IT’S DONE, WAS all the message from Jake said. I let, a long deep breath out.
It was over.
‘Gigi, darling, time to pack our bags – we’re going home.’
The Committee had wanted Frederick alive. They wanted us to track him down and bring him in so he could undergo interrogation at the Box. They believed that for him to be the successful mastermind of a plot like Tenebris, there could be other things he might be hiding. Other information that could be helpful. He had had direct contact with many of the Employers listed on the Tenebris Network – he would know things that weren’t on the databases.
We had always respected orders. Always respected directives from the Committee.
But the minute I saw headless Snow White, I knew there was only one way I’d ever feel safe again.
Jake and I had both requested blowers and both packed a bag.
I’d picked up Gigi immediately and retreated to the wilds of a remote island off the Scottish coast, having Will join me the moment he landed, in what he thankfully took to be a spontaneous gesture of reconciliation. Jake had gone hunting. Tracking down every lead he could. Guided by me and Geraint with remote access. We’d scour the online intel and lead him to places. A sighting here. A clue there.
While we were away Hattie had sorted through the mess Tenebris had left behind. Going through their records, it seemed Wycombe, Somersby and Miss Jenna had been telling the truth. The Tenebris Network was Frederick’s brainchild. Gaining an understanding of how much enemies would pay for privileged security information had sent his entrepreneurial skills in motion. Wycombe and Somersby had bank-rolled Tenebris, hiring a few top-level IT experts and hackers to set up the website and the unhackable algorithms.
Cameron and Jake had never managed to identify the hackers working for Tenebris as they were all based abroad. Frederick’s intel’s claim that Tenebris’s technological set-up was run from London was obviously faked. There were apparently a team of five of them working remotely from different international locations. Geraint was confident he would be able to find them all eventually. Having access to Tenebris’s internal records had given enough clues as to ways he could find their online footprint.
Wycombe and Somersby were now incarcerated in the Sweat Shop – a prison we sent all individuals the Security Services deemed valuable or high-risk enough not to be contained in the normal system. At the Sweat Shop, prisoners’ individual skills were put to use in specially allocated assignments. It was run just like any large corporation – except longer hours, no pay and serious micro-management. Not so much Golden Handcuffs, just handcuffs.
Those who completed their time without burning out were released back into the world, some even to the same job they’d had before. The majority became model citizens, now appreciative of a place of work that gave such civil liberties as days off and lunch breaks. Those who ended up back in the Sweat Shop for a second time didn’t get out again.
The millions these two men had in the bank were directed to worthy causes, while they continued to do what they did best: hedging bets, making money – but this time it was all for the State. And if they didn’t reach their quarterly targets, their punishment was a little more upsetting than not receiving a six-figure bonus. Wycombe’s impressive castle had been taken over by the Security Services. It was rented out for company away days during the week and on the weekends the public were given castle tours and tea in the gardens. Allowing the common people full reign of his beloved family seat was apparently more upsetting than his incarceration.
Eight were able to get the names of every Employee and Employer registered on the Tenebris Network. Those for whom matches had been made and information sold were also sent to the Sweat Shop. Those who had just signed up but never actually committed a crime were fired immediately and black-marked for any future intelligence work. We distributed all the information gleaned from the Tenebris databases to our international counterparts. Cameron was particularly looking forward to bringing back to the States the list of US operatives who’d chosen to register as Employees. I had a feeling there would be no mercy for any of them.
We all benefitted from being able to freeze the assets of all the Employers’ registered bank accounts. It wouldn’t hold them back for long, but for all of us in the intelligence services, knowing who wanted what information for what purpose was a massive win.
Robin had been in the Kensington Wing for three weeks before he was well enough to be discharged. He’d taken numerous hard beatings from the Ghosts and had nearly overdosed on the sedatives he’d been pumped full of to ensure he was in a comatose state for being unceremoniously dumped in a crate with a bomb strapped to his chest. As soon as he was well enough to come back in to the Platform, Jake and I had approved his transfer to Jagger, to take over from a retiring Rat. As Jake said, ‘If you can survive having the crap kicked out of you and becoming a human bomb, it probably is time you got to decide your own destiny.’
Will had only stayed with us in our beautiful Hebrides cottage for the first two weeks because of his work, but it had been pretty blissful. No arguments. No loaded comments about not really knowing me. We were back to being us. Able to finish conversations without one of us having to rush off or falling asleep as we were so exhausted.
But then it was a holiday. It wasn’t real life. There was no Platform Eight, no outside pressures, just our little family fishing for our dinner and early nights by a crackling fire.
And now we could go home.
Now it was safe.
It was going to be back to real life. The real test, when the demands of the Platform were back in my life.
‘We’re nearly home, Gigi. We just need to make one stop first.’
I pulled up outside the large house with the Savills ‘For Sale’ sign outside and parked the car.
I rang the bell.
Camilla opened the door. Arthur was in her arms in his pyjamas, holding a bottle of milk.
‘I’ve been expecting you,’ was all she said.
Camilla had been right. Frederick had never come after them. He had walked out of their house, leaving Florence alone, and never once tried to make contact.
‘Hello, Gigi. Florence will be so happy to see you. She’s through there, building a fort.’
Gigi ran ahead of us into the kitchen, where Florence was piling up empty cardboard boxes. Gigi joined in with a series of giggles and squeals from them both.
I sat down at the table with Camilla. Arthur was on her lap drinking his milk.
‘You don’t need to worry anymore. He will never bother you again. He will never bother anyone again.’
Camilla let out a long breath. ‘Are you sure?’
It’s done.
‘Positive.’
She stared down at the table. ‘They haven’t asked for him.’ She looked over at the girls playing. ‘Not once. We’re all getting on with life as before. Just . . . happier.’ She smiled.
‘Mama, mama, mamaaaaaa.’ The bottle was now empty and Arthur was wriggling. ‘I’d better take him up to bed.’
I watched her leave the room, Arthur in her arms. She was dressed down in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, her hair up in a messy ponytail. No Frederick forcing her into immaculate clothing. No Frederick overtaking every part of her life. It hadn’t been a marriage, it’d been a dictatorship. And she was now free.
I thought of Peppa, George and Daddy Pig. All had planned covert meetings. All had things they wanted hidden. Real life came with its own set of challenges. But the people we went into battle with should be the ones that lifted us up. We needed to stand side by side and feel like there was nothing we couldn’t do together. You didn’t want to have to worry they were working for the other side. That they were keeping secrets from you. That they had found another teammate.
I loved Will. I wanted to be with him. There might be times when I didn’t appreciate him. And he didn’t appreciate me. But we were still good together. I was happy with him. He was my family. And if having my head briefly turned by a charming but ultimately sociopathic colleague had showed me anything, it was: don’t ever underestimate what you have at home.
Camilla came back downstairs holding the monitor. The strains of a lullaby could be heard playing through it.
Naomi and Camilla were both now going it alone and they were better for it. I thought of Kate. Of her and George Pig walking down the street, hands clasped. That’s what it was about. Finding someone who put your happiness above theirs. It wasn’t about the big gestures and the grand declarations of love. It was fighting unseen battles for them. Knowing what was better for them than they did. When the lights went out and before sleep came, you wanted the person next to you to be on your team. Rage, fear, hurt, loneliness. They shouldn’t be in the marital bed. A partnership was meant to make your life better. It was meant to give you more joy than pain.
We bid Camilla and Florence goodbye at the doorway.
As we reached the car, I turned back and saw Camilla pick Florence up in her arms. The girl nuzzled into her neck as she closed the door. They were going to be OK. It was only going to get better from now on.
Kate, Naomi and Suze had all come through for Camilla. They’d been coming round to see her, to commiserate over the bastard husband who’d just run off and left her. I thought of the WAF initiative; it may have started out as a farce but it had proven to be a huge success. Flicking through the reports from the other WAF groups, there was nothing but effusive praise from everyone involved. All had voted for it to continue. Everyone needed support. And not just from the person they lived with. I thought of my female friends. Of all the times I had turned to them when I wasn’t sure what to do. Reassurance whenever I questioned a decision. Help when childcare was an issue. Laughter at a time when otherwise it would be tears. Us women relied on each other. We understood each other, sometimes better than the men in our lives. We could build each other up in a way only we knew how. Tell each other we were doing brilliantly, when husbands forgot to, or didn’t even notice. We needed each other just as much as the man we may live with, sometimes even more so, as friends would still be there, even if the man no longer was.
*
As we drove the short distance home, I realised that Frederick had only turned my head as he’d reminded me of what the beginning of a relationship could be like. The getting-to-know-each-other thrills. It wasn’t real life and daily logistics. It wasn’t remembering to take the bins out. Sitting through dinners with their colleagues, friends, relatives who bored you. It was easy in the early stages. You were being your best self. Nice underwear. Not the comfortable kind. Engaged conversation, not checking your phone. You were making an effort. He was making an effort. Everything was shiny and new. But then, like all nice new toys, they grow dull. The gloss and sheen of a new flirtation eventually gives way to the mundane of familiarity.
But being reminded of the early days. Being appreciated. Feeling special. Getting those moments was important. Remembering us as a couple and not just us as parents. I might never be able to be fully honest with Will about my job. But I could at least be more open about what I was feeling.
Maybe, just as with my work, I needed my home life to have that spark. And if it was missing now, I needed to bring it back.
‘We’re home!’ I opened the door and Gigi went running through the hallway and into Will’s arms.
‘Dada!’
He looked at me over her head as she clung to him. I walked up to them and gave him a kiss.
‘Back at last.’
‘Bed now, Dada,’ said Gigi. It was no wonder she was tired. It had been a long day of travelling.
‘Come on, sweetheart. I’ll take you up.’
I went to the kitchen and got out a bottle of wine. I opened it and poured a large glass. I listened through the monitor as they talked and he read her a story.
I loved him. I loved our life. I didn’t want to be with anyone else. It was him I wanted to come home to. It was him I wanted to grow old with. We had our problems. But then everyone did. It couldn’t always be all flowers and rainbows and mini-breaks and over-the-top declarations of love. We were a team. We were married. Wed. Together. And that’s the way it needed to stay.
Will came downstairs and took a seat at the kitchen table.
‘I need to talk to you.’ I smiled at him and handed him the glass of wine.
‘I do too.’
He reached behind his back.
And placed my gun down on the kitchen table.
‘Just who the hell are you?’
Everything was spinning.
I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach.
I dropped down into the chair opposite him.
‘I . . . I’m your wife. Mother of your child.’ I took the long, thin object out of my pocket and placed it on the table next to the gun. ‘Mother of your children.’
The two of us sat there staring at the gun.
And the positive pregnancy test.