One of them knocked her to the ground – the hand pushing against her chest, keeping her away from North. She landed badly, her head slamming against the metal railings. She attempted to stand, nauseous suddenly, calling after North, her vision blurred with tears as they hustled him away, their arms around him, the toes of his boots scraping along the path.
From somewhere a cyclist and an elderly lady were holding her upright. Passers-by.
Strangers. But no one who could help.
She touched the back of her head and her fingertips came away bloody.
North was a fool – they were both fools. She was under surveillance at all times. She thought she’d given them the slip in the Commons. And they had to be monitoring her calls.
He had to know that, so why did he come?
The desolate, desperate thought came to her that North was dragged away thinking she betrayed him. Betrayed him twice over. Betrayed herself too. And Peggy. Because there was no way Peggy would have wanted Honor to do what she was doing and compromise her very soul. To stop fighting, because she was frightened of something that had already happened.
Peggy was dead.
She knew it.
Had known it from the start. That the worst had happened. That she’d been left behind again.
She had to stop herself groaning out loud.
And surely North knew that even though she wouldn’t ever have given him up, they would be watching and waiting for him. Any which way, he was as ever a reckless fool of the first order and she was too, for wanting to see him just one more time to explain herself, and to try and save him. When all she’d done was make his situation worse.
Cold, shaking, she thrust her hands into the pockets of her macintosh and her fingers found the mobile phone. She hadn’t felt it but she knew he’d dropped it there with his left hand as his right brushed against the collar of her coat. Distraction. Sleight of hand. What happened to the old Honor Jones? The one who never gave up?
She almost dropped the phone as it started ringing. Pushing away the concerned strangers. Brutal. Faces falling. Sympathy rejected. Turning away from them.
When they knock on your door, when you get the call to come play, you have to pick a side. Was that what he said before they dragged him away?
She pressed the green phone icon to answer the call, lifting it to her ear with a hand she had to stop from trembling.
“Yes, this is Honor Jones. Who is this?”