Directory Enquiries, or 118, or whoever they are, do not have listings for emergency fencers. Or rather they do, but not the right ones. I realise this when they ask me if it has blown over. I think they know something I don’t – it would never blow over, I would need to defend myself. Then I understand. I tell them I don’t even have a garden and hang up.
Instead, I 118 the Hendon armourer and ask them about which local club had a meeting today. None today, but one tomorrow. Not on the North Circular. No fencing there, apparently. But Highgate. £6. Kit provided. An investment I can afford. I take their number so I can phone them and book.
I wonder if I should tell them it is research. They might let me go to the session for free. Or they might delight in the idea of being famous. But no. I don’t want distractions. I don’t want to have to tell them about the other books, and nor do I want to tell them I am a novice – I am an established author, even though none of my works, life-changing though they are, have been published. And besides, if I disclose my authorial identity they may put on an act, may not teach me fencing as it is meant to be taught. Nor can I tell them I am fighting for survival. That will tip them off, make them call the police, call me a madman. I know how they will think of me.
Instead, I call as a member of the public, under cover.
‘Hello, Charles speaking,’ a man says, when I phone. It could well be the future king. He has the right accent.
‘Is this the right number for fencing?’ I ask.
‘Yes, it certainly is! How can I help?’
This would be the moment to tell him everything, to say: you can make me invincible; you can make Luke impenetrable; you can teach me to defend my otherwise soft, indefensible, frame.
Instead, I say, ‘I’d like to register for your class tomorrow night.’
‘Oh, no need to register,’ says Charles. ‘Just turn up – we’re hardly over-subscribed.’
‘But I’ll have an opponent?’ I ask, because it’s important to practise as if it is reality.
‘You and I can spar together if we have to!’ Charles offers. ‘See you at six tomorrow. You know where we are?’
‘Yes,’ I say, because I am a consummate researcher. I have an address, so I can find my way. I hang up.
Until tomorrow then. But tomorrow is so far away! If I hadn’t dallied, delayed, I would have gone before now, wouldn’t be losing this time, this twenty-four hours. So precious, now that Huhne may have the key, may be able to unlock the Ally secret. I should have been researching everything, all the time.
Now, even now, as I stand in Hendon, I should not move without researching. Think: How does Luke walk? Foot forward. He leads with his right. His heel comes down to the ground, then toe. Good. Is it the same with his left? Heel then toe. Right. But how about the length of his stride? I stay where I am and look back down between my legs. Impossible to measure. His stride is the length of a confident man’s. No, no – I need facts! I hear someone behind me, walking quickly. No nails dragging concrete so not Huhne. Is there red, maybe Nicole? I turn my head. No. A man, unknown.
‘Measure me!’ I shout as he approaches.
‘What?’ he says, slowing slightly.
‘Measure me!’ I repeat.
He calls me a name and continues his walk, speeding his pace.
I am stuck then, because I must know how long Luke’s stride should be. But what if his stride is not always the same? Do I need an average, to count every stride he takes, so I know, definitely about his character? How about if every stride I take, I can move my back foot up to the front foot to see how many shoe-lengths each stride is. And write it down in my notebook. Yes!
6
5
4
5
3
5
5
5
5
But now I am controlling him, influencing his needs. I will have to abandon those results, start again. And how do I even know how he would hold a pen, write, think, speak, anything? But hang on; no, I know how he writes, because of the napkin. He writes in lipstick with capitals. I don’t have any lipstick. But I have a biro. And numbers are always capitals.
He holds the point firmly in his right hand. He can make the incision, of ink, into paper, just like he can make the incision of knife, into flesh.
Or maybe it is:
HE HOLDS THE POINT FIRMLY IN HIS RIGHT HAND. HE CAN MAKE THE INCISION, OF INK, INTO PAPER, JUST LIKE HE CAN MAKE THE INCISION OF KNIFE, INTO FLESH.
No, concentrate – it is only what he writes, not what you write, that is in capitals. And you should not be writing anyway. You should be researching. Come on, walk, count!
The data is the same. Or my idea of the data. What am I even going to do with it? Remember what we said, focused research, focused.
He strides round the kitchen, round the dining table, over where she lies gagged and bound. He is all powerful, she is weak. Now is the moment when she will be his.
Yes, you see, striding, power, that’s what it’s for. Recount, recount!
5 6 4 5 4 5
4 6 5 5 5 4
5 4 3 3 5 3
3 6 2 2 2 0.
Come on. Keep going. This is important.
7 6 5 5 5 5
4 4 5 3 4 5
3 5 5 5 5 4
5 5 5 5 5 4
5 6 5 4 5 5.
It takes me two hours to get to the station. Many people pass me by.
‘Try to avoid the cracks!’ says one. Which is a good point. Does Luke try to avoid the cracks? Dan does not. Maybe Luke does. No, no he doesn’t, I’m sure – confident Luke, strident Luke. Luke would not take two hours to get to the station – he would march on, regardless of cracks, of counting.
Oh dear. I have failed. I cannot go forward. But I cannot go back either, because I will need to recount.
0. For ten minutes.
No, no. I will not be defeated. Not by keys, not by pavements, not by cracks. I will not panic. I will finish my research, my work. I will go to fencing. I will learn that. Then I will be in Nicole, qua Luke, and then there will be that other closeness that I so desire.
So I have time, now. Thirty hours until I fence. Time to research as Dan, find out what Dan wants to know.
What?
There is one thing. The Maserati.
Dan wants to go and visit Jimmy.