Yet she also knew that things always seemed bigger in the moment, and that it was rarely the best or worst thing that happened, but somewhere in between. Moreover, she already knew what would happen: that they would go on much as they had done before, chatting in the office and helping each other out, only with a slight uneasiness that might never fade.
She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice one of the company bosses appearing at the desk. He startled her as he spoke,
‘Ellie, you’ll be here for the next half-an-hour or so?’
‘Of course,’ she answered automatically.
‘If anyone comes in asking for me, call me right away, I’ll be right over.’
‘Of course.’
At this the manager left just as quickly as he had arrived, offering only the weakest of smiles by way of a goodbye. He disappeared behind the double doors to the main office.
‘Well, that was odd,’ she said to herself. The encounter left Ellie with a batch of questions, and her mind was glad to have something else to think about. She pondered:
There was always someone at the desk – that was her and Angela’s cause for being there. That was the reason why in three months working together they’d never once shared lunch.
So for a boss who normally took that for granted to now be double-checking, left Ellie wondering who on earth his visitor could be. It must be someone very important.
Yet it was her boss’s limp smile that confused her most of all. You didn’t get to be a boss of a large firm by being sheepish. So who or what was he expecting to encounter to make him so?
And then a dread thought...
A person with a secret finds everything sinister, for anything that happens out of the ordinary could be as a result of their secret having being found out. And if that person began to relax, then that was fatal – for they had to keep their guard up at all times, and fear their comfort zone.
And there was the injury signal she’d received only the day before, and the anonymous telephone call she had made to the police. Oh God, yes... the call. She must have known when she made it that she was never going to get away with it.
So why hadn’t she run? Why hadn’t she called in sick that morning, and packed a bag, and never come back? Why instead had she presented herself back at her reception desk, the most visible seat in the building, offering herself up to the first person to come through the front door looking for her? Why? Why? Why?
Because after eight years it was all she knew how to do. And she knew that to do otherwise was to accept that it was over. And to do that meant accepting danger and death, metaphorical and actual. She would never find another job like that one, never have another such lucky run. She would have to be like Christopher, living on nerves. And she knew she couldn’t do that, knew she could not do it. Of course she knew she wasn’t human, knew she couldn’t break. But a life with secrets was no life.
She had a good mind, but even good minds weren’t infinite. She asked herself clearly now: was something going on around her?
The scene with Victor had deflected her awareness from her deeper situation: that she was a fugitive, just a very very good one, a fly-by-night who’d stuck around for years. Yet could today be the day? Where was the boundary between high fantasy and hyperawareness? Was she walking on that tightrope right now? Or was it a tripwire, already snagged by the pressure of her footfall?
That hyperawareness had her catch the faintest squeak of the double doors on their hinges as they opened again, the double doors that were usually kept open, leaving the office open-plan.
The same newly-nervous boss poked his head around, though this time didn’t speak. He only offered the same weak smile and withdrew back to the office. He was only checking she was there, keeping her in place, no pretence at anything else. There was no doubt now, one-hundred percent.
Ellie’s mind ran at a thousand thoughts a second, unhindered, unrestricted, thinking things like:
For her to leave the desk now unattended was a sure sign of drawing general attention. But had her partner been there then Ellie could claim to be nipping to the photocopier, or to the shops. And where the hell was Angela? In the Ladies, or chatting somewhere?
And there would only be that one manager who’d notice her absence especially. And what would he do? He had already been cowed into submission by a situation larger than himself. And even if he tried to physically stop her, then one-on-one, knowing she’d never see the building again, Ellie could incapacitate him without harm or consequence.
And where the hell was Victor now? He’d been hanging around her for weeks, and had managed to drive himself away just at the moment she needed him. Ellie could have cried.
Alone in the room, Ellie willed him, ‘Come through the doors, Victor. Come through the doors.’
But Victor didn’t come. The doors didn’t open. Those busy office doors, with people dashing in and out of them all day long. And staring at them for those moments, Ellie realised that they would not open again. Not that day. Angela wasn’t in the Ladies; Victor wasn’t just being shy. Not even that coward of a manager would risk another peek. Ellie was being kept there in reception, alone, served up for whoever was about to pay a visit.
And there would be a scene, with the police or somebody. And afterwards the manager would gather the remaining staff. And say that it had all been very regrettable, and he would apologise for having been cagy at the time, but that he hadn’t been able to tell them what was happening until it was over...
And Ellie’s colleagues – former colleagues now – wouldn’t care if she’d been caught or not, whether she’d escaped or had been carted away. They would only be relieved that the danger was over and that she was out of their hair. ‘Shame, she’d been a nice girl, but you never know a person, do you...’
Somebody from outside was coming to the building. But they weren’t there yet, and she really had nothing left to lose.
So, as calm as of a Friday lunchtime when she went to fetch the office lottery tickets, even attempting her usual cheery goodbye, Ellie took her pea-green coat and bag out of the cupboard behind the reception desk, and walked out the door.
Chapter 36 – Cat’s Head Soup
Sergeant Forrest returned from his fruitless search for Beck; to find Eris still in the basement corridor, kneeling on the floor and shivering with her arms wrapped around herself.
‘Hold me,’ she asked him. Which he did, tight enough to stop her shaking like an epileptic post-fit. She was crying also, whispering,
‘Don’t tell anyone about this.’
‘I never would.’
She would ask herself later: had she known that something like that would happen? Had that been her reason for so many final questions quickly fired at Beck, knowing it would be her last chance to ask them? She asked herself this, and answered that yes, deep down she knew that she would lose Beck at that moment, that he was playing a game.
Furthermore, she would answer to herself that she had wanted that game, that she had let herself be led, that she had known he was too kind to really hurt her. And she wanted the surprise of that fine mind being brought back into full flight after so long dormant. She wanted the full-fat, full-flavour Beck, doing what he did best – lie, deceive, innovate, invent on the hoof.
And she would also answer that in allowing him a chance to escape, her subconscious was deciding tactics for her. He would become her hunting dog – let him loose after the pheasants, have him chase them down to ground, and then follow him to where they nested.
Later in the car though, she was fuming,
‘He got me off home turf. He got me onto ground which he knew and I didn’t. He got me excited, he got me to drop my guard. And all that stuff about worrying what we’d do with him afterwards, when he had planned for there never to be an afterwards... he wrong-sided me, Forrest.’
The Sergeant tried to calm her,
‘Don’t worry, how far can he get?’
But Eris
was having none of it, continuing,
‘And you... You... He had you nodding along in agreement with every word he said, you even trusted him enough to kick that wall.’
She might as well have shaken a fist at Forrest. But he remained calm, responding,
‘But that’s the best thing about it.’
She eyed him quizzically; as he explained,
‘Well, to make his escape he had to give away his treasure trove. Don’t think of it as a cat’s head, think of it as a bundle of all the raw materials you’ve been longing for – bone, muscle, electrics – everything they invented. And that’s before our guys have even been through what else was in that storeroom.’
And she realised that he was right. Forrest concluded with,
‘When you’re calmer you’ll look past your own embarrassment and appreciate it.’
Which put her right back in a filthy mood,
‘Come on. Let’s get back to base.’
Chapter 37 – Beck’s Escape
Gawain Beck was running free. And yet that sense of freedom stemmed less from being out from under Eris than simply being on the street in the middle of the working day – a simple pleasure nine-to-fivers never tired of. It felt like skipping school.
The campus he was running from had been renovated, but the surrounding district was the same: buildings, shops, all familiar. After ten minutes of walking quickly in various directions, Beck took stock, and paused in an alleyway beside a cafe. What now?
He had to forget all he thought he had known for eight years. All bets were off, this was the end game, time was quickening. There was no point now in resisting contact, as the artifs were already in danger. If anything, warning them was the better option. He just had to figure out how.
But Beck had something else to do first.
Risking heading back a little toward the campus, but following different roads, he ran into a Chinese grocery just off the High Street – one he had frequented for his whole time at the University. Even back then he had feared the store wouldn’t last long in the face of encroaching competition from the new supermarkets appearing on every corner. Yet the store’s durability and continuance into new eras reminded him of his own creations, and of his own survival to tell the tale.
‘Doctor Beck,’ called the woman at the newspaper-laden counter (they had branched out into being a newsagent too). ‘Where’ve you been? It’s been years.’
‘Sorry, new job, and no time to say goodbye.’
‘No worry. Great to see you. The University settled your account. Look.’ She held up a random bundle with a smile on her face, ‘I kept your papers for you, eight years of Daily Mail!’
‘You’re losing your memory, Mrs Chan. I was The Times.’
She laughed, ‘I’ve had a lot of papers to remember since then. And how are your family?’
‘Very well, thank you. In fact, that’s why I’m here. I wonder, could I use your phone?’
She lifted the hatch, and led him through to her family’s hallway, saying,
‘My son wouldn’t understand you. He doesn’t know why we keep our phone. No one asks for it anymore.’
‘I’ve never got on with those mobiles though,’ said Beck, with which the woman seemed to fully sympathise. She said,
‘Speak quietly, and I won’t hear you at the counter.’ And he trusted that she wouldn’t.
With the smells of sweet candy from the shop, and of the family’s meal cooking in the back, Beck picked up the phone and dialled directory enquiries. They gave him the number he needed and offered to put him straight through, and he hadn’t time to quibble over the cost of that extra service. A different line rang out, and he held his breath before they picked up,
‘Hello?’
He asked them quickly,
‘Mrs Lomax?’ (Here was another lady old enough not to notice anything odd in a reliance on landlines) ‘Hello, this is Gerry Beck. Your neighbour. I’m so sorry for troubling you, but I’ve been trying to call home and the line seems dead. I wonder, as it’s a nice afternoon, can you see if Sarah is in the garden?’
No sooner had he asked, than the bellowed name ‘Sarah’ was heard down the smothered handset.
Beck hadn’t tried to call home, and so had no idea where his wife might be. Though as it happened, Sarah Beck was busy at the flowerbeds. She heard her name called, and rose to see her neighbour at the fence, holding out a phone with a seemingly endless cord, saying,
‘Hello dear, it’s Gerry, he says your phone’s not working.’
Too startled to be apprehensive, Sarah brushed the dust off her hands, and walked over to the fence to take the phone. She began,
‘Hello Gee? have you been trying to call me? The phone’s fine as far as I know – the school called me on it earlier. No, no, nothing to worry about, just some money needed for a trip. Patrick had forgotten to bring his letter home.’
She felt for her mobile also, still there as expected in her gardening smock pocket. She looked at the screen – no, no missed calls their either.
In the grocer’s back-hall, Beck realised he hadn’t planned how to make the call, and so had no idea of how to continue. His wife was asking him,
‘Gee, Gee, are you still there? So, are our phones not working? You told Mrs Lomax...’
Beck now had to trust that Mrs Chan was telling the truth about not being able to overhear him. He answered, flummoxed,
‘Well, yes and no. By which I mean I’ve just told Mrs Lomax that I’d tried to call you, but I hadn’t.’
Sarah was silent for a moment.
‘Sarah, is Mrs Lomax still there? If she is then don’t say anything, but...’
‘No, no, she’s gone back in. Gee?’
He gulped, ‘I’m afraid that what we feared has happened. The past has us, Sarah. It won’t let us go.’
‘What’s happened?’
I’ve been in a room all morning answering questions. One of them’s turned up...’
‘Oh my.’
‘I know; I haven’t had a chance for it to sink in. Can you believe it? We were only talking about it last night.’
‘And you had no idea..?’
‘No, no idea. The mood I was in after the cinema. Well, that was nothing, I swear to you, just coincidence. Just something someone said that spooked me.’
‘I know, I know, I know,’ she whispered, comforting him down the line. ‘Are you in trouble?’
He couldn’t bear to answer her directly, instead offering,
‘I’ve been grilled for hours. Just the old stuff. They’re hoping for a clue of where they’ve been all these years. But it’s serious, Sarah. One was injured yesterday and triggered an emergency signal that was picked up.’ (she gasped) ‘They have men out looking for the injured one already. They’ll track them all down, and put them in some living hell of a research centre, claiming to be protecting them. And that’s if we even trust that they won’t start pulling them apart to see how they were put together.
‘And they won’t let me be this time, Sarah. They won’t let me go back to the gardens, I sense it. They’ll have me working on them again, every day for the rest of my life, I know it.’
She asked, ‘What will you do?’
He answered, ‘I need to find them, warn them, save them.’
‘How?’
‘I don’t know, but I have to try. I have to remember what they told me, what I told them, think where they could possibly be hiding. Can you find it in yourself to understand?’
‘Yes, of course. But how are you able to call?’
‘I’ve skipped my guard.’
‘You’re on the run already?’
‘How do you wonder I dared to call you?’
She realised, ‘And you’re already so worried that you couldn’t trust that our phones aren’t tapped...’
Beck didn’t dare to breathe, afeared of her response. But he should have trusted her, for she asked,
‘So, what do we do?’
He paused,
partly in relief, and partly as this was the key instruction coming up – anyone listening in now or later would guess it all, but there was no way to avoid it. He asked,
‘I wonder, is your brother still in Dover?’
She had no brother, in Dover or anywhere. But she answered, improvising like a pro,
‘Yes, Ted’s job in London doesn’t start till October.’
‘Then it might be an idea to visit him, while you can.’
‘Take the boys?’
‘Yes, just for a weekend. Don’t pack much.’
‘Tell the neighbours, back on Monday?’
‘Back on Monday.’
‘And will you be joining us there?’
He had tears in his eyes, and knew she had too.
‘I’m sorry, Sarah,’ he said, not answering her question.
‘What on earth for?’
‘I’m sorry that you married one man and ended up with another.’
She answered, ‘This is the man I married. For eight years he’s been in hiding. Be amazing, my love.’
Each knew the other was weeping. The receiver clicked as he placed the phone back on its cradle. He wiped his eyes and tried to gather himself, before coming back into the shop and leaving Mrs Chan ten pounds – the smallest note he had.
‘No, no, too much,’ she protested. But as she tried to hand the money back, he took her hand and the money and moved them back to her.
He tried to joke, ‘I called Directory Enquiries. Trust me, that will barely cover it.’
She asked, ‘You won’t be back later for your paper?’
He smiled weakly, ‘No, I won’t be back.’
In the garden, Sarah Beck composed herself, as her husband was also doing at that moment. She called Mrs Lomax back to the fence and thanked her for bringing the phone. As she took it back, she asked,
‘You look sad, dear.’ For she was too sharp not to notice.
The younger woman answered, ‘I’m fine, I assure you. It’s good news. We’re going on a holiday.’
And Sarah Beck kept up her smile as she tidied her gardening things and went into the house.
Chapter 38 – Concert Tickets
Beck was remembering all kinds of details, and he thanked his subconscious for the possibility.