, you’d have had to search for it to find out about it now. Harry couldn’t know. ‘I’ve never actually heard Jacqueline talk about it but I’m sure being pro-life is part of her Catholic baggage. But Lucy I do know. She’s pro-life in the same way she’s anti-gay marriage. It’s what she thinks, quietly. It’s just a belief she has, she doesn’t act on it or campaign about it, like Dad used to.’
Harry looked at me, a sceptical expression on his face. I felt a flash of resentment that I was being pushed into defending my entire family.
‘Seriously. Lucy’s more into her church groups than anything else,’ I carried on, wondering why on earth I felt I owed Harry any explanations. He had an uncanny way of holding back that almost compelled me to talk. ‘There’s the Guild of the Blessed Sacrament on Saturdays and she goes to the Legion of Mary on Sunday afternoons . . .’ I trailed off.
‘What the hell is the Legion of Mary?’
Before I could reply the sound of footsteps echoed down the stone steps from the hallway. Harry’s eyes widened. I spun around as a middle-aged woman appeared in the doorway.
‘Francesca!’ The woman clapped her hand over her mouth.
‘Mrs Grayling.’ I turned to Harry, who was speedily shoving the list of abortion clinics back into its box. ‘Harry, this is Uncle Perry’s housekeeper.’
Harry raised his hand in awkward salute. I smiled. Mrs Grayling had been with Uncle Perry ever since I could remember, though I hadn’t seen her for years.
‘Oh, Francesca,’ Mrs Grayling gasped. ‘I’m so sorry if I gave you a start, but I was afraid it were burglars.’
‘No, we’re the ones who are sorry,’ I said, my heart sinking as I realised there was no way we were going to be able to carry on exploring the remaining boxes now. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be in. I’m sorry we gave you a fright.’
Mrs Grayling’s brow knotted. ‘What on earth are you doing down here? Perry didn’t say anything about you paying a visit. He’s still in London.’
‘I know,’ I said, thinking fast. ‘I actually didn’t talk to Uncle Perry about it, which I see now was thoughtless. It was a spur of the moment thing, I was looking for, er, for some old stuff I thought might be here. My friend Harry came with me to help.’
The idea that we might have driven two-and-a-half hours from London in pouring rain on the spur of the moment sounded crazy even as I said it, but Mrs Grayling was thankfully more concerned with replaying her reaction to our presence in the house than analysing my explanations.
‘I’d just got here,’ she gabbled. ‘And I thought it was strange the alarm wasn’t on but Perry does sometimes forget and I was just doing a bit of housekeeping for when he’s back tomorrow, you know . . . clearing up, making sure he’ll have a meal he can heat up. So . . . I was cleaning the fridge and thinking about doing maybe a chicken chasseur, when I heard voices. I didn’t know what to think.’ She paused. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘No, it’s fine, it was just some silly toys and stuff from childhood I thought might have ended up here.’ I remembered the box of gay porn mags. I was never going to be able to look my uncle in the face again.
‘There’s a lot of stuff down here, I’m always saying he should have a clear-out, but he’s so busy. If he hadn’t been out today, I wouldn’t have been so worried when I came in earlier.’
Mrs Grayling bustled about the kitchen, making us tea and going over her version of events again as the light faded outside.
We talked about what we’d
discovered all the way back to London – well, everything except the porn, which I couldn’t bring myself to mention. It wasn’t the porn per se, more the hypocrisy of my uncle’s life I didn’t want exposed. Things looked bad enough as they were, with Harry insistent that everything we’d heard and found added up to proof of Dad’s involvement with PAAUL.
I still couldn’t believe it, though the evidence seemed overwhelming. Harry had an answer for all my objections.
‘But Dad left the pro-life organisation he worked for years ago,’ I protested. ‘He only joined it in the first place because of what happened to Lucy. He’s anti-abortion, sure, but it was never a big issue for him.’
‘People change . . .’ Harry pointed out.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And the way Dad changed was that he realised his work for Shield wasn’t really right for him.’
‘Or else he became more militant so he decided to leave moderate Shield and go underground with extreme PAAUL.’
‘No, you don’t understand,’ I protested. ‘Dad changed generally, not just over that. It was Jacqueline’s influence. He met her and he . . . he softened . . .’
‘Or else she helped him see that if he wanted to go violent on anti-abortion he needed to take on a less public role so he wouldn’t draw so much attention to himself,’ Harry countered.
We slowed at a set of lights. Everything Harry said was logical, yet it was still, surely, impossible that Dad could be any kind of terrorist.
‘The point is,’ Harry went on more gently, ‘are you one hundred per cent sure, or do you have doubts?’
I said nothing.
‘And if you have doubts, don’t you deserve the truth?’
I glanced over. ‘You think I should talk to my dad about all this?’
Harry shrugged. ‘That’s your decision. I just know what it’s like when you want answers . . . it’s impossible to rest until you get them.’
It was dark, the windows misting with cold, by the time I dropped Harry in north London. I picked up Ruby and Rufus from their respective play dates and made my way home. By the time I’d sorted dinner and ushered them upstairs to bed I was exhausted. I knew I should call Uncle Perry – if for no other reason than to explain why I’d let myself into his house and rummaged through his storeroom – but I was putting it off.
To be honest, I was surprised he hadn’t called me himself yet. I was certain that Mrs Grayling would have spoken to him by now. However, it was still a shock when the doorbell rang at ten fifteen that evening and I opened the door to find Dad and Uncle Perry standing on the doorstep. Though roughly the same height, Perry looked every bit of his additional eight years. His face was lined and his white hair thinning, while Dad was broader and more solid, his hair still thick and dark, just a little grey around the temples.
‘Hello, darling,’ Dad said, a strained smile playing about his lips. ‘You went to Lanagh today?’
I stared from him to my uncle, the front door still open in my hand. Perry’s mouth was set in a thin, angry line. ‘May we come in?’ he snapped.
I nodded, quaking, and led them into the living room. As soon as the door was shut, Perry turned on me.
‘What on earth did you think you were doing?’ he demanded with a furious scowl. He spoke slowly and emphatically, as always – but there was a sharp edge to his voice. ‘Mrs Grayling said you and “a male friend” let yourselves in—’
‘. . . with my spare key which you took without asking,’ Dad added, sounding deeply concerned.
‘And that you were rummaging about in my basement, going through boxes looking for toys for the kids?’ Perry italicised the last few words, making it clear he didn’t believe my excuse for being there.
The cover of a mid-nineties copy of Black Inches flashed into my mind’s eye. I couldn’t look at him.
‘What were you really doing, Francesca?’ Dad asked. He sounded genuinely bemused, a frown forming a deep ridge between his eyebrows.
‘Why all the subterfuge?’ Perry added.
Panic rose through my stomach, up into my throat. Should I lie? Or should I confront them?
‘I think your uncle deserves a full explanation.’ Dad’s voice was more pained than angry. ‘And I have to say I’m really worried about you.’
‘Okay, er . . .’ I stammered. Earlier I couldn’t imagine how on earth to bring up the subject, but now not to say anything would surely be harder. Plus Harry was right, I needed to know the truth.
‘I’m really sorry I didn’t say anything to . . . to either of you but, d’you remember, Dad, when I asked you if you knew about an anti-abortion organisation called PAAUL?’
A look of confusion passed over Dad’s face. ‘I remember you asked if I knew a person called Paul.’ He turned to Perry. ‘Some nutcase came up to Francesca and claimed this “Paul” person had been threatening Caspian before he died.’
‘Which has got what exactly to do with my basement?’ Perry demanded.
‘Was the man who told you about PAAUL the same man you were with at Lanagh today?’ Dad asked.
They both looked at me expectantly.
I nodded. ‘We . . . I . . . I found out Paul is really P.A.A.U.L., which stands for Pledge to Avenge the Assassination of Unborn Lives. It’s a terrorist organisation that . . . that operates mostly in the US but it’s possible it started carrying out assassinations of abortion doctors in the UK a few years ago.’
Dad and Perry exchanged a look.
‘I still don’t—’ Perry started.
‘But you already know about PAAUL, don’t you?’ I fixed my gaze on Dad.
He nodded.
‘So why didn’t you say so when I asked you?’
‘I didn’t want to upset you so soon after the memorial service,’ Dad protested.
Was that true? Dad looked sincere enough, and he’d always had a tendency to be overprotective; it was something we used to fight about when I was a teenager.
‘Anyway,’ I went on. ‘There’s stuff . . . speculation . . . on the internet about you and this organisation, PAAUL, and links to Uncle Perry’s house, to Lanagh being some sort of HQ.’ I glanced at Perry, who was gaping at me, then back to Dad. ‘Harry and I started looking into it.’
‘Into a bunch of internet rumours?’ Uncle Perry’s voice dripped with contempt.
‘It’s not just online.’ A vision of Simon Pinner’s mean, watery eyes as he hissed his own suspicions flashed into my head.
According to all the rumours your father, Jayson Carr, is the secret head of PAAUL in the UK.
‘It’s . . . there are people out there who believe PAAUL is targeting abortion doctors and that you’re involved,’ I said.
‘With terrorists?’ The colour drained from Dad’s face. ‘You actually think I might be capable of—’
‘I don’t think anything.’ Guilt at his consternation pricked at me. ‘Harry and I were just looking for information. We read about the connection with Lanagh so we . . . we went there.’
‘Unbelievable,’ Perry muttered.
‘I was desperate to find out the truth,’ I stammered. ‘Caspian was my husband. If PAAUL had him killed I need to know.’
Silence fell.
‘You really think that your uncle and I might be capable of hurting your own husband . . . my grandchildren’s father?’ Dad’s face crumpled.
‘If there’d been any suspicion at all the police would have investigated us,’ Perry added. ‘And they didn’t. As you know.’
I hung my head. I was handling this all wrong. Dad was devastated. Of course he wasn’t capable of ordering Caspian’s death. And yet there had to be some explanation for the threats Caspian received and for all the rumours that connected Dad to PAAUL.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Perry spat.
‘So what did you find in Uncle Perry’s basement?’ Dad asked. It looked as though it was costing him a lot to speak.
‘Things . . .’ I stopped, picturing the gay porn again. It was impossible to look Perry in th
e eye so I kept my gaze on Dad. ‘Things about PAAUL.’
‘Of course you did, you stupid child.’ Perry gave an exasperated sigh.
My head jerked up. What did that mean? ‘Dad?’
‘Oh, Francesca.’ Dad sounded close to tears now. ‘All those reports were done when I was working for Shield. You must have seen that from the headings, the dates.’
I nodded.
‘There was . . . a concern about some of the anti-abortion rhetoric we were hearing via our outreach programme . . . concerns that PAAUL in the US was considering setting up an operation here. Perry and I did – well, we organised some investigating.’
‘Investigating?’
‘Yes, I ordered various bits of research during . . . I’m not sure exactly when, probably 2011 because I left the year after.’ Dad frowned, clearly trying to remember the details. ‘There was a report on activities and . . . and a list of abortion clinics we thought might make likely targets for PAAUL. Er . . . we looked at whether some sort of crusade of violence directed at individuals was probable, plus we tried to get a sense of possible PAAUL agents, their typical profile, that sort of thing.’ Dad leaned forward. ‘We were trying to find out about their activities, if they were attempting to recruit through our churches . . . not help them.’
‘Oh.’ I sat back, reeling. ‘So do you think they killed Caspian?’
‘No, sweetheart.’ Dad blew out his breath. ‘All our research showed that PAAUL was staying US-based and using bombs and, in some cases, gunmen to attack clinics. We found no evidence that they had or were planning any sustained campaign against individual doctors, certainly not in the UK.’ He shuddered. ‘It doesn’t lessen their evil, but there was no evidence of any plans to bring their horrific violence over here.’
‘Precisely,’ Uncle Perry snapped. ‘As we would have told you if you’d asked either of us instead of blundering about in my basement with a total stranger.’